Therapeutic

Today was Adriana's first appointment with the speech therapist. I really liked the therapist, and Adriana warmed right up to her. Of course, I sometimes think she will warm up to anyone with books about dogs and some new toys. Mary, the therapist, played with Adriana, asking her about the toys and signing to her. She offered suggestions to encourage Adriana to talk more: repeat the sounds Adriana makes back to her; try to use "mm-hmmm" and "uh-uh" for yes and no, since those sounds seem to be along the lines of what Adriana's present sounds; hold her hand to our throats so she can feel our voice; ask her questions and leave a pause in which she might answer, rather than just answering the question for her; and play with an echo microphone (she loaned us one). We already do a lot of these things, but it's good to have the encouragement.

Mary also recommended that I talk with Kaiser about getting Adriana in for a full hearing screening. Adriana's screening at birth was fine, and they did a limited one at the evaluation which also seemed normal. But different sounds are at different levels and frequencies, and if Adriana's range of hearing is limited, that might explain why she doesn't make too many different sounds. I don't think the screening will show any such limitations, but it certainly couldn't hurt to confirm.

***

Adriana napped early today, falling asleep in the car on the way home from therapy. That left us plenty of time to go to the park after we finished the errands I needed to complete after she woke up. At least, that was my plan. But as we carried groceries up from the car, a few big rain drops began to fall, and by the time everything was put away, it was really raining. I have been dreading the rainy season, fearing being cooped up inside for months on end with an active toddler. As soon as I realized that today wasn't a great day for the park, I began to get tense, but then it dawned on me that Adriana was in a fine mood. We played with the cat, chased each other around the house, and then I cut up some apples (Honeycrisps are in!) and cheese, and we cuddled up on the couch to read Curious George. At some point over the summer I began to worry about my sanity when we couldn't spend all day every day at the park, and I even began to make a list of what activities were available to us each day of the week. I'm a little less worried now. I mean, I think when we have a long rainy stretch in January and February I will be getting antsy, but I'm glad to report that afternoons at home aren't the end of the world.

Water-logged brain

Before I turned on the computer yesterday, I knew it had rained a lot--enough that one of the air conditioning units in my apartment was leaking wander and that a wet spot was growing on my wall because the condo association doesn't do a good job cleaning out rain gutters--but I didn't expect to see that they had measured seven inches of rain in 24 hours over at National airport. I didn't expect the news that several Metro stations in the District were closed due to flooding. Those stations were beyond where I exit the station, so even though I knew it would likely slow my commute I didn't worry too much.

When will I learn? It took me more than two hours to get to work yesterday morning. I wasn't alone. A lot of people in the DC area reported two- to three-hour commutes. But it was still annoying. I rarely drive to work. It's a 20 minute drive with no traffic, but 40 minutes or more during rush hour, so normally I'm happy to accept a 45-minute trek on public transit. At least then I can get some reading in.

When I reached the Pentagon station, I asked the station manager about buses to Foggy Bottom or Georgetown. He told me what to take, but also point out that the roads were pretty packed too. I'd see that on my bus ride to the Pentagon, and decided to take my luck with the trains.

Much like when a stuck train had caused delays on my evening commute a couple of weeks ago, I made a couple of new friends in the station. We peered down from the upper platform, watching people try to crowd onto the yellow line train that was headed into the District, shook our heads at the people who yelled angrily when they realized they weren't going to make it onto the first Largo train that arrived on our platform; wondered aloud at the people who arrived at the station and seemed surprised to see it so crowded, unable to figure out how they had missed the morning news.

Not everyone became friendly, commiserating with fellow transit riders. There were the angry yellers and people who called colleagues on their cell phones to gripe about being late.

Over an hour after arriving at the station, a blue line train arrived that I thought I'd be able to board. The platform had cleared a bit, and the train wasn't so crowded that arriving passengers couldn't clear off. As I slipped through the doors, a woman with a carry-on sized rolling bag and a brief case pushed towards the doors and stopped.

"I'm getting off at the next station," she explained to people who pushed by her, trying to fill in toward the center of the car so that others could board.

"The doors open on the other side of the train at the next one," I told her, trying to be helpful to her and others. There was room near the other doors and if she moved there, there would be more room for people to board.

"No, they open on the left."

"At the cemetery? No, they open on the right there."

"They open on the left when the trains are traveling in this direction," she said. "It does't just change sides. I think I know that by now."

Baffled, I shrugged and gave up. "Sorry. Didn't realize this was your normal train."

"Oh, it's not. But I'm here a couple of times a year on business."

The train pulled out of the station, and a few minutes later we arrived at Arlington Cemetery. The doors opened on the right. A few people nearby responded to the woman's "excuse mes," as she attempted to make her way across to the opposite doors and out of the car, but no one stepped out of the train to help make way. There wasn't anyone at the station waiting to board, and the doors closed before she could escape.

As the train began to move forward again she turned back to find a pole to hold onto. I noticed that she avoided making eye contact with me.

March miscellany

A few unconnected items:

It did not actually snow yesterday. I treated myself to a peppermint hot chocolate anyhow. And although it was cold, I was not horribly uncomfortable waiting for a bus after work last night, in spite of the fact that I forgot to wear a hat, a scarf, or gloves. (Look, I got out of the house with a coat, my lunch, my house keys, and my Metro card. I think that's pretty good.) It didn’t even begin to rain until I was curled up in bed with my book.


The Husband and I decided to try Indique after getting recommendations from several friends. Now I only regret that we waited so long to try it. Our curries were wonderfully spicy—the chickpeas in the aloo chole cooked to creamy perfection, the eggplant in the baingan bhartha rich and smoky. And the restaurant’s variation on samosas was almost too good to be true. Also? Spell check thinks I’m doing a crappy job on this paragraph.


Ohio State Senator Robert Hagan rocks my socks.


I finally finished Parting the Waters. It was a wonderful book, but after reading exciting chapters on the Freedom Rides, the movements in Albany and Birmingham, and the March on Washington, the last few pages of tying up loose ends was sort of a let down. I suppose it’s the nature of that sort of book, though. I’m taking a break to read some fiction, and then I’ll move on to Pillar of Fire. I figure that by the time I’m done with that At Canaan’s Edge will be out in soft cover.


I am listening to Gillian Welch right now, and quite enjoying her. When Joan Baez included to Gillian Welch songs on Dark Chords on a Big Guitar I thought I should probably get an album. Then El Jefe recommended her to me. Finally I got Hell Among the Yearlings and Time (The Relevator). Both are excellent, although The Husband finds her "too twangy" for his tastes.


I love that the days are getting longer and that the sun is coming up earlier. It makes it so much easier to get up. But I still get funny looks at work for saying things like “I was surprised by how cloudy it turned out to be today. The sky was so clear and red this morning as the sun was coming up.”


I didn’t grow up watching basketball, but I have somehow been liking the college basketball tournament this year. Maybe I just like tournaments: I enjoy the NBA finals, as well. Maybe it's that, in spite of defending the pace of baseball to non-fans, I do enjoy the quicker pace of basketball. Or maybe as a vertically-challenged individual I am just amazed by the size of basketball players. Anyhow, I didn’t fill out a bracket, but I do have teams I’m cheering for. I’m not telling who they are, though. Don’t want to jinx anything.


Speaking of baseball: two weeks until opening day!


I got a call this afternoon from a man from some catering place about bagels for a meeting. He kept asking for Nadia. I kept telling him he had the wrong number. He kept asking if he had the right university. And I would say yes, but I'm not the person you need to talk to. He would ask me to connect him to Nadia. But he didn't know Nadia who or what department she was with. He just needed to talk to someone named Nadia and worked at the university. He told me that he thought she was Muslim. I didn’t find that information very helpful. I asked him what number he was calling. He read me off a number that wasn't mine. I said that wasn't my number, that he must have dialed wrong (but it was way off, so I didn't know how he got to me). Finally he told me that that number was busy, so he had tried my number instead. What the hell? I told him he needed to call back the other number. He asked me how many bagels I needed. I hung up.

And yet I don't just move back to California

Weather or commute…weather or commute…..I’ll go with a weather post today. Or maybe...both.

Today is the vernal equinox. A couple of weeks ago we started having some very spring-like weather. Last Monday, highs were in the 80s. Today the high was around 50 degrees. Tomorrow? Tomorrow it is supposed to snow—snow, which will turn into “wintry mix.” The first time after moving to DC that I saw wintry mix in the forecast, I asked a friend from Michigan what exactly that meant.

“Nothin’ good,” he told me. And then he went outside in a t-shirt to smoke a cigarette, because it may have been cold, but it wasn’t as bad as Michigan.

I have very clear memories of classes being held outside on the lawn at UC Santa Cruz in February. So I don’t cope well with icy weather in March. It just feels wrong. And I fear the wintry mix tomorrow, because last year we had wintry mix in March, and it just didn’t go well.

I woke up at a reasonable hour and got ready for work, but I missed my regular bus because I couldn’t find my umbrella or keys. When I finally got my act together and went outside to wait for the next bus, the bus that came sped by me without stopping. I chased it for a few steps, hoping that someone on the bus would see me and tell the driver to stop, but I was too afraid of slipping to be willing to chase very far. I went back into the house to wait awhile for the next bus, since standing outside in the icy rain wasn’t proving very pleasant.

The next bus stopped to let me on, and when I arrived at the Pentagon station, a blue line train was just arriving. It was fairly full, and with several people standing in the doorways, I wasn’t able to push my way on. I waited for the next train, which ended up being good: the train was empty enough that I got a seat, and for an added bonus, the conductor sounded just like Sean Connery.

As I came up the escalator at Foggy Bottom, I was pelted with more icy rain mixed with snow. Wintry mix, indeed. I opened my umbrella, but as I turned onto Washington Circle, the wind snapped two of the spokes of the umbrella, rendering it pretty useless. I told myself that with wind like that the umbrella wouldn’t have done much good anyhow, and dropped it into a trash can I passed. I took a hat out of my backpack, thinking that would keep at least my head warm and dry. Which I’m sure it would have if I hadn’t promptly dropped in into an icy puddle. I picked it up and shook it off, debating whether I ought to try to wear it anyhow. Deciding against it, I hurried toward the bus stop.

I waited and Pennsylvania and 24^th for the light to turn. As cars rushed by me in one direction, three buses stopped across the street and pulled away in the other. I thought as many swear words as I could as the light finally changed and I proceeded across the street to wait for the next bus(es).

I shivered at the bus stop. Finding camaraderie in the chilly day, my fellow bus riders and I grumbled about how the buses were supposed to be ten minutes apart, but they came thirty minutes apart in packs of threes. We waited there, with me getting wetter and chillier as the rain continued, and I began to feel less affectionate toward the other people waiting as they began to comment on my lack of umbrella and hat.

“Boy, you look cold.”

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a hat?”

“Forgot your umbrella today, eh?”

Bastards, I thought, and politely explained my predicament. A man about my age offered to share his umbrella with me. Actually, he offered me his hat, too, but that seemed weird, and I only took him up on the umbrella offer until the next pack of buses showed up.

When I arrived at the office I dropped my things at my desk and went to put my lunch in the refrigerator. There were several women in the kitchen, making their coffee and tea and talking.

“Have you been outside?” one asked. “Or did you just wash your hair?”

I explained about my wait for the bus and went back to my desk, leaving them laughing in the kitchen. A co-worker stopped by my cube asked me if I wanted to run to Starbucks with her. I declared that I was not going outside ever again, and gave her money to get me a peppermint hot chocolate.

Someone apparently mentioned it to The Boss (no, not Bruce Springsteen; my boss), because he stopped by when he got in, just as I was recounting the tale of my morning to a friend in an email with the subject “Today sucks. A lot.” I told The Boss that it was a damn miracle (or a sign of my stupidity) that I didn’t turn around and go home after I dropped my hat in the puddle, or even after I saw those three buses passing me by on Pennsylvania. I could have gone home, curled up under the nice, warm covers, and tried again the next day. Or perhaps the next month. It’s never snowed on me here in April (Am so knocking on wood, here). He agreed that I showed remarkable dedication to my job, even when faced with evil wintry mix. But he didn’t offer me a raise or a cookie.

So wish me luck tomorrow, would you? And cross your fingers that this doesn’t kill off the cherry blossoms before they even get to bloom.

Spring has sprung

I think I handle DC winters pretty well for a Californian. Granted, our winters don’t tend to be as terrible as they could be, and I’m from Northern California, where it did get sort of cold during the winter months. The colder weather here is still a bit novel for me, and for awhile I don’t mind it too much, especially when we get some snow. It turns out, though, that sometime toward the end of February I reach my breaking point. I just get to the point where I don't want to cope with it anymore. In a conversation with a friend in Southern California a couple of weeks ago, I made light of the weather, saying that yes, it was only going to get up to 35 that day, but by mid-week it was supposed to be back up in the 50s.

“Back up in the 50s?” He sounded appalled.

Shortly after that conversation, my patience with the weather wore off. I felt cranky all the time. I stood in front of my closet in the morning, wrinkling my nose at the sweaters I’d been wearing all winter, looking wistfully at the skirts that had been shoved down to the end of the rod.

During the winter I changed my route between work and the Metro, opting for a longer walk that lengthened my train ride by one station, because at least on that route I didn’t have to cross the Key Bridge, where I think it is a good 15 degrees colder from the wind over the Potomac. On Thursday the National Park Service announced the prediction for the cherry blossoms, and that evening, I left work and headed for the bridge.

People were out walking their dogs through Georgetown, talking with their neighbors. Most of the trees are still bare, but I noticed little buds on a forsythia in one yard (at least, I think it was a forsythia—it looked similar to what someone informed me is a forsythia in front of my old apartment, but the buds weren’t yellow. Can a forsythia have white flowers?), and some of the bulbs that have been trying to come up since our warm weather at the end of January are finally starting to look like they will bloom. I passed over the Key Bridge, wearing a cotton sweater, my pea coat tucked under my arm. The eight crew teams that I counted reminded me of the bugs that skated across the surface of the creek near my house during the summers when I was little.

Today was even better. Even this morning I was comfortable walking to work in a t-shirt and jeans. This evening, the sidewalks were packed with people. Restaurants in Georgetown had their front windows opened up to the street. A lot of women were wearing skirts, and I eyed them enviously, and wiggled my toes in my shoes, wishing I had at least worn sandals. I sat outside with bare feet, sipping a drink and waiting for The Husband to get home as it grew dark.

It’s supposed to be back down in the 50s next week, but I’m trying not to think about that.

Snow!

Weather reports all last week had me hopeful that we would get some real snow this weekend, but I lost hope watching rain fall all yesterday morning and during the afternoon. By dinner time, the rain had turned into snowflakes, but I still doubted that it would stick at all.

I woke up with this outside my window:

God bless the weatherman.

November miscellany

I love November.

The weather here has been erratic this fall. Yesterday we had a high around 70 degrees, but by the time I left my office it was pouring rain, and I shivered as I waited for the bus in my zip-up fleece. Today we are set for a high of 45, which to me sounded like a great excuse to stop for a caramel apple cider on the way to the office. To The Husband, it sounds like a great excuse to work from home. The Husband spent the majority of his life in Los Angeles County. The Husband doesn’t cope so well with the coming of winter.

But I am just relieved that it’s not hot and sticky anymore. We probably have until about mid-January before I start complaining about the weather again. I’m also distracted from the cold by all the other lovely parts of late fall. There are, of course, apple cider and pumpkin treats. The ground is covered in leaves. They are mostly brown, but there are still a few shiny spot of bright red and yellow. They make a lovely noise as I shuffle through them on my way to and from the bus. However, I have also been looking forward to November for some time now, ticking off on my fingers the many good things about this particular month, to pretty much anyone willing to listen:

1. Two great concerts that I got to go to
2. A new Harry Potter movie
3. My birthday
4. Thanksgiving
5. A trip to London
6. Getting to see friends that I haven’t seen in months

We shall address each item in order.

1. The concerts have already happened. We saw Joan Baez at the Birchmere the first week of November. She was absolutely wonderful, telling funny stories and singing pretty much all the songs I wanted to hear. “Forty years ago, I bought you some cufflinks,” she sang on “Diamonds and Rust” during her encore, interrupting herself to say that she’d better not be singing that at fifty years. She did, however, hum the last few lines of the last verse of “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” after missing the words. We sat at one of the front tables, and Julian Bond was at the next table. Actually, after the show, Brian went to find the restroom, and came back quickly.

“Long line?” I asked

“Not too bad. But I would have been right behind Julian Bond and that made me nervous.”

I laughed at him. And told him I would tell the internet.

1b. On Monday night, we went to see Dar Williams, also at the Birchmere. This time, we were not among the youngest in the audience (Nobody was buying that I just looked really good for a 52-year-old at the Joan Baez show), which was kind of nice. Our seats weren’t quite as good, but it was still a fabulous show. I love seeing musicians enjoying themselves on stage, and Dar and her band seemed to be having a lot of fun. Girlyman opened. I’d never heard of them before, but you should definitely check them out if you’re into new folk music. We ended up buying two albums after their set. Of course, I may have been biased by the fact that they started their set with “Born at the Right Time.” I am a big sucker for Paul Simon songs.

2. Not much to say about Harry Potter. The Chron gave it a good review yesterday, and I’m excited. I need to Fandango some tickets for tomorrow night.

3. I am oddly excited about my birthday this year. The Father-in-law asked last weekend what was such a big deal about turning 27. I couldn’t come up with an answer. The Husband point out that I am like this every year. I think it amuses him, and he certainly does his best to go along with my celebratory attitude, letting me celebrate all week long. My actual birthday is on Saturday, but The Husband had flowers delivered to my office yesterday, which got me plenty of attention at work, especially as they were at first delivered to the wrong Elizabeth. In some ways I would love to be surprised by something wildly romantic for my birthday, but I am a bit of a control freak, so I take care to plan my birthday myself. Saturday I have a full day planned: we’re going out to brunch in the morning, so I can have some birthday French toast, then I am going to get a facial and pedicure, and we will go out for Mexican tapas and perhaps a pomegranate margarita or four that night with friends.

4-6. The last three are all going to happen simultaneously, so I will write about them all together, but each one is a good thing in and of itself, so I’m counting them all separately. First of all, I think Thanksgiving is a fabulous holiday. What’s not to like about a special day set aside to eat a lot and think about all the good things that are going on? Last year we spent Thanksgiving in London. My very good friend Becca from grad school married a wonderful Englishman and moved to London after we graduated. I would have objected, except she was engaged and had these plans before we got to know each other, so I didn’t really have any say in the matter. Besides, now I have a free place to stay in London. Thanksgiving seemed like a great time to go visit: she would have Americans to celebrate with, and we could use the vacation days from work. We had such a grand time that we decided we ought to go back this year. This year will be even better. Becca has been doing her best to avoid getting strep throat (she apologized for the fact that it slowed her down last year. All I could think was “That was slow? Thank god for that fever, then.), and I am going to try not to get drunk in front of her in-laws (I spent a good part of our Thanksgiving dinner giggling and saying “That was so British!” every time any of them said anything. Then I passed out on the couch and didn’t help with dishes.). As an added bonus for this year, Christie will be joining us from India. It will be a busy few days, trying to fit in plenty of sightseeing and prepare our Thanksgiving dinner, but it will be fun. We have a trip to Oxford planned, which I am very excited about.

I am looking forward to my birthday this weekend and the upcoming trip, but for now I must go try to understand price index theory. I took three semesters of economics in graduate school, so you’d think I would have some glimmer of understanding, but I got a B+ in each and every one of those classes (and was pretty proud). These things just don’t come naturally to me. I am, however, concerned that all these articles I am reading use ‘indexes’ as the plural instead of ‘indices.’ Why doesn’t that feel right to me?

Repentance

O Weather Gods,
I apologize for all the times I complained that summers in Santa Cruz (and Berkeley and San Francisco) aren't warm enough. I have sinned, but now I realize the the error of my ways. Thank you for using soaring temperatures and high humidity* to show me where I strayed from the path of righteousness.

Now cut it out. I get it already. Amen.


*It is almost 10 pm, and according to weather.com, it's 89 degrees with 80% humidity--putting the heat index at 100 degrees. That's just wrong.

Ode to Jamie

Yesterday was not my day. I had been complaining that it needed to rain for most of the week. It has been hot and humid, and the rain would break the heat, I thought. There had been occasional thunder, but no actual rain. You know how it feels when you need to sneeze but just can’t? The air had that same sort of tense, waiting need for rain.

Yesterday, it rained.

I was waiting for a bus after work when the first few drops hit. A bus came, and I didn’t even need to get out my umbrella. But by the time we got to the metro station, it was pouring. I opened my umbrella, and tried to move quickly to the metro. By the time I made it into the station, my clothes were pretty wet, in spite of the umbrella.

It was my friend Sara’s birthday, and I was meeting her, her boyfriend Jamie, and some others for a celebratory dinner and a restaurant near my house. On the metro ride home, I decided that I would call Sara and Jamie to ask if they could pick me up on their way to the restaurant. Brian was using the car that night, and normally I would walk, but I didn’t want to go in the rain.

When I came out of the metro, though, the rain had stopped. The air had cooled a bit, and it felt less humid. The ground wasn’t even very wet. I went home and threw my pants in the dryer (yay for having my own dryer!) and found a clean shirt. A little while later, dressed in dry clothes, I headed down to the restaurant, carrying my umbrella, just in case.

I walked quickly down the hill, waving to Marvin the bus driver as his bus lumbered in the opposite direction. When I hit the bottom of the hill, I had to cross over the freeway, on a pedestrian overpass. Just as I started up the ramp, another downpour began. I unfurled my umbrella and quickened my pace. As I started over the freeway, the wind picked up, and a tried to use my umbrella to block the rain coming from my left to no avail. I thought about how embarrassing it was going to be to arrive at the restaurant as wet as I had been when I reached the metro earlier, but as I neared the half-way point of the overpass, I realized I was already much wetter, in spite of being in the rain for under a minute. How did I know I was that much wetter? There was one key reason:

My pants were trying to fall off.

I was completely soaked, and my pants were so heavy with all the water that I was having trouble keeping them up. I folded my useless umbrella, held my pants up with one hand, and ran, wishing I’d worn a belt and wondering what I would do when I reached the restaurant.

I stood underneath the awning when I arrived and looked through the glass front. I could see my reflection in the window. I saw my friends having a drink while they waited for a table. I saw them noticed me and start to smile. I stood there until I saw my friend Jamie heading toward me. I motioned him outside.

“I’ll drive you home to change,” he told me, before I could say much of anything. I refrained from hugging him. No one likes to be hugged by a drowned rat. I gave him my umbrella as we hurried to his car, as any attempt to stay out of the rain seemed a little irrelevant at that point.

At one point in time, Jamie had worried that Brian would be upset with him. That was after Jamie had delivered me home in an inebriated state about three times. We had a pattern: whenever Brian couldn’t go out with the group, or wasn’t in the mood to go out, I would go, drink more than I ought to, and Jamie and Sara would make sure I got home safely. Brian was, of course, never upset with Jamie (and usually not with me, either), but simply glad I had made it home safely. Somehow, in my mind, Jamie driving me home for dry clothes was closely connected to his willingness to be my designated driver. Still, I wished I were drunk rather than soaked.

Jamie waited in the car, listening to the Red Sox game, while I ran into the house to change. I was soaked to the skin, so I shed my clothes in the bathroom and ran to my room. I dressed, and ran down the stairs. I hurried back up to loop a long scarf through my belt loops and knot it, just in case. Within 15 minutes of my first arrival at the restaurant, Jamie and I returned. It was barely raining anymore.

Sara and Jamie dropped me off at home after dinner. I went inside and sat on the couch with the cat in my lap, listening to the messages on the answering machine. The first message made me smile.

“Hey, Elizabeth, it’s Jamie. It’s pouring right now, so if you want a ride to the restaurant, just give me a call on my cell phone and all come pick you up.”

Jamie rocks.

And I am going to try not to wish for rain for the rest of the summer.