Art and Anniversary 2015

For our 21st anniversary this year, we made the quinquennial pilgrimage to Washington, DC, one of the few cities we seem to go back to on a regular basis.

We flew out early Thursday afternoon, direct to National Airport. The airline offered us an upgrade to first class (for an additional fee), which we decided to take advantage of as a treat. I could get used not waiting in line and not having to squeeze all six foot plus of me into a space barely meant for someone half a foot shorter. But I'm not quite sure about having the flight attendant call me by name, though I think she was mystified that I didn't partake of any of the offered food or beverages. I spent my time with my nose buried in notebook (the old school kind) organizing four poems from our fall color trip in October. I'm glad I let those lines settle since the fall. I think there is something there. A great way to start the vacation.

Having our luggage first off the plane, another perk, meant we could get out of the airport before rush hour on the George Washington Parkway. One of the advantages of having driven from Rockville to Crystal City for work when we lived there is knowing a pleasant back way to the hotel that didn't involve the Beltway.

We found the Residence Inn tucked away on a dead-end road in Tysons Corner. Because it was nestled among mid-rise office building, it was amazingly quiet despite being a quarter mile from a major artery. It had a number of restaurants within walking distance, from a Subway to sushi to Thai to Mediterranean to Indian. As well as a fireplace in the room, a hot breakfast, and a Metro station on the new Silver line within walking distance. Pretty much ideal for us.

That night we hopped over to Tysons Corner Center. Even though it's not the Galleria, it makes Tampa’s International Plaza look a bit low-rent. We poked through a few of stores we don't have nearby, including LL Bean and Levengers, but nothing really caught our eye. We ended in a two story Barnes and Noble. Karen found a couple crochet books but for me it was pretty much a bust. When we were last there, I picked up a few science fiction titles not available locally. The intervening years have not been kind, at least to the sections I'm interested in. But that's been true of every B&N I've been in recently. Finding anything decent to read there has become a challenge. So I left empty-handed and feeling like I no longer belonged there. Thankfully, that wouldn't last.

We awoke to find snow accumulating on the grass and cars. Both of us would have been happy if that kept up all day. But after breakfast, snow gave way to sleet then freezing rain then just rain. At 30-something with a steady wind, it wasn't exactly a pleasant day for walking around the National Mall. But one of our destinations wasn't open on the weekend so off we went.

Our first stop was the World Bank InfoShop. What I wouldn't give to have one of these nearby. They focus on economics, social and cultural issues, development and infrastructure along with international fiction, all in mid-sized suite. Plus they offer a 10% discount to government employees. I could have spent a fortune there. It would have taken me a year to read everything that caught my eye. I restrained myself to three books, Smart Cities, Townsend; Poor Economics, Banerjee and Duflol and Americanah (a novel), Adichie. Karen picked up Behind the Beautiful Forevers, Boo.

Next we popped across the street to Reiter's Professional Books. I first ran across them in 1989/90 on travel for work. I think this is their third location since then. It is amazing how small their new location is after the expanse of the previous two. I hope they continue to survive. There I picked up Business of Civil War (DR Congo), Kabamba. I almost picked up a book on neuroanthropology, another on probability in finance and a third on innovations in financial vehicles but all were a bit more technical than I wanted. How often do I get to say that? Karen bought Extinction, Erwin; and Human Nature and the Evolution of Society, Sanderson. She wasn't afraid of going deep.

From there we made the hike past the White House to the National Gallery of Art. Our only agenda was to revisit some old favorites, a couple Vermeers, some 17th century Dutch still lives, Thomas Cole's Voyage of Life series and Dali's Last Supper. Once again, the Dali had moved to a new location, its third. They had rearranged the 17th century gallery as well so we caught a number of Spanish, German and Italian works we hadn't seen before, some of which we came back to. We also checked out a number of Renaissance books and bronze sculptures. We bailed out by mid-afternoon, both to avoid rush hour on the Metro and because we had an early dinner reservation for our anniversary.

To celebrate, we’d opted for Fleming's Steakhouse which was less than a mile away. We'd eaten there once before in Orlando, about ten years ago for our anniversary. It was good enough that we wanted to go back. This time didn't disappoint either. Butternut squash ravioli, tender filet mignons, grilled asparagus, signature potatoes, then coffee and berries and fresh whipped cream for dessert. And of course wine. Perfect food and service, just like the last time. Yet still odd being called by name by a waiter (because of the reservation). I think we spent more on tip than on many sit-down meals we eat out anymore. Strange living this highlife even for a day. But Karen's worth it.

And what better way to end the evening than at a Wal-Mart. But a Tysons Corner Wal-Mart. With paid parking. You know, to keep the riff-raff out. But we still didn't find what we were looking for, which was wood for the fireplace. So we settled for what the hotel had to offer in their mini-shop. Which was enough for ambiance. Plus some green tea and chocolate. A perfect end to the evening.

The next day we opted to do our driving. Driving the Maryland back roads and the Virginia hills along the Georgetown Pike outside the Beltway was quite scenic. I could see living out there. Maybe if we hit the lottery. A warm, sunny day with a high of 62. Quite a change from the day before.

First up was Politics and Prose, a well-curated independent bookstore in DC proper, not far from where Karen used to work (I could tell you, but then, well, you know). As their name implies they focus on politics, history and general fiction, but had a full selection in all the other sections as well. One of the best organized bookstores we've visited in quite some time, replete with staff recommendations. Only one book for me, Wired for Story, Cron (the neuroscience of storytelling). Karen picked up two by Maraget Atwood, The Penelopiad and the Blind Assassin. That put her two ahead!? Usually, I'm the one who loads up.

Then we headed for Great Falls National Park along the Potomac where we hiked two to three miles along the river. We've been there several times before but never walked that far up the river. Our timing was perfect as there weren't too many people when we arrived. By the time we left, all the parking lots were nearly full and there was a line of cars at the entrance. The river was high but not as high as we've seen it. The falls were dynamic, as were the jumble rocks we climbed over to see them. Karen got her geology moment.

Next up was the Udvar-Hazy annex of the Air and Space museum out by Dulles Airport. This is the hanger where they display a huge number of planes, along with a few satellites and other space artifacts. Highlights were the space shuttle Discovery (mammoth), the Enola Gay (bittersweet to see), and an F14 Tomcat (an inspiration for Aluria's Tale). Interesting to see all of them up close.

Our final stop for the day was the Game Parlor, a well-stocked gaming shop we'd run across a couple visits ago which is still thriving unlike many of its brethren. They had a full house of tables running various games, from what looked like Napoleonics to fantasy miniatures to several collectible card games. And, no, we weren’t' the oldest people in there. For the first time, we didn't pick anything up other than two ideas for board game expansions we wanted to look up before we committed to. By then we were pretty fried so crawled back to the hotel, navigating by memory and feel when the phone (with our GPS) like us ran down.

That night we walked up the street to Bombay Tandoor for chicken Tikka Masala and Butter chicken with rice and nan. Definitely acceptable, though not quite Gateway to India at home which has become our gold standard. And because we had a fridge, we brought leftovers back to the hotel.

For our final full day, we opted to head back to the National Mall. That day was cooler with a high of fifty-something and breezy but sunny. Still scarf weather early. Not bad for street hiking four plus miles on the Mall. We saw the MLK Memorial (which was beautifully done), the Korean War Memorial (much more powerful than the WWII Memorial which left me underwhelmed), the Vietnam Women's Memorial and the Wall, the Einstein Memorial (which has some very cool Easter eggs), Constitution Gardens, and then back to the National Gallery. Along the way, we found the only four cherry trees in bloom, tucked away in a sheltered area near the DC WWI Memorial. So pretty and subtly fragrant. We keep getting lucky in finding them off peak.

We spent the afternoon crawling through nearly every section of the National Gallery. The day's highlights included. Green Wheat Fields, Van Gogh; the portrait of Ginevra de' Benci, da Vinci; Departure and Return, new Thomas Cole's from the Corcoran that the National Gallery inherited; Still Life with Ham and others, Garrit Heda; Interior of St. Peters, Rome, Panini; Interior of Oude Kerk, Amsterdam, Emanuel de Witte.

The last two paintings are two cathedrals, one Italian (18th century), one Dutch (17th century). One Catholic, one Protestant. Both captured various elements of their societies. But you can see from the de Witte why the Protestants were considered so irreverent. And from the Panini why the Catholics were considered so hypocritical. I almost want prints of each to hang in the office.

And the two new Cole's... wow. He works really well in series. We kept shifting back and forth between the two to figure out the landscape, the time of day, and the common elements. Another pair I'd love to hang somewhere. Just the framing would set us back.

No swag unless you count the guard at the National Gallery offering to hook us up with some paintings if we picked them out and built a climate controlled place to store them, say in Hawaii. Our shade tree mechanic of art dealers. Oh, yeah, I think I could find some room for a couple in the back hall.

Dinner that night was leftover Indian and the last of the miscellaneous munchies we'd brought along.

The next morning, we opted to hang out in the hotel room until checkout rather than rushing to the airport and trying to take in Arlington Cemetery. That will have to wait for another trip. So after five memorials, three bookstores, two museums, one game store and one national park later, we headed home with fifteen books (only three of which came up with us. How does this happen? When a mommy book really loves a daddy book...). We'd upgraded our tickets to first class on the way home, too, which made for a more relaxing end to the trip. We even snuck in a visit to Legal Seafood for lunch at the airport, including their incredible New England clam chowder.

A good, if quick, trip to reacquaint ourselves. Honestly, I could see us living up that way again at some point. The change of seasons, the topography, and the balance of wood, water and stone are all appealing. As is the proximity to so many museums and so much culture.

In contrast by the time we returned, all trees here were fully leafed out. After the sparse landscape with only buds up there, the park looked so close and very green. But Nyala and Mara were very glad to have us home. As always Nyala took some convincing by her dad-cat to come out of hiding. She’s been staying close the past two days to make sure I don’t leave again.

© 2015 Edward P. Morgan III

Sinking (Spring Equinox 2015)

Sinking (Spring Equinox 2015) - a reading (on YouTube)


My junior year of college, most of my annually shifting set of dorm-mates were certified divers. Spring break that year, they planned a trip down to the Florida Keys to do some reef diving. I wasn’t a diver and wasn’t much for boating but I love being in the water. So I tagged along with fins and a mask to snorkel.

As soon as we were all free, eleven of us packed into four cars, drove down to Key Largo and camped out by the beach. The next morning, we rented a boat, a fiberglass, center console fisherman just over twenty feet long. We paid for a set number of hours in advance. One guy’s parents were vacationing from England and graciously put up the deposit even though they weren’t coming with us.

All of us piled in the boat, loading fifteen to twenty dive tanks in the back. A lot of people and a lot of gear but it was cleared by the rental company. My roommate Dick was the boat-master. He’d done this type of thing before.

It was a beautiful Florida spring day, warm and sunny without much wind. We motored to John Pennekamp State Park about four miles offshore. Once we were over the reef with fifteen to thirty feet of water below our keel, we ran up a dive flag. My other roommate, Tracey, set our anchor in a large sandy patch between banks of coral so we wouldn’t drift.

We spent most of our time in the water, keeping an eye on the clock for when the boat was due back. None of us was in a hurry. Being poor college students, we all wanted to get the most time for our money. Mid-afternoon, a tourist dive ship pulled up and held station half a mile or more away, playing hide and seek on the edge of our vision for the rest of the day. Seemed like we’d picked a decent spot.

The water was crystal clear and teeming with fish and other sea life. The coral was colorful, densely layered and healthy, at least as far as I could tell. I spent most of my time chasing schools of fish, struggling off and on to get my ears to clear. For me, the freedom and solitude of the water was a subtropical paradise. I tried to stick close to the boat, but now and then found myself swept up by a current and farther away than I would have liked. The seas were mostly calm so swimming back to it wasn’t too much of a problem. The sun was warm but not hot, a pleasant contrast to the cool but not cold water.

By late afternoon, a couple of us noticed the boat had begun riding lower in the water. Initially, Dick wouldn't listen to our concerns. We pestered him until he finally saw for himself that the boat was losing ground, or rather gaining water. He tried the bilge pump but couldn’t get it to fire. He thought maybe the boat was self-draining. So even though we still had divers in the water, he decided to try and get it up on plane to see if it would empty.

When it wouldn't, his expression hardened to concern. But Dick figured if he could keep the boat moving, we’d probably be ok. That meant heading back to shore.

Back on station, he cut the engine and we scrambled to get everyone out of the water. Most of our divers had surfaced, wondering why their ride had fired up for a high speed spin in a long, lazy circle. We frantically called to the divers on the surface and told them to relay the signals to anyone underwater. We were met with much reluctance and confusion. Even though the sun was drifting toward the horizon, we still had plenty of time left on our rental.

By now the boat was riding really low, lower than it had been before. Suddenly, a sense of urgency crept into getting everyone on board. Two guys stood by the back ladder physically pulling each diver and his gear from the water. Tanks and equipment were quickly stowed. With each extra pound of weight added, the boat sank a little deeper. Water climbed a little higher up the side.

I hovered by a gunwale trying to keep out of the way. Everyone was shouting instructions and advice, including me. I focused on getting people into lifejackets, but no one was inclined to listen. They all thought that once we got underway, we’d be fine. Remember those airline lectures about securing your own oxygen mask before helping others? There’s a good reason for that instruction. Once the chaos starts, you just might not have time.

As the last diver heaved his tank onto the dive platform, Dick frantically tried to restart the engine. It just made that rurr-rurr-rurr sound like a car with a battery that was nearly dead. Someone shifted from port to starboard to make room for the new arrival. The deck tilted beneath our feet. Suddenly, water started pouring over the gunwale. And the deck didn’t stop turning.

I dove clear before the sea completely eclipsed the sky. Like a wounded U-boat evading depth charges, our little boat shot straight for the bottom. Tanks and dive gear fluttered away from it on the way down like false markers for an enemy destroyer, or the trail of jetsam that would eventually lead to the rediscovery of our miniature Titanic.

The first thing I remember doing as I broke the surface was cursing, and then swimming. I still hadn’t donned my own lifejacket before the boat had transitioned to a mortally wounded submarine. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what was Plan B?

In front of me, I spotted a string of lifejackets quickly drifting away. So I power stroked after them, throwing one then another then another toward the confused and angry voices behind me. I recovered maybe five before the current dragged the remainder out of reach. I was afraid if I continued after them, this time I wouldn’t make it back. Though I did remember to save the last one for myself. I wouldn’t need to learn that lesson twice.

When I finally looked back to evaluate our situation, I found our group was strung out in a long, ragged line. A quick headcount showed we hadn’t lost anyone. But we were four miles off shore with thirty feet of water between us and the boat that had settled on the sandy bottom. I don’t think there was a radio onboard not that it mattered now. But I didn’t remember anyone calling mayday. We had no flares or strobe lights. Maybe half of us had on lifejackets. At least we knew all of us could swim. Some of the guys still had on their fins.

Some days, it’s better to be lucky than good. Before we had bobbed there very long trying formulate what exactly to do next, that tourist dive ship we’d been playing hide and seek with on the horizon came charging toward us. Someone must have seen us flounder. We found out later they’d just been bringing up the last of their divers when they’d seen us heel over. In another fifteen minutes, they would have been headed back to port. And we would have had to hone our meager survival skills at sea.

The dive ship started pulling our people from the water. I don’t remember where I fell in order; I wasn’t the first but not the last. Only a couple strangers offered us towels, snacks or even condolences. Most just gave us dirty looks or disgusted glares. The crew completely avoided us once they’d fished us out.

A second boat materialized and began rescuing the remainder of our people. They’d heard the dive ship’s mayday and come running. A few minutes later, a third, smaller boat appeared with a trio of divers about our age. My roommates began coordinating with them on salvaging our gear, shouting back and forth across the water.

Once we were all safe and dry, the dive ship’s captain became anxious to get back to port, his maritime duty done. The trio on the smaller boat said they’d finish hauling up our scattered equipment. Contact information was exchanged so we could connect with them on shore. I’m not sure in that moment whether the trio’s intentions were entirely honorable. Or perhaps they were and it was only later that opportunity called them like a siren’s song. Regardless, they seemed friendly as they said they’d return our equipment, no problem. And we had bigger issues anyway, like explaining to the rental company why we were coming back without their boat.

On the journey back, we huddled together like refugees in stunned and embarrassed silence. Thankfully, the dive ship was half empty that day. Everyone left us to our thoughts. That was when the enormity of the situation began to settle in. What the hell had just happened?

On shore, our odyssey was not quite over. The rental company insisted whatever had happened was completely our fault. First they said we’d overloaded the boat, even though they’d approve the number of passengers and equipment. Then they changed tack, saying it must have been something else we’d done. They threatened to confiscate our deposit and make us pay damages. We shot back that their boat had sank out from under us, and their bilge pump had never worked. We were the aggrieved party.

As both sides argued back and forth, their salvage company motored in at twilight with our boat in tow. They’d managed to float it off the bottom without incident, which didn’t exactly help our case. A quick inspection revealed no cracks. In the end we all agreed that assignation of blame would have to wait until they ran a test on the hull. We’d meet again in the morning.

Our next stop was to pick up our gear from the trio of divers. When we finally caught up with them at their condo, they’d decided they deserved a finder’s fee. They returned our fins, masks and snorkels as promised, but wanted hundreds of dollars for the tanks and regulators they could pawn. Money we certainly didn’t have and couldn’t get. Technically, it was all maritime salvage so they had the right to it. Legally, anyway.

Around ten at night, after heated negotiations back and forth, my roommate Tracey tried to play the peacemaker. He identified the most reluctant member of the triumvirate and drew him aside. They talked quietly in the darkness away from the rest of us for a little while. They might have gotten down on a knee to pray. I learned later that Tracey invoked their common Christianity.

Whatever argument Tracey used, the third guy eventually agreed to spring our gear. He’d wait for the other two to leave and then let our people into the condo so we could pick it up. Ironically, he planned to tell his partners they’d been robbed. About one in the morning we got the call, and our guys picked up their equipment. With that we were halfway home. Hopefully no one came looking for us.

The next morning, we all held our breath as the rental company hoisted the boat and began filling it with water. Our hearts began to sink when no cracks miraculously appeared. Then, drips and runnels began forming beneath the fiberglass surface, first sporadic then steady. A spider web of hairline cracks slowly revealed themselves as if written in invisible ink and exposed to a secret element. We all smiled, feeling vindicated. While the company argued they shouldn’t have been enough to sink the boat, they eventually returned our deposit and cut us loose from all liability. They were probably lucky none of us decided to sue.

Before they could change their mind, we quickly piled back into our cars and crawled home, licking our wounds and thanking all the gods of the sea that events hadn't unfolded much differently. At least some of us anyway.

Back at school, bravado took over as we talked about the incident. A handful of our divers insisted we’d never been in any real danger. They were confident that they could have swum back to shore and gotten help even though land was out of sight. I disagreed. I’d swum a mile in controlled conditions on an open lake and knew exactly how tiring it was. Four miles is the type of distance that gets people killed if they've never done it. None of them had. Never mind currents, darkness and disorientation. Or dehydration, exposure and the risk of separation. Had it come to that, the odds were maybe fifty-fifty that not all of us would have made it back.

I’ve always known exactly how lucky we all were that we never had to place that bet. Even thirty years later, I can’t forget the sensation of having a once stable world twist and slip from beneath me. Or that detached feeling of being kid swimming in water way over my head, knowing that whatever happened or however tired I got that I wouldn’t be able to touch. Or seeing the sun sinking toward the horizon as we floated without direction, resigned to spending a night or longer on the open sea.

Looking back, it strikes me that boats are like the equinox, a finely-tuned balance of air and water, one of man’s early engineering marvels. But no matter how idyllic your surroundings, it always pays to be prepared in case wind or weather turn against you. Because should a spider web of cracks upset that equilibrium, water and gravity always win.


© 2015 Edward P. Morgan III