The Incorrigible Elliott

September 30, 2014 – The Incorrigible Elliott

Well, I knew it wouldn’t be long before Elliott was back to his old tricks.  He just doesn’t know how to stay out of trouble.  This time, however, no sharp tools were involved.  On Sunday, while I was out, he was working in the garage and wanted to get some boxes that were up on a shelf.  So he climbed up on the closest chair, which happened to be one of the flimsy folding variety – in other words, a chair fine for sitting on, but not a good substitute for a step-ladder.  As soon as he put one foot on the seat of the chair, he and the chair began to wobble.  He slipped off and the metal edge of the chair seat scraped against his leg.  Although he was wearing his khakis, the fragile skin over his shinbone split open, from just under his knee down to his ankle.

Elliott cleaned his leg at the sink, applied antibiotic ointment, stuck a line of gauze pads over the oozing blood, and wrapped it all tightly.  When I got home a few hours later, he casually mentioned that he’d had another little mishap.  He rolled up the leg of his trousers and I could see that the blood had soaked through the gauze.  The open wound, about ten inches long, was still bleeding.  I bandaged him up again and brought him to see the doctor yesterday.  It doesn’t look too serious, but we’re closely monitoring his condition for any sign of infection. 

This latest injury certainly hasn’t slowed Elliott down.  This morning, I offered to take him to Target to get a new heater for his bathroom.  He countered by requesting that I take him to Home Depot.  I’m trying to be more accommodating, so I acquiesced.  It wasn’t until we’d put the heater in our cart that I realized my dear husband had an ulterior motive in choosing Home Depot. 

First of all, some background information:  For the past several weeks, Elliott has been tearing up the downstairs flooring – carpet, padding, and then glued-on tile (of some unknown material).  It was backbreaking and very slow work.  When Elliott had removed about twenty percent of the tile, he finally agreed to stop doing the work himself.  I thought the matter was finished.  Whoever we hired to install the new floor would remove whatever remained of the tile, if necessary. 

However, as I discovered this morning, Elliott isn’t ready to give up his role so easily.  It turns out that Home Depot has an equipment rental center, and that was his destination.  Much to my chagrin, Elliott found just what he was looking for:  a pogo stick tile stripper.  Along with this item, he’d have to rent a concrete refinisher to remove the glue and roughen the surface of the concrete underneath.  While the young woman with the orange apron was showing these pieces of equipment to Elliott, I started visualizing him back at work.  It was not a pretty picture.  But I restrained myself from uttering any negative comments aloud.  

The pogo stick tile stripper

As a reward for my patience this morning, I stopped by the Pumpkin Tasting Festival at Trader Joe’s this afternoon.  From dozens of pumpkin products, I sampled several seasonal goodies, including pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin biscotti, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin-cranberry crackers with cinnamon apple goat cheese, pumpkin cereal bars, roasted spiced pumpkin seeds, and pumpkin kringle (a traditional Danish pastry).  There were pumpkin displays throughout the store, as well as pyramids of pumpkin bread mix.  I noticed even more pumpkin products in the freezer case.  The pumpkin mochi and mini-pumpkin tartlets looked tempting, but I realized how dangerous it would be to bring such sugar-laden treats into the house.  Fortunately, after all that sampling, my taste buds were so completely satisfied that not a single pumpkin product ended up in my shopping cart. 

Welcoming the New Year - 5775

September 27, 2014 – Welcoming the New Year - 5775

L’shana tova! – Happy New Year!  According to the Jewish calendar, the year is 5775.  I celebrated Rosh Hashanah in the usual fashion – festive holiday meal (thanks to my friend Cheri and her extended family), services at Beth El, and the traditional apple and honey for a sweet new year.  

  

This year, the Jewish New Year coincided with Orly Day, a private holiday that Elliott and I observe.  Orly Day, which falls on September 25, is our annual celebration of the day we met at Orly Airport in Paris.  It’s hard to believe that was 31 years ago.  We marked the occasion with a special dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants, 2941.  Despite the gloomy, drizzly weather, we enjoyed the beauty of the restaurant’s park-like setting.  Elliott was very pleased with his lamb duo (chops and tenderloin) accompanied by roasted cauliflower and robust Romesco sauce.  I was equally delighted with an appetizer of peeky-toe crab with butternut squash and Granny Smith apple and a main course of moist grilled swordfish with matsutake mushrooms on a bed of tender French lentils in a mustardy vinaigrette.  For dessert, we shared a chocolate brioche with caramelized pears, crème anglaise and toasted almond ice cream.  

Elliott - ready to dig into the lamb duo at 2941

You would think that this kind of eating would help Elliott put on a few pounds, but his weight continues to fall and he’s becoming weaker.  In addition, his back has been bothering him more frequently in the past couple of weeks.  I suspect his work tearing apart the old downstairs floor is contributing to the problem.  At least he has agreed to hire someone to take over the job.  We were out earlier today looking for tile, and we hope to begin the installation in a couple of weeks.  Before October is over, the downstairs will have a new look. 

Speaking of new looks, I decided to update my look for the new year.  Perhaps I was inspired by some old photos that I came across during the downstairs cleanup.  These pictures dated back about 10 or 12 years to a time when I had a short hairstyle.  Elliott says the shorter hair makes me look younger.  I pondered his words as I sat in class at George Mason University last week.  I hate to tell him, but if I want to blend in on campus, I’d need either a facial piercing or a tattoo, or preferably both.  Don’t worry, Elliott, I’m not ready for that yet.

However, in recent weeks, I’ve been considering a number of rejuvenating procedures.  It’s impossible to escape the consistent media barrage to maintain a youthful appearance.  Every night I hear on TV that those unsightly varicose veins are a disease that gets worse if left untreated.  I haven’t made an appointment with a vascular surgeon yet, but I’m thinking that getting rid of the spider veins on my legs would be a relatively minor procedure.  And of course, all the magazine ads tell me that my facial wrinkles (I don’t notice them when I take a quick glance in the mirror but they are quite obvious in photos) could be eliminated, at least temporarily, with Botox, or Restalyne, or some other miracle treatment.  When I examine my image more closely, I see that my neck now has lines, my eyelids seem to droop, and my cheeks could use plumping up.  Is it time for a Lifestyle Lift? 

Even my hands betray my advanced years.  My dermatologist assured me that a couple of laser sessions could take care of the age spots.   And let’s not forget the teeth.  When I visited the dentist last month to be fitted for a sleep apnea dental appliance, he suggested Invisalign braces and professional whitening.  Finally, there’s the ENT specialist who offered to reshape my nose while correcting my deviated septum. 

So far, I’ve rejected all of these options.  It’s not that I object to looking younger, but (1) I’d spend a fortune; (2) I wouldn’t necessarily be any happier than I am now; and (3) it could easily start a never-ending cycle of cosmetic improvement.  However, there is one concession to altering my looks that is not negotiable, i.e. my monthly visits to the salon to have my hair restored to its earlier natural color.  Elliott insists that I’d look fine if my hair color matched his, but I can’t imagine myself a gray-haired granny at any time in the foreseeable future.  Maybe when I’m 80 – or maybe not even then. 

Rock Creek Ramble

September 20, 2014 – Rock Creek Ramble

More than 25 years living in the DC area, and I’d never set foot in Rock Creek Park until earlier today.  Elliott, of course, has visited the park on numerous occasions.  In fact, in the 1950s, he and Marie-Claude would go horseback riding there.  However, my only view of the park had been from a car traveling along Rock Creek Parkway. 

Then I discovered an easy way to get an up-close look at the park.  I signed up for a free guided nature walk, part of the annual Walking Town DC event sponsored by the DC Cultural Tourism organization.  At ten this morning, I met up with a dozen other urban trekkers and our guide at the Cleveland Park Metro station.  We walked north a couple of blocks on Connecticut Avenue to the start of the Melvin Hazen trail, which would bring us to Rock Creek Park.  Within a couple of steps on the trail, we were in another world, a world of natural wildness right in the heart of DC.  All the noises of the city receded, replaced by bird song and the gurgling of Rock Creek.  Surrounded by dense foliage, earthy smells, and the chatter of cicadas, we made our way down a steep trail.  And this wasn’t a tame, well-groomed trail, but a rugged path strewn with rocks, roots, and fallen tree limbs.  Needless to say, it took a lot of concentration to keep my footing.  And trying to take notes on my iPhone as I walked was quite challenging.  

We crossed the creek several times.

Periodically, our guide paused to give us a mini-lesson on the history of the park.  At 1700 acres, Rock Creek Park is the largest urban park in the country.  It’s also part of the National Park system.  Originally, the land was home to Native Americans, but Europeans who arrived in the 1600s and 1700s started tobacco plantations, complete with slaves.  Once the soil had been exhausted from the tobacco, the landowners switched to corn and wheat, and built mills along the river.  The ruins of one early stone mill are still standing.  In the early 1900s, Rock Creek Park was a favorite getaway for President Theodore Roosevelt, who enjoyed bird watching and skinny-dipping there. 

At the point where the Hazen trail meets the boundary of the federal parkland, we encountered civilization again, in the form of picnic tables, restrooms, and cars whizzing past on nearby Rock Creek Parkway.  A wide asphalt path was filled with bikers and runners out enjoying the fine September morning.  But we turned off onto the Western Ridge Trail to continue our exploration.  It was on this part of our hike that I earned my klutz badge – not from tripping over a root or a rock, but from misjudging the height of a wooden step that was set into the steep section of the path.  No serious injury, just lots of dirt all over my hands and my clothes.  Anyway, now that I’m an expert Rock Creek hiker, I’ll be happy to guide anyone who wants a personal guided tour of the park. 

Getting back to nature was a great way to end a busy week.  And speaking of nature, I noticed this interesting looking plant growing in my garden.  I wonder, is it a plant or a weed?  Any gardeners out there, I’d welcome your opinion.  

Plant or weed?

I subbed at Annandale High School on Monday and Tuesday.  Getting up at 5 am wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated, and I really enjoyed my time at school, but when I came home, I was exhausted and totally useless for the rest of the day.  Maybe it’s time to consider re-retiring. 

On days I didn’t sub, I had plenty to keep me busy.  Elliott and I are continuing to work on the downstairs cleanup.  I’ve been concentrating on Matt’s former room, which was filled to the brim with stuffed animals, toys, Pokemon cards, baseball cards, swim team ribbons, math team trophies, elementary school projects, notebooks from high school, etc.  Of course, he didn’t want to get rid of anything.  Finally, I convinced him that it would be okay to discard things if I took photos of them first.  As I sorted, Elliott packed up the things we're donating and hauled out trash. 

Now that I’ve finished going through all of Matt’s belongings and cleared out his old room, Elliott can get in there and tear up some more carpet.  When he isn’t working on our project, he’s either listening to an audio book on his iPad, napping, or actively worrying.  Yes, worrying occupies a great deal of his time.  He’s always been a worrier, and this tendency has increased in recent years.  In fact, I don’t have to worry anymore, because Elliott worries for me. 

Farewell to the Corcoran

September 13, 2014 – Farewell to the Corcoran

In a city full of museums, the Corcoran Gallery of Art has held a special place in Washington’s cultural landscape since its founding more than a century ago.  Established in 1874 by the entrepreneur, philanthropist and collector William Corcoran, it was the first art museum in the nation’s capital.  To put that into historical perspective, the National Gallery wasn’t established until 1937.  From its inception, the Corcoran Gallery of Art has concentrated on American art.  In this sense, William Corcoran was a pioneer among U.S. collectors, most of whom purchased only European art. 

In recent decades, the Corcoran has struggled to cover its operating expenses.  As a private admission-charging museum, it hasn’t been able to compete with the newer (and free) government-supported institutions, such as the Smithsonian museums and the National Gallery of Art.  Furthermore, its location at 17^th Street and New York Avenue works to its disadvantage, as many tourists don’t venture beyond the National Mall and the monuments. 

Revenue provided by the Corcoran School of Art helped sustain the gallery.  But within the past year, the museum’s financial crisis became so severe that it accepted an offer from the National Gallery of Art to acquire its collection.  At the same time, George Washington University agreed to absorb the Corcoran’s well-regarded art school.  With this change in ownership, the future of the Corcoran’s landmark Beaux-Art edifice remains uncertain.   

The collection currently includes over 16,000 individual works of art.  Although its main focus is American art (from the 19^th century through contemporary art), the collection also includes 19^th and 20^th century European art, decorative arts, photography and media works.  Among its most famous paintings is Gilbert Stuart’s portrait of George Washington.  Another familiar work is Rembrandt Peale’s large-scale painting of General Washington astride his horse on the eve of the battle of Yorktown. 

At the present time, the rotunda features a site-specific multimedia (light and sound) installation entitled Loop.  This work by Jennifer Steinkamp and Jimmy Johnson was originally created for the Corcoran’s 2000 Biennial Exhibition.   

Most of the space on the museum’s second floor is devoted to a special exhibition of metal sculpture by Albert Paley.  From whimsical animal pieces to candlesticks, and from gates to free-standing sculptural pieces, Paley’s work is complex and highly original.  Soft and flowing are not characteristics generally associated with steel.  As the photos below demonstrate, Paley defies the inherent limitations of his chosen medium.

The Corcoran played an important role in the life of Elliott Thompson.  It was at the Corcoran School of Art that Elliott launched his career as an artist.  Back in 1967, right after he retired from the federal government and relocated from France to Washington, DC, Elliott enrolled in a painting class taught by visiting professor Roy Slade.  After a few months, Elliott found himself substitute-teaching the class when the professor was called out of town.  The following year, Elliott began teaching in the Corcoran’s Saturday program.  Soon he was a full-time faculty member, teaching drawing and painting.  He helped develop the foundations curriculum and directed the school’s summer program in Maine in 1979. 

Not long after he started painting seriously, Elliott began to exhibit his work.  His work was included in several group shows across the country.  In 1974, the Corcoran gave him a retrospective show featuring 48 of his works.  The last time we visited the Corcoran together, Elliott pointed out where the paintings had hung.  The Corcoran purchased some of his work although I’m not sure which pieces.   

When I met Elliott, he had already retired from the Corcoran after 13 years as a faculty member.  However, over the years, we’ve maintained friendships with several of his former Corcoran colleagues, and have closely followed the story of the Corcoran’s demise. 

At the end of the month, this venerable Washington DC cultural institution will cease to exist.  Once the Corcoran closes its doors, the National Gallery will determine which works to keep, which to exhibit, and which to sell.  Therefore, you don’t have much time to see the collection in its current setting.  By the way, one bonus of the new arrangement with the National Gallery – admission to the Corcoran is now free. 

Two Fall Poems and One Inspection Sticker

September 12, 2014 – Two Fall Poems and One Inspection Sticker 

Fall Poem #1:  Fall-ing

The darkness comes earlier
I wait longer and longer

for morning light to rouse me from slumber
Chilly dampness settles on my bare arms

as I trudge down to the street under gray skies

and pick up the newspaper in its plastic sleeve

Is it my imagination

or is the grass growing more slowly?

At the entrance to Wegman’s

the heady aroma of cinnamon brooms and pine cones

announces the impending season

with a joy I don’t share
Likewise I pretend not to see

the mountain of pumpkins at the door of Trader Joes.

As for Halloween costumes and candy?

I refuse to think about it

Back at home, I whisk away the mottled leaves

that trail me into the house

and blink away visions of bare trees
It’s only September

too soon to say goodbye to summer

I check the week’s forecast –

90s again!

Yes, but also humid,

muggy,

stifling.

Enough, I concede   

It’s time   
Bring on fall

Fall Poem #2:  Autumn Again

Fall beckons
A sky that tempts me to reach

for a canvas, brush and paint
to capture its magical shades of blue and wisps of clouds

A breeze that stirs

a crescendo and diminuendo of rustling leaves
and carries morning birdcalls through the trees

Magical mushrooms blossom like roses

on fallen logs

Behind the weathered wooden fence
Pops of ruby-toned berries splayed over vines

Tall weeds who flaunted lacy white tops all summer

are now sporting an antiqued patina

A sudden swath of wild flowers,

brilliant yellow, defying the season
They welcome a bee who alights

for a last taste of summer’s nectar

Leaves in infinite shades of amber

drift earthward
and crackle under my feet

as I walk the familiar path
These woods I know so well

are changing into their autumnal finery
as they do every year
My 64th autumn –
and it still amazes

On a more prosaic note, we finally finished playing the Car Inspection Game for this year.  But before we were able to get that precious sticker on our windshield, we had to endure two and a half hours of torture at NTB for a tire alignment and some kind of therapeutic procedure to make my headlights sparkle.  When I say it was torture, I’m not exaggerating.  Take a look at the reading options NTB provides for their customers:  Oil & Lube News, Ratchet and Wrench, Tow Times.  

I was so desperate that I actually started flipping through one of these magazines in a vain attempt to distract myself from the intense aroma of rubber tires that wafted into the waiting room.  It wasn’t easy, but we survived the ordeal, and eventually drove off in a car that was fully compliant with Virginia’s exacting standards.  The following day, I waited in line nearly two hours at the Shell station for a re-inspection, and I can now safely announce that we’re all set for one more year.

A Mostly Good Morning

September 8, 2014 – A Mostly Good Morning

I set my alarm clock for six this morning so I’d be able to get out early and be among the first at the Costco Tire Center on Sunday.  I bolted down breakfast and rushed out at 6:45 am.  Unfortunately, I was in such a foggy mental state that I had forgotten that they opened at 8 am, not 7 – a minor irritation, but it goes on negative column.  I didn’t realize my error until I arrived and found the parking lot deserted and a sign on the Tire Center door with the hours posted.  At least I’d be first in line.

I was on my own with the Sunday Washington Post for company until a couple of other early bird tire shoppers arrived around half an hour later.  By the time the Tire Center opened its doors, there were about a dozen people waiting, but I got the coveted #1 cone to display on the roof of my car.  That went on the plus side of the morning’s tally.  Also in the positive column – there was a sale on Michelin tires!  Of course, the price, even with the sale, had to go on the negative side.  

In a little over half an hour (much better than Friday’s four hour time estimate), our old Lincoln was decked out with four brand new tires –– so another positive entry.  However, Costco’s Tire Center doesn’t do alignments, resulting in another entry to the minus column and one more item on my to-do list for the week ahead. 

Overall, it was a good morning.  These tires are supposed to be good for 90,000 miles, so I'm hoping I'll never have to buy tires again.

Rejected, but not Dejected

September 6, 2014 – Rejected, but not Dejected

For years and years, maintenance of the family car was in Elliott’s domain of responsibility.  That changed in 2011.  On the verge of his 99^th birthday, the Virginia DMV declined to renew his driver’s license.  The official reason was his inability to see well enough to drive safely.  Elliott didn’t argue.  He traded in his license for a Virginia ID card, and I became the sole driver in the household.   At the same time, I also assumed responsibility for all the car-related tasks, such as filling the gas tank, getting the oil changed, taking the car in for repairs, and having the car inspected annually. 

In case you’re not familiar with our vehicle, it’s a bit of a relic – a 2001 Lincoln Town Car that was previously my mother’s car in Texas.  Although it’s 13 years old, it only has a little over 100,000 miles on the odometer.  It also has a few dings and scrapes, which don’t bother me at all.  I’ve become quite fond of the old geezer-mobile since we took possession of it in 2006.  I’m patient with its little quirks, such as not shifting into Reverse from Drive without going through Park.  I can live with the fact that it’s slightly lopsided, due to an injury suffered when it was transported from Texas to Virginia.  Sure, the floor on the passenger side gets wet whenever it rains, but I don’t mind.  I just keep the floor clear.  By now, this car is like an elderly member of the family, slowly falling apart, but still beloved. 

Its birthday is in September.  In other words, that’s the month for its annual inspection.  As usual, I wasn’t too worried about this year’s inspection.  True, the back of the driver’s seat fell off (clunk!) a few days ago.  That’s a minor inconvenience that doesn’t affect the car’s drivability.  So when I took the car out for its inspection at 7 o’clock yesterday morning, I felt certain I’d be driving home within the hour with a new inspection sticker.  However, much to my shock and dismay, the inspector handed me a rejection paper.  The reasons were spelled out (headlights not bright enough, a burned out bulb, a tire that needs replacement).  Certainly, I’ll take care of these problems as soon as possible.  But the word “rejection” stung me, especially because now I have to drive around with a incriminating sticker on my windshield, advertising my failure to the entire world. 

Perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I took this rejection very personally.  Immediately afterwards, I drove over to Costco, thinking I’d be driving out with brand-new tires in half an hour or so.  After all, how long could it take to put four tires on a car?  Ha!  Four hours, they informed me.  No!, I wanted to scream.  Four hours roaming the aisles of Costco?  Instead, I drove off in desperation. 

I felt an urgent need to change the trajectory of the day.  So, what did I do?  Retail therapy at the mall?  Ah, I had a better idea:  Wegman’s, which just happens to be down the road from Costco, and right on my way home. 

Wegman’s is my idea of paradise.  There were only a few necessities on my grocery list, but I decided to get myself a special treat or two.  After all, you can’t feel guilty about buying something if it’s edible, right?  After I picked up some organic kale and Elliott’s favorite baked goods, I wheeled my cart over to the bulk tea aisle to browse.  My spirits rose as I filled five little bags with samples of Yuzu Sencha green tea, Uji Gyokuro green tea, Genmaimatcha green tea, decaffeinated tangerine green tea, and white guava tea – all for the unbelievably low price of five dollars!  As soon as I got home, I prepared a cup of Genmaimatcha and brought it outside to the driveway to check on the car’s state of mind.  The rejection sticker stared back at me.  But the tea’s vivid green color and the toasty aroma invited me to put everything into perspective.  With the first sip, the pain from the day’s rejection started to melt away.  After all, there’s always another day to go to Costco for tires.  Then my old car will be good for another year on the road.  

Labor Day 2014

September 1, 2014 – Labor Day 2014

It happens every year.  Labor Day weekend rolls around, and my subconscious shifts into anxiety mode.  I’m okay during my waking hours, but in my dreams, I can’t escape the conditioning that two decades as a teacher instilled in me.  The day after Labor Day is the day that students return to school in Fairfax County.  If I were still teaching, I’d have a good reason to feel anxious.  And even though I’m now retired, I dreamed last night of running around the school looking in vain for my classroom, trying – and failing – to get to class on time in a very unfamiliar building, searching desperately for my colleagues, listening to my students speak in unknown languages, worrying about when I’d get a chance to use the restroom – I was exhausted by the time I woke up from these nightmares!  Thank goodness it’s Labor Day.  I’ll try to take it easy today. 

And speaking of Labor Day, Elliott doesn’t understand the meaning of the holiday.  I tried to explain that Labor Day is a day when you take time off from work, but he seems to think that it’s a day to labor.  Consequently, he spent several hours downstairs scraping up glue from the floor.