if a tree falls...

Last night I met an old high school friend for dinner, and since it's been about six years since I last saw her, we obviously had a lot to catch up on. We met for some delicious Thai, tasty, fruity drinks and about two hours of conversation. When I left her at Dupont and turned to walk down P Street, I saw the flashing lights of a cop car blocking P at 18th.

My first thought was: "Oh dear Lord...what happened?" Especially since I saw flares, no smashed cars and the yellow police tape stretched across the street.

No one seemed to be panicking, so...whatever it was, couldn't have been too bad.

As I walk down P I see the tape at 17th Street end of the block stretched out across the sidewalk on the side I was on, so I crossed over to the other side (strange to do that without having to look for oncoming traffic) and that was when I saw it: half of a tree stretched out across the street, it's leaves brushing the opposite sidewalk in a frenzy of green, possibly half the height of one of the walkups it lay in front of.

The base of the 'branch' (even though it could well have been it's own tree) was still connected to the tree and it must have happened shortly before I left my friend at Dupont, seeing as how the cop was only just setting up the flare at one end. The 17th end already had flares going and the tape secured.

It's been a very busy day so I haven't had a chance to look at news and see what exactly happened. There was one car you could see a little through the leaves, but any damage was difficult to tell. I passed one woman who commened on her car being on our side of the street, just before the tree.

But despite the danger, the trees are gorgeous and in the heat and humidity they at least provide brief respite from the sun.

recommendations

I must have slept funny last night because I woke up this morning and my back just ached. Either that or I'm just getting old. But anyway...

I do have a couple of recommendations as this weekend draws to a close.

The first is the current photography exhibition at National Geographic, from the photo camp in a Ugandan refugee camp. I went to see it with some friends yesterday and I highly recommend. What I remember most from the captions of these pictures was one girl saying that she was 17 and didn't even know how to read or write her own name. Can you even begin to imagine? Another younger child said he wanted to go to school and become a doctor, but that would never happen. That statement saddened me. Here we're taught to imagine that we can be anything we want and there's a child that wants badly to become a doctor, but at such a young age he's already abandoning his dream.

Others wondered if their parents were still alive after the Rwandan genocide which, if you know your recent history, was 13 years ago. Imagine going for over a decade knowing this horrific event happened and you had no news of what happened to your family. There was a picture of a machete describing the importance of a machete for survival but also the horror because of the damage the weapons did in Rwanda.

After taking in the photos, we sat in for the film God Grew Tired of Us, which is something I've often wondered. Not of me, but of the world. Somehow I'm inclined to think that we we do to each other today is far worse than what happened thousands of years ago when we were first almost wiped off the face of the planet with a flood (if, of course, you happen to believe that story). The film was wonderful, and I somehow managed to hold back tears for most of it, until the end.

There were a few lighter moments in the film as well. Most of these were with the relationships between the Lost Boys. One refugee who was headed to the US was discussing electricity and how he's never used it. He thought it would be very hard for him since he never used it. Imagine going through life with these things we take for granted. I have joked with my parents wondering how they managed to grow up without computers or the internet. But imagine not growing up without electricity or running water, especially when those things are available.

I think it was John Dau in the film who talked about the End Days in the Bible and how when he traveled from one camp in Ethiopia back through Sudan to another camp in Kenya that he wondered if that was what was happening, if God had grown tired of the people on Earth to make them go through what they did.

If you get the chance, I very strongly recommend watching this. I'd like to read the book but right now I've got a few in my "to read" pile and several on my shelves that I would like to reread.

Since I've already gone on long enough, my final recommendation is A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini; I finished it yesterday. I'll admit there were a few moments when I didn't want to read anymore because it was just so depressing, but I kept reading because I kept thinking that it just had to get better. The lives of these women who didn't deserve their hardships had to get better. But the writing was poignant and the story heart-wrenching. I won't go further because, again, I've gone on long enough, but suggest if you're looking for something to read, check this book out.

favorite composer

While waiting for some tea to steep, I sat down at my keyboard and practiced a little piano. I moved the lesson book and as the pages flipped back to my current piece, two words caught my eye: March Slav. Oh, I was stoked.

Those who know me should know my favorite composer. Yes, Beethoven has beautiful and powerful pieces and there's a Bach concerto that I love in its simplicity, but Tchaikovsky...well, this may sound lame, but Tchaikovsky moves me. And it's not the piece that people might think, it's the Overture. It's the March Slav (Slavic March).

Granted the piece in my lesson book is a simplified version, I still played it over and over and now I have Tchaikovsky on my stereo with a full orchestra playing the March Slav. It's...sultry, and hypnotic and powerful all at the same time.

Now...I've had several very cool experiences here in DC, some of those once-in-a-lifetime things. I've been to a few receptions with some very important people, I was on the White House lawn last summer for the welcoming ceremony for Prime Minister Koizumi (no Elvis impersonations though) and have danced for hours to top, international DJs. But the coolest experience by far was opening night for the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center and hearing the March Slav. Along, of course, with the Overture of 1812 complete with fireworks.

To anyone, anyone, who has the opportunity to go hear an orchestra perform Tchaikovsky, I say Go! Go and enjoy and be mesmerized. The percussion will get inside you and warm your blood while the strings will send chills down your spine and give you goosebumps.

Ok. I'm done. I don't think I reveal my "nerdy" side very often, but it comes out with a couple of things: books and music.

And maybe British comedy.

out of practice

The great thing about living in Washington is that everything is pretty much within walking distance. The downside is that my four-inch stilettos are not necessarily the most comfortable pair of shoes to go traipsing around down to the mall and back. In Dallas where I used to wear heels all the time there really isn't anywhere to do a lot of walking...except maybe the Galleria or from one end of the parking lot to the mall.

I do have several pairs of cute, comfortable shoes, such as my Coach tennis shoes, a pair of stylish black tennis shoes and of course, my all white Adidas for jeans and Sunday afternoons. However, I felt Sunday brunch with a good friend I haven't seen in months called for something...a little different. I wore a pair of dark wooden sandals with a three-inch heel. I figured brunch was only a few blocks away.

Now that I'm back home and wanting to give my feet the rest of the day off, I realize I may have been a little too hopeful. The decorative leather did rub a little skin off and of course, hard wood is not the best thing to stand on and walk for several blocks.

I am not the sort of girl to give up after one try. I may bring these shoes with me to work and try them around the office to break them in, eventually hoping to wear them out and about again. Besides...they're super cute and chic!

And I'm female. I'm a short female. It's the price I am willing to pay. It's like guitar. When you haven't played in awhile it hurts because your callouses are gone and you just have to wait for them to build back up...or so I'm told. I remember the first few (and only) times I played my friend's guitar, my fingers hurt very much afterwards.

for you Dad

I remember you taking down Atlas Shrugged from your bookshelf and telling me that it was "the best book I've read," and telling me that I would enjoy it just as much. Four reads later and I still love it. I love it even more when I tell you that I would like to be Dagny Taggert, and you tell me I already am.

I remember the condo and you buying your Harley and taking me out for a ride, years and years and eons after the first time I rode one and me clinging to you, terrified of the speed and the wind rushing past. And then I remember I could never get enough of riding on the back with you, wanting so badly to learn how to drive one (although...I also remember trying to support that huge bike in your garage all on my own and realizing a Harley might be a little too heavy for me).

I still remember the first time you introduced me to sushi and I wondering how on earth that little amount of food could possibly sustain anyone and how chewy octopus was (and I haven't eaten octopus since). And of course the last time I saw you was in Little Tokyo in Los Angeles over sushi after my graduation.

I only vaguely remember the old Virginia house, but my only clear memories are the late nights when I couldn't sleep and I could always find you downstairs. I can't recall my bedroom, or the living room or the kitchen of that house, but the downstairs living area I can still picture.

I like that I inheritied your quest to learn how things work, and to make it on my own and to work hard for what I want. I have to admit that I'm a little dismayed I inherited broad shoulders but without your height. Although...you've heard me complain about this nearly every time I go shopping.

When I was little, the only bedtime stories I wanted were your personal stories of a certain troublemaker. I can only imagine your confusion at being dragged through the mall, having been "blessed" with only daughters, and trying to figure out what on earth MAC cosmetics were, or listening to me try to explain why I had to have a Kate Spade wallet for my birthday. I'm sure you must have zoned out if we ever tried to discuss the merits over Armani over Versace, just as I have to admit I zoned out through all the Home Depot and Sears trips.

Dad...you survived having "girly" girls and all that entailed. You came to all my recitals: the piano, dance, band concerts..., and to many of my soccer games, even if I could never discuss football with you or tell you the purpose of a wide reciever.

I'm sure you're still bewildered where this little vegetarian girl came from.

I will think of you whenever I come across a Brugger's Bagels or hear Friends in Low Places. I think of you whenever I pick up Atlas Shrugged, the book that did change my life (Father knows best, right?). I will always think of you when I catch a whiff of Old Spice or see any little blonde haired girl dancing on her Father's toes. I still eat my pancakes in silver dollars and sometimes "city sidewalks" are the only lyrics I remember too. Sushi Awaji just isn't the same without you.

Happy Father's Day! I may not be that little blonde haired girl anymore, but I have a feeling I will always be a Daddy's girl.

women renaissance artists

First of all, I'm glad I went yesterday to the National Museum of Women in the Arts. I had thought about putting it off today, but as I sit here with my cup of coffee on my couch, I look out the window and see sheets of rain pouring down.

So I finally had a chance to go see the exhibtion of Italian Women Painters from Renaissance to Baroque. I'd recommend going, especially just to see the inside of the museum. The entrance hall and grand staircases are incredible! In the exhibition, I will say I preferred the end of it, especially the different paintings of Judith. The reason I liked these best is because the colors were so vibrant. In the beginning, the paintings were dark, and that may have been because they were mainly portraits. I think the text said something along the lines that women made their commissions from portraits, unlike male artists who were able to do these great, elaborate scenes.

The paintings and drawings were very good though, especially the skin tone. I could get the shading on colors, but skin tones always tripped me up, so I love seeing how smoothly these great painters are able to do this. But I'm still partial to the colors that almost take your breath away (there's this painting that I love seeing at the DMA because the cloaks are incredible! The light blue on the cloak is so vivid, along with this deep, rich red).

I have more to say about what I've done this weekend, but I'll end here so this post doesn't drag on. If you're looking to escape the heat and humidity, I'd suggest checking out the exhibition. The other nice thing is that even though it was a Saturday afternoon, it was kind of empty. Since it's not really by anything, there weren't many (any?) tourists. It may also have been because unlike the museums along the mall, this one has a $10 fee ($8 if you're a student, and free if you're a member).

Back to writing. I love writing on rainy days, perched in the corner of my futon with my coffee. I tend to make large pots on the weekends, aiming to spend a lot of time sitting and writing.