The Other Washington 1, or Places Where Home Lives

I arrived in DC quite early, so Abby and Sarah gave me instructions to meet them at a coffee shop several blocks from the metro. I got off the train, and dutifully followed their directions, only to find myself lost after marching several blocks. A straight, white couple about my parents age passed me, and must've seen the troubled look on my face, because as soon as they passed me, I heard:

"Hey! Kid! You lost?"

Despite the fact that no one's called me 'kid' in years, I turned around, sized them up, decided to trust them, and said, "Yup, I'm looking for the coffee place."

"Oh," said the man, his beard and ponytail swaying in the wind, "you're going in the wrong direction. Follow us."

I kept a step or two behind them as we walked, not listening to them, until the man turned around again.

"So, welcome to DC! Is this your first time?" he asked.

"Nope," I said cheerfully, hoping to convey a simultaneous sense of city smarts and knowledge of my whereabouts.

"Funny," he answered "I could've sworn you were some nice farm girl from Minnesota, escaping to the big bad city."

I laughed. "No," I said, "I'm from Seattle, and am very much a city girl these days. I'm on a book tour."

"A book tour!" he cried. "What kind of book have you written?"

"It's my first collection of poetry," I answered.

"No kidding," he said, peering at me over his glasses. "What do you think of Garrison Keillor?"

The question threw me a little. Garrison Keillor, for those not born in this country, or under a rock in this country, hosts a Minnesota-based NPR show called Prairie Home Companion, and is a noted storyteller and humorist. He also published a book called "Good Poems," which do, as promised, contain a bunch of good poems, but hardly anything contemporary, and most of it pretty mainstream stuff. I guessed that maybe my guide to Bethesda wasn't convinced that I was really not from Minnesota, and suspected me to be a relation of Garrison Keillor's.

"Well," I began, "I think he's a fabulous storyteller, but has boring taste in poetry."

At this, the wife cracked up. "Ha!" she said to her husband, "Twenty-five years, and it takes a stranger on the street to keep up with you!"

The husband wasn't fazed. "Oh yeah?" he asked me. "What makes you say that?"

I told him my thoughts, to which he replied, "Oh, you young people, no respect for your elders."

"Oh, really," I said. "That'd explain why I majored in Shakespeare and wrote my thesis on Milton in college, right? No respect for my elders?"

The wife howled. The husband grinned. Then both of them stopped and indicated we'd reached the coffee shop.

"Good luck on your tour," she called as I schlepped my big duffel bag up the stairs.

*****

Abby and Sarah live in a sunny fourth floor apartment with a gas stove and a comfortable-enough couch, which means I've been too content to write for a few days. We've been having dinner parties (menu: sauteed greens, brussels sprouts, couscous and sweet potatoes with apple and onion chutney), shopping for a make-your-own sushi party we're hosting this afternoon, and celebrating Purim by baking Hamentaschen and going to a Purim spiel at their shul. The spiel was hilarious, and featured all the songs from "My Fair Lady" set to the Purim story, which offered an interesting take on assimilation, as well as offerings such as "Just You Wait, Achasverosh" and "Get Me To The Feast On Time."

I started writing a poem in Vashti's voice, telling the story form her point of view. It's dark. It's scary. I really like it so far.

Being at Abby and Sarah's doesn't remind me of Smith, but it does remind me that there are easy places outside my own home. I fit in here. I take over the kitchen and don't feel self-conscious about leaving my toothbrush in the bathroom.

Friday night, Martina and Joel came over for dinner, and today, the three of us had brunch. Martina and I spent some time beforehand at the Dupont Circle farmer's market, in a sweet replica of our near-weekly date to the farmer's market in Seattle. We sampled fresh cheese, pastries, sausage, cider, crab cakes, apples, milk and bread. And, of course, there was plenty of fresh produce to be had. Spring is almost here. I see asparagus and strawberries on the horizon,

not to mention cherry blossoms.

Tomorrow, I head for Philadelphia. With any luck, I'll get to update from the magical internet bus!