Known and Unknown: a sojourner finds community in DC

I'm at the barre in The Washington Ballet School's bright, spacious studio, taking class along with a scattering of other middle-aged students. Caught up in the moment of doing ronds de jambes, I almost don't notice the teacher walking along the students offering corrections.

As he comes to me, he slightly adjusts my arm.

"I like your practice," he says. "I've told you that before."

I don't take ballet looking for praise: I take it because I love it. Which is good, because I'm not really that good!

But to be recognized--and remembered--now that means a lot to me.

***

One of the disorienting things about temporarily living here in DC has been anonymity. When you move to a new place, nobody knows who you are. Instead of being a college professor and writer, a Sunday School teacher and "good listener," a dancer and friend and alto and cat lover, in DC I became, well, Nobody.

And that can be a bit disconcerting.

During my first few weeks--or maybe couple of months--in DC, these lines from an Emily Dickinson poem kept repeating themselves in my mind:

I’m Nobody! Who are you? 

Are you – Nobody – too? 

Without a job and without people who knew me, I was "Nobody" here, with no responsibility to anyone, no attachments, no schedule. 

OK, that can be a very good situation in some ways.  Friends at home would tell me how much they envied my unemployed, uprooted state--especially here in beautiful Washington DC. I could run around and visit museums all day (a very anonymous activity!) without having to worry about work or responsibilities.

Being Nobody, I could fly under the radar. And in those ways, I did love the freedom of being Nobody. 

But at the same time, I also felt unattached, a bit unmoored. It didn't seem to matter what I did here--which can be an odd feeling. I realized that I wanted to do things that DID matter.

It was the experience of being Nobody in DC that made me realize how much community means to me.

***

It's one of the bonding experiences of exercising in public: using locker rooms with other women and engaging in conversations while showering. Reminds me of college.

On this particular day, it's a conversation about the women who are training for a Senior Swim Meet. I see them timing themselves and following workout plans in the lap lanes. I've just mentioned that I'm impressed by their diligence.

"But you swim laps, too, don't you? I see you here a lot," says one of the women to me.

I point out that I do swim laps, but I'm not training for a race. "Too slow!" I laugh.

But inside, I'm pleased that someone has noticed and remembered me. I thought I was anonymous--Nobody--at the pool. But how could I think that? Pauline, who checks people in at the entrance, now waves me through without even looking at my I.D. I'm a regular.

***

In the rest of her poem, Emily Dickinson has some scathing words for people who think they're Somebody.

How dreary – to be – Somebody! 

How public – like a Frog – 

To tell one’s name – the livelong June – 

To an admiring Bog!

I'm not enough of an Emily Dickinson scholar to know if her poem means that she likes being Nobody. She did live a reclusive lifestyle . . . on the other hand, she carefully preserved her poems and shared them with people whose opinions mattered to her. She wanted to be Somebody to them.

How much better to be Somebody by having people remember your name without having to tell it "the livelong June."

***

"Andy's here today again," says Margot as I walk into the Capitol Hill United Methodist Church  kitchen one Tuesday morning, grabbing my dishwashing gloves and pulling an apron off the hook. It's time for community breakfast, and I'm ready to work.

"Hi Jane," calls Andy, who's already busy spraying off cutting boards and stacking them into a rack for the dishwasher.

"Hey Andy. You're already busy!" I say, putting on the apron and pulling on the gloves.

"Yeah, might as well get started. Hey, my wife, Amy, said she met you at the Zambia fundraiser."

"Yes, we were there! We sat by Amy!" I plunge a few pans into the big tub of sudsy water, scrub and then stack them on another rack. Andy and I move comfortably around each other in the dishwashing area. I have a routine; he does, too.

Later, after we've helped serve breakfast to about 40 of our "housed and unhoused neighbors," we head back into the kitchen to start washing up the plates, cups, silverware. One of the men who's often at breakfast, Nathaniel, comes by to drop off his dishes.

"Thanks Nathaniel," I say. "Did you enjoy breakfast?"

He says something, but I can never understand him. I gather he struggles with mental illness. I just listen and smile at him. Eventually, he stops talking and just stands quietly, watching me wash dishes.

Rob comes up with a big pile of plates and cups. "Hey Nathan, are you bothering Jane?"

"No, he's fine," I say, stacking more cups into a tray. "He's just keeping me company." Nathaniel stays while I continue to wash dishes.

***

Are these my communities in DC? A group of church volunteers working in a kitchen and an assortment of homeless people who struggle with mental illness? A class of middle-aged and older women, clumsily trying to become better at ballet? A racially diverse assortment of women of all shapes and sizes who exercise, encourage one another, and chat together at a public pool?

Maybe they are.

***

I'm back at church in the evening. At a gathering of the Tuesday Theology group, the five of us--Kari, Margot, Rob, James, and Dallas--have been discussing the Catholic theologian and humanitarian Jean Varnier. I've never heard of him before this evening. His theology emphasizes the importance of humility, openness, and vulnerability in community. We've been posing difficult questions and working through them together--many of the questions tie to our work at the community breakfast.

What do we do when someone in a community doesn't want to be part of the community, James wonders. We all know who he's talking about: a particular person who comes to the community breakfast who's difficult to get along with. We think aloud, ponder, ask more questions, circle back to humility, openness, vulnerability. Finally, we finish with prayer and reluctantly move toward the front door of the building: it's time to go.

"Keep an eye on your walls," says Dallas.

Before our meeting started, we'd been discussing the flooding that my husband and I had in our lower-level apartment just before the evening meeting.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"The ground is saturated. If it rains again, those walls will bulge. That's what happened back in the Rapid City flood: the concrete blocks got pushed in and the walls collapsed."

"Oh no!" I exclaim. "Don't tell me that, Dallas! I won't be able to sleep!"

Everyone laughs together, including Dallas, as we head out into the quiet night, filled with theology, laughter, and community.

***

Keeping Jean Varnier's challenges to humility in mind I decide that maybe I am just Nobody. Which can be good, right? I'm not a dreary Somebody, "public--like a Frog. " I'm an Emily Dickinson-like Nobody, known to some other Nobodies: "Are you--Nobody--too?"

We're a community of Nobodies, because we are Somebody to one another. I like the idea.

As Dickinson says, "Don't tell! they'd advertise--you know."

Five great spots to bird in DC

DC Audubon Society logo--the Wood Thrush is the official bird of DC

A densely-populated city like Washington might not seem like a good place for birding. But it's surprising how many lovely places there are to see birds.

And you don't have to go alone. Early in my temporary residence in DC I discovered the DC Audubon Society. The group leads free bird walks each month, all in the District, and promoted on the group's Facebook page. The leadership is all young, energetic, and welcoming. They're even in the news: the group's president Zach Slevin was on the Kojo Naamdi Show recently, talking about birding in DC.

For a casual birder like me, the company of the DC Audubon Society members was delightful. Whenever I go birding with experts like them, I learn so much and see more than I would if I were alone.

But if you're ready to go on your own, here's a list of places to see birds in DC. I've even listed what I saw on particular dates--you can check ebird to see what more experienced birders are seeing in these locations, too!

The first three locations are easily accessible by transit, and the remaining two are a quick Uber or Lyft ride away from residential areas. Grab your binoculars and fire up your favorite birding app and head out to . . .

1.  U.S. Botanic Garden National Garden--just to the west of the conservatory between the Capitol and the National Mall.

Didn't see "interesting" birds when I visited the USBGNG, but sparrows and Cedar Waxwings were bathing in this water feature.

Getting there: We live in Capitol Hill, so a .9 mile walk for us. It's just a short .5 mile walk from the Capitol South Metro station (Red line).
Advantages: easy to walk to from our house, water features.
Disadvantages: small, crowds can frighten away birds
Visit: Saturday morning, April 28
Birds I saw: Cedar Waxwings, sparrows, robins, northern mockingbird, goldfinches.

2. Theodore Roosevelt Island

Theodore Roosevelt Island used to be an estate of some sort. Now it's recovering wild land.

Getting there: It's a .6 mile walk from the Rosslyn Metro station (Orange, Silver, and Blue lines).
Advantages: you can take the Metro almost all the way there, which is what I did; it has water + trees
Disadvantages: noisy--airplanes, highways; rather scraggly forest.
Visit: Thursday, April 26 in the afternoon.
Birds I saw: eastern kingbird, blue-gray gnatcatcher, pair of white-throated sparrows, goldfinch, yellow-rumped warbler (a.k.a. the butter-butt).

Someone got a photo of a yellow-rumped warbler. See why it's called the butter-butt?

Also at TR Park: stripey lizard of some sort and deer. And two pairs of retired birders.

3. National Arboretum

With the DC Audubon Society, February 17, at the National Arboretum

Getting here: No nearby Metro stations. The B2 bus goes up Bladensburg, within a couple blocks of the arboretum.
Advantages: easy to get to, quiet, huge, lots of different terrain and vegetation, beautiful.
Disadvantages: Closes at 5 pm.
Visits: Saturday February 17 (with the DC Audubon group!), 10-12 noon and Wednesday, April 18 (afternoon)

Fiddlehead in the Fern Valley section of the Arboretum

Birds I saw: bluebirds, Merlin, black vultures, pine warblers, wood thrush, blue-gray gnatcatcher, Carolina wrens

These guys are all over. Amusing, kind of hyperactive.

4. Kenilworth Park and Aquatic Gardens--large National Park in Anacostia. Has open playing fields, scrub forest, and ponds with waterlilies.

On my first visit here, we heard but did not see a woodcock. Too bad: they are so comical looking! Photo borrowed from the Internet.

Flags and lily pads at Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens.

Getting here:  Not easy via transit. The U7 bus goes up 295, which is close to the park, but crossing route 295 and walking to the park from there does not look easy. Driving or Uber might be best. 
Advantages: has woodcocks, which do a courtship display in March; beautiful ponds with water creatures
Disadvantages: noisy! helicopters, large tractor doing laps around one of the ponds
Visit: Sunday, March 18 around sundown for woodcock walk, Wednesday, May 9 at the ponds.
Birds I saw: Red-winged blackbirds, Merlin, osprey with a fish. blue-gray gnatcatcher, grackles, Canada geese, robin, cardinal, blue heron, some kind of warbler, heard an oriole. Saw some reptiles including turtles, large and small, and a black snake. Heard frogs, and saw them as they plopped into ponds.

This turtle was about 1 foot long! His tiny friend jumped off the stone, but he stayed.

5. Rock Creek Park-large urban park, run by the National Parks, in NW DC.

Rock Creek

Getting there: The S4 bus goes only within about .6 miles . . . still a bit of a walk to get into the park. Best to Uber or drive. I started at the Nature Center, a good location for your Uber to drop you off.
Advantages: large, lots of different places to hike and look for birds; creek going through the park adds different habitat, beautiful old forest.
Disadvantages: there was a traffic jam the day I drove there--there's some construction on Beach Road which causes delays.
Visit: Wednesday morning, May 2 right before noon. Very hot that day.
Birds I saw: Cardinals, blue jays, mockingbirds, Carolina wren, black-and-white warbler, wood thrush

* Bonus location: Our front "yard."

The tiny front yard of our Capitol Hill apartment. 

Advantages: close by, adorable Capitol birdhouse (birthday gift from our son Robbie; the landlords were thrilled to put it up here.)
Disadvantages: small, close to foot traffic
Birds seen: goldfinch, Carolina wren, house sparrows, pair of mourning doves, robin. Great place to watch bird behavior by a feeder.

The shadow over Mount Vernon

Sunny skies, a light breeze, temperatures rising into the low 80's: it was a beautiful day for a drive out of DC and down along the Potomac to Mt. Vernon--or "George Washington's Mt. Vernon," as the home of the first president is called on its website.

We got there just after noon--just as a bunch of school groups were leaving, and we didn't have many crowds to contend with on the spacious, 500-acre estate. So in we walked and soon came to this stunning vista of the mansion.

The home is original, and many of the outbuildings are, too. And the landscaping around the mansion is similar to what it would have been then. How did the Father of Our Country keep his lawn looking so beautiful in the pre-riding-mower days? I wondered aloud to Bruce. And then I saw the sign.

I wish I'd taken a photo of the sign near the vista of the mansion. It pointed out that the lawn was cared for by enslaved workers who scythed the grass and rolled it with a heavy stone roller. They were not paid and they were not free to leave the estate.

The Father of Our Country, George Washington, was a slaveowner.

Although his estate is beautiful--well worth the 30-minute trip from DC (and the $18 tickets)--the shadow of slavery hovered over the entire day from the moment I saw that sign.

When we turned from that labor-intensive front lawn, we saw a vegetable garden.

The early plantings were in: cabbage, potatoes, and peas were already up. The large gardens were also surrounded by fruit and nut trees, and bramble (raspberries?), tied up high to posts--a good idea to keep the ants off.

But what was that brick building in the background, we wondered. According to my map, it was the "Greenhouse Slave Quarters."

Only some of the enslaved people lived here in this brick building at the center of the estate: the ones who worked in the mansion or on the grounds of the estate. The others lived in crude log buildings nearer the fields.

This is the women's bunkroom in the Greenhouse Slave Quarters building.

The men's quarters were similar. Husbands and wives were separated.

The greenhouse itself was cleverly designed, the signs pointed out: heat from a wood fire was sent underneath the greenhouse to keep it warm during winter: George Washington could have lemons any time--a luxury in those times!

But who kept that fire going, chopping wood, stoking the fire, cleaning the ashes? Yes, you guessed it: enslaved people.  It was hard to escape that shadow at Mt. Vernon.

At 1:30, we got our mansion tour. Tour guides were stationed in different parts of the large home, explaining how each room was used, how much it cost to decorate, and what the Washingtons did there.

This beautiful room could be used as a dining room or, with tables moved away, a ballroom.

They entertained hundreds of guests each year. That's what you do when you're wealthy and a politician. So there were several beautiful guest bedrooms.

People came and stayed for a couple days, a couple weeks, a couple months . . . 

In an aside, the upstairs room guide told us who readied the rooms for the guests: Enslaved women.

George Washington was a wealthy man. By some accounts, and adjusting for inflation, he was the wealthiest president we've had (not including the current one, whose wealth is unclear--we haven't seen his tax forms). The guides reiterated that he was a self-made man--George Washington didn't inherit his wealth.

Except for 10 enslaved persons, whom he inherited when he was 11.

"George Washington's Mount Vernon" is very proud of the Father of our Country. And he was a remarkable person: with little formal education, he learned surveying, served in the military and rose to the highest rank of General, leading the Revolutionary forces in a prolonged war; he oversaw the work of several farms, and came up with new technologies, like the heated greenhouse, to make them move profitable; he stepped up to serve our country as president, and then--remarkably!--stepped DOWN after his second term, allowing for a peaceful transition of power.

But the shadow of slavery hangs over Mount Vernon, and over George Washington, too. Curation at the site emphasized that he disliked the "peculiar institution." But he also never made a public statement against it.

More than 300 enslaved people worked on the estate or on Washington's other properties nearby.

They worked on the farms, they kept the greenhouse warm, they chopped wood, they worked in the kitchens, they smoked the meat, shod the horses, did the laundry, spun flax and hemp and wool. . .

In the museum at Mount Vernon, there's a special exhibit exploring the lives of the enslaved people who lived at the estate. It was pretty empty of tourists compared with the other exhibits.

The exhibit shared information about some particular slaves, whose names we know from the property registers, including names of people in their families and what their work was like. Here's some information about a few people.

• Billy Lee--George Washington's personal valet, the only slave he freed upon his own death. Lee stood behind Washington at the Second Continental Congress. We found out at the museum that Lee had two bad knees: imagine him standing for hours while Washington sat listening to debates
• Nancy Quander--a spinner and farm hand  who was a member of one of the oldest African families in North America.
• Oney Judge--(pictured in the silhouette above) escaped slavery at Mount Vernon when in Philadelphia with Martha Washington--but she had to leave family behind to become free herself.

I was so glad to see this exhibit that brought to light the lives of people like Lee, Quander, and Judge.

It's one thing to hear that our country was built on the backs of enslaved people. It's another thing to see the evidence in the landscape and ledgers. That evidence is scant in Iowa, a Northern state where slavery wasn't our "peculiar institution."

But here in DC--or in the Virginian estate of our First President, that shadow is long and dark, and falls across the beautiful grounds of Mount Vernon. It is good to be reminded of that shadow, and to consider what it means for our lives--and the future of our country--today.

View of the Potomac from the Washingtons' porch.

What I miss

Last night, at dinner with some of the students who are part of the DC-semester program where Bruce is teaching, we had an interesting conversation about what we miss from home.

I asked a couple of the students what they thought they might miss about DC when they returned home. They misunderstood me and told me about a couple of things they've missed from home while they're here: grocery shopping in a car rather than on foot, and Target runs! (They obviously live in suburban areas at home.)

It made me think about what I've missed from Iowa while I've been here. Like those students I have been loving my stay here in DC, but there are a few things I do miss . . . So here's a short list.

#1:

No explanation necessary

#2: my big kitchen. The tiny kitchen we have here does not inspire me to do much real cooking

Functional kitchen, but not much counter space . . . or even a vent fan.

(since I'm unemployed, I've taken on the cooking; Bruce does the clean-up). Our weekly menu doesn't vary much: spaghetti or pasta alfredo, some kind of curry, breaded chicken (I get it frozen . . .) with fries, and something with eggs. Every week! Luckily Bruce is happy with little variety.

#3: my friends. I was so happy to host my brother and sister (who would be friends even if we weren't related) and Anne last month. But I'm missing many other friends, co-workers, and acquaintances! Will see you all soon!

#4: easy access to Target and JoAnne Fabrics.

Like the students who missed Target runs (they hired an Uber to take them to a Target a couple weeks ago, just to "do a Target run"!), I miss the convenience of a store like that. I've ordered supplies on Amazon, but JoAnne Fabrics stuff isn't as easy to get on Amazon.

#5: inexpensive theatre tickets.  There's lots of good theatre here in DC, but I haven't seen as much as I might--tickets basically all start at $50/person. . . That's a lot for a currently unemployed theatre-goer! I miss The Giving Tree's 2 for $30 tickets to great shows.

I wonder what I'll miss from DC when I get back to Iowa. I can guess a few things: our walkable neighborhood, easy public transit, my church home-away-from-home Capitol Hill United Methodist Church, racial diversity, lots of free museums and concerts and lectures . . .

But probably I'll have to get home to Iowa to see what I truly miss from this temporary home in DC. As Joni Mitchell says "you don't know what you've got till it's gone."

Artists and "home" in DC

I went to two DC art exhibits last week at two different museums. Both exhibits were about "home." I wondered if the two museums had this planned . . . if they wanted visitors to look at both exhibits and consider how different artists approach this topic. Because that's what I did.

The first exhibit I went to was at the National Museum of Women in the Arts. It was called "Women House" and was advertised with this whimsical, thought-provoking image, one of the artworks at the exhibit.

Walking House by Laurie Simmons, 1989

OK, is that artwork just whimsical? It's a funny "American" house with cute legs . . . or is it something more? Maybe what you see is that nothing is left of this woman but her home and her legs: she's been consumed by her home.

That tension between whimsy and creepy was just one tension that ran throughout the wonderful exhibit.

If you're a feminist of a certain age (like, oh, say 56), you might have been brought up as a feminist to resist the stereotypical idea that women should derive ultimate satisfaction by "keeping house." Many of the artworks in this exhibit expressed anger, frustration, and dissatisfaction with domesticity, seeing it as a kind of prison.

There was a video artwork of a woman trapped in a cage, pacing around. The viewer was left to wonder: did the cages represent "the woman's sphere," home? Or did the cage represent cultural expectations for women in general?  Another art video showed someone using a sledge hammer to break down a wall (of a home?) which was mesmerizing and thought-provoking. I didn't get photos to share here (they were videos so a photo wouldn't do them justice anyway!) but I enjoyed seeing their fighting spirit and anger channeled into art.

Still, the artworks I liked best at this exhibit were the ones that used domestic craft to say something new. Why destroy "home" and "domesticity" entirely when you can use them to your own purpose? As a person who enjoys "domestic" arts (making things with yarn, sewing, gardening), this approach appeals more to me.

The exhibit, Women House, was inspired by an earlier exhibit, Womanhouse, developed by Judy Chicago and Miriam Schapiro in the 1970s. So of course, there were some Judy Chicago plates!

I loved the way Chicago takes a traditionally "domestic" and "feminine" art (or craft)--painting on china, which my grandmother did!--and makes a new, radical, feminist statement with it. Like with these plates that combine images of female genitalia with (transforming!) butterflies. Oh, plus this artwork also included a short essay written on the plates. Art + writing = 💗

Other artists did similar things to take what used to be "feminine" and make it "feminist."

Mona Hatoum laid out a number of shiny new kitchen implements on a table . . . and connected them with buzzing electrical wires!

 

Yikes: the kitchen becomes a place of power and danger! Yet the artwork was also beautiful, with lights underneath the colander, grater, and sieve occasionally shining out.

These soft and adorable Tiny Houses made of felt, each about six inches high, by Laurie Tixier appealed to my love of tiny things and my interest in textiles.

The artist says they are inspired by "fictional architecture built by children: blanket houses."  I love how she's making art that reaches back to childhood and evokes warmth, making something that's at once feminine (textile) and masculine (a building).

Another textile-oriented artwork was "Environment/Dining Room" by Ana Viera (from 1971). It was a room constructed of translucent hanging fabric panels.

At once both gauzy and closed off (you couldn't get into the room, and you couldn't even quite see what was in there!), it also had a sound track of dishes gently clinking and a conversation. We're kept out of this home, though we can look in.

I found another gauzy home when I walked a few blocks to the Smithsonian American Art Museum; I wondered if the artist who made this one had seen Viera's.

This gauzy home was different, though. Most importantly, you could walk through it.

I love this kind of art--installations that allow viewers to step into the world of the artwork. I walked through the piece with my mouth open--so amazing! How did he make the door knobs out of gauze fabric? And look at how ghostly the door is.

The exhibit was called "Almost Home," created by Do Ho Suh, who was born in Korea, but lived in many places throughout the world. The installation consisted of gauze versions of three different rooms: a room from his home in Korea, a room from his home in Berlin, and a room from his home in New York.

The curation explained that he was exploring "how culture, tradition, migration, and displacement intersect as we construct our ideas of selfhood and origin." He mentioned that he could pack this home up in a suitcase, but I wondered if he actually did that . . .

I wanted to stay inside the gauzy home, but people were waiting in line behind me. So I left them have a turn and looked at some of the other artwork by the artist around the room. One piece made of "embedded thread" sketches on canvas caught my eye. There was the house with legs again! This time, they were more androgynous and somehow less creepy.

Thank you, artists who use "home" as a topic for your thought-provoking art!

Dishwashing in DC

It's Tuesday, so after a quick breakfast I head out the door to Capitol Hill United Methodist Church, just a few blocks from our apartment. It's the church I've been attending since we've been here. CHUMC has awesome pastors, great adult education opportunities, an inviting spiritual community . . . and a "Weekday Breakfast for our Housed and Unhoused Neighbors" called "Our Daily Bread." It's recently celebrated its 9th anniversary of service in the neighborhood.

Capitol Hill United Methodist Church

It's a chilly morning, so the park in front of the church is empty. I walk around to the side entrance of the church. Inside the door, James is sitting in his usual chair. With his long graying beard, lanky frame, and calm demeanor, he looks like some kind of zen prophet.  He's one of the regular guests at the meal. I don't know his story, but I do know that besides eating a meal here, he also lets people into the building, and mops the floor after the meal.

"Good morning, James," I say as he opens the door to let me in.

"Good morning. You're Jane, right?" he asks.

"Yep," I say. "Good to see you this morning." He nods and I head down into the church basement, the fellowship hall.

In the fellowship hall, the tables are already filling up as people wait to be served a hot meal. I drop off my jacket and purse in the big closet where Rob's bike leans up against shelves of canned and boxed food. Then I grab my dish washing gloves and head to the kitchen.

I started working at Our Daily Bread, about a month ago. I'd heard at a church gathering that they needed help with dish washing. "Sometimes Rob and Margot are there until 11 am, cleaning up," someone said.

Well, I can wash dishes, I thought. So I bought some dish washing gloves and started showing up. I've settled on being there twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday. I arrive at about 8:30, after the early crew has already prepared the meal--some of the volunteers leave then to get to work.

It's a professional kitchen, so we have one of those sterilizing dishwashers. But as anyone who's worked in a kitchen like that knows, you have to prewash the dishes before loading them on racks to put them through the Serious Dishwasher. That's what I do: prewash and load.

Prewashing

The Serious Dishwasher

Today I get a few pans and trays scrubbed and through the dishwasher before it's time to go out and serve the meal. Then Margot gathers us all together for a prayer.

"Thank you, God, for these friends who are willing to serve here . . . may this breakfast bring peace to those who attend so that they can feel calm, no matter what the day brings. Amen."

I love the thought in that prayer:  we don't just serve food: we serve peace, something that we hope will carry through the rest of the day for anyone who's here--volunteers and guests alike.

Although the daily meal is served at breakfast time, the food is more like lunch or dinner: spaghetti or mac and cheese or--on Thursdays--burritos (donated from a local restaurant and warmed up here). Plus roasted broccoli, potatoes (mashed or roasted), toast or bagels, salad. And soup! Like a regular old soup kitchen. There are always desserts, too.

Before we serve, Rob calls everyone to attention. Like James, Rob is tall and lean, but unlike James, he's white, as are all the other volunteers today. Rob and Margot head up Our Daily Bread, making decisions about what food is served and directing and mentoring volunteers like me.

"Welcome to Our Daily Bread, where everyone is created in God's image, and so is treated with dignity and respect," says Rob. He says it every morning. It's a good thing to remember.  "Does someone want to lead us in prayer?"

One of the guests volunteers and leads a heartfelt prayer. Then everyone lines up at the serving tables for food.

I've taken off my gloves and join the volunteers who are serving. "Can I get you some vegetables or salad?" I ask people as they come through.

The guests--about 35 today--are mostly middle aged, mostly male, mostly black. They politely shuffle through the line as we welcome them and serve them. I only know some of the guests' names. There's Dallas, whose cerebral palsy doesn't keep him from helping out with serving coffee. Nathaniel is earnest and energetic, but I can never understand what he's talking about: people coming in a spaceship or the amazing look of a particular coffee cup.

And John is quiet today, though usually, he keeps up a constant ongoing patter about surveillance being done on him by Hillary Clinton who says he is a bigot but he's not a bigot and he's not a racist he doesn't know why people say that about him those people keep saying he's racist but they're wrong they're the ones who are racist HAH!

Probably a number of the guests have mental health challenges. The National Coalition for the Homeless says that 20-25% of homeless people have severe mental illness, compared with 6% of the rest of the population. (Not all of our guests are homeless, some might have other reasons for eating a meal here.) Yes, it would be difficult to hold down a job if your mind wasn't working right and was constantly telling you that you were seeing spaceships or that people were out to get you.

Today, some of the guests are just agitated. One young man, Chris, keeps shouting at someone else sitting at another table. His shouts get angrier and angrier--I can't figure out what's going on. Rob goes and sits next to him, trying to talk with him, and Margot goes over to the other man.

"Chris. You need to stop shouting or you'll need to leave," says Rob in a firm voice.  Eventually, Chris settles down after Rob gets between him and his view of the other man--all without touching him, I notice. I'm glad I'm behind the serving tables.

"What was going on there?" I ask Margot.

"Who knows?" she answers.

Our Daily Bread isn't a place for the soft-hearted. Or it is, but you also have to be kind of tough. You just do the work you need to do for the people who need it.

Working here is "Martha work." As in Mary and Martha in the gospel, where Martha was the one busy making the meal and setting the table and serving the food. And while Jesus did encourage Martha to maybe be a little more like Mary, the one who was just sitting and conversing with him, he also says MANY times in the gospel that we should feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the prisoner, etc. etc. In other words, we need to be Martha, too, do just do the work.

I'm not really a Martha-ish person. I'm the person who doesn't notice that the food needs to be prepared because I'm involved in a conversation--or maybe I'm just daydreaming. I don't notice that someone should be clearing those plates, because I'm thinking about what you said. And I'm too soft-hearted, broken up by those who are broken. So this work is good for me--it stretches me spiritually.

I'm surrounded by good-hearted Marthas, and I'm learning from them.

Before the meal, and during it, workers from various organizations circulate around the guests. Today it's someone offering socks and washcloths to those who need them. Last Thursday, it was a doctor with a stethoscope. Other times there are people who help the guests connect with housing services, or mental health care or transportation. There's someone upstairs who offers nice clothes for people who need something for an interview or job.

The rest of us keep serving food.

Once everyone's gone through the line, I head back to the kitchen. Waves of dirty dishes come through the serving window. I scrub the food off, stack the dishes onto heavy racks, and send them through the dishwasher.

Other volunteers dry them and put them away.

Mike, one of the guests, comes up to the window with his dirty dishes, and thanks us for the meal.

"Do you know that he has a Master's degree from the London School of Economics and a Ph.D. from The New School for Social Research?" asks Margot, after he leaves.

"Wow. So what brings him here?" I ask, amazed.

"I don't know his story," she says. Something knocked him off course, she surmises--deaths in his family, depression, maybe. The tragedies of life--who knows when they'll knock someone completely off course?

Eventually the pile of dishes stops growing and we make our way though it. The other volunteers start wiping the counters and start to leave. Margot and I run the disposal one last time and take off our aprons.

"I'll be here again Thursday," I say as I head out.

"That will be great. Thanks so much for your help," says Margot, gratefully. She says that to everyone when they leave.

I grab my coat and go out, saying goodbye to James as he slowly mops the floor.

As I cross the park in front of the church, I see Mike, the Harvard Ph.D., sitting on a bench with a large tote bag. Inside is a folded-up blanket. I wonder where he's going, with his blanket and his mind full of economics and sorrow. I hope I see him next time.

In which Frederick Douglass gets me into hot water

I got myself over my head in a feature story reporting situation this week.

I thought I was going to write a short feature about the new owner of a historical building--a home where Frederick Douglass once lived on Capitol Hill, just around the corner from us.

I wanted to talk to the new owner about how they were going to handle the historic nature of the purchased property. It would be a follow-up to a story by the Washington Post about the building's sale: I thought I could pitch it to the Post, the Hill Rag, or even just post it on my blog, here.

But what I got was stonewalling from three different sources.

Apparently, someone doesn't want me to write that story . . .

Let me back up a bit.

I wrote in an earlier blog post that there's a plaque outside a house around the corner from us marking a home where Frederick Douglass once lived.

Look, here he is in an old photo, standing outside that house!

Kinda grainy photo, but there he is!

Here I am in front of the house.

Douglass lived here with his family from 1872-1877 where he worked to support Grant's reelection and then later worked for the Freedman's Bank. After being appointed United States Marshal for the District, he moved to Cedar Hill, a bigger home on an acreage in Anacostia.

Cedar Hill in Anacostia is owned by the National Park Service--and visiting it was one of my favorite DC excursions so far: you should definitely go see it if you visit DC! But the Capitol Hill house isn't owned by the National Park Service. It's owned by a nonprofit, the National Association for Home Care and Hospice, which uses the space for a "Caring Hall of Fame" and for gatherings.

The organization's purchasing contract required it to allot a small portion of the building as a public exhibit, which the organization calls the "Frederick Douglass House Museum." There's a small collection of items relevant to Frederick Douglass, including a desk he used and some photos. You have to make an appointment to see it.

The above photo is from when Bruce and I went over to the building to see if we could get a tour of the museum. As we entered, we saw that an event was going on for the nonprofit. We asked at the desk whether we could come back for a tour sometime.

"We're closing," said the person at the desk. "This property has been sold to a developer and we're closing this week."

Well, that surprised me. Can you do that? Sell a historical property to a developer?

I wanted to know more about that: what's the process for selling a historical building? What responsibilities does the new owner have? And plus, I've gotten interested in Frederick Douglass since we've arrived.  That's how I got the idea for a story about what would happen to that historical property in my neighborhood--I'm all about "local" features! So I started investigating.

But no one would talk to me.

The VP of the nonprofit "was in" when I called, but once I told his assistant what I wanted to ask about, he suddenly became "not available."

The real estate agent connected with the property never returned my calls.

The person at the National Parks office at Cedar Hill told me he'd pass my info on to their historian, but then called me back, directing me to the VP of the nonprofit.

The only person I was able to talk with was Christine Healey, the Advisory Neighborhood Commission representative for our ward and neighborhood. She said she wouldn't go on the record, but gave me some useful background and context.

She hadn't known that the building had been sold, but figured everyone was being hush-hush until the developer decided what to do with the property.

What could they do? Probably ask for a zoning change and create more residential units. Row houses go for about $880K to $1 million or more apiece here in Capitol Hill, according to Zillow.

Screen shot of property values in the block where the buildings are located. 

The Frederick Douglass property included 4 row houses and a smattering of buildings in the back (some of which could be converted to residences). So that could be a good investment.

Because it's in a historical district, any kind of modification (or, horrors, a tear-down) would be subject to approval by the city and the Advisory Neighborhood Commission. Most developers want to be on good terms with neighbors.

Neighbors don't like change, that's the main thing, Healey told me. And they worry about a number of things when a developer buys property: will property values be affected? will there be more congestion because of more people living here? will tenants of the new residence (if that's what it becomes) be good tenants: quiet and respectful of this quiet, family-friendly neighborhood?

"But what about the historical aspect of the building," I asked. "Won't people want to have the house somehow preserved as a historical site, open to the public in some way?"

She didn't think so. She thought that probably people would be more worried about whether on-street parking would suddenly become more difficult to find.

On-street parking in this neighborhood is tight. 

Ms. Healey offered to put me on a list of people interested in this issue, so that we can be contacted if any information becomes available. I eagerly accepted.

Maybe I can be a voice for public history here. Certainly it adds something to a neighborhood that there is a historical and public site connected to one of the most important figures in American History.

Frederick Douglass as an older man. I wonder if this photo was taken when he lived on Capitol Hill.

Could a developer possibly be brought to see the importance of maintaining, possibly just as part of the overall development, a public space honoring Douglass's years of living in the home at 316 A St. NE?

Fitness, Race, and DC

I've been thinking this week about fitness and race in DC.

There was an article in Monday's Washington Post that asked "Is your spin class too young, too thin, and too white?" It was an analysis of the boutique fitness centers that are "exploding in gentrifying urban areas," places like SoulCycle, Orangetheory, Crossfit, and Pure Barre. The author points out that

fitness junkies have begun to notice who isn’t coming. Sweat through a class in one of these studios and it’s very possible that you’ll see it, too: many, many lithe young white bodies and very few people of color. Or older or heavier exercisers.

This statement made me think about my own exercise activities in DC, which are actually some of the more diverse places I spend time in DC.

Bruce and I swim laps at the William Rumsey Aquatic Center, just a few blocks from our apartment.

The Rumsey pool is a beautiful facility! and free for residents to use!

It's a public pool, and, unlike the pricey boutique fitness classes mentioned in the article, residents of DC swim free! Bruce and I just take a copy of our lease, along with our driver's licenses, and we're in! While there aren't many men who swim when we do (mid-day), the women's locker room is usually filled with a diverse group of women: African American, white, old, young, all shapes and sizes. There's a blind woman who comes with her service dog, and a deaf woman, too.

The other place I exercise (or shall I say practice a physical art) is with the Washington Ballet School.

I take classes there once a week--they have a ton of adult classes at every level. While the class I've settled into isn't particularly diverse in terms of race or sex (all the women are "white" or Asian), there are women of all ages, from 20-somethings to maybe 70, and different shapes, too--not all are ballet-slim!

And Washington Ballet also offers a couple of beginner adult ballet classes in Anacostia, a neighborhood of Washington that's maybe 90% African American. The teachers and most of the students there are African American.

Thinking about race and fitness made me wonder about the racial demographics of DC in general. In the mid-20th century, DC was a majority-black city . . . even today, the percentage of African-American population in DC is just under 50%.

In my day-to-day activities, I encounter more African American people here than I do in Cedar Rapids: I grocery shop next to other middle-aged, middle class black women; Bruce and I are often the only non-African American people on the D6 city bus; and the church I'm attending is more racially-mixed than most churches.

But Bruce has pointed out to me that in lots of places, places of culture and of political connection--despite the demographics of DC--we're part of a mostly-white crowd. For example, the play we attended last Saturday--about Frederick Douglass and John Brown--at the Anacostia Playhouse. Despite the neighborhood and subject matter, the audience was mostly white.

That free jazz concert I attended at the Library of Congress?

Musicians=white, too.

Mostly white audience.

The free public lecture about alleys in Capitol Hill (alley residences were typically inhabited by African Americans in the post-Civil War era)? Mostly white, older audience.

Yesterday, Bruce attended a meeting that discussed the DC Comprehensive Plan, the plans for Washington's future. He heard some statistics about race that shocked me.

One of the speakers at that meeting, DC Council Member Kenyan McDuffie, noted that the average household wealth in DC is $284,000 for whites . . . and $3,500 for blacks.

Let that sink in a minute.

Another Council Member, Robert C. White, pointed out that in DC, black unemployment is six times higher than white: SIX TIMES. As in less than 3% for whites and 16% for blacks.

Something's not right in this Chocolate City. I wonder what will happen with this city that used to be a majority black city. Will it become like the boutique fitness centers, catering to white, wealthy people? Or will DC look more like the William Rumsey pool that offers opportunities to all residents?