Baby, it’s cold outside. And in.

Back in late December and early January, when we had a stretch of warm weather including a few 70 degree days, I had a great sense of unease about the world’s fate. It was like, every time I opened the front door and the warm breeze hit me, I could actually see the four horsemen of the apocalypse bearing down. In the blooming forsythia, I saw our planet’s impending doom.

Now I feel better because Washington has been in the grip of winter weather such as we have not seen in many years. I honestly can’t remember it being this cold for this long in the almost 20 years I have lived here. Of course, this unusually cold weather is part of the same phenomenon that resulted in the unusually warm weather in December and in the ungodly hot weather we had last summer (that would be Global Warming, for anyone who has been living under a rock, or in the White House), but somehow this FEELS better. Spring weather properly belongs in spring. Each to his own place, as the Great Gray Bridge would say.

I also have to admit that I like the cold (although I don't like the wind). I was raised in New England; winters are supposed to be cold. I find it bracing. It makes me feel strong. Hardy.

As the weather has gotten increasingly bitter, and stayed bitter, I have given up on any pretense of fashion. I know many will say that I, a Washingtonian, likely had little style to begin with, and that may be true. But whatever style I had has been tossed like so much jetsam. My stylish coat has been relegated to the back of the hall closet, and instead I’ve been wearing my Lands’ End parka in a lovely bright mulberry. Also large, thick, gray polartec gloves (I wish they were mittens). When it’s below 20 degrees in the morning, I wear long johns under my pants, because without them my walk to work is really unpleasant. (That walk includes the stretch of Massachusetts Avenue extending west from Union Station, and I swear it is the coldest, windiest spot in DC. It should have been called Alaska Avenue.) I have even, on a few mornings, snapped the hood onto my parka and huddled under it. I don't like doing this because my hair, although very curly, is extremely fine and doesn't adapt well to head coverings. It goes completely, hideously flat under hats. Like Rashida Jones’s hair on The Office. Apparently, she thinks that flat, slicked-to-the-head look is attractive. I, however, do not. Except for when skiing, I haven’t willingly worn a hat since I was 11.

The other side effect of extreme cold is that our house is like the Antarctic on the first floor and the Sahara on the second. This is partly because our double front door is deteriorating, lacks proper weather-stripping, and has a mail slot in it. Once a few years ago I went to Home Depot looking for a new mail slot—I thought surely someone would have made a better mail slot by now—and when I explained my predicament to a sales associate (“there must be some way to block the draft”), he looked at me very seriously and said, “You know, really, it’s like having a hole in your door.” Buddy, it IS a hole in my door. When it’s very cold, we stuff a hand towel in the mail slot, but I don’t know that it helps much.

Another problem is that our intake vent is in the upstairs hall, which means that all the warm air on the first floor is sucked up the stairs. It’s really quite frustrating, especially in the early evening when we are putting the kids to bed. It takes several hours for the downstairs (where the thermostat is) to warm up to 68 degrees (I set the thermostat at 55 when we aren’t home during the day), and in the meantime, the upstairs temperature rises to about 80. We eat dinner in turtlenecks and polartec jackets and then strip down to t-shirts when we go upstairs. Then, when the kids are asleep, P and I bundle back up for the trip to the Antarctic and once there, we huddle on the couch under a down comforter. I’m not looking forward to this month’s gas bill.

We have put off replacing the front door because it isn’t a stock size and will need to be custom built (and to historical standards since we are in the historic district), so it will cost a small fortune. But I think we are going to have to bite the bullet. Instead of a European vacation, this summer we’ll get a new front door! Good times.

Christmas in the City

Gradually over the last fifteen years or so, Washington, DC has become a southern city. We’ve gotten much less snow in the last few years than we did when I first moved here, and winters in general seem more mild. I sometimes think longingly of the big storm we had 10 years ago, which shut down the federal government for days. It’s hard to believe we could have such a storm now, when December temperatures are averaging near 50 degrees. Except, inexplicably, for residents of the White House, climate change seems like a reality.

On Christmas Eve, the weather was sunny and bright, with temperatures in the low 50s. I thought the day would be relaxing, but instead we ran around all day like chickens with our heads cut off. In the afternoon, I went out for a brisk walk. I went to my favorite bagel place, Bagels & Baguettes, to get bagels for Christmas brunch, but it was closed for the holiday. Then I went to Schneider’s to get a bottle of wine to bring to some acquaintances who had invited us for a Christmas eve supper. (I realized when I got home that I had purchased a bottle called “the Ball Buster,” which I could hardly present as a hostess gift to someone I don’t know very well, so I had to go out and buy another wine later in the day.) From there, I walked to Eastern Market, where I bought a lovely centerpiece of greens, pine cones, and candles, and a large bouquet of greens, holly, and eucalyptus. By this time I was glad I hadn’t been able to buy bagels, since I was quite weighted down. I returned home, dropped off my purchases, and then went straight back out to CVS to buy gum and M&Ms for the boys’ stockings.

Although the weather didn’t feel like Christmas, the day felt special. There was little traffic, so the streets were quiet; everyone seemed in a jolly mood; houses looked so pretty in their holiday decorations. In spite of the weather, which is just too warm for my taste, it was a reminder of why I like living here so much, in this small town in the big city.

Way Down Upon the Anacostia River

Last weekend, my 8-year-old son, H, and I went canoeing on the Anacostia River. We recently joined the Sports on the Hill Paddling Club, http://www.sportsonthehill.org/paddling.html and the actual Paddling Commissioner of Sports on the Hill, Susan Chapin, took us out for a tour. In addition to Susan, we were accompanied by Susan’s husband and two sons (ages 6 and 10) and two friends of theirs (one a 10-year-old boy). So we split into two canoes, with Susan and I and the two younger boys in one and the two men and two older boys in the other.

We launched from the Anacostia Community Boathouse http://anacostiaboathouse.org/ just under the 11^th Street Bridge after obtaining the canoes and paddles from the boathouse and carrying them down to the dock. There was a surprising amount of activity, as several rowing groups were heading out in skulls at the same time. The skullers are very serious about their activity and it seemed wise to stay out of their way, especially since their boats are delicate and expensive. Overhead, the cars thunk-thunked over the joints in the bridge as we shoved off.

Because of the recent rain, the river was absolutely riddled with trash and debris. We paddled through branches, tennis balls, used condoms, water bottles, and plastic containers. It was appalling. But the ride was surprisingly pleasant. It was pretty quiet, and we saw lots of birds: blue herons, terns, egrets, Canadian geese (which, apparently, are bad news for the Anacostia River wildlife: who knew?). We waved to some people on the shore in Anacostia Park. Susan was a terrific tour guide, pointing out various sights and birds and answering numerous questions about the river’s history and current condition (bad, but improving; see http://www.anacostiaws.org/).

We passed under the Pennsylvania Avenue bridge and then approached the CSX railroad bridge. A freight train bore down on us. We waved to the engineer, and he blew his horn in reply. With the train just a few feet above our heads, we passed under the bridge. The noise was terrific. H shouted, excitedly, “We’re going to die!” It was very cool.

We paddled to the tip of Kingman Island, with the East Capitol Street Bridge looming just beyond. Then we turned around and came back. By this time, the tide had swept the trash and debris away, and the water was smooth and clear. We encountered a kayaker and floated for a while, talking to him. Susan convinced me to try one of the club’s kayaks next time.

Once I have a little paddling experience under my belt, H and I are going to go up to Bladensburg Waterfront Park and launch from there. We will have to pay to rent a canoe, but from there we can more easily get to Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens. http://www.nps.gov/archive/nace/keaq/ It will be so cool to paddle around in there.

The Pride of Capitol Hill?

The Washington Post reported this morning that the Superintendent of Schools intends to close Eastern High School, which was once the Pride of Capitol Hill, and reopen it as the new DC Latin School, which will serve 6^th through 12^th grades. The school will be modeled after the famed Boston Latin School, of which Superintendent Janney is an alum.

Perhaps you have to live on the Hill to understand how exciting this is. Our neighborhood options for public middle school are limited and our neighborhood options for public high school are nonexistent. Our neighborhood elementary school is dismal, with 59 percent of students scoring "below basic" on the Stanford 9 reading test, so I take my third grader to Georgetown every morning to attend an excellent public school in that neighborhood. We have been thrilled with Anthony J. Hyde Elementary School, but I salivate at the thought of shedding this commute. (I live on the Hill in no small part because I have no interest in daily driving.) My little one will start public pre-K at Hyde next year and will continue there until his brother finishes 5^th grade and moves on to middle school. At that point, I hope a few Hill elementary schools will have seen improvement and we can consider transfering #2 son closer to home (I’ve got my eye on Brent), while #1 son will get to middle school on his own steam. Then I will gleefully hang up my car keys. Of course, I had thought that #1 son would probably take a city bus to Hardy Middle School. How cool if he could walk to Eastern, and get a classical education besides!

The larger question, of course, is how this will help the students who currently attend Eastern (or who are on track to enroll). It's great that motivated families with academically successful children will have more options. But what's going to be done to meet the needs of underperforming students?

Rootin' for the Home Team

On Friday night, P and I took the kids, who are 3 and 8, to see the Nationals play. The tickets were only $3 apiece, so we figured we had little to lose. What a great night! The weather was gorgeous, the kids lasted the whole nine innings, and the Nats won. Can’t ask for more than that.

The trick to bringing young children to baseball games is to feed them. And feed them and feed them. We had Cracker Jack during the first inning, lemonade during the third, and Dippin’ Dots during the fifth. After that, they were too glassy-eyed with sugar and fatigue to cause much trouble.

I love living so close to the stadium. I for one will be very sad when the team moves to a new stadium. If they ever do.

I love my plumber. And my plumber loves me.

A few years ago, the city redid the sidewalk behind our house (with bricks instead of cement). In the process, the contractor sheered off our vent pipe and then filled it all in with sand and bricked it over. A few days later we had raw sewage backing up in the house. I’m no plumbing expert, but that seemed like a problem to me. I called the plumber, B, and he came and spent about an hour trying to diagnose a blockage in the main sewer line in front. When he could find nothing wrong, he started investigating behind the house, where he found an odd smelly puddle pooling on the sidewalk. He took the bricks out and began digging, eventually unearthing the evidence of the contractor’s incompetence and gross negligence—while standing knee deep in sewage. (MY sewage, I might add.) He was incredulous and furious when he figured out what had happened. Then he ranted and raved on the phone to the city public works department and got them to come out and fix it within hours. (Nothing short of a miracle, that.) THEN he charged me $60 for an entire morning’s work. $60!!!! “You shouldn’t have to pay a cent,” he said at first, but threw out the sum of $60 when I insisted.

I love my plumber. And my plumber loves me.

He also remembers my kids’ names and asks me how they are doing when I call. (He knows his way into a mother’s heart.) And sometimes I spot him in his van when I am out in the neighborhood (or he spots me first), and he always beeps and waves. We haven’t had to have him over to solve any plumbing problems for quite some time, but just a few weeks ago when I was out running, he spotted me and beeped.

Today I finally called him to come and look at the leaking toilet in the master bath. Every time it is flushed, water pours out from behind the bowl. I’m no plumbing expert, but this seemed like a problem to me. But we have 2 other toilets in our little house (no attic, no basement, no storage, but by god we’ve got toilets!), so as far as I was concerned there was no emergency. I just taped the lid closed so no one would use it and P. and I moved our business to the hall toilet (conveniently located right outside our bedroom door). It’s been out of commission for months. (So long that sewer worms took up residence in the bowl. Who knew?)

Well, my parents are coming for the weekend and I was planning to have them sleep in our bedroom while P and I slept on the pull-out couch. So, because I wanted a working toilet for them, I called B and left a message. He called me this morning and P answered and then handed the phone to me (because in his opinion it only makes sense to capitalize on the fact that an expensive home contractor has a crush on your wife). I took the phone, and B—not one to be shy even though a woman's husband is standing 3 feet away—greets me with, “Hey Cutie.”

And then, after I explained my problem and he told me he could come by in an hour, the conversation went like this:

“So, everything else okay?”

“Yep.”

“Saw you on the street the other day. You’re looking pretty good.”

I love my plumber. And my plumber loves me.

And yes, my toilet is working just fine now.

Crazy from the Heat

So summer is in high gear in DC, and you know what that means: tourists are lumbering, red-faced and sweating, through the nation’s capital. And as I walked through Union Station today, on my way to work, I noticed a veritable epidemic of bad boobage. Does no one check themselves out in the mirror before leaving the privacy of home? Are women incapable of purchasing properly fitting support garments?

Maybe in this heat people are just letting it all hang out. When I was a kid in Massachusetts, WBCN's morning DJ, Charles Laquidera, used to call a day like this a "No Underwear Day." I'm wearing a thong, so I'm only half-following his advice. But rest assured, I've got my Body by Victoria bra on, so my boobage is fully covered.

At 2:18, the current temperature in downtown Washington is: 97 degrees. The weatherman says we'll hit 100. Tomorrow, more of the same, with the so-called "heat index" hitting 115. On days like these, I actually have to remind myself on the walk home that it's not a good idea to strip off one's clothes on Massachusetts Avenue. (Note to self: Keep clothes ON.) Maybe tomorrow I'll take Laquidera's advice and go commando. But I'll be wearing the bra.

Fresh Hill

Overheard at my house last night:

“If I ever have a website, I’m going to call it FreshHill.com.”

“Do you think people will get it?”

“Clever people will.”

You know who you are. ;-)