Delights: September 20 to 26

September 20:  Bottle caps. Cigarette butts. Brightly colored food wrappers. A whiskey bottle. A hypodermic needle placed safely inside the whiskey bottle. 

With thickly gloved hands, I picked up these items and more. Working alongside hotel staff on a public service outing and the Anacostia Riverkeeper himself, I scoured a small portion of Anacostia Park, a two-mile ribbon of green skirting the Anacostia River in Washington, DC. It’s popular with cyclists, walkers and picnickers. And it was pretty darn clean, all things considered. 

As I turned in my small bag of debris I remembered that I had also seen, beside the dock, violets shining like discarded foil; woody debris that transformed into a groundhog; and a bald eagle circling overhead, looking only like its beautiful self.

September 21: A very little boy at the coffee shop carried two books to the toy shelf and returned with a wooden chess set. He handed it to his father, who sat at the counter next to me balancing a baby on his lap and a fork probing an egg sandwich. “Ah, chess,” the dad said. “A hard game.” Inviting the little boy to unpack the pieces, the dad named each one and described how a few of them move.  

The baby on the dad’s lap squirmed and started dropping things. With infinite patience, the dad eventually said to his son, “Let’s put away the pieces and head to the library where your sister can crawl around a bit. And then to the church picnic. But pee pee first.”

Squawking when his dad moved to help, the little boy carefully placed each piece in its proper felt nest. (The dad, with apologies, plunged under my stool to retrieve an errant bishop.) Finally, the double stroller was packed and gone.

I come to the coffee shop to read my book. For the dad, I guess, the coffee shop was just a different venue to do the same hard work of teaching, engaging and caring for his children. With a double shot of espresso. 

September 22: As my car climbed the hill at the top of our block, I saw a neighbor pushing a lawnmower across her mother’s front lawn. Knowing that my neighbor’s property adjoins her mother’s, I wondered whether she had pushed her mower in a long arc from one yard to the next. But no: as my neighbor moved north from the boundary line, her husband, also equipped with a lawnmower, moved south. I hoped, when they met in the middle again, they pivoted back to their assigned yards in a little do-si-do.

September 23: This morning, a 5:05 a.m. train whisked Jeremiah to Providence, Rhode Island, for a two-week New England vacation. Equipped with books, sandwiches and his “Jere-pods,” Jeremiah told me he was looking forward to Amtrak’s “Quiet Car” and a westerly window (away from the sunrise). He would be celebrating his birthday that night with dear friends. And I, dear child, celebrate you. Happy Birthday!

Bonus: Last May, Jeremiah invited me to celebrate Mother’s Day with him in Providence and to attend a baseball game the following night at Fenway Park in Boston. Naturally, I went. On Mother’s Day, we visited the Rhode Island School of Design’s art museum (which is a beautifully curated jewel box filled with surprising treasures) and dined in Providence’s Little Italy. 

Long ago, I had renounced Mother’s Day presents in favor of family outings. Jeremiah’s trip to Providence today brings back memories of our mini-trip last year. Besides, each celebration of my sons’ birthdays is my own personal Mother’s Day. I raise a glass to both of us.

September 24: I hope to hear this week about whether I’ve been invited to join the Smithsonian American Art Museum’s 2024 Docent Corps. They are now checking my references (who I hope will say: “She’s an engaging docent at our historical house museum!” “She’s great with fourth-graders!”).

So, my fingers are crossed even tighter. “Typical Carol Ann” would never have shared my hopes: the fewer people who know of my (eventual) disappointment, the easier it will be for me to handle. But I recently listened to an audiobook by Brené Brown called “The Gifts of Imperfection.” She wrote about deciding, for the first time, to share her dreams and possibilities, rather than guard them (and herself) against public sadness. She made herself vulnerable (yikes) — and discovered to her astonishment that her friends amplified her joy when things worked out and buoyed her amid disappointment. 

You, dear readers, are not surprised by this insight. But I? Well, let’s just say that I still have much wisdom to gain. Brown said, “When we value being cool and in control over granting ourselves the freedom to unleash the passionate, goofy, heartfelt, and soulful expressions of who we are, we betray ourselves.” So, taking her lesson to heart, I unleashed to you my passionate, goofy enthusiasm about being a SAAM docent. And I find myself ready for any answer, because you’ll be with me.

September 25: A good-sized dad stood under a pint-sized umbrella as rain poured down around him. His young son, clad in rubber boots and (maybe) pajamas, sloshed in the curbside puddles. He pushed sodden leaves into dams and mountains. And — indifferent to the rain pelting his back —  he stooped to make some complicated water-leaf-stick arrangement near the tire of his dad’s truck. I saluted the dad as I walked past. “I don’t know what he’s doing, but I’m not stopping him,” the dad said. “Whatever he’d be doing inside would be nowhere near as fun as whatever he’s doing out here.”

September 26: Joy! Joy! My two sisters-in-law, Karolina and Susan, arrive this morning from Iowa for a mini vacation on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Just the three of us; no children, no hubbies (love them as we do), no cooking. Wine might be involved. Certainly lots of love.

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If you’d like to browse my past delights, please consult the “word cloud” featured at the very bottom of this post. Find a theme or two that interests you and sift through the sands. Or learn a bit more about my Blog by visiting my Welcome page. You’ll also see links to four essays that were published in print magazines. I’m glad you’re here!