Living Among Giants

I found a great blog, written by someone I've never met, that discribes her love affair with becoming a New Yorker. It reminds me of my first year in DC, where I whole-heartedly observed the "rules" in a tongue-in-cheek guidebook I had about not looking like a tourist. Reading her blog, especially her weekend adventures, also reminded me of some of my favorite places in the city where I came of age. Many of them are oddities, I suppose, but all of them paint a picture of the beloved city I've come to think of as my own.

Rock Creek Parkway/Park. Ironic, in a metro area touted as having the third-worst traffic congestion in the nation, that a road tops my list, but it does nonetheless. It is the secret only discovered by stalwart natives not intimidated by the "Do Not Enter" signs with the exceptions posted in microscopic fonts. I have driven through the entire park, and will often detour through it on my way to somewhere else to drive under the majestic Taft Memorial Bridge, to feel I've completely escaped into serenty from the frenetic pace of the city. It feels to me like the city's crown jewel, kept secret from all but the most intrepid.

Eastern Market. Perched on the edge of gentrification, I sometimes wonder if Eastern Market will lose its charm as new money seeps into the surrounding neighborhoods. While the market and breakfast is adored by all, the building is somewhat of an aging monstrosity. It is the last remaining market in the public-market system designed to improve DC's image in the post-Civil War era, and there is no denying the authenticity of the aging red brick structure. For me, it is an urban adventure - a bustling, thriving marketplace that provides a delicious escape on Saturday mornings - bluebucks, pecan french toast, an outdoor farmers' market (the only place I can find reliably green tomatoes) in the summer and a flea market that has produced my adored vegetable peeler, numerous gifts and a favorite hot sauce.

Arlington National Cemetery. Even in the soggy, stifling heat of summer, I've never tired of standing at the Robert E. Lee home and staring at the rows of white headstones standing at eternal attention. Even after hearing the official Arlington tour hundreds of time as a DC tour guide, I never tire of hearing the stories over and over. I never tire watching the precise pomp and circumstance of the changing of the guard. What I love the most, however is wandering among the headstones, silent, wondering of the stories behind each of the names etched in stone. It is a humbling experience every single visit.

FDR Memorial. In my training as a tour guide, one of the first things I learned was that in DC everything has a precise reason for being the way it is. I immediately fell in love with the symbolism of the city - often hidden in plain site. One of the places in which this is most beautifully executed is the FDR Memorial. The rooms, the quotes, the materials - each speak volumes of the man who commanded the Oval Office during some of the nation's bleakest moments. Politics aside, the memorial, perched on the edge of the tidal basin in the shadows of giants, provides a fascinating look into a part of history about which I have an insatiable fascination. The hush of falling water, the bronzed soup line - begging for a Kodak moment, the unfinished fourth room - transfix me every time.

Newseum. I've been an avowed media junkie since I was old enough to join my father in the race to the television at 6 p.m. for the local news or fight my mother over the Sunday paper. My first true career aspiration was political journalism. Discovering I loathed being a journalist did little to diminish my passion (comprising equal parts frustration and fascination) for the media. Never did anything so completely capture my love of all things news-related, however, than did the Newseum. It was a completly delicious sensory overload - a place Himself has vowed never to never accompany me, for fear of being permanently stranded while I wander in a blind stupor. Closed for relocation, it opens downtown mid-fall. I cannot wait. Years have deprivation have left me anxious to explore the promised seven levels of galleries. The timing is just right - it might have to be one of Baby's first outings.