D.C., baby

As I emerged from the tree-lined path that runs along the Tidal Basin at the Jefferson Memorial in D.C., I saw these Buddhist monks in their saffron robes posing for tourist photos. Aside from the fact that I always feel fortunate when I see nuns and monks, I found this moment especially delightful because I had walked down the Mall from the Capitol to the “Jeff” to try to recapture a peaceful memory I had of sitting on these steps at dusk 6 years ago, when my life was very different. And there, ahead of me, were embodiments of peace.

I had come by train to D.C. for the day, as a post-semester adventure and to attend a presentation on Prison Re-entry issues by the Urban Institute at the Library of Congress. Because it was a perfect, dry 80 degree day and I was still too brain-dead to learn and absorb, I stayed outside much of the time, despite the enormous wealth of history and knowledge surrounding me in the various museums of the Smithsonian Institute and beyond.

Some of Jefferson’s most lofty ideals are engraved on the walls in the rotunda of his memorial — of equality, the ‘personhood’ we all share, and even his belief that as we evolve, the laws may need to change (I’m thinking of the death penalty currently under review…). Yet as I read them, I realized how much I had changed in those 6 years. Jefferson’s words, while still inspiring, were much less so to me now.

My social work training is changing me. If you walk down the street in a neighborhood in North Philly, or burned out sections of Baltimore, or a DC neighborhoods not far from the White House, you will see how much effect these words have not had, so far. You may feel conflicted, sad, angry, frustrated, humbled.

You may begin to wonder what would change things.

I was an arugula-loving, white wine too, intellectual type of politically-correct liberal. I’m not sure how or when that happened — I grew up in Central Pennsylvania with Republican parents. Perhaps it happened at Mount. Holyoke College and/or later in Boston in the 80’s and 90’s. In any case, I think it’s certainly easier to live in that politically correct ivory tower when you don’t have to face or attempt to solve real-world problems, when you live and work with others who are similar to you, educationally & economically. Maybe even, when you are prone to government criticism without really having let yourself first and foremost, yes, love your country.

Love of country is not just for Republicans, you know. That realization took me a while. It’s really not ‘hip’ to be a country-loving liberal, is it?

So when I stepped out of D.C.’s beautiful Union Station, into that gorgeous day and headed down Delaware Avenue, past the first Senate buildings, I was thrilled to be in this wonder-filled city — graciously designed with park expanses, fountains, reflecting pools, welcoming outdoor space, white marble, columns and domes — so much happens here!

Then I saw the Capitol’s dome over the trees, speaking of a place where much happens. I admit, it brought tears to my eyes:

From the far side of the reflecting pool.

House of Representatives on the right (pictured) and Senate on the left.

After hours at the steps up the edifice to where it all happens.

Seen on the street:

Tour buses from all over, groups of kids and adults in matching T-shirts, visitors from every state and country and really hardly any trash (yes, I’m from Philly). Black business dress rules. Honestly, there are also a ridiculous number of runners on the Mall. I was never out of sight of someone burning calories, toning and generally working on their success image there in our Nation’s Capitol. I loved it all!

Food note:

There are many food ops even in Union Station, which is more like an upscale mall than a train station, if you’re short on time. Also, the Smithsonian Museum of the Native American serves authentic native food in their cafe — what a beautiful, peaceful place!

Meeting note:

If your meeting is attended by Senators and Representatives, the call to a vote may break up your meeting at any moment. Fortunately, ours was just finishing when that happened.

Back in Philly, waiting for the last train:

Back late from “D.C., baby” [what I had written on my wall calendar]. Don’t let ’em tell you that it ain’t no thang.

She is happenin’. She’s magnificent.

Peace, liberty, & community,

Ms. SpinC