GOTTA GET HER STEPS IN

We're on the DC Metro, far, far below the streets of the city.  The escalators down to and up from the subway system are enough to strike fear into people with height issues (like me).  Riding up from the station to daylight can be a trek that rivals Montreal's Tower Olympique -- it keeps going and going and going and finally the sights of the city come into view.

One of the stations has an escalator ride out of the deep fathoms that takes about two minutes.  The gears scream, and the ride sounds like the continuous trumpeting of an elephant... maybe even a herd of elephants.  Like all cities, sometimes travelers spill out to bums begging for change.  Most of the time, though, like the Arlington stop and Pentagon City, travelers emerge from the depths to music. 

A couple of the Metro stops are having elevator issues.  Knowing this and knowing the severe slants and lengths of the alternate escalator system, I am surprised to see a woman in a wheelchair getting out at one of the stops that I am reasonably certain has no elevator.  Perhaps she is switching trains, but even that usually requires movement to another platform level.

My niece, with whom I am sitting, and I watch as the wheelchair-bound woman maneuvers out of our subway car and onto the platform.  I'm worried about her, at least for a moment.  As the doors close, the woman leans forward in the wheelchair and starts walking it along while she is sitting, much like Fred Flintstone does to power his car (running along the road while inside the vehicle).

I look at the woman then I glance at my niece, who shrugs and says, "Gotta get her steps in."

Indeed. 

The woman may end up like Charlie on the MTA -- riding forever 'neath the streets of DC, wheeling and stepping along the subway platforms, waiting for someone to come by and toss her lunch from the train car.

ZOO PEOPLE

The best thing about visiting a zoo is that the animals are not always the most fascinating things on display.  Actually, sometimes the animals aren't on display at all.  Of course, this is what happens when I visit a zoo off-season but on a nice day. 

Due to the weather and school vacation, the zoo is mobbed -- wall to wall people everywhere.  Due to the fact that it's not yet consistently good weather, some of the animals are not out on display.  That's okay, though.  The throngs of people everywhere are interesting enough and make the visit well worth the price of admission.  Okay, admission is free, but still.

First is the young man walking around in the t-shirt that has written in big letters "DRUNK AS SHIT."  Now, I'm not a scientist nor a doctor, but I am reasonably certain that shit doesn't drink, nor does alcohol go directly into the sphincter, so I must surmise that this young man isn't drunk at all.  It's a long shot, but even if he were, advertising such a state at the zoo is probably not a proud nor intelligent thing to do.  I mean, are the gorillas going to care?  Will the alligators be concerned?  Are the elephants going to stampede simply because this human claims to be "DRUNK AS SHIT"?  I am doubtful, but I'd kind of like to see it happen.

Then there's the woman who is yelling at her husband/date.  They are standing in front of the reptile house, blocking the sidewalk, nose to nose, and the man is standing stone-still while the woman is in his face, screeching loudly over and over again, "WHATDOYOUWANNADO! WHATDOYOUWANNADO! WHATDOYOUWANNADO! WHATDOYOUWANNADO! WHATDOYOUWANNADO! WHATDOYOUWANNADO! WHATDOYOUWANNADO! WHATDOYOUWANNADO!..."  I don't advocate violence, but how this woman does not get punched in the face is beyond me.  I even wanted to punch her in the face.  Her voice and demeanor are more annoying than the birds, and the kookaburra wouldn't beat her in a cackling contest.  The woman is still screaming and repeating herself thirty seconds later when I finally get out of ear range. 

The strangest sight at the zoo has to be the carriage situation.  Out of all the children in carriages that I see, almost none of them is small enough to belong in one.  In other words, the toddlers and infants are either walking or being carried.  The children in carriages are all HUGE.  Ridiculously huge.  The youngest one I see looks to be about eight and the oldest is ... well ... maybe ... fourteen.  I understand children getting tired and the zoo is built on a massive hill, but seriously.  It's like watching the donkeys riding in the cart instead of pulling it.  It's shocking to me how large these children are riding in carriages.  It takes one strong parent, sometimes two or more adults, to push these lazy lard-asses up the paths.  The whole thing is weirdly compelling: once I notice it, it's impossible to look away, especially if the large pre-teen is whining. 

It's more fun than the monkey house.

As I'm heading toward the exit, I pass a guy wearing a t-shirt that clearly states, "JESUS SAVES, BRO."  I almost flag him down because I figure he might be able to help the kid who is "DRUNK AS SHIT."  In the end, though, just like real animals in the wild, when it comes to maneuvering through the bizarre zoo crowd, it truly is survival of the fittest.  I am relieved to report that I made it out of there alive and with all my limbs intact.

EARNING THE WINE

What happens when I combine a busy Thursday with a restless sleeping night into Friday and add in a long day Friday of work that runs late, then I top this all off with a glass or two of wine?

I doze off during the Bruins game.

Luckily I am watching the game on television  and not actually attending it at TD Garden.  Seriously.  By 9:30 p.m., I am battling fatigue so great that it knocks me on my ass.  One late afternoon glass of wine has rendered me completely useless.

Dinner?  Nah.  That implies work.  I'd either have to make it, heat it up, or go get it.  None of those options seems appealing nor manageable.  Cheese and crackers are manageable, plus they go with wine.  That works for me.

Also, the house is hot.  Really hot.  And a bit humid.  My hair, completely straight when I leave for work in the morning, starts to curl up like a terrier's coat.  Everything in the house, including me, sweats.  Too soon; truly, too soon.  I hoped for 70's before it went right to "unbearably boiling."

No matter.  The wine does its job.  If I'm lucky, I'll sleep.  I doubt it, but I'm willing to give it a try.  After all, it has been a brutal week at work, and I've earned this snooze ... and wine.  I earned that bad boy glass big time.

I'M SOMEWHAT SANE

The weather is in such a flux
That the temperature rising amucks
It's too hot too fast
Although it won't last
Right now it's so hot that it sucks.

Of course, last week while in DC
(A place I just happened to be)
A cold witch's tit
Didn't like it one bit
My toes, nose and fingers?  Icy.

I guess I've no right to complain
My patio's set up again
It's time to sit out
And sip vino and stout
It's the only way I'm somewhat sane

SPIRALING TO THE STAIRCASE

Yesterday's surprise DC architecture (due to being lost) is replaced today by planned architecture.  Our first stop, the National Archives, is fascinating, but we are forbidden from taking pictures, which to me is a fate worse than torture.  Not only are the documents amazing (Declaration of Independence, Constitution, bill of sale for Charles Ingalls' property, and an amazingly intact original copy of the Magna Carta), but the building itself is phenomenal inside.  Alas, you'll have to Google it or trust me on this.

Our second stop is the Supreme Court, where we can take pictures.  My niece has been inside one of the courtrooms as part of her law school rotation through DC, so she is adept at taking us through the building.  First of all, this building is one of my all-time favorites.  When people see the other amazing structures and ask, "Is THAT the Supreme Court?" I respond with a wry smile and shake my head.  Wait for it, I assure them, just wait for it.

The outside of the Supreme Court is magnificent, and the inside is just a grand.  The halls are wide, the ceilings are high and covered in designs, and the pillars and artifacts are awe-inspiring.  There is a long, straight staircase that leads to the courtrooms, complete with a Caesar-like bust of John Jay that monitors the corridor.  At the bottom of the staircase is an elevator with decorated gold doors.  It is so much like a Greek temple that stepping inside is like stepping into another world, another time.

The most impressive thing, though, is the engineering marvel known as the Spiral Staircase.  There are photos of it being built (upside down, then disassembled, then reassembled as it was put into place), and I feel like I'm ready to see it.  I mean, it's a giant spiral staircase.  I've seen one before years ago in a DC office building when on a Girl Scout tour with some local Congressional muck-a-mucks.  So what, right?

So wrong.

The view of the Spiral Staircase can only be seen from a small landing the size of a doorway.  My niece, who directs me to it, knows exactly what's coming.  I, apparently, do not.  I tuck myself into the alcove, look up, and ... exclaim ... "Hoooooooooly shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"  The Spiral Staircase is not only impressive, it's inspiring; it's magnificent; it's ridiculous because it's that cool.

I have to turn my phone's camera screen around, lean a little over the railing, and extend my arm.  If I drop my phone, I'm never, ever getting it back.  I snap a few pictures, step away, and wait for my sister to take her turn.  Her reaction is a nearly perfect instant replay of my reaction.  It would almost be funny if it weren't so damn amazing.

Okay, seeing the Magna Carta was also flipping amazing, but I cannot get a photo of it, so I'll settle for posting the Spiral Staircase because that's almost as fascinating as things like the copper plate copy of the original Declaration.  No accidental lost-tourist stuff today, but without my niece as a personal guide, I would've missed the courtroom staircase (hidden down the end of a hall) and the Spiral Staircase (hidden in an alcove).

SURPRISE ARCHITECTURE

I have a horrible sense of direction.  Apparently, my sister and brother-in-law have a bit of it, too, because when we arrive in DC, we promptly head the wrong way off the subway.  It's not entirely our fault.  We are searching for D Street.  What we don't know is that there are four different D Streets in DC.  Yes.  Four.

The bad news is that we are almost late to meet my niece when she gets out of work.  The other bad news is that DC is having a wicked cold spell -- cutting winds, icy temperatures -- and we are absolutely chafed right through our clothes down to our skulls and every bone inside of our bodies.  The good news is that we are from New England, so screw the cold weather.  The other good news is that our confusion yields outstanding tourist results.

We wander off and on between Pennsylvania and Constitution Avenues, running into such gems as Ben Franklin, the Department of Justice, The US EPA, and everyone's favorite organization the IRS.  Suddenly, tucked in the midst of Grecian style architecture, we stumble across a building that looks more like it belongs in the backstreets of Boston.  The brick building has large arched windows, and I surmise that it may have been a fire station.  The building boasts a simple, archaic inscription near the top: U.S.S. Co.

Turns out the U.S.Storage Company is an old storage building, and it is the tallest structure on DC's Square 348.  Built in the late Romanesque style, it is an architectural masterpiece in the neighborhood, and I stop in my tracks to take its picture.  The building is only 110 years old, but it looks older by design.  I briefly imagine how incredibly cool it would be to see the inside of the U.S.S. Co. or perhaps live close enough to see it every day.  Yes, it is that aesthetically pleasing.

Thank you, horrible sense of direction!  Without you, we would've missed all the cool stuff we manage to fit in as we weave our way back to the exact spot where we already have been.  My niece is meeting us back near the subway station by the US Navy Memorial, another sight we would've missed had we headed straight for the tourist traps.  Thank goodness the memorial is at the Metro -- no chance to mess up that sight, even with our dismal location challenges.

WHO MIGHT CARRY THE BOOKS?

Thank goodness we take a plane to and from DC.  I have my mid-sized rolling suitcase and a carry-on bag.  The suitcase is packed tightly; the carry-on has a lot of space.  I guess this means that technically I could haul more stuff home to Boston with me.

But, truly -- thank goodness for flying because it means I must resist temptation of bringing things home with me.  Things I do not need -- like books.  More books.

Our hotel is next door to a book store cafe.  As if that's not bad enough, we find another book store near my niece's place in Dupont Circle.

The hotel-area book store is Busboys and Poets.  The selection is limited but eclectic, and I very nearly walk out of there with Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf.  The one in Dupont Circle that we find is Kramerbooks, and I darn-near walk out of there with several literature-based card games, some magazines, and a few new books.

However, even though I do have some room in my carry-on bag, I don't have the energy left to bring the stuff home with me, so I ultimately decide against buying anything heavier than a postcard.  Unusual for me to out-walk my wallet where books are concerned.  I am weirdly proud of and ashamed of myself all at the same time.

Thank goodness, though.  Imagine my suitcase or carry-on being weighed at the airport?  I'd have to explain to them that I'm trying to see how many books the floors in my apartment can hold, and, judging by the heft, I'd probably have to buy my books their own airline seat.  That would be bad since my sister is occupying the seat already.

Hey, maybe I could get her to carry the books ...