Farewell to a friend

Today my favorite corner of the internet rides off into the sunset and I’m finding I have nowhere to grieve.  Mournful text messages have gone unanswered, attempts at conversation draw blank stares and I’m passing the afternoon at my desk somewhere between a brooding solitude and actively trying not to cry.  After years of drawing an oddly and deeply personal sense of community from a blog that structurally prevents direct reader-to-reader dialogue (via, say, a comments section), it is somewhat fitting that I have nowhere to commiserate its end but within my own mind.

And so I turn to the blog I’ve neglected to eulogize the blog I’ve read almost every day since graduating from college in 2007.  In fact I can say, without hyperbole, that Andrew Sullivan’s The Dish has been one of the most influential forces shaping how I've come to understand myself and the world around me in the time since.  It has, over the years, among many other things:

• Taught me (and constantly reinforced) the value of reasonable discourse in place of knee-jerk, inflexible doctrine
• Been a much-needed, dependable source of support and inspiration as I gradually grew to understand and take better care of myself
• Introduced me to The Atlantic - I am still a subscriber, though am perpetually a few months behind on my reading
• Provided me with innumerable tidbits that made me smile (especially videos like Carl Sagan reading from Pale Blue Dot, the Star Wars AT-AT as a dog, and various montages of travel images and slice of life over time collections)
• Forced me to pay attention to stories I otherwise would have ignored
• Framed the internal debate I was having with myself over spirituality in a meaningful way

Above all else, the Dish has grown into a trusted touch-point for me - a place I come to get smart, thoughtful perspective on all sorts of things going on in the world, to gain a sense of communal reaction to current events, to explore new ideas and new inspirations, or just to pass some down time at work.  Though I understand and support Andrew’s decision to hang it up, I'd be lying if I said the thought of losing all of this didn't make me feel empty inside.

Urban exploration

When chatting with Dan at happy hour the other day, our conversation turned, as it often does, to traveling and exploration.  He turned me on to this blog, a remarkable collection of photos and stories documenting adventurous people exploring abandoned, private, or otherwise inaccessible historic places around the world. 

The specific post that he was telling me about concerned the London Post Office Railway - a now sealed-off system of subway stations and tunnels once used to shuttle mail around the city.  It reminded me of a story I once read about an abandoned, pre-Metro subway system in DC, though I couldn't recall the details.

A little googling led first to this Washington Post story about the Mole Way, which turned out to be an old April Fool's joke (a fact I did not come to understand until I was almost ready to drop everything at work and go hunting for abandoned stations this afternoon).  But, eventually, I came across this series of photos posted in a forum about an old station and series of trolley tunnels beneath Dupont Circle.  This is what I was looking for, though it is significantly less extensive and cool than its British counterpart.  Apparently some investors tried unsuccessfully to turn it into a food court in the 90's and now a group wants to convert the space to an art gallery.

The concept of urban exploration has always fascinated me.  A city, with its landmarks and grid of streets and richly documented history, presents an accessible canvas on which to compare the past to the present.  Roaming around DC with a camera (and some snacks) has always been one of my favorite weekend pastimes.  Discovering a blog like Silent UK appeals to this same intrepid part of my personality - with much less walking, to boot.

Begin the hours of this day slow

October dawns and the days grow heartbreakingly beautiful.  Fall is my favorite season for reasons as varied as crisp weather, holidays, and Terps sports.

As the leaves turn crunchy and colorful, I think often of my last encounter with fall - during an Argentine April.  I can't help but feel a tinge of melancholy when I ponder the peace and simplicity of my time in Argentina, compared with my life now.  Not that my life is at all bad, but when held against a perfect two weeks whose most pressing worries were "Which delicious steak should I eat tonight" or "Should we nap in the plaza before or after getting gelato," it's not hard to seem dreary by comparison.

Which brings me to this poem, "October," by Robert Frost.  I am not much for analyzing poetry, so I don't actually have a clue what Frost's intent was in writing this.  But, like the onset of my favorite season, it makes me feel cheery, with just a hint of reflective sadness.  And helps me to put health issues, mortgage payments, and life's assorted other complications back into perspective.  Where they belong.

October, by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

Dried beans and crusty bread

Soup is one of my favorite cold weather meals to cook for a couple of reasons.  It is warm & hearty, relatively easy, and takes many delicious forms.  Even better, it provides a perfect excuse for buying another of my (non-seasonally dependent) favorite things: a fresh, crusty loaf of bread.

I made a simple white bean soup on Sunday afternoon.  For some odd reason, I've always been intimidated by dried beans, but I have been experimenting with them lately and haven't ruined anything yet.  I just wish they didn't take so long to cook.  This recipe could probably use some refinement (or maybe the hint of another herb - thyme? rosemary?), but it was pretty tasty as is.  Here is what I think I did.

White Bean Soup with Pancetta & Kale

1. Soak 1 lb. dried white beans (such as canellini) overnight in cold water or for at least an hour using this method: place in pot and cover by a couple of inches with water.  Bring to a rolling boil and let cook for a few minutes.  Turn off heat and cover pot with a lid.  Let sit.  In either method, drain the water before using the beans.
   
2. Saute some diced pancetta or Canadian bacon or ham in a soup pot until starting to brown.  Remove and set aside.  Deglaze the pot with a little water if there is a brown goodness building up on the bottom.
   
3. Add two onions, chopped, two-ish carrots, diced, and several cloves of garlic, minced, to the pot with a little olive oil and cook until soft.
   
4. Throw into the pot: the soaked beans, the pancetta, two bay leaves, a parmesan cheese rind, if you happen to have it, and enough water to comfortably cover it all.  You could also use stock in place of the water, though I have been trying to avoid the store-bought ones lately because they are so salty and you will be simmering for long enough to create your own flavorful broth from scratch.
   
5. Bring to a boil and then reduce heat to simmer gently.  Cook until the beans are as tender as you like.
   
6. At some point, season with some salt and pepper, to taste.
   
7. When the beans are just about done, add a bunch of kale (or spinach or arugula), chopped, and cook until it is wilted, approximately five minutes.
   
8. Fish out the bay leaves and cheese rind and serve.

A hot air balloon on a tether

Last Friday, for the second time in my life (the first being spring break of my senior year of college), I had to scrape snow off of my car before hopping in and heading for the beach.  The reason for this wintry trip to Rehoboth: a weekend-long retreat for the Volunteer Corps program that I help to coordinate through church.

There is something inherently compelling about being in a vacation town during the off season.  Quiet, uncluttered streets and open stretches of beach lend themselves to getting lost in thought.  True local businesses hum reliably along like beacons in stalwart relief to the blocks full of shuttered boardwalk kiosks and tourist traps.  The only other group of any size I saw was there for the annual Polar Bear Plunge, which happened to coincide with our visit.

It was against this backdrop that we gathered for a weekend of camaraderie and conversation.  The volunteers (five recent college graduates that the church houses for a year and sets up with assorted non-profit agencies in DC) developed an agenda around the theme of shared wisdom and life lessons for twenty-somethings.  Through this framework, we discussed accomplishments, regrets, and the milestones and decisions that have shaped our lives.

Aside from the chance to spend time with a fun group of people (I learned a new game, called Fishbowl, and got to play Mafia for the first time since college!), what I appreciated most about the weekend was the chance for meaningful reflection.  Occasional windbagging sessions with Maggie aside, I rarely take the time to ponder some of the big-picture issues and decisions that impact my life in such a thoughtful way, let alone benefit from the perspectives of others.  Often, when I think about these things, it is by way of worrying.  Stepping back a little was refreshing.

Some of the other things that will stick with me:

When describing his natural inclination to be adventurous and see the world, one person compared his mom and dad's parenting style to a hot air balloon on a tether.  They gave him the space to explore and grow, but helped to keep him grounded and tied to home and family.  For whatever reason, I thought that was enormously profound, particularly as he noted how he struggles to strike the same balance with his own kids.

In a room full of Ph.Ds, fellows at major think tanks, and assorted other decorated big-wigs, many people turned first to relationships with family and friends when discussing their proudest accomplishments.

Spirituality is defined differently by many people, but is, at root, tied to personal growth.

All in all a great weekend.  I've struggled quite a bit with how church fits in my life over the past few years, but this retreat, as a manifestation of the sense of grounding and support that I value and a jumping off point for thoughtful reflection, was pretty close to perfect.

Democracy, alive and well

With less fanfare and significantly fewer tears than in 2008, I walked the two blocks from my house to the neighborhood school that doubles as my polling station.  As the chilly, 7:30 am sun crept higher in the sky, a long line of residents in DC's Ward 4 gathered to vote.  Over an hour and a half later, my warm winter coat, hat, gloves, and scarf could not keep my toes from going numb (nor could they prevent the parking ticket that appeared on the windshield my car for "failure to properly affix registration stickers").

On a day when Nate Silver makes dizzyingly positive predictions about the national election and when I learned, to my great relief, that my mom voted in favor of same sex marriage in Maryland, it is difficult not to feel optimistic about the possibilities to come. No matter who prevails tonight, however, I simply hope that he leads our citizens forth to success, security, and opportunity; that he projects humility, confidence, and intellectual curiosity; and that he conducts our foreign affairs in a way that earns the respect and admiration of the world.

My feet are still cold, but I feel great.  Like the broad cross section of society present at the polls this morning, I proudly took part in the most important of civic duties.  That alone is reason to smile.

Along the shores of the Bosphorus

About a year ago, I bought an impromptu ticket to visit Istanbul between Christmas 2011 and New Year's Day 2012.  Though the city and, more broadly, Turkey both deserve a much longer visit, we packed as much as we could into a short time.  One of the most relaxing things we did during these busy few days was to take a cruise along the Bosphorus Strait, the body of water that slices through the city and separates the European side from the Asian.

The cruise lasted all afternoon, but the highlight was the sweeping view of the sunset over the spires and minarets of Sultanahmet, the Old City.  Cliched as it may be, there is something undeniably contemplative and peaceful about watching the world's progression from day to night.  From the warm light and long shadows of late afternoon spring vibrant streaks of orange, crimson, and purple before all gives way to a graceful darkness, like the soft, inevitable lowering of the curtain after an engaging performance.  And in that reflective moment, all is beautiful, and heartbreaking, and good.

Blue line to Houlton

This map, posted on a website called Visual.ly is a graphic look at America's major interstates, represented as numbered subway lines.  Very compellingly done, in my opinion.  Also, for some reason, visualizing highways as commuter train lines seems to shorten sprawling cross-country distances into very manageable journeys.  As in: if I just hopped on the Blue Line toward Houlton and transferred to the Green Line in Boston, I could be in Seattle in no time.

To see a larger, higher resolution copy, visit Visual.ly directly and click on the map.