admin – Page 19 – The Constant Harper

Thinking Outside the Mall

You don't need to be royalty to enjoy this lawn.

What does your front lawn say about you?

Stay out, or come on in?

In the Big Picture, the National Mall serves as our national red carpet, our welcome mat to the world.

It’s where we gather as a nation to air our grievances and grieve for our errors; where we celebrate our victories and honor our heroes. It’s where we mingle with our countrymen and reweave the fabric of our society. No matter how frayed or stained it may get in the heated battles that come with free speech and the rule of law, at the end of the day, we all value the concepts which launched this bold young nation.

Sometimes we lose sight of those original lofty dreams – the speeches fade from memory. Sometimes we need to be reminded of how we came together and why we’re stronger together than we could hope to be apart. Most of us came here to get away from something – religious persecution, harsh political regimes, unfair social systems, stagnant economies. Some of us were here before the newbies arrived in the 1600s. Others were brought here against their will, but fought to gain the freedoms we all hold dear.

Sometimes we forget that this was, and still is, the land of opportunity.

And that’s where the National Mall comes in.

The Washington Monument points upward for a reason.

Each year more than 25 million visitors pass through the National Mall to gaze at the exhibits and treasures inside the museums which flank the majestic sweep of space surrounding the Capitol and the adjacent memorials. The National Parks Service, which oversees the maintenance and development of the roughly 1,000 acre public site, is currently working toward another revision of the National Mall’s design.

Although some may resist change, the dynamic nature of the National Mall reflects the dynamic nature of our country. We’ve changed a bit since 1776. And the National Mall is a great place to get a sense of how far we’ve come, and how much we’re still learning.

Unlike shopping malls, which leave me with a feeling of being buried alive – like being trapped in an elevator with a food court – I love the National Mall. Even when it’s mobbed with tourists. I like to see enthusiasm for education, and that’s really what the National Mall is all about. No matter what you’re interested in – history, science, art, human nature, music, or simply fun – the Mall has something for you.

A classic moon gate leads to a tranquil oasis on the Mall.

For me, the difficulty is in choosing which place to visit. But in the spring time, when the clouds skitter above the Washington Monument and the merry-go-round is filled with laughing children, I like to stroll through the 180 acres of gardens which soften the edges of all the impressive architecture.

This year the American Horticultural Society will honor the Smithsonian’s garden staff in June with the 2012 Urban Beautification Award. Everywhere you look on the Mall you can see reasons why they deserve it.

The new National Garden is just beginning to fill in.

Next time you visit D.C., take a break from the wonders inside, and enjoy the gardens that belong to all of us. Sure, our tax dollars pay for all of it, but when you spread it all out it’s pennies a day from each of us. And we don’t have to do the weeding.

A dazzling display of orchids casts enchantment steps from the Capitol.

And that’s a better deal than you can find in any other mall.

Tickled Pink

Black is the color of my true love’s suit.

Suits – black, serious, ‘don’t mess with me’ suits – crowd the sidewalks of downtown L Street in Washington, D.C.

It’s April, Easter week, normally bloom-time in our nation’s capitol, where this year marks the 100th anniversary of the planting of the cherry trees that frame the Tidal Basin – trees which launched a million postcards and a few haiku.

But not this year.

Pods of tourists, easily identified by their sneakers, backpacks, baseball caps, and bewildered expressions, wander uneasily behind the suits, perhaps wondering where have all the flowers gone. The blossoms came and went before most of the tourists arrived. So now they’re branching out, exploring D.C.’s other options. They take photos of buildings, landmarks, the few Occupy D.C. tents still hanging on in Farragut Square.

The suits are too preoccupied for festivals or protests. The Occupy movement, like the cherry blossoms, is so last month.

Some thoughtful observers wonder if the record-smashing heat in March, which accelerated the cherry blossoms’ bloom and drop, might be another symptom of global warming, like the monster tornadoes in Texas, earthquakes in Central Virginia and the skyrocketing stinkbug population.

Don’t ask me. I just came for the cherry blossoms.

Fluffy, pink, fleeting.
They’re gone. And soon, so am I.
Adios, black suits.

Where Am I?

It’s not as easy as it once was to get lost in this world.

In these technology infested times, the proliferation of gadgets that can tell you where you’re going, how to get there, and what it will cost you has taken some of the zest out of travel. Still, most of us would gladly trade the thrill of the unexpected for the assurance that we’ll get where we want to go without undue bother. And after hearing about the recent mid-air mental snaps of some airline staff, I find myself warming to the idea of a quiet book by the fire.

But, like it or not, sooner or later all of us have to get out of the chair and go places, even if it’s only to the dentist. This is why maps will never go out of style.

I love a good map. I can spend hours perusing Rand McNally, marveling at the curious names of tiny hamlets, the abundance of rivers and streams and mountains between the Atlantic and the Pacific, the sheer expanse of our nation.

Yet part of the magic of maps lies in all that you can’t see in them. The personal, political and social history played out in states and cities, to say nothing of the immense physical changes which take place at a pace too slow for our human eyes to fully appreciate. You can get a sense of it at the Grand Canyon, but if we were able to view the rest of the world through that same staggering perspective we might have a better understanding of how long history is, and how short our share of it.

Of course, we’d rather not think about that. We are the center of the universe, after all. The crown of creation, etc. Uneasy lies the head.

But maps – those flat, two-dimensional renderings of the world as we see it – allow us to feel some measure of control. We know where we’re going. We’ve got a map.

Would that it were so easy. The comforting illusion of control that maps provide allows us to function in a world of restless dark matter.

Much as I love maps, I never fully trust them. Everything changes. Roads close, new roads get built, shorelines change, lakes and rivers dry up. The physical landscape has a life of its own, and while our attempts to keep track of it have improved dramatically since the age of satellites and computers, there’s still a gap.

Perhaps that’s one reason why the maps I enjoy most are of imaginary places. As I child I delighted in the map of The Hundred Acre Wood drawn by E.H. Shepard for the Winnie-the-Pooh books. Since then I’ve always had a fondness for a good imaginary map. I love it when a writer takes the time to fully imagine a world, complete with place names that ring true. Most recently the maps in George R.R. Martin’s brilliant A Song of Fire and Ice have been especially satisfying, and very helpful to a reader embarking on the journey through the epic five-volume (and counting) fantasy.

Of course, in order to create a map of an imaginary place, it helps to have a vivid imagination. To believe in such a map can serve as a coping strategy: “when reality fails and negativity don’t pull you through” (thanks be to Bob) you can always retreat to someplace imaginary until the next election.

Camped out on the far northwest edge of the nation, Seattle sits on a faultline between the real and the imaginary worlds. It’s easy to cross that line here. That’s one reason I included a map of Seattle in my recent fantasy novel, The Goddess of Green Lake. A map of Seattle is a map of an imaginary place. Here people carve out curious niche lives that couldn’t find a toe hold in Kansas, or in New York City, for that matter.

But here, where the moss grows faster than the national debt, crazy ideas can relax and put down roots. There’s a fair amount of live and let loon attitude. As Mal Reynolds, the noble renegade captain in Joss Whedon’s space-western Serenity once put it: “We’re all out here on the edge. Don’t push me and I won’t pull you.”

While the political stew bubbles and spills with daily infusions of invective and innuendo, it’s helpful to step back, squint your eyes, and try to see the bigger picture. All of this has happened before. Apocalypses come and go. Sooner or later we all dance with the stars.

To Get To The Other Side

Beatles-mural-finished — Mural artist David Heck produced a replica of the famous "Abbey Road" cover.

Why does a Beatle cross the road?

I adored the Beatles in 1964. From the moment they struck up “All My Lovin'” on the Ed Sullivan Show I became a fan and remained so right through “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band” in 1967.

But of all their studio albums, the one that moved me least was “Abbey Road.” Yet if you believe Wikipedia, “Abbey Road,” their 11th and final studio album, recorded in 1969 when the band was beginning to drift apart, remains at the top of the list for vast numbers of rock music lovers.

While it’s true that a couple of the Beatles best-loved songs, “Something” and “Here Comes The Sun,” are on that album, there are also a few dubious selections. Does anyone seriously claim that “Octopus’s Garden” or “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” are great songs? There’s a reason these selections don’t show up on the karaoke menus.

Of course every band has its share of clunkers. And the Beatles produced so many memorable songs, and introduced such innovation to the recording practices of that era that their cultural contribution cannot be overestimated. But what’s equally impressive is the lasting impact of their artistic choices, many of which were impromptu.

One of the best examples of this is the classic cover of the “Abbey Road” album. This simple image of the four Beatles crossing the street, Abbey Road, was shot in a ten-minute window while a policeman stopped traffic to enable photographer Iain Macmillan to perch on a ladder in the middle of the busy street. The resulting image has become so famous in the forty years since it was created that tourists still flock to that crossing spot on Abbey Road. You can watch the action on the webcam.

The “Abbey Road” cover has been often imitated but never surpassed. Obsessive Beatles fans back in 1969 spent hours theorizing about the significance of Paul being barefoot in the photo, the order of the walkers, the meaning of the lines on the crosswalk.

Mock if you like. Fandom makes fools of all. But it also brings us together. We may not agree about politics, or economic policy, or global warming, but most everyone who has heard the Beatles likes some of their music. Possibly even “Octopus’s Garden.”

Portable Paradise

Gauguin-paradise — "Where Did We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?" by Paul Gauguin

Yes, it’s still raining here. Sideways.

Across the city, above the pelting on the windows, you can hear ambulance and firetruck sirens signaling the recurrent collisions of skidding vehicles driven by people who refuse to accept the physics of wet weather driving.

On the East Coast it’s summer already – 80 degrees, cherry blossoms frying on the sidewalk. Lawnmowers and air conditioners churning away.

One could be envious, I suppose. But life’s too short to waste in idle envy. Paradise is a state of mind. You can be there anytime, as most sublimely demonstrated in a classic sequence in “Office Space.”

But the dream of faraway paradise has long lured humans into reckless over-reaching. Sometimes these crazy expeditions have born fruit – Gauguin gained something besides syphilis when he abandoned his family and the Paris art world to go to Tahiti. Yet although the move inspired some of his best known works, the island haven didn’t turn out to be the answer to his problems. Instead it left him more haunted than ever by unanswerable questions.

One of the most vexing aspects of the human condition is our inability as a species to be satisfied with what we have. The quest for more, or better, or at the very least, different conditions, has led us both to greatness and to horrific tragedy. If there is a heaven, will the creatures in it be satisfied eternally? Even Mick Jagger, assuming he gets in?

Well, I’m not expecting to find out. But I am trying to work on my own attitude – aiming for a little more gratitude and a lot less envy. I used to think it would be heavenly to live in Tahiti. These days, my idea of paradise has taken on a more domestic flavor. Something along the lines of Omar Khayyam’s The Rubaiyat:

“A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread – and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness –
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!”

Or, in my case, a six-pack on the porch, a piece of pie, and you picking your guitar. ‘Nuff said.

Books Cooked?

I don’t think so.

Hardly a week goes by without some magazine article, or blog post, or online article about how people don’t read books anymore – how Nooks and Kindles and iPads and the texting twitterverse are making books obsolete. Some greener-than-thou folks even claim that paperless books are the environmentally responsible thing to do.

I’m not buying it. Also not buying a Nook, Kindle or whatever stocking-stuffer gadget comes next to “replace” books.

For me, nothing replaces books. Books are my Tahiti, my Paris, my refuge from “reality” shows and the continual onslaught of all too real tragedy in the world around us.

I realize that reading books alone can’t solve the world’s problems. And, indeed, some books, notably religious texts, seem to stir up as much strife as they inspire goodwill in humankind.

But books are the gateway to understanding. And without a lot more of that, this little planet of ours may go the way of Pluto. Only with more explosions.

So, I’m a book fan. Some might say a book snob. But I’m really not. Taste in books is like taste in food. You can’t argue a person into liking anchovies.

In literary terms, I’m something of an omnivore. While there are a handful of authors to whom I return again and again, there’s always a thrill when you discover an author you missed.

Allegra Goodman has been writing acclaimed novels for a while. She’s won prizes and awards, and her books are simply amazing. I just finished reading The Cookbook Collector and Intuition. Back-to-back. I couldn’t stop. And there’s more. I can hardly wait to dig in to the rest of her stuff. Her writing is deft and thoughtful, her characters utterly convincing, her plotting and scenes brilliant and compelling.

In blurbs about The Cookbook Collector one reviewer described her as “our own Jane Austen,” a phrase which has been bandied about for years, applied to scores of pleasant forgettable romances. I yield to no one in my admiration for Jane Austen, but Allegra Goodman is something else entirely. Her work weaves threads of modern culture with acute observations of human frailty caught in the undertow of mortality. Like Jane Austen? Yes, and no. Goodman’s women characters, for one thing, are modern in every sense, keenly aware of their choices, and alive to the truth that there is a cost for every choice.

So. There you have it. The special on today’s menu. It may not be to your taste. But if food for thought is your dish, may I suggest the work of Allegra Goodman?

How The Cookie Crumbles

Nabisco, the makers of Oreos, are celebrating the 100th anniversary of their flagship cookie on March 6th.

In honor of the little cookie that became an icon of innocent sweetness, Nabisco has come up with yet another twist on the classic two chocolate wafers with a creamy vanilla filling: the Happy Birthday Oreo is filled with an icing designed to summon the giddy sugar high of birthday cake icing. Yay!

In addition to the limited edition birthday cookies, Nabisco is also encouraging Oreo fans to share their own Oreo moments and special Oreo-related memories on Nabisco’s website. The thrust of the new campaign is to honor the company’s stated mission to “make life a little less serious” by helping even adults reconnect with “the kid inside.”

Seems harmless enough. I mean, you have to give credit to Nabisco for creating a star-quality cookie, not to mention selling 491 billion of them. Although if I were a Fig Newton I’d probably be feeling a bit resentful. Nabisco’s Fig Newtons have been around since 1891, but nobody put on a party hat for their 100th anniversary.

Still, I’ve eaten enough Oreos to respect their healing properties. And I would argue that they aren’t just for the good times. Sometimes, when life hands you lemons, you wish it were Oreos.

So, in honor of all the quiet little cookie moments that bind up our wounds and give us the strength to carry on, I offer a short story I wrote some years ago titled More Oreos Than God.

A Taste for History

On President’s Day, while bargain hunters flock to malls and mattress warehouses, a different crowd responds to the historic roots of the occasion.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in Washington, D.C., where on the recent sunny holiday a steady stream of tourists eddied around the wax figure of Lincoln posed on a bench outside Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, providing a ready-made, free, and apparently irresistible photo op in these point and shoot times.

Nearby, long lines waited patiently outside Ford’s Theatre, where an enterprising mobile cupcake vendor in a hot pink van was doing a brisk business sustaining the multitudes.

Every place on Earth has history, and every state and city and small village contributes a share to the feast. But compared to the rest of our nation, Washington is an all-you-can-eat buffet. You can hardly escape the history here.

Locals who live and breathe this high-octane historic atmosphere every day can get a bit blasé. But everyone knows that history is the icing on Washington’s cake. It’s the reason most people visit. To feel that thrill of walking the streets Lincoln walked. To stand on the steps where Roosevelt spoke. To see the glory of the Capitol lit up at night. And maybe even to get a taste of Lincoln’s waffles. Who knew he liked them?

History is full of surprises.

Hungry for Peace

Before I had kids, I remember talking to my mother about how I worried about bringing kids into such a dangerous world, and she told me that she had felt the same way during the years she bore five children. That was back when people actually built bomb shelters in their basements, preparing for the nuclear war many felt was only a matter of time. At Westlawn Elementary where I was in first grade, we had regular air raid drills, during which we had to go out into the hall and crouch away from the windows, waiting for the all-clear signal.

Of course, the attacks didn’t come then. Or for the next forty years. And the lull, rather than making us feel secure, encouraged many of my generation to feel suspicious of government and cynical about “the establishment,” as we called it then. Famously, we didn’t trust anyone over 30.

Now we’re the geezers, worried about our jobs, anxious about global unrest and domestic decay. And a new generation is growing up under the shadow of new plagues, more deadly weapons, and a global economic melt-down. Yet, in the face of these threats, the young adults of today amaze me with their resilience and optimism. Sure, there are always some examples of people who collapse from the tension and pressure of modern life. But that only makes the courage and determination and creativity of the rest more admirable.

To what can we credit this new generation of problem solvers? Their parents, in part, their teachers, their mentors. But I think credit is also due to some of the authors who have been creating Young Adult literature in the past twenty or thirty years. I’ve heard it said that literacy is on the decline in this country, and perhaps in some regards that’s true. But it all depends on how you define literacy. If you consider it as the awareness of great stories, epic narratives which reflect the values of a nation or a culture, then I think that, though there has been a shift in the way these narratives are delivered, the message of courage in the face of overwhelming odds, the recognition of loyalty, faith and compassion as core values for our continuation as a species, is still being carried forward in works of literature and film.

Next month the film version of Suzanne Collins’ brilliant, violent, and riveting dystopian trilogy The Hunger Games will open in theatres across the nation. I just finished reading it, and I don’t care if it’s labeled Young Adult fiction – these books rocked my world with their stunning evocation of a society so corrupted by imbalances of power, wealth and justice that torture and terror have become government’s go-to tools to maintain the status-quo. Sound familiar?

The heroine of the story is a teenage girl with an independent spirit and an impulsive nature who never gives up fighting. Katniss Everdeen is a heroine for our times. She embodies the anger and frustration felt by the disenfranchised, the homeless, hungry, abandoned and abused people whose suffering is ignored by the ruling elites and the passive citizens who don’t want to have to think about who pays the true cost of their indulgent lifestyles.

In the world of The Hunger Games the control of the ruling class depends on regular televised spectacles of children engaged in combat to the death, which lull the populace into accepting an inherently immoral system. And although Katniss is forced to participate, she eventually fights her way to the realization that “something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children to settle its differences.” I couldn’t agree more.

This is strong material, worthy of the attention of full grown adults. When the film opens in March, no doubt a new crop of readers will be turned on to the books. Suspenseful, mesmerizing and propulsive as a rocket launcher, The Hunger Games delivers an anti-war message with a new edge.

Will it be enough to cut through the miasma of politics and profit that keeps the military-industrial complex in control of our country? Probably not. But it might get a few kids thinking.

Love is in The Air

Valentine-2 — Even Seattle's soggy weather can't dampen a true romantic.

If you accept the conventional wisdom, a successful Valentine’s Day requires roses, chocolate, and perhaps, if you’re truly under the influence, some sort of trinket.

Supposedly, Valentine’s Day celebrates love, or at least the concept of romance – the crazy stuff that fuels poets and musicians and Katherine Heigl movies. But in truth, the modern American version of Valentine’s Day has become so over-marketed that the shy bud of romance is perhaps least likely to bloom in the hothouse of overblown expectations of that one day in February. There’s too much pressure to get it right, and only one chance each year.

For many of us, even those who have weathered enough Valentine’s Days to know that it’s never enough to get it right for one day, it’s become an occasion to celebrate the smaller, but no less treasured parts of our lives – the little things that take the edge off life’s brutal corners.

On Valentine’s Day, I am grateful for Jane Austen. Of course, I’m grateful for her every day, but especially on a day when so many people fly the romance flag without any apparent understanding of the values for which it stands. Unless you carry the flag day in and day out, rain or shine, in sickness and in health, etc. etc., a box of chocolates or a dozen imported roses doesn’t mean much. But if, by chance, you are lucky enough to carry the burden of love, to suffer the pain and boredom and anxiety that inevitably comes along with the joy when you open your heart completely and let someone else in, then perhaps a box of chocolates or a bouquet from time to time isn’t a bad idea.

However, Love is a big country, with room for attachments of all sorts. We love our friends, our families, our pets, our gardens, our sports teams, our fictional worlds, our countries. Some of us even love our whole planet.

Admittedly, that would be a lot of chocolate.

Perhaps it’s best to start small. Love the person closest to you. Pass it on.