Technicolor Toes...

Pre-teen fashion accesorizing now includes a new toenail polish color...each day.  Yesterday's hue was fluorescent pinkish-orange, the type of iridescence usually adorning traffic cones.  Allochromatic adolescence in full splendor...

Meditative Mornings...

I woke up in a contemplative mood today...5:02 am. After peering through the curtains at the park across the street, I realized it was still too early. 5:31 am, awake again...so I decided to try and seize the early morning rays, and greet the sun as it hurdled the tree line. Thirty minutes or so went by, a gradual clarity intensifying around me. Where was the chariot of fire beginning its journey across the sky? A bit restless from this morning's disappointing enlightenment, I decided to walk away from the park bench. 6:18 am. Then I saw the orange streaks dancing ahead of me, and turned around.

Beguiling Bhutan...

Today was the festive finale. I seized the last opportunity to see this summer's Smithsonian Folklife Festival, which focused on Bhutan, Texas and NASA. I took in a little bit of Texas, allowed NASA to orbit alone, and focused most of my attention on Bhutan, an isolated Himalayan Kingdom where Buddhism shapes much of the cultural geography.

Each year, this traveling terrarium of cultures and landscapes brings new people, colors, and flavors to life. The exhibits literally danced in the shadows of the national monuments. This event is a museum spectacle, a labyrinthine animation of cultures, an enchanted exposition of otherness....

(If you prefer to meander among the monks at your own pace, click here.)

Cross-dressing on the Crosswalk...

Thursday afternoon, I met a gaggle of relatives, all converging in Washington DC: a cousin, his wife and their son, from San Antonio, TX; a cousin from Boulder, CO; and some relatives of the nuclear (family) kind, from the VA side of the Potomac River. We all met in the Gallery Place area on the edge of Chinatown.

These few blocks of urban view-scape are one my favorite places in DC. Great eats. Great people watching...but, not the tourists: those slathered in SPF 451, with awkward hats and t-shirts embroidered...F-B-I...C-I-A, purchased from a street vendor. No. This sea of bait fish banality swarms around every summer. And, albeit they are a spectacle, they are not the ones worth watching.

I saw the gold pumps glittering fifteen feet away, as he walked towards me. His balance was impeccable...delivered by a fluid gait...an awkward promenade-cum-prowl. The syncopated sleekness of his slide spoke volumes. "I notice you, noticing me, and I don't care." The gold pumps sailed past me and settled on the crosswalk. I snapped a picture from the hip, and glanced around. A few tourists gawked. Some whispered. He ignored them all, and drove the gold pumps forward across the asphalt. His dignity was enviable, his sense of style commendable.

Cohort Continuum...

It started the first year of high school, September...1981. We have been friends for a long time and have shared a multiplex of escapades. Our kids are the same age, and we make an effort, at least once a year to have them hang out together. The routine is usually limited to a few hours during the hectic holiday season. This year we turned time elastic, and planned for a longer stretch.

He drove up from NC with the girls, landing in Arlington on Sunday afternoon. They left this morning. But for those brief hours in between, we talked about the past, and watched the future at play around us...aging gracefully, an aging aided by the purity of pre-teen laughter.

If you prefer to frolic up close, join the kid-scapes by clicking here.