Category: fog

Rolling on the Rails, Philadelphia-Bound

Crossing the Susquehanna River

Anyone who knows me, knows I love trains. This week I’m working on an essay that is about this particular train trip, but has nothing to do with the reason I headed to Philadelphia in late January — on the heels of a snow and ice storm, in intensely dense fog mixed with dripping drizzle. For part of this particular journey I felt like I was back in Seattle, so enveloped in grayness, that it’s tough to find landmarks outside the grit covered windows of my business class seat.

On to the purpose of my trip. I wanted to meet with my internship organization in-person (hq’d in Philadelphia) for a few reasons, most importantly because over the course of my working life, this organization has been part of it in some fashion since late 1998 — and 25 years means something in the broader scope of how we change and morph our careers over time, but can still find ways to work with organizations and people with whom we’ve connected over vast swaths of time and geography.

For this week’s MFA work, I am tasked with writing about my favorite thing with my internship placement — and hands-down, it is the opportunity to work with people and an organization that I admire, and to foster and continue to build relationships. This reflects also what this organization works on each and every day, as well as these over-time relationships: how do we take what we know, consider new ways to use that knowledge (and in this case historic spaces) and imagine what the future may look like where communities are embraced and welcomed. To me, this speaks to a much larger need across the realm of publishing, as well as writing; it feels that too often, closed doors are more often the case and gatekeepers abound while “new” is set aside, because, “that’s just now how it’s done.” I’m not a particular fan of disruption for disruption’s sake, but it does have its place. As an older, professional woman, these issues are of great concern to me as I continue in the workforce and examine new potential roles inside and outside of publishing, writing and education.

In addition to relationships, the nature of how my internship is evolving is also a favorite aspect — as it not only goes to my skills and interests — but also leads me to my roots of professional life as well, where I can (in those rare moments of quiet) envision roles for myself that combine the best of the old life with the best of a new life. Crossroads would be an apt comparison. So far, I’ve been tasked with writing a 1,500 word profile of a dynamic arts organization and next I’ll be working on case studies; both of these involve interviewing a number of people, figuring out a narrative approach, and weaving the story together. For the profile, it will appear in the spring issue of the organization’s magazine; the case studies will appear on the organization’s blog. Next, I’ll be working on interviewing conference attendees that will lead to a published report/proceedings. I’ll only be tangentially involved in production, but I’ve held that role before, so when we recently went over the production schedule for the spring magazine issue — all kinds of details I hadn’t thought about in a long time came back pretty quickly. All of these actions and activities are in-line with the world of organizational, and scholarly/educational publishing which is a lane in which I feel comfortable and one in which I know I can and will explore more possibilities.

Grey Skies and Mist #morningview #REI #getoutside

When you wake up at the weather app says it’s only 59 degrees, it is a feeling of pure joy; just two weeks ago it was easily 89 with 100% humidity just after the sun rises. On this glorious day to come, it looks as if the sun may not ever peek through and after a blistering, sweltering summer it is absolute relief to be outside — in a raincoat — walking at a fast clip without streams of sweat rolling down our faces.

Just the day before we purchased new raincoats at REI (member sale weekend – wahoo!). The tag in these Rainier model coats, a coincidental prediction of weather to come boldly states, “Get outside like you’re from Seattle.” When we were standing in line to purchase these, we wondered aloud to each other — well, we are from Seattle originally, shouldn’t we get a extra discount? As a member my entire adult life, which I obtained at the original REI warehouse store on Seattle’s Capitol Hill, I do think I should probably be eligible for some sort of “extra” to celebrate my longevity and devotion. Those original wood plank floors and bins of wool hats and gloves with skis hanging from the rafters were an REI far from its look of today — the scrappiness is missing. Maybe I’m not scrappy anymore either, and maybe that should be okay (but it’s not, really).

There is great value in scrappy and grey — it is not the languish or morbidity of heat, nor the shock of freeze that can paralyze — scrappy and grey is movement. Movement toward something, away from something, into something — the breadth and depth of a fog that reveals, or a tidal bump that offers a nudge. Grey and scrappy is to set the mind free through an afternoon of sketching or reading; it is also the creative big that bites and leads to discovery.

Grey mist doesn’t slow one down, it just requires the right layers to move ahead: scrappy power.

Iceberg Ahead! #morningview

February 4

These seagulls found the last remaining ice floating on the Tidal Basin for a rest and some fishing. It may be tough to see but one of our gull friends had just plucked a live catfish out for breakfast — only to find the gulls from each side of the iceberg jumping onto his part of the berg, casting the whole flotilla to begin drifting precariously toward the sea wall. While we didn’t wait for the crash, we did observe that these squawking friends appeared unconcerned even though their perch was about to slam into a decaying concrete wall. Their eyes only see the sky above, when their beaks are not pecking frenetically into their subdued prey. Within weeks, this scene will burst with a frenzy of pink blossoms; but grey washes out all color — grey sky, grey water, grey birds.

The Jefferson in the Mist #morningview

Late last fall I began posting photos on Instagram with the tag #morning view. Every morning we head out for a hike or long walk to start the day with clear minds, and check-in on the characters that we’ve grown accustomed to on these treks.

But at some point over the last month, as I struggle to write anything but lesson plans it occurred to me that my material was obvious: #morningview needed a plan too. Since we’ve been unable to travel during the Pandemic, our roaming has and continues to be much closer to home than usual — but the amount of material within 50 miles of home is immense. So I thought to myself maybe I should write what I see everyday, instead of waiting for those bigger trips; it’s rare a day goes by that I don’t take at least one photo so here we go. For now, I’ll start where we are and work backward to the beginning of the year. Fingers crossed, this project will have a bigger purpose soon.

Jefferson in the Mist: February 3. Freezing fog, ice on the Tidal Basin.

Cold and damp to the bone day, but hovering around freezing as we head out for this trek. Some days we have a particular route we want to take on these outings, or a particular goal. For this day, it was all about capturing the fog as best we could as it hovered on top of the monuments. It’s easy to see the the swirling and shifting patterns in the ice – that moment, or many moments over the last few weeks where time stood still and this usually fluctuating basin for the Potomac and snapped it into place. For weeks on end the water moves with the tides that roar up and down the Potomac; but for now time is suspended while the sheet of ice captures all that moves.

Dense fog encircled the Jefferson on this day and I think back to a few times I’ve been stuck in airports due to freezing fog like this — because it’s hard to hear the usual soaring upward roar of jets taking off from nearby National Airport (I will always use the original name). Jets may well be taking off for that sunshine above the clouds, but silence reigns on this day. Our usual helicopter friends from Marine One to Eagle One and news choppers are also silent – no whirring, thwap thwap just above the tree-line, as visibility is below zero. On this day, silence is omnipresent – except for our shrieking at the awesomeness of the ice (wishing we had some sticks to poke it) and witnessing the suspension of time.