Yes, that’s a mini wooden statute of Ben Franklin reading a book, left mysteriously on my car’s windshield recently while my daughter and I were taking a stroll through Congressional Cemetery. Cemetery walking in DC is a THING, it’s normal and at Congressional it’s the best dog meetup in town, as the cemetery offers a membership for dog walkers. To us, it’s dog therapy, as the many fluff balls there on doggy recess will often approach, looking for a little extra love. We come here to gaze at the cherry trees that grace the well-worn rows of graves as well, far away from the hordes that descend on the tidal basin; and of course, for the history — if you really want to know this town, Congressional is one of the must- see, do learn places.
On this day though as we jumped back into “Red” as our Subaru is called, for her cherry-ish coloring, as I was about to put the key in the ignition, I naturally glanced out the front window and well, with me and my language, “What the hell” came out. We both hopped out of the car, and for nearly a minute just gazed at this little statue, resting so peacefully on the glass on this early spring day. Now, Congressional is not located on the best part of Capital Hill — it is a greatly improved area, but its patrons and permanent residents rest in the shadow of the D.C. jail — home to the notorious and temporary law breakers in the city. The neighborhood, glammed up rowhouses aside, does draw the notorious and temporary’s associates to the area, who do have “leave-behinds” that unflatteringly grace the sidewalks on occasion.
My first reaction to the statue: Do we still have any medical gloves in the car from early Pandemic gas getting? No, but we do have an old pair of winter gloves. But where to put Ben? Leave him on the cemetery stoop? Who would leave such a thing? Is it because of all the bookstore stickers on the car? Who is just walking down the road with a Ben to leave on someone’s car? Ben did find a resting place, thanks to a Congressional staffer (cemetery, not Hill) headed inside that offered to place him in the sun, near the office’s entry, but not before she too, asked: Why, who, huh?
This may seem like a long wind-up to sum-up this semester’s adventures in the world of publishing, but while reflection starts with a look-back, it most often leads to more questions. I have no idea who, what, why Ben was left on my car — but it sure is a great story. After a wonderful semester of interning (which still feels really odd at my age, can we think of a new term for this?) with an amazing organization, I can say here in late April, what I have is questions. I’ve written my writer’s contract with many specifics (and notes to add off-ramps and rewards from K.W. – thank you), and several clear directions. But I’ll admit, last night when reading of bell hooks’ work and the volume of volumes she created, I had that oh-so-familiar feeling that I’m spinning my wheels. It was also a long day of grading essays, which often leads to a certain amount of despair, but today I plan to greet the day anew…no more comparing my lack of volumes to anyone. The journey is just the journey, and some days aren’t going to be great when it comes to production, focus, or walking on the treadmill of life (hence off-ramps and rewards, thanks x two, K.W.).
My internship will continue into the summer (yeah), and I will be able to work again with my organization’s team as well as one of my treasured MFA mentors, write in the realm of spirituality, and perhaps board yet another train north to Philadelphia. Ben Franklin. Philadelphia. Ben Franklin. One book on my to-read list is Signs: The Secret Language of the Universe. As a person who thinks every blue bird is my grandmother visiting with a message, I am pretty convinced Ben’s appearance on my window is no coincidence. Philadelphia. Ben Franklin. Philadelphia. Ben Franklin. Books, books, books. Write, write, write — hello thesis year! Shall I dedicate it to Ben? One more question to ask, and answer.
Jólabókaflóðið 
3 Coffees A Day 