If You Don't Watch Closely, You'll Miss It...

Today's job will be digging that trench in the back--I gave myself a sort of day off yesterday to make room for other pursuits (and to save myself some joint pain, truth to tell). It's warming up quickly outside and I'll have to get started soon or I'll be sweating like a pig. Hate that.

My current state of being so very house-focused has made me realize how big the changes have been in my life over the past nearly 30 years, how my priorities have changed. I suppose it's a function of getting older and the responsibilities that come along with that....

I live within a stone's throw of one of the most interesting cities in the world. Cynicism about politics aside, the physical manifestation of "official Washington," in all its marble, neo-classic splendor, is beautiful. So are the Potomac River and The Tidal Basin, and the walks along them. Entry into any part of enormous Smithsonian complex on The Mall is free and a mere subway ride away. The city is replete with performance venues from the Kennedy Center to Arena Stage to the National and Warner Theaters, plus good local companies too numerous to mention. There are world class restaurants. People from all over the world pay thousands of dollars to visit.

And we participate in none of it.

Before Steve and I met, we both went through our young singles stage of living in "The District," as downtown DC is called locally. Steve had an apartment on Capitol Hill; I lived in the Dupont Circle area. Actually for me, having grown up in the suburbs and then leaving, only to follow jobs back, DC was not completely unknown territory, but living in the city itself as a young adult was a totally new experience and I fell right in with all the other newcomers. DC is a social paradise for young, well-educated professionals: they tend to be of a feather, motivated and idealistic about work in some federal agency or other, and ambitious. Watering holes catering to them are abundant, and I took my share. I've had the fun of walking half-looped along the storied sidewalks of Washington, D.C., with my friends, skewering the pomposity of some presidentially-appointed boss, and in general feeling priveleged to be enjoying myself so thoroughly in such a vaunted place.

Soon enough, though, I found my way back to my "roots," the Virginia suburbs. (Some people go back to the farm; others to the ghetto--people like me went back to tree-shaded suburbia. A purely American phenomenon, I'd wager.) I settled into a new life in this house and work became the daily means to that life, and no longer the definition of it. I still enjoyed the Peace Corps and always counted myself lucky to have a career there, playing a role in such a worthwhile institution and knowing such splendid people. But at some point the nest became more important, and a trip downtown only meant going to work. As a couple, we were house-poor at first and could no longer afford the cultural amenities across the river. We became accustomed to entertaining guests at home, in our own style, all of our friends did the same thing, and that way of living became the default. By now, I don't miss that old DC life at all. I'm grateful beyond words that I lived it, but I'm perfectly happy to let others have their go at it now.

If the move to Delaware ever becomes a reality, one of the things I'm looking forward to is the relative smallness of the place. Sometimes in Washington there can be too much choice; you can feel simply overwhelmed by what's available. In Delaware we'll have three small places to enjoy: the towns of Lewes, Rehoboth Beach and (if we feel like a short drive) Bethany Beach. There are great one-off restaurants, there's a local choir I may join--there's even a yearly movie festival--and we know where to find the best local, small purveyors of everything from plants to pizzas, unique to that tiny corner of that tiny state. I think no matter what, we will end up there. I just hope it'll be relatively easy, and soon.

Meanwhile, life carries us along gently, thank God. Changes are imperceptible to the point of invisibility. We must stop and think even to be aware of them.