Adventures at 101 Independence Ave SE


In honor of National Book Lovers Day, I thought I’d share with you the most nerdly adventure a book lover like me could have–a day spent at the largest library in the world, which is located in our own nation’s capital. If you’ve never had the luxury of exploring the Library of Congress, I’ll offer my portrait of a beautiful and wondrous place that could not have existed without one man whose quote all book lovers can identify with:

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In Washington D.C. for the day after a phenomenal conference on genetics and genomics where I was representing PAs, I started off the day getting off the Metro at Union Station, and headed to the U.S. Capitol Building, where I had signed up online the night before for a tour at 8:45 am (the earliest available). It’s free, but you must sign up, as the tours tend to fill up fast.  I’ll share the tour of the US Capitol in another blog post (one of those patriotic, sappy ones, so be forewarned now!), but suffice it to say, I was thrilled to see a sign that pointed to a tunnel between the U.S. Capitol and the Library of Congress.

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This tunnel, besides the cool factor of travelling underground between two very different buildings, had the advantage of bypassing security (though you have to pass back through security when heading back from the Library of Congress into the Capitol), as well as being literally cooler given the muggy D.C. heat even at that time of day.  For the members of Congress to have the Congressional Research Service which directly serves Congress in such close proximity is likely quite useful.

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Besides the sheer beauty of the frescoes and statuary there, the immensity of the Library of Congress and all it encompasses is astonishing.  It is actually 3 large buildings, the Jefferson, Madison, and Adams buildings which are all interconnected (yes, more tunnels!). This is the Great Hall of the Thomas Jefferson Building. Hours could be spent in this part of the library alone.

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At any time, numerous exhibits are ongoing at the library including one currently on Gershwin, another on World War I propaganda art, and another on a collection of maps including one of the first of America.  As part of their bible exhibit, which contains 18 from their collection of over 1500 in over 150 languages, I got to see the Gutenberg Bible, pictured here, and the Giant Bible of Mainz. Everyone knows about the Gutenberg Bible and its significance in regards to movable type, but to have it juxtaposed with the Giant Bible of Mainz which was hand lettered, and produced in the same time and place provided a great contrast.  Seeing first-hand the visible guidelines so that those lettering it could write in a straight, neat line, really brought home how time-consuming a process it was. It took the scribe 15 months, ending on my birthday in the year 1453 of all days!

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While exploring all the buildings, I came across the U.S. Copyright Office housed on the fourth floor, which I did not know was a department of the Library of Congress. It contains the world’s largest database of copyrighted works and copyright ownership information. In fiscal year 2015, it registered an astounding 443,812 claims to copyright.  So, there are definitely new things under the sun, though many would claim the opposite to be true.  An office where hearings regarding copyright are conducted is imbued with a modern art twist. By some strange chance, I happened to come when no one was present, and I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland come upon some strange alternate dimension, as its decor was so different from the rest of the library.

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In my travels through the basement, I came across hallways lined with card catalogs.  I thought perhaps they had been abandoned for computer records, however, Carl from Engineering soon disabused me of this notion. Apparently, most resources can be found via computer, but they keep the card catalog because not everything has been put into the computer databases, and he still finds researchers standing with drawers open, writing on pull-out wooden shelves in the basement searching for hidden treasures.

I also came across a giant globe, and one of the engineering workers in hard hat stood studying the topographic map for a long time whilst I took a picture of this giant globe.  It allowed me to give a perspective of just how big it was, and the way he stood there just begged to have the picture taken.

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There’s an even larger one upstairs on the second floor in the Madison building, but I was told it was in an area of mostly offices, and the woman on the elevator could not tell me what its significance was.  In my very active imagination, I thought that perhaps they had to be separated because the force of gravity between the two massive globes would wreak havoc on mortal beings and delicate instruments betwixt them.  Either that or having 2 globes next to each other wouldn’t be structurally sound, but that seems a rather boring answer if you ask me.

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I did my part in rescuing our economy from financial ruin by making sure to visit the gift shop where I had to stop myself from buying a large scarf printed like an old library card, and one of these fun purses made from recycled Reader’s Digests. The children ended up with a keychain globe of precious stones, a parchment set with quill and glass inkwell, and accurate, readable copies of the Constitution, Declaration of Independence, and Bill of Rights.

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Lest you think the library is only for adults, the Young Reader’s Center is a cozy set of rooms on the ground floor with the requisite puppet theater, low tables for artwork, a television with DVD player in a small viewing room and a cushy sectional with large bean bags for curling up to read books and listening to Story Time. If I lived nearby, I would come here every day with my children.

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Windows everywhere fill the rooms with natural light. There are step stools throughout to reach the upper shelves (so thoughtful, says the short person), with whimsical carved animals like this one.

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All this walking began to make me hungry, and thinking I didn’t want to go back out into the heat, then come back in through TSA-like security, I asked if there was a place to eat nearby.  It turns out in the basement of the Madison building (far away from all the books), there was a Dunkin Donuts, Subway, and a small coffee shop, none of which sounded sufficiently adventuresome to me. On the 6th floor of the building, though, I also learned that there was a large cafeteria, which according to another man with a silver hard hat in the basement, “Is excellent. I mean, really outstanding.” So, of course, I had to make my way up to the Madison Café. Unfortunately, the elevators chose that moment to go out of service, so I earned my lunch by climbing up the stairs to the 6th floor. And the man in the hard hat was right. The variety of choices was a vision especially with my stomach growling loudly enough to be embarrassing.  It included a buffet with offerings included deep-fried oysters, stuffed cabbage, a salad bar, 3 different types of soups, numerous desserts including bread pudding, as well as a grill for made-to-order burgers and sandwiches, a sushi bar, an Asian section with phở, udon noodle soup,  a bibimbap bar, and a breakfast food area.  I chose a beef bibimbap with japchae and cucumber kimchi that was surprisingly good for $7.99. The Asian girl serving the food behind the counter ended up with a similar plate behind me in the checkout, so I knew it had to be at least palatable, or at the very least not poisoned. Perhaps it was because I was so famished, but it was, in fact, delicious.

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I couldn’t get over the fact that I was eating delicious Korean food in the Library of Congress while sitting looking out over the city, when a church bell from nearby St. Peter’s Catholic Church began to toll in the tower across the way from the library.  It was definitely surreal.  The glowing cylinders in the air aren’t ghosts of presidents past hanging about, just the reflection of the pretty light fixtures in the cafeteria which was decorated also with posters from all over the world, and photographs of children reading.

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Thus refueled, I went next to the Moving Image Research Center, where you can view movies, though you have to request it at least 2 weeks in advance as they store most of the films offsite.  They began collecting motion pictures in 1893.  Films are shown and open to the public in the Mary Pickford Theater which is within the Library of Congress itself. Seating is first come, first serve though. It was there that I learned that anyone over the age of 16 could get a library card.  So being the giant book nerd that I am, I had to get my very own Library of Congress card.  I’ve covered up the picture of me grinning like a fool and part of my signature with my Metro card, which I suppose I’ll save until I come back to D.C.

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The process to get a library card was surprisingly quick, starting with a line-up to speak to a lady who requested my driver’s license, asked me if I had requested a library card online, and since I had not, directed me to a set of computers where I filled out a form, then went to sit in line to get my picture taken.  The whole process with 2 people in front of me in line took at most 10 minutes, and was much more enjoyable than any visit to the DMV.

Upon leaving, I saw a curious sign and heard Barry Manilow and laughter spilling from the adjacent room.

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I peeked inside and saw an incongruous sight–couples waltzing, ranging from young to old, of all different races.  They beckoned me in, saying “Come on in and join us.” So I did.

My only previous exposure to ballroom dancing was a dancing instructor hired for Dana’s 30th birthday party, where I learned that I am awful at following and possibly born with 2 left feet, and resolved at that point to avoid any kind of structured dancing without more instruction.  Well, the more instruction day had apparently arrived, in the form of Dean. I could not tell if he was with the other 2 instructors, one a matter-of-fact early thirty-something Caucasian lady in pants and dancing heeled shoes, and the other a smiling tall African American man in polo shirt and chino, or just really loved ballroom dancing.

Thanks to Dean and his “big step, little, little” and “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3” I acquitted myself reasonably well with a “Well done!” from the tall African American man who asked if I’d done this before, and learned the twinkle step and the patty cake. The pictures are somewhat blurry because most of our time was spent dancing, as it should be.  I spent about 30 minutes in this slice of alternate reality, most of it smiling like a crazy person, because who goes ballroom dancing in the Library of Congress? Me, I guess.

Oh, and at the Library, there are also a bunch of books. Stacks and stacks of lovely books–in case you thought I only like libraries for all the other cool stuff. I once worked with a PA, and perhaps he was teasing me, given what he knew about me and my love of libraries, who said that he didn’t see the point of libraries, stating that if he wanted a book, he would just go buy one at the book store.  I sputtered, and tried to articulate all that libraries mean to me, a person who could count the number of books in the house while growing up on 1 hand.  My adventures at 101 Independence Ave SE just confirmed what I knew when I was just a little girl with a library card: Libraries are a portal to another world, a place where magic becomes reality if you can only open yourself up to all the possibilities and knowledge the world has to offer. I’m thankful for libraries, and for a country that believes that knowledge is important enough to preserve for everyone in a place of unsurpassing beauty and wonder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Best-Laid Plans


Those dark brown eyes ringed with lady-killer eyelashes looked huge in his pale, greenish face.

“Was I brave, mama?”

Oh, little man, you know how to break your mama’s heart into tiny little pieces. And just like that, I knew we wouldn’t be going to Colorado for Thanksgiving.

“You sure were, buddy. Let’s hope you don’t need to be brave tonight.” But, unfortunately, he was up vomiting twice again through the night, after the phone call that had me hurrying back to his dojo, where he managed to vomit 4 times in the 15 minutes it took me to get there.  He made it through the rest of the night, humor intact, “I am kinda greenish, like the Hulk!” with only a bit of drama.  “You don’t know what I’m going through here, Mama,” he sighed, as he rested his flushed cheeks on my chest.

Since Saturday, I’ve been building up to the realization that we likely won’t be spending Thanksgiving with my aunt, uncle and cousins in Colorado Springs.  One of the delights of moving out this way was getting to know better my father’s youngest sister, my uncle and the cousins who had come once for a visit many, many years ago when we were kids. Now we’re all grown with kids and careers of our own, and getting to know and love them anew as adults has been such a gift.

My aunt is an amazing athlete (skills which obviously skipped me), golfing like a professional, and regaling us with stories of running the Pikes Peak marathon when she was older than I am now.  She used to traverse Pikes Peak regularly, and my favorite story to tell about her is the time she met some college kids just knackered out on the ride down from the top of the peak on the Cog Railway, defeated by the mountain.  “The trick is not to stop,” she advised them. “Ask me how old I am. I used to climb Pikes Peak once a week.”  She is a tiny little fashionista, always perfectly coiffed and dressed, and has more style in her little finger than my whole body.

My uncle has a deep, rumbling chuckle that makes me smile every time I hear it. He’s a night owl like me, and I love to hear his stories from when he was in the military, which is how he met my aunt. I think my husband looks forward to hanging out with him as much as I do, so when he woke up on Saturday feeling like he’d been hit by a bus, hacking and congested, and said that he wasn’t sure about driving up to Colorado Springs especially with a storm brewing, I knew he wasn’t joking, and that our plans for Thanksgiving were in jeopardy.

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I know that Christmas is usually everyone’s favorite holiday, but for me, it’s Thanksgiving.  My sister laughs because she knows how much I love to eat–“So, of course, it’s your favorite!” I love that the focus is on being grateful, the food and family.  Every Thanksgiving I look forward to being with everyone around a huge table groaning under the weight of a giant turkey, a ham studded with cloves and pineapples, lumpy mashed potatoes, squash with no weird marshmallow topping, kim chi, sausage stuffing, salad with interesting bits like corn and mango thrown in a la little sister, and corn bread. Every Thanksgiving, my mother would try a new dish, and if it went over well might get added to the rotation. I’d wake up every Thanksgiving, and the house would already be filled with the smell of roasting turkey and red seasoned pork loin (because we’re Asian, duh).  The bread prepared for days prior to Thanksgiving would be ready to be tossed with shitake mushrooms, sausage, shredded carrots, celery and sage to make the stuffing, my favorite Thanksgiving dish. Given my mother’s aversion to baking pies, desserts would be brought by family, and we couldn’t wait for my aunt’s famous homemade pistachio pudding pie to arrive.

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As we got older and could participate more in the decision-making, we’ve tried various forms of turkeys–in the roasting pan, in the oven, in a deep fryer, injected with mango infusions, covered in butter, in a bag, thoroughly covered in various rubs, stuffed with apples, celery, cranberries, carrots, onions and garlic. Regardless of how the turkey tasted that year, the outcome was always the same: family gathered, thanks given for another year together, and delicious leftovers for days.

My little guy’s stomach bug was the topper to the decision not to leave today as planned.  He is better today, keeping food down, but the big guy is still contagious, and I would not bring sickness to my aunt’s house.  To top it all off, a huge winter storm is making its way toward Colorado, making it impossible to make it there and back in time for my sick firefighter to make it in to work on Black Friday. This isn’t my first Thanksgiving away from home and the rest of the family, but it doesn’t make it any easier. To distract myself from missing everyone, I follow my mother’s example and challenge myself to make a new dish. The first Thanksgiving it was a roast duck. Tomorrow I’ll be trying my hand at a pecan pie cobbler, and I’ll be preparing the bread, turkey legs and pork loin, inviting all the friends who are part of my family here, and doing the best we can to make it Thanksgiving wherever we are, though my heart is in Colorado Springs and a small town outside of Detroit.

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The first Thanksgiving meal cooked on my own after we moved–not quite the groaning table of my childhood, but tasty or so I was told. 🙂

 

 

In Which Several Unusual Events Occur


The day began innocuously enough, pushed to a small sliver of the bed by an exceptionally warm little boy who had shown up at my bedside late last night or early morning depending on if you see the glass half-empty or half-full. He has not crept into my bed in months, but his tear-streaked little round face in the moonlight tugged at my heartstrings, and I could not send him back to his room. Little did I know the surprises the day would bring.

In which a patient faints and technology intervenes:

My patients were not unusual, kind and full of stories of living overseas, but one of my colleagues had the opportunity to use a new device we were just briefed on recently when his patient felt dizzy then lost his balance. The premise of this device is stunning in its simplicity.  As no one in our facility is allowed to lift anything or anyone greater than 30 lbs, it uses a small portable battery-operated generator that allows what looks like several stacked air mattresses to fill sequentially, until the patient is raised to a height that makes it easier to transfer to a gurney or hospital bed.

In which a snowstorm appears suddenly in the desert:

Leaving work, though as always I am grateful for rain in a state that has been drought-stricken for so long, the chill and ongoing downpour had me planning for a quiet day of snuggling in front of the fire watching movies with my husband.  The rain quickly turned into snow as I drove home, which in this high desert place is not usually seen until November 30th, making roads slick and visibility poor, but turning the landscape into a winter wonderland in minutes.

In which a sleeping man surprises me:

Walking into the house, it was unusually quiet, and I found him sleeping on the couch. He is not one who usually naps, preferring to stay on a normal sleeping schedule when home, however, I knew he’d had 8 calls after midnight, the last a structure fire at 6:30 am, so I was glad to see him getting some rest.

In which a tree decides it has taken all it can take:

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As we prepared dinner, we noticed that one of our trees in the backyard had cracked beneath the weight of the heavy wet snow. It fell over as quietly as if it had just suddenly decided to lay down and rest without a noise.

In which the children try exotic tropical fruit:

My littlest ones have a habit of asking to try all manner of fruits and vegetables in the grocery store, and though I love that they love fruits and vegetables, the practical side of me is unwilling to pay $5 for 1 piece of fruit, especially when we have no idea if it will taste terrible. In the produce section of our grocery store, there is a section in which they sell very ripe fruit that needs to be eaten quickly for 99 cents/bag. Today, one of the bags contained both 2 dragon fruits and several star fruit.  While I cooked dinner, they looked up how to cut them up, and everyone got to try dragonfruit and starfruit appetizers.  Verdict?  Dragonfruit have a beautiful magenta color on the outside, but the interior is black and white, with a refreshing sweet taste and seeds similar to a kiwi.  Definitely delicious!  Starfruit when exceedingly ripe is NOT delicious with a consistency and texture like a cucumber without the seeds.

In which we have turkey cutlets, sweet potatoes, and cranberry sauce, although it is not Thanksgiving yet:

While at the grocery store, I also saw turkey cutlets on sale, so decided to try a new recipe, or more accurately, I decided to take a few different recipes and then combine them together, add my own combination of spices, and throw them on a bed of kale and spinach.  wpid-20151116_184720-1.jpg

In which we all enjoy a moonlight romp in the snow, especially the dog:

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Today’s accumulation was between 3-5 inches depending on which side of town you lived on.  Numerous snowballs were thrown, a snowman was resurrected, then lost his head, and much rolling around across the front lawn occurred.

In which we all made wishes, and watched them sail into the night sky: 

My husband had been given 2 paper lanterns at the lantern festival where he and his crew were staged to make sure no fire-bearing paper bombs started any forest fires.  He brought them home for us to experience the magic. We watched them drift upward until they were indistinguishable from the stars, as we made silent wishes.

In which we all go for a moonlit snow hike despite it being very close to bedtime:

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Hiking down to the store to return movies was more fun secondary to the slip and slide factor, and the children enjoyed the opportunity to be outside so close to bedtime.

In which we end the day in front of the fire finally: 

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No hot cocoa as requested by the chocolate lover, but we did all warm our frozen feet by the fireplace, then upstairs for bedtime prayers and getting tucked into bed, cozy after the snowy adventure.

Tonight I’m grateful for days filled with the ordinary and the unusual.  I’m thankful to live in a place full of surprises. I pray for days like this for all of you, spent with loved ones in simple pleasures.

 

 

 

Learning the Ropes


Tonight at dinner, my little ones listened attentively to their daddy talking about the Rope Rescue, Awareness and Operations course he has been taking this past week. He’s in class from 8-5 learning how to tie ropes that can lift anything from a person to a vehicle weighing up to 10,000 pounds.  It’s an odd thing to have him home with us every night instead of his normal shifts. I wonder what military families do when they are used to operating without one person for so long, and then they come back, and everything is wonderful, but strange?

We talk obliquely about how these different knots and procedures can be used to support a person.  “This one can be used to tie a person’s hands together, so you could put them on your back and bear-crawl out if you had to.”  Dear Lord, please let him never have to.  “Would this work for extrication, like up in Seattle?” I ask.  His eyes meet mine over the chicken fettuccine alfredo that had to be reheated after the Cub Scout meeting ran long, and he nods once.  We move on quickly to the next topic and the little ones watch with big eyes as daddy demonstrates another knot.  My little guy can’t wait until he’s done eating to run and get his Cub Scout rope.   His little hands try to mimic his daddy’s as they deftly wind and twist through the air.

I imagine the families in Seattle sitting around the dinner table just like this when their world, literally, shifts and sweeps them from this life into the next.  I can’t stop thinking about how quickly life changed for them, and I feel helpless thinking about how little we can do for all those affected by this horrific tragedy. The news is full of talk about how the mudslide could have been prevented, all the reports and warnings published years ago, and the blame is flying everywhere.  Hindsight, of course, is always 20/20.

But how can we judge, when we are told in multiple reports  and warnings about the importance of eating right, daily exercise, getting enough sleep so our brain cells don’t permanently die off, and yet we continue to order those chili cheese fries (my personal weakness this month), put off those early morning runs, and sit up way past our bedtimes surfing the internet.  Our little ones learn by watching what we do.   They so want to be like us, learning the ropes on how to make their way through this world.  Their eyes see everything, tell us things we didn’t necessarily need to hear: “Your hair is super-funny looking this morning, Mama” or “Why is your tummy so soft?” as he’s laying on me, after a tickle fest.  They see how my eyes stray to my cell phone in the middle of conversations with them, distracted by the technology I tell them is bad for them.

At bedtime, my little guy adds in a name I’m not familiar with to the long list of loved ones, human and furry,  we keep in our nightly prayers.  “Is he your friend?” I ask.

“Not necessarily.” (I love it when they co-opt our own adult-sounding phrases).

“Is he one of your classmates?”

“No, he’s in the other 3rd grade class.”

“So, why are we praying for him?”

“Because he got hit by a baseball, on his cheek and he has a big thing there now.”

“You mean it’s swollen.”

“Yes, he’s hurt, so I want to pray for him,” he says in an exasperated tone.

Duh, Mama, that’s what we do.  We pray for people who are hurt.

I”m still learning the ropes, too, it seems.

For all those families in the aftermath of the mudslide, the survivors still searching for loved ones, the rescuers and first responders hoping against hope to find someone still hanging on, tonight we pray for strength and courage to continue on.

Today, I am thankful for teachers, big and small who teach us the ropes in life.  I am thankful for the brutal honesty of children who help us see ourselves as we truly are.  On a completely different note, I am grateful also for whomever invented chili cheese fries, which I’d like with a side of willpower please.

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