Church, umbrella and door

8 September 2011

Good evening lovers and loves and precipitous pals.

Earlier today I visited a Unitarian Universalist church for the first time.

I have not been in a church in a very long time.

The same feelings were there, but there was no edge of animosity or overpowering dis-ease.

The place felt downright peaceful. And it was enormous.

The sanctuary seemed incredibly natural and open and felt like a green house.

I later learned a student of Frank Lloyd Wright designed the church and the church even won an architecture award.

Later in the day, my shoes were soggy from the persistent downpour. I squished and squished up to the apartment. I couldn’t tell if my umbrella was weeping or had a slight hole in it. I kept getting wet on my face (especially my right eyebrow).

Here is a picture I enjoy from a house in Alexandria, VA:

A yellow door in front of me

Into the neighborhood

30 July 2011

GF recently injured her back. She feels more comfortable lying down than sitting. However, we do not have a television in our bedroom (how un-American), meaning that she cannot zone out to Project Runway while healing.

In a fit of inspiration, I dragged our bed (mattress) into our living room.

Our den of slack (and healing)

I performed this task on Thursday. The new feng shui (literally “found suede”*) helps us feel as if we are on vacation (or holiday for our readers in the United Kingdom).

However, the “found suede” also makes us feel as restless as an illiterate kitten in a cat library. (Where one can find the collected works of William Shakesfur and D.H. Meowrance.) So what better solution than to explore our suburban neighborhood?

After walking up a hill in the heat, we spotted a house.


We were almost taken in with the pastel porch when we spied a serious message.

Safety is not corny-a.

Despite knowing we were under the “Watchful Eye” of the neighbors, we slogged on in the searing heat.

And speaking of watchful eyes, here’s where you go when you’ve sinned and you’re in God’s dog house.

In the Lord's dog house

However, if you repent you can attend the festivities.

Minor miracle: Feeding 47 with one watermelon and two cheese cubes.

GF then contemplates the joys of heaven and the wages of sin. (Or perhaps just considers the watermelon.)

For the watermelon of sin is death.

After our near-religious experience we happened upon something else sticking to the straight and narrow.

Straight and narrow

Righteous angle


So, we continue on, wandering in a part of the neighborhood unfamiliar to either of us. Ahead, some brick spire things. (I’m sure astute readers will recognize them.)

Walking toward brick things.

As we began speaking of Slurpees and milk shakes, we saw a chimney GF’s father would appreciate (for its precariousness) and one dog a-barking.

Stoked to see this chimney.

Bark. Bark.

We finally saw our destination ahead and knew the difficult walk, the profuse sweating, the threats of surveillance and the punishments for sin were worth it. We made it. We hit the summer mecca. The height of heat-busting enjoyment.

Oh, thank heaven!

After much debate, GF settles on her beverage of choice.

Shilling for the Slurpee.

We ended the journey with a stop into a European market (where I purchased jalapeno chips and some non-US version of a Mounds bar) and a front-row stand for construction work.

European Foods.

We had to crane our necks.

Moving stuff 1

Moving stuff 2

Moving stuff 3

Moving stuff final

With sweat, salty chips, a new perspective on our neighborhood and an invitation to a watermelon social, we trudged back to our cool apartment.


*Many years ago I internalized the deft prose of Dave Barry.