‘D.C. sleeps alone tonight’
I’ve been traveling so much … eating so many cool things … seeing so many amazing things … and talking to so many awesome people …
And yet, anytime I want to write about it, I think about how nice it is that no one knows.
I miss sharing every detail with Momma.
But she knows. And that’s good by me.
I got to have dinner with some old friends on what would have been Mom’s 68th birthday.
“I’ll wear my badge
A vinyl sticker with big block letters
Adherent to my chest
Tells your new friends
I am a visitor here
I am not permanent.”
They took us to brunch on the day Mom and I left D.C. with Maddie and Kadie in tow.
So it was quite heart-warming to spend time with them on what could have been a much harder day for me.
I mentioned that it’s probably silly but I still keep up the blog.
They cheered me on. They knew how much I loved to write.
How I would have wanted to be a diarist if the world didn’t already have an Anais Nin. How it helps me organize my thoughts and improve my writing.
They also remember the events that led to me leaving D.C.
“The district sleeps alone tonight
After the bars turn out their lights
And leave the autos swerving
Into the loneliest evening.”
They recalled how I was finally starting to make a tiny bit of money.
That I’d gotten a good little group of girlfriends that I did things with.
How much time I spent in museums because those were free and, let’s face it, me doing better financially meant being able to afford a cocktail with my friends … not exactly to fill up the tank and take trips.
Incidentally, I had spent the morning at the Hirshhorn on Mom’s bday.
My favorite place on earth.
Like, I have some goober who thinks it’s cute to shitpost that I don’t go into museums.
Like I just stand outside.
I don’t need to counter because I don’t care.
Stood outside of this museum too !
In fact, I usually just laugh that I’m a topic of conversation.
My friends are also aware of this person. We agree she isn’t even the most interesting of my problem children.
That’s the cool thing for me.
They KNOW all my problem children.
Like, how fun is it to have friends who pre-date all the crazy?
Even better, that they’e outlasted all of them … and they are still here for me?
The only pic I took there, sadly.
They cooked me a delicious dinner after a day of protesting (for them) and sightseeing (I hopped over to Alexandria — my true hometown; Pittsburgh was just my birthplace).
I got wings (all flats) in Mom’s honor for her birthday at Hard Times Cafe.
And a Frito pie with Cincinnati chili. In my honor.
But I ate just a few bites at Hard Times with my (Alexandria) Port City porter.
That way, I could enjoy every bite of the bolognese sauce and every sip of the very nice Sangiovese they had for me.
Can’t believe it’s been 15 years since I’d been home. Since I’d seen my friends.
Felt like no time had passed at all.
Nothing really changed.
Minus a whole Wharf and water taxi popping up in the last decade.
Anyway they remembered how I felt “a way” about taking on Mom.
Which was icky to revisit.
But it was accurate. And validating, TBH.
They remembered how I wanted her to be independent. How she took care of herself and my grandfather just fine. But then came to me and wasn’t so independent anymore.
I did say I wanted to correct the record. She was sicker than I knew. Sicker than SHE knew. So she could finally quit pretending otherwise.
What I perceived as a lack of motivation was, in hindsight, the start of a whole lot of stupid shit in her body starting to take over.
I tend to get defensive when people start to say that I was absolutely valid in my feelings that her coming along might have changed my trajectory.
“I am finally seeing why
I was the one worth leaving.”
Like I might have stayed in DC. I might have met someone good.
Or I might not have.
But I might have had the money to enjoy DC properly.
And it blew my damn mind to buy and eat whatever I wanted now.
Like when I accidentally ordered two meals at Colada.
What I do know is I’m now the age Mom was when we moved to Florida.
And I’m glad I could give her a good life and peaceful exit from it. I just wish I’d been nicer about it.
I had a revelation that day as I was in L’Enfant Plaza for the 14th time because it was the station that got me everywhere I needed to go …
“I’m staring at the asphalt wondering
What’s buried underneath.”
I thought Mom’s final gift to me was being here for my 50th birthday.
But here I was at 51, back in my adopted homeland, and I realized THAT was her final gift.
My freedom, while I’m still healthy enough to enjoy it.
Otherwise I’d be sitting in the house, watching the Rethuglicans attack Democrats over our lack of fucks over their Pumpkin King’s (my opinion) public execution of Charlie Twerp on live TV.
Like, it’s starting a whole attack on Democrats for how we vote. They are costing people their jobs. And why employers are so ready to reward these fake Jesus followers and not employee loyalty/skills is beyond me. And it seems to be happening to more women than men.
It’s a solid preview of what’s set to happen when the demons from the “Ghost” movie come for Habanero Hitler next. Unfortunately, it probably only gets worse. Much worse.
Anyway.
Cheers to an amazing trip to D.C.
I got to see Ethel Cain.
I got to eat Mom’s favorite meal.
I got to enjoy a martini with ham in it.
I got to enjoy Bloody Marys with bacon and shrimp.
And extra bacon, as the server was out of celery so that’s how she made up for it.
I got to go to the Hirshhorn and lose myself in an amazing room painted by Laurie Anderson.
Whose song “World Without End” was one of my favorites, years ago.
I got to spend a few hours at the International Spy Museum.
Which my dumb ass walked to from the Wharf, not realizing it was sitting atop … you guessed it … the L’Enfant Plaza Metro stop.
I got to hang out at DCA, my favorite airport despite its formal name.
And I stayed at the freakin Intercontinental Hotel. Quite baller of me, if I say so myself.
But the waterfront was what was really spectacular.
I could live there. I really could.
I mean, if a studio didn’t cost the same as my 2/2 in Palm Beach.
There were so many highlights from that short trip. But I think “old friends are the best friends” is the highlight.
I thank them … and my city … for welcoming me back.