Remembering why (the work edition)

I flew. I pumped. I networked. I conquered.

The dreaded first business trip is complete. And honestly? It was great.

H was fine. We had milk to spare. My mother-in-law got some great grandbaby time. I got some great professional time. (T is still waiting for his great relaxation time.) It was good to get away and be out west again. It was good to remember the good work I've done in the past, to get recharged about the good work I'll do in the future.

The truth is, I love my weird corner of the professional universe, maybe especially because I never really meant to call it my own. Given the bubble of DC and my current project, connecting with other folks in my field and learning from other projects is something I need to do more than ever. And of course, in the constant juggling act that is working momhood, it's harder than ever to make it actually happen. Having a reason to go and an excuse to suck it up and make it happen? Critical. I worked on Tucson's streetcar project way back in late 2007/early 2008. These things take time, as we know. Back then I was chasing love much more than the idea that I'd be at the system opening in 2014. I'd only been in Dallas a few months when I worked on that FTA application - T and I were just figuring out how to live together. We'd adopted one cat, maybe two. There was not yet a marriage, a move to DC, a house, infertility, a baby girl. Those things struck me in Tucson last week, seeing this project go live in a cool little town that reminds me in so many ways of the great one I left behind seven years ago. It's funny how things work, because pursuing transit was the professional path that made my choice to leave Albuquerque for Dallas as practical as it was romantic. I miss New Mexico like mad, but the decision was the right one.

All these years later, this streetcar project and I ended up meeting again. That's one of the reasons I love community planning and transit projects - you can always visit. Sometimes we all need a reminder of why we do what we do, why the headaches are worth it, why the unnecessary drama is sometimes just something you need to work through until the smoke clears. Last week refreshed me, and being away from H helped me see the big picture, to be honest. Some day I want her to know that her mom's work matters to her because she believes her projects help make cities better places to live. What I do might not always look exactly like it does today, but I hope that broad definition will still fit. And even if I decide some day to buy that little bookstore I love in the Outer Banks and leave it all behind (note to self: need to inform husband of these plans first), we can visit my projects together, anytime we like: that streetcar a mile away from our house, or the one in Tucson or Dallas or Ft. Lauderdale, the commuter train in New Mexico, or spots scattered around the country that are maybe a little more vibrant than they used to be - the Lehigh Valley, the South Valley, the Piedmont, and more. The thing about this work is, you get to leave your mark.

As for traveling to visit one of those marks, it was a juggle of course, but not as bad as I'd feared. I timed things similarly to my office, found a few breaks in the schedule to steal away solo, had refrigerators in my rooms, traveled with ice, only filled my bags to 100 ML to speed up airport security (which I didn't even need to do, it turned out), and basically just made it work. As we do. The only real wrinkle was just an embarrassing one, and saved for the flight home. Despite verbal warnings insisting otherwise, congregating in the aisles is in fact still rampant on airplanes. I discovered this the hard way after pumping in the tiny airplane bathroom for just ten minutes to take the edge off (having learned my lesson from the flight over - ouch and oops), and exited to find the bathroom line literally running halfway down the plane. Seriously people? Oh, the dirty looks. (Although they might have thanked me when they realized I did no harm in there.) At any rate... at least my freezer woes are no more!

An Eastern Market weeknight

Yesterday I was having a day. When I left work, I was in a crappy mood and needed to buy ingredients for dinner. One of my friends from high school was in town and coming over to catch up, and there was barely any food in the house. I hit up Eastern Market on the way home without a plan but with a crashing headache, hoping to pull it all together.

Here's the thing about Eastern Market: when we were house-shopping, we literally drew a circle around it on a map to guide us on our hunt. We saw the market then as the heart of where we wanted to be in DC, and now that we're here, it really is the center of our neighborhood lives. We pop in after work regularly for dinner items and we visit at least once a weekend to stroll the flea market and buy food for the week. It's where we see neighbors and buy things we both need and don't need - from vegetables to handmade baby toys.

My first stop was the flower lady. Her flowers are overpriced, but they're also gorgeous and serve as an instant mood-check for me, always. Plus, the peonies on my table from our garden really needed to be replaced. I chatted with her about what she was selling - she had some fun fuzzy yellow ones I'd never seen before and already forgot the name of - and picked up some hydrangeas and irises. Next stop: the pasta counter. We adore buying fresh pasta there (perhaps a little too much, actually), and I was thinking of doing a couple of their delicious ravioli on a plate alongside a spring vegetable and grilled meat. I went with large, savory mushroom ravioli that could be dressed simply with a little brown butter. Yum. The cheese counter is across from the fresh pasta - brilliant placement, really. I needed more parm and wanted a snacking cheese to have out with olives while we cooked, so I sampled two manchegos and had them slice a hunk for me to take home. Now for meat. We ate so much fish on vacation that I've been in withdrawal ever since, but I couldn't remember if my friend Jen was a seafood fan. I skipped the seafood counter (which I always love visiting if only to ooh and aah at the pretty fish!), and went over to pork instead. Pork tenderloin is delicious and simple to throw on the grill - done. 

On Tuesdays the outdoor hall at Eastern Market is lined with Amish farmers who come down from Pennsylvania, and walking by them, arms full of flowers and bag bursting with food, my furrowed brow was definitely gone. The accents, the clothes, the politeness... hard not to smile. After chatting with the cutest little guy in his big black hat, I bought his family's asparagus, strawberries, and his grandmother's pound cake. Done.

Here's the magic of a shopping experience like that: I took my time, but it didn't take long. I had pleasant conversations with five different vendors. I smiled at local dogs and babies. I felt lighter with each new item I put in my bag. I got home and hugged an adorable baby of my own, welcomed an old friend to our home, cooked a simple dinner, and enjoyed it over great company, with the worries of the day behind me.

I'm not saying Eastern Market is magic, but it sure is a magical way of ending a harried workday. Living here, living out the romantic idea we had so many years ago of the urban family life we wanted... some days I can't believe my luck.

Friday I'm in Love

This was a week of milestones: My dad is back in the country after three long months in Saudi Arabia and Miss H's first tooth poked through to say hi. Before I head offline for a weekend of gardening and parental visits, here are some fun picks for the week. Have a great weekend, everyone!

Wooden Volkswagen Beetle

 

This is kinda the coolest thing ever made. A Bosnian man spent two years covering a Volkswagen Beetle in wood - 50,000 separate pieces of oak, to be exact. Holy awesome.

 

 

Robert Moses and Jane Jacobs: The Opera

 

This will only resonate for any planning nerds who may happen to be reading, but if you're out there, HOLY CRAP A ROBERT MOSES AND JANE JACOBS OPERA. I am there. Do you think the cast will sign my dusty graduate school thesis?

 

 

Black Jade Pencil

 

I recently lost one of my two favorite eye pencils. Grrrrr. I'd had it for years and had plenty left for another couple of years, too, so it was a no-brainer replacement. Green-eyed gals, get your hands on this standby for me: Chanel Le Crayon Kohl in Black Jade. It's pricey but as I said, lasts forever and makes eyes like mine pop like no one's business.

 

[Confidential/Hidden] Cities on the small screen

Favorite cure for insomnia: television shows that combine place with crime.

My longtime favorite show for this is City Confidential on the Biography channel. We've been going strong for a decade. The reasons for my love:

• Topic. The show spotlights a single crime in a town somewhere in the US and how that crime came to reflect the changing nature of the community. This could be done badly or without much effort, but City Confidential truly digs in. It also picks its cases really well. When I first saw "Scottboro: Foul Play in the Bible Belt," I steeled myself for how much this Alabama town near my cousins was going to be the butt of jokes. I mean, there's snake-handling involved. But by episode's end, I have to admit to myself every time... nope, they got it right. That's hard to do. And putting on my planner hat for a minute, I have to say this is also the only show not about planning (because seriously... who would watch that?) that regularly talks about suburbanization, loss of community character, and McMansions. And, you know, the killer next door. Yes please.

•  Narrative structure. Every single episode follows the same narrative arc. There's something so predictable and soothing about this, when you watch it at the time of night that I usually do. Part 1 (first 10-15 minutes): setting the scene and helping you understand the community, history through the crime. Part 2 (bulk of the 1-hour show): delving into the particulars of the crime. Part 3 (always the very last bit after the last commercial break): how the town changed after the crime.

• Narrator Paul Winfield. This guy's voice is the best. After he died they found a new narrator, and let's just say that the last few seasons with the newbie are not as awesome as the golden age of PW.

•  The writing. Oh, the amazing tongue-in-cheek camp of the writing! I always thought it'd be silly fun to write for this show. Find "Dallas: Arsenic and Old Money" playing in the middle of the night sometime to see what I mean. You can practically see the writers winking.

There's barely any City Confidential on YouTube, so here's just a taste with the setup for "Phoenix: Shady Deals in the Sun City." You'll see all the points above: A) lots of good planning talk, B) setting the scene in Phoenix, C) Paul!, and D) Camp.

The growing problem with City Confidential, though, is that I've seen nearly all of the episodes. So now what?

Enter the new guy in town: Marcus Sakey, he of Hidden City on the Travel Channel.

Hidden City has a slightly different approach than City Confidential. First, the focus is not just on one crime, but on three, from varying eras of a city's past. In this way the city is the star of the show... although actually, Marcus Sakey steals the show. This wouldn't work if he wasn't likable, or if he truly didn't want to dive into the dirty belly of a city, or if didn't want to invest the time to find the right people to frame the story in a compelling way. But he does all of these things. The other way this show differs from City Confidential's documentary approach is that as the star, Sakey gets interactive with the stories: he climbs into a rigged sedan with a shotgun to see what it felt like to be the DC sniper, he gets pepper-sprayed by cops to understand how 1968 rioters felt, etc. It's good television. He never lets us forget, though, he's a crime-writer. There's less camp in his writing than in my old-time favorite, but by the same token, the writing's much more real.

So yeah... this might be my new fix. City Confidential can never be replaced in my book, but I'm happy to make room for Hidden City. The stories are fantastic - new twists on old ones we all know (HH Dillinger in Chicago or the Zodiac Killer in San Francisco, for example), and older ones we might not know (Madame LaLaurie in New Orleans or Black Caesar in Key West). And all the way through... one city. Over time. Ch-ch-changing.

Friday I'm in Love

Yesterday I fell flat on my face while walking. I was crossing a park to meet T at our neighborhood Metro station, and a slightly uneven brick hit my foot in just the right way, and... splat. Kind thanks to the homeless men who hurriedly rushed to my assistance. Oh my. So today, my knee is the size of a softball and the opposite foot is unable to bear weight. I'm feeling pretty graceful heading into the weekend... how about you?

SIGH.

Let's hurry up and make it 5 p.m., okay? Here are three things that made me smile this week (I've missed you, Friday I'm in Love!):

The Partisans: Birth Control Hearings (Redux)

This is the best response I can possibly imagine to the brain-exploding lunacy that is a bunch of men on Capitol Hill talking about birth control. Thank you, Andy Cobb and Second City, thank you...

U.S. Interstates as a Subway Map

Subway art will always be my favorite, but I'll give a nod here to the Interstate System as well... even if its existence is responsible for the sprawling of America. (getting off my soapbox now...)

Friends with Kids

You know those movie previews you see and in the first five seconds it's completely obvious that you will watch said movie and love it, due mostly to the fact that you love everyone* on screen? This movie is that [latest] movie for me. 

Have a great (and graceful) weekend, folks!

*Megan Fox excluded (obvs)

Two-year report (and a chandelier)

We had a friends over for dinner this weekend, and it was a night of great food and greater laughs underneath our new chandelier. It has just the right amount of rustic appeal (read: burlap) to make me happy, and couldn't be any cozier with dinner. It was a great night.

Yay dining room! Now just imagine it with crown moulding...
(nope, the projects never end)

This weekend was special for another reason, too: it marked two years since we moved to Washington D.C. Time flies, folks. It seems like not long ago at all that we arrived here during a freak snowstorm and then the movers from hell turned us into campers for three weeks. Buying our house a year and change after that? Feels like yesterday. But here we are, two years later. DC residents. Homeowners. Adults.

One thing is clear: DC has become home. Here's why:

• Personal. I love living in a city alongside so many smart, engaged people. I love the friends I've made in DC, all of whom the District is lucky to call their own. Does DC have its fair share of idiots? You bet. (Do some hold elected office, too? No comment.) But DC's large percentage of citizens committed to public service, doing top-notch research, building campaigns for people or for issues, and trying their best to make the District or their country great... it's energizing. Ideas and passion are currency in DC, and that's exactly what I most wanted from a place I'd call home (not to mention necessary for a place where so many associations, organizations, and advocacy groups are based). I love the history in DC, especially the way that history juxtaposes with current development. My favorite places are ones where past and present brush against one another in interesting ways; this is DC in a nutshell. I'm eager to start digging into more of my Leslie Knope-style interests on a personal level, too... why not attend public meetings for fun as well as for work, right?


• Geographical. T and I live basically in between our families. Does it get more perfect than that? For two folks who've wandered all over the country the last ten years, living within driving (or train-ing) distance of our hometowns is huge for us. Since moving here, we've been able to spend more time with our families than ever before, which has been so special after going without that for so long. It's also fun living in a place that's a pretty good draw for scheduled or impromptu visits from loved ones. Being back on the East Coast just feels right; it's who I am. Those New Mexico sunsets will never leave my heart, but at its core, it's the waves of the Atlantic (DC is driving distance to my beloved Outer Banks!) that matter most to me. From an urban form perspective, DC works for me, too. Walkable neighborhoods, a wealth of transit options, cultural amenities, businesses and residences jumbled together in dynamic ways... these are not just talking points, but components that I need to feel great about calling a place home. DC has them, and my ruined heels from old, uneven cobblestone sidewalks can attest to that.


• Professional. It's a misnomer that everyone in DC works for the federal government - most do not. Neither T nor I do, although our work interfaces with government in important (and very different) ways. I maintain a strong separation between the personal and the professional on this blog, and that can be difficult for me, because sometimes I just want to chat about it online. (Some days I'd pay big money to be able to Tweet/respond to media/correct false statements/interject in work-related online conversations/columns/blog posts.) This is a biggie, though: I'm content with my professional workload for the first time in years. It's crucial for my brain and sense of self that I feel like I'm contributing to something bigger and making a place better. The project I work on is going to change how people live and move around DC, and that's humbling. Being part of a team that's doing its best to help make DC a better place to live matters to me quite a lot.

So that's the two-year report card. Life is good. I wonder what I'll say in another two years. I wonder if DC will ever get the vote. I wonder what's next.

Friday I'm in Love: LOL Letterpress Edition

Last night, while I should have been packing for the weekend (oops!), I instead got lost in the wonderful world of pretty paper on Etsy. Given my love for cheeky paper, these three pieces earned gold stars. Letterpress that makes me laugh out loud? Paper perfection in my book. 

Beautiful/Easy

Seriously? This is genius. Art from Dear Colleen.

 

Maddow Love

"If elected, she WILL run" is so my kind of humor. Big props to Big Wheel Press for egging on my perennial Rachel Maddow crush.

Buffalo Pride

The thing is, I actually adore Buffalo. My pal Tracy (waaaaay overdue at bringing her little girl Brenna into the world right now, by the way!) is a Buffalo native, and I'd never been there until her wedding a few years ago. The city flat-out rocks, just the kind of place I like to nerd out to. The architecture and history alone are enough to make me swoon. Add in great bars, old industry giving way to new ideas, and a fantastic sense of realness, and well... I was hooked. At any rate... everyone gives Buffalo a hard time, which is part of why I was so happy to genuinely love the city. This piece, then, speaks perfectly to my faux Buffalo native pride. Thank you, Western New York Book Arts Collaborative!

That's it from me this Friday. I'm off to Connecticut, New York, and Pennsylvania for a few days, for fun with my in-laws and a little work, too. Have a fun weekend, everyone!

"Transit," and paper

Today on Oh So Beautiful Paper I'm highlighting all things "transit," from my beloved streetcars to, you know, hot air balloons. Hey, I couldn't resist this nod at one of Albuquerque's premier events!

Oh So Beautiful Paper: Neighborhood Transit Paper Love

But speaking of transit, there's good work news on my end. A new role and some meaty things to tackle. Positive change, all of it.

Industrial Chic

A wee bit exhausted over here. I've been getting paid to play in Pennsylvania's Lehigh Valley all week, where I got to nerd out to industrial architecture and frolic amidst the sort of community character that other communities spend millions trying to create. Community character is like style or sexiness or grace ... you just have it or you don't. I prefer hanging out in communities that have it. My apologies to suburban development codes that try in vain to create a sense of place by reducing setbacks and adding facade treatments onto their strip malls.

(Ummm... am I writing about planning on my frivolous blog? Too tired to stop now... I'm going with it.)

One of my pet professional interests is adaptive reuse, which at its essence means reusing an existing structure for a new purpose. The benefits of doing so are that we don't tear down and build anew, usually with new codes that make the sort of yummy development we used to have illegal; that we can honor the character and legacy of older structures, which is really a way to honor ourselves and our communities; and that by introducing new activities in older places, we have an opportunity to achieve a greater good and produce a new sort of energy, whether that be via affordable housing or entertainment activities. 

I get pretty worked up about this sort of thing. Ask T what it's like to take the train from DC to CT with me, and he'll probably tell you how nerdy I get about the old factories that back up to the river and the tracks, how my mind reels with the possibilities. (More weird Maggie trivia: I never drink soda, but every time I ride Amtrak I have an insatiable urge for Pepsi.) This is more than a Northeast bias, by the way. A family joke regularly references my future bestseller: The Historic Downtowns of Eastern North Carolina. And you can imagine how excited I was living in New Mexico, surrounded by structures that pre-date anything on the East Coast by nearly a thousand years.

Anyway, this is a long aside to say that I don't have fun web finds for you today, mostly because I haven't had time to play online and find them. Instead, I bring you pretty pictures of the sort of thing I was appreciating all week. An educational Friday I'm in Love, perhaps. I hope some of you will find this interesting.

Bethlehem Steel

The former Bethlehem Steel plant is a massive 1600-acre complex in Bethlehem, PA. Take a minute and imagine how enormous that is. What's interesting about the site to me is that it's in progress. It's too big to be master-planned or taken on by a single buyer, so a variety of activities are happening there, some private, and some public.

A new Sands Casino featuring three (?!) Emeril restaurants is on site with an attached hotel, its entrance sign a reuse of one of Bethlehem Steel's original cranes. I'll admit, I'm not a casino person. I wish the insides of all those places didn't look largely the same due to the whirling lights and incessant beeps of slot machines. However, through the madness you can still appreciate the intent of the design, with angles, ducts, and beams that pay homage to the original plant. (The exterior facade of the hotel is another story... not a fan of that.) The heart of the campus' revitalization is ArtsQuest, a large arts and cultural center at the Stacks. In addition to the new building, a new outdoor pavilion for concerts and events is being constructed in front of the stacks, which are lit up at night.

There's no way to overestimate the enormity of these original structures. The building called the No. 2 Shop was the largest industrial building in the world when it was constructed in 1890. The facades and windows all exhibit the sort of purpose that new structures so often fall short in achieving. To me these sorts of purpose-driven details are beautiful.

Another facet of this project that I adore is that industrial work is still being done on the site, which grounds the entire campus in a way that isn't possible when we're only remembering and not doing (in other words: Disneyfication alert). Steel work for the Navy is still in production at one end of the campus; you can see examples of what they produce sitting outside the building, in perfect harmony with the steel-based art that dots the entire city. 

I didn't have time to do a full tour of these structures on foot this week. My next trip out (and it appears I have a couple coming up) will absolutely involve an official tour. As well as packing my camera.

Easton Silk Mill

The old silk mill in Easton is probably a better example of manageable reuse projects for other cities, simply because it's more relatable in size. Most old cities still have buildings like this one, in various states of use or disrepair, of course. While this was originally a mill, buildings similar to this one are everywhere and not necessarily industrial in purpose.

The plan for the Silk Mill includes apartments, retail, a theater, and more... just like nearly every new mixed-use development that's underway nationwide. The value of using an old building like this with meaning to the city is what appeals here... and what has me perennially dreaming about the possibilities of new life in old places. 

***

That's it's for my placemaking field trip show and tell. I'm hoping to wrap up work early today and get some much-needed rest in this 1906 house of ours... which is suddenly feeling not very old at all. Have a happy weekend, everyone.

Plated, now and then

Our car is finally DC-legal. 14 months later. We're sort of bad about DMV regulations, as you can see. There are plenty of excuses related to the ridiculously small window of hours the DC DMV is actually open, but really... there are no excuses. We're slackers who live in a building with a parking garage and thus can get away with being slackers. I must say, though, I've been geekily looking forward to having one of the coolest "state" license plates around.

Confused? Take a gander at this explanation of "Taxation Without Representation" and what it means in DC. Most of the U.S. has no idea that DC residents don't have a vote. That's 600,000 residents, by the way... more folks than the entire state of Wyoming.

Speaking of other states, I confess to loving license plate design. Spotting different state plates makes me a kid all over again, on the long road trip down to Disney World, playing I Spy with license plates. (Just yesterday, walking home: "Ooh! Alaska!") Being an Outer Banks girl, I always liked North Carolina's license plate (which eggs on the heated Wright Brothers rivalry with Ohio... the drama!), but I don't like the switch the state made to red letters a few years ago. Give me the old school blue, please... the red is sort of glaring.

I never had a car in Boston, but I'll endorse the classicism of the Massachusetts plate anyway. Truth be told, I might have been tempted to get the Red Sox plate there, although I firmly support the sentiment of Massachusetts as the Spirit of America, Mass-holedom and all.

For my first car in New Mexico, that amazing combination of late '80s design and mid '00s politics that it was, I was thrilled to have New Mexico's funky old-school license plate on the back, blazing with color alongside all my bumper stickers. In any other context I would hate this garish yellow, but in the Land of Enchantment, it works. Please notice that you're admiring a license plate not just from New Mexico, but "New Mexico USA," by the way. This was part of the state's campaign to assure everyone else that New Mexico is in fact part of America. Sigh... Seriously though, this plate is more effective than something like the "Keep Austin Weird" campaign by a mile. One look at this plate, and you know something strange and awesome is going on in that place.

For my second car, they were out of the cool yellow plates, so I had to go for the "new school" hot air balloon version - very friendly to tourists, very "see, we're a normal state in the United States" of them. The plate might have been less funky than the crazy yellow one, but it's still really pretty. Man I love that place.

When I moved to Texas I was pretty resistant to getting Texas plates, which says as much about my attitude toward Texas at the time as anything. My expired NM plates forced my hand, though, and I truly did approve of the Texas plate design. Its tribute to various state elements is clean and graphically interesting - although it's notably lacking a Dallas Louboutin. It's a pretty Houston plate, all things considered, but nicely done all the same. Never fear: I promptly slapped a political sticker on the car to balance the Lone Starness of it all.

A couple of years later, Texas decided it was time for a new plate, so they ran an online contest where residents would choose the new design. Oh, Texas. Some of my favorite people are from your state, and I will adore Austin until the end of my days, but this sort of represents why people make fun of you:

I want to believe that the Texans who voted for this license plate were doing so with a strong sense of irony. Maybe they thought it would be hilarious to vote for a bad tribute to State Fair airbrushing, because surely the state would not actually print something that heinous. But no, Texas. Your governor is Rick Perry, and your state did in fact print the winning license plate design. And now you are paying the consequences.

Lucky for us, we fled Texas in a hurry before being confronted with that thing. And here we are, cool "Taxation Without Representation" proclaimers at long last.

Am I alone in my license plate geekiness, or do you nerd out to license plates, too? What are your favorites?

(My non-biographical faves: Colorado, Maine, Oregon, and Vermont)

Big bites and small towns

I fell in love last weekend. Twice, actually.

First things first: Volt.

Oh. My. Goodness. I loved every single bite. My dinner went a little something like this:

I. yellowfin tuna tartare avocado, chili oil, petite cilantro, soy air,
marinated whitefish roe

II. sheep’s milk cavatelli country ham, rye, broccoli rabe, parmesan

III. border springs farm lamb mission fig, licorice, farro, madras curry,
merguez sausage, roasted cauliflower

IV. goat cheese cake d’anjou pears, spiced vanilla, lemon balm

Just delicious. We got a kitchen tour and saw Bryan Voltaggio at work, bottling pork creamed sodas for the following night's Cochon 555 competition. We also eyed Volt's famed Table 21 tasting table in the kitchen. Mark my words, I'll have a seat there one of these days. I can't say enough about our meal: absolutely delicious, worth every penny. 

My second crush, then? The town! I fell head over heels for Frederick, MD. I forgot to charge my camera before the trip, so we'll have to revisit these stock photos since I don't have any fresh ones.

Imagine my delight at Frederick's downtown: historic and picturesque, yes, but also surprisingly large and fully-functioning, not a quaint snapshot of one moment in time. The small business mix is fantastic, the housing stock is great and a range of sizes, and more than that... Frederick feels like its own place. It's not responding to anything, it just is. My aversion to suburbs is smoothed over by my true love of cities (and the fact that T has to work in one anyway), but in truth I love small towns just as much. I felt like we were getting a peek into this alternate world of small town idealism last weekend, and I loved it. At some point on Saturday, after discovering a well-priced reclaimed wood industrial dining table (at a shop owned by two girlfriends who left behind their former lives as buyers for Nordstrom and Pottery Barn, no less!), but before hitting up the store where we bottled our own olive oil and vinegars from 30 or so tanks full of flavor, it hit me... I could live in this town. Uh oh.

And so of course H and I had to scope out local real estate, which only made the fantasy worse. Rowhomes nearly identical to the kind we've been trying to buy in DC, at less than half the cost. A regional rail stop right downtown, making for an easy ride into DC, or a stop at the end of DC's own Metro system, just a short drive away. Saving so much money on real estate that we'd actually be able to go on a real vacation. Awesome public schools, without the drama and heartache of charter school waiting lists. Uh oh.

So that was my weekend... lots of what-ifs. And here's where it all came crashing down on me: actually studying the train schedules and figuring out what T's day would look like, leaving his perfect small town surrounded by picturesque farms and heading into the city, where he has to be at work very early. The truth is harsh: he'd be on a train before 5 a.m. each morning. Or he could drive in at 45 minutes, but then have to battle traffic on the way home every afternoon, taking an hour and a half to get back. It's just not fair, no matter how I slice it.

Maybe in five years or so I'll revisit my Frederick fantasy. Maybe by then, our jobs and lives will be different enough that it might be doable. Or maybe - maaaaaybe - we'll find the right home in DC that will push my small town fantasies away for good. But until then, I totally want to take T to Frederick, eat at Volt again, and show him that dining room table.

(You know, for the dining room we don't have yet.)

Update: This piece on Frederick was just posted on the Strong Towns Blog. See folks, it's not just me!

My kind of empowerment

Much of the work that I do is incredibly small scale. This might seem incongruous from someone who worries about large-scale problems and in other days had big dreams of changing the world. To me, the older me, this shift makes sense. I can sit at my desk and dream about a better government or a happier world of women, but most of that is beyond my grasp of control. Helping folks create better places to live, though - stronger communities, more complete streets, better food systems, more dynamic ways to get around and to connect with the rest of the world - those things I can have a hand in shaping, and do. I've graduated to a perch where I not only say that all politics is local, but I actually mean it. My definition of politics has expanded to make room for this interpretation. In my mind, our streets, our neighborhoods, our towns and our interplay with all of these layers is incredibly political. We vote every time we eat, shop, and make big decisions. They're different votes from the ones that happen in November, but they are votes, and they are absolutely as critical to how this world of ours looks and operates.

In this ground-up perspective, the projects that appeal most to me are ones that engage citizens to grasp their own futures and shape the direction of their communities themselves. As such, I've been thinking about home this week - but not the home that raised me (the Triangle of Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill, brimming with higher education and technology). Instead, I've been thinking of my grandparents' home, the home where I'm related to over half of the local church cemetery, where the farms tell stories and history is passed down in the land. That home, Bertie County, is struggling, as is most of rural America. Our outdated agricultural subsidy system has created winners (enormous corporate farms) and losers (family farmers), and Bertie County is full of big-system losers in that sense. With farms dying and real industry hours away, the youth of Bertie County has historically been faced with an incredibly difficult choice upon graduation. Do they stay in their dying community, or do they leave and succeed elsewhere? In this respect, the youth of Bertie County is the same as the youth in any inner city. A better world is one where there are better choices for the kids of our farms and our cities.

This is where Project H Design comes in, which is the reason you're indulging me on this introspective rainy DC morning. I believe that we create community organizers every time we engage youth in their own community, every time young people take a stand in their towns, their cities, and their farms about how their world should operate. All politics is local, and all change begins with us. In Bertie County, change can begin with a different kind of chicken coop. 

Project H is an award-winning design and sustainability project (see kudos here, here, here, here, and here, for starters) based right at "home" in Bertie County. Its Studio H project teaches high school juniors at Bertie High (where my dad was once a football star, where my cousin was valedictorian) how to implement good design in their own community. Project H teaches by doing with, not talking to. The kids build their own future, quite literally, in their own town. Project H's lessons can be applied anywhere.

Project H's dynamic co-leader, Emily Pilloton, gave a TED talk last year about what Studio H does, why it's different, and why it works. I'd love for you to watch it. Studio H's project this year is to build an open-air farmer's market in the town of Windsor, home of Bunn's Barbecue and the kind of fading historic downtown strip that makes my heart soar with revitalization possibilities. But this isn't about Windsor, or about me, it's about all of us. Give Emily, and her students, and this little corner of swampy farmland that I happen to love, a chance today. They deserve it.

Friday I'm in Love

Whew! Busy, busy, busy week. Let's get right to it, then.

Giddy Planner Alert

I do work for communities all over the country, but the work that means the most to me is when I get the chance to make a difference where I live. This week, I rolled up my sleeves and begin working with a DC community, as we kicked off a planning process for a project that's intriguing on a number of levels. Even though I'm far away in the news photo above, you can easily see that I have a big 'ol grin on my face, due largely to the totally delightful group that I was facilitating. Getting to know communities and helping them forge plans that best capture their vision is what I do best, and having the opportunity to do that in my new city makes my heart smile. (Nerdy community planner group hug!)

Rescued Baby Bats

I feel terrible for the flooding that's ravaging Australia, but how do I feel upon discovering the extreme cuteness that is rescued baby bats wrapped in blankets? Fantastic!

Healing after Tucson

The president, telling the crowd that Gabby Giffords had just opened her eyes. The crowd, cheering on the brave men and women who helped at the scene. The message, about how words matter, and about why love is stronger than hate. The good people we lost last weekend. The little girl inspired by democracy, with her entire life ahead of her. "She saw all this through the eyes of a child, undimmed by the cynicism, vitriol that we adults all too often just take for granted. I want to live up to her expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as Christina imagined it." All this, on my mind all week long.

Shrooms with Georgia O'Keeffe (you heard me)

I cooked mushrooms for dinner last night, per my "gorge on foods that T doesn't like while he's traveling" rule. Yep, dinner consisted of a huge plate of mushrooms. Not just any mushrooms, though: Francis Lam's mushrooms, a guy whose writing I enjoy immensely. A guy who begins his piece about mushrooms like this:

"Look, no offense, but chances are your sautéed mushrooms aren't very good." 

I respect that sort of approach. In "How to Sear and Saute Mushrooms," Lam breaks down for us the things we do wrong when we cook mushrooms, and how to do it right. The technique seemed surefire, so I was on board immediately. But it was Lam's style that made this post memorable for me, caused me to seek it out last night as I was going through my mental salmon/olives/mushrooms/tomato selection process. The way Lam speaks directly and makes gentle fun of the reader: hot. But the way he sprinkles in things like "I might as well baby them with some sweet, touching caresses beforehand, too": doubly hot.

And so I cooked Francis Lam's mushrooms, using two pans so as not to crowd them, turning up the heat so high it's a miracle my smoke alarm didn't go off, and no doubt making the neighbors salivate with the smell. And you know what? They were the best mushrooms I've ever made, hands down. They were meaty, full of smoke and flavor, and begged for red wine.

Not one to disappoint the perfectly cooked mushrooms, I got after the wine a little bit, and in my night of going solo did what any self-respecting girl does on rare night home alone: watched chick flicks*.

Let's talk about Joan Allen for a minute here. This woman can do no wrong in my eyes. Didn't she scare the hell out of you in Nixon? Didn't she impress the hell out of you in The Contender? Didn't she woo the hell out of you in Off The Map? I thought so.  This woman is a force. I love her role choices (The Ice Storm to the Bourne franchise?), I love her intelligence, I love her face. How fitting, then, that'd she play the woman with my all-time favorite face: Georgia O'Keeffe.

I love O'Keeffe's handsomeness. I love the lines in her face, the strength implied in it. Years ago at a photography exhibit of her life at the O'Keeffe Museum, I marveled at that face for what felt like hours. The grin on the back of a motorcycle, riding through the desert. The smirk that seems to carry a secret message just for you. The wise eyes, sizing up her work. The humbled eyes, unable to size up the vastness of the high desert. Maybe it's because I look the opposite of O'Keeffe in so many ways - I curve where she stretches straight across, my cheekbones have never quite seen the light of day, whereas hers could cut glass, she shrouded herself in black while I blanket myself in color, I could go on here - but looking at O'Keeffe, that face is the embodiment of being a wise woman to me. It's the look I'd love to have as a fierce old broad with a big laugh doing whatever the hell I please.

And that's the other thing about O'Keeffe that gets me: her commitment to a place I love so much, her inability to get it out of her system, her eventual decision to give herself over to a place. I cherish my five years in New Mexico as a sacred time - full of mistakes and hilarity and growth, but in so many ways the best time I've ever had. I know I left at the right time for me, but I'm only now realizing the extent of what it means to carry it with me always, wherever I go. O'Keeffe understood this about New Mexico.

So Joan Allen as Georgia O'Keeffe, then? It works. And yes, it's a Lifetime movie, whatever. It's available on Netflix. I admit to wishing there was a Part II - to forget Stieglitz and New York and to just stay in New Mexico with her friends, to be with her in her favorite place a while, to relish in this thing I like to imagine we share.

As a girl power signoff, I offer the painting at the O'Keeffe Museum that always stops me in my tracks. It's "The Blue Flower," and in person it looks like it should be made of velvet. I'll let you interpret as you will.

Note to Self: Need to get serious about booking a trip back to New Mexico.

*In my liberal interpretation of "chick flicks," I'm counting a Georgia O'Keeffe biopic and a documentary about industrial design. It takes a lot to make me watch a rom-com. Like, one or more characters from my fantasy island and no small amount of witty banter.

H Street Festival

We had such a fun weekend exploring our city, running errands, and relaxing. On Saturday afternoon we popped over to the H Street Festival and had a blast people-watching, slurping on ginger lassipops, and taking in the scene. H Street is a future streetcar corridor, which is tremendously exciting to me professionally, but also personally, because I can't wait to see what a difference streetcar will make in the neighborhood in years to come. As for now, there are so many more spots to explore over there... and so many more Open Houses to stalk.

Some shots from our gorgeous afternoon on H Street:

Good places for us all

My favorite anything - book, movie, memory, story told over drinks - revolves around the search for oneself through a place-based journey. Give me a vista of open road on the screen, and you have me. Begin your narrative with a quest for home, in all its definitions, and I am yours. I believe in the power of places, the thread of history that channels us into what's next, and the kind of roots that grow because of our choices rather than where we were born. Some of this is why I stumbled into the field of planning the way that I did. I was writing about the power of place and feeling increasingly powerless in how such places are shaped. The fact that I now help shape places and miss simply writing about them is something you can take or leave in this discussion.

One of my favorite books about the quest for oneself on the open road is Blue Highways, one man's rambling journey over state highways that begins as a search for answers on the day he loses his job and is left by his wife. Traveling these small roads, our hero sees America on the cusp of change, in the moment before far too many of the diners, Main Streets, fishing docks, and farms he visits are ravaged by Wal-Marts and condominiums. The trajectory of one man's life turning itself over along with the American landscape is poignant, achingly funny, and true.

The Cornbread Nation series takes up my love for place-based narrative, and does so through the stomach. We accept rival brothers and their competing barbecue sauce brands as a metaphor for modern race relations in the South. We marvel at poetry that cuts to the heart of ancestral traditions through smoke and fire. We see direct linkages to Africa through the humblest and proudest pots of greens. In these essays, food is elevated to the common language and living history that it should always be.

I'm thinking about Blue Highways and Cornbread Nation today because two friends are going through their own placed-based journeys, and they're doing so in ways that allow us to tag along.

First, my friend Jessie has written a beautiful post about leaving New Mexico in two months and moving back to Asheville, NC, after a decade away from the mountains and hills and streams of her youth. As you know, I left New Mexico, too. As you know, I still carry it around with me everywhere, and always will. Knowing Jessie, I know how the eastern mountains have called her home, even as she's made an indelible mark on the high desert mountains of the West. I know what a big move this is for her, and I'm as thrilled for her as I am full of support for what will be a truly bittersweet departure. Is there anything tougher than leaving a place you love, even if it's to go to a place your heart knows you need to be? I'm not sure, but I'm so happy for her that she's following her heart across I-40.

With Jessie in Albuquerque, 2006

The second journey that's speaking to me these days comes from T's stepbrother Joe, whom you've met in my tales of Prague. (I wasn't lying when I told you I'd be recounting our trip sporadically, as you've noticed... the rest - the beer! - will come in time. Maybe soon-ish, now that I think about it.) Upon his stateside return after the family wedding, Joe took off on a meandering American tour to figure out, among other trivial matters, what he wants to do next with his life, and where he wants to do it. This sort of journey naturally puts everything he's doing right now at the top of my personal Stepbrother Gold highlight reel, it's so my kinda thing. Joe's been writing letters from his travels, and I think you should all read them. They're funny and perceptive and smart and they make me hungry. Go savor Barbecued Love Letters... you won't be sorry.

Under Prague's Spell with T and J, May 2010

Speaking of places and occasions (in the roundabout way I'm feeling this morning), this blog turns a year old next week. Last July, I started this little journal to have a place of my own on the Web, one where I could be silly, serious, saccharine, and sarcastic in turn. It's been good for me, and a week from today, I'm hosting a little birthday giveaway to mark the occasion. Stay tuned for the chance to win a gift that's pretty and place-based in turn. (Hint: you might want to start thinking about your favorite places if you want a chance at winning.)

Off I go... back to work shaping places. Or wishing I was just writing them, as it were.