Jumping Out of a Perfectly Good Airplane

Yes, that's right. That is what I did. And I wasn't even scared.
On Sunday morning, Gideon and I headed to Orange County, Virginia for him to redeem his birthday present from the whole family--a gift certificate to sky dive (with video and still pictures to boot!). We could discuss what kind of present that is, but that would be a different blog post all together. :)
The plan was for Gideon to jump and me to be there to offer moral support (as if he would need it). About a week ago, though, I started having little tantrums about skydiving too, kind of along the lines of, "I wanna go too!!!!" My brother, Brad, asked why I wasn't jumping with Gideon. Too expensive, I said. He told me that it was totally worth whatever I had to pay to do it. (This is despite the fact that he almost didn't survive his first jump... hmmm, makes me wonder.) So when we showed up at Skydive Orange, Gideon was only getting started signing his life away when I handed over my credit card and said, "Can you get me on that plane with my husband?" For $265.00, they could.
After giving up all rights to sue if things didn't go well, we had a quick training session, and then sat around pondering our decision and waiting our turn to jump. After about 2 hours (it was a busy day for skydiving), Gideon and I suited up in purple jump suits and hopped aboard a perfectly good little airplane, along with our tandem jump partners, Chuck and Mario and about 8 other jumpers.
It took about 10 minutes to climb to 13,000 feet. That's pretty high, and without a cloud in the sky, you can really appreciate that fact. On the way up, my jump partner, Chuck, chatted with me about teaching, D.C., breathing, and finally jumping. Gideon leaned over and gave me a kiss--boy, he looked cute in his goggles and jump helmet. Before I knew it, I was shuffling towards the gaping hole in the side of the plane, with Chuck attached to my back, and a parachute attached to his back. I don't think I even paused before letting myself fall out of the plane. It was one of those "don't think, just do it" moments.
What a feeling... free falling for a whole minute at a speed of about 120 miles per hour. My mouth was wide open the whole time (picture a big, silly, flapping smiley face), and it was bone dry in about two seconds. It was darn cold up there, too! But, man, what an experience. I even got to use my arms to steer us around. I'm a bird...I'm a plane...
At about 5,000 feet Chuck pulled the rip cord, which essentially is like slamming the breaks when you are speeding along at 120 mph. It felt like I was being yanked back up to the plane (by my underwear). But in a moment, we were floating along and enjoying the view. A few seconds later we saw Gideon and Mario floating not too far from us. We waved and followed them for a bit.
After about 6-7 minutes of floating, we landed like graceful birds right out in front of the Skydive Orange hanger, and I just started laughing like a euphoric drunk. It's all I could do. Maybe that much oxygen all at once can do that to a person.
Brad was right; it was worth every penny. And I'll do it again in a heartbeat.
By the way, you can see the pictures in a larger format by clicking on them. Also, the cool jumping pictures are only of Gideon since the picture/video package was part of his birthday present (the photographer stayed right with him). The ones with me aren't so exciting, but you can probably imagine my face as I free fell.

A Moment of Fear and Loathing in D.C.

Since moving to D.C. last August, I have come to adore my northwest neighborhood of Kalorama. You could say I am quite attached to my little apartment, my short commute to the Dupont metro station, and the convenient shops & parks in walking distance to my home. It's all quite idyllic. While a "happy little life" might not be what everyone aspires to, I have to admit, it is what I want. Unfortunately, attaining that kind of existence requires a certain amount of, let's say, obliviousness. Or, maybe denial. Or, naiveté.
I was getting it down, until last Sunday night when a young man was robbed and shot just around the corner from my apartment, and just about a 100 yards from where I was standing with Josie. My first thought when this happened was, "Run away!" But I got involved when I was one of a few witnesses that saw the get-away vehicle screech right by us.
Witnessing a violent crime has a way of shaking the naiveté right out of a person. I immediately felt fear threaten my attachment to my neighborhood. And I have definitely lost my fresh city-mouse innocence, as I'm sure happens at some point to most city-dwellers.
Initially, I thought, it is time to move--like, now. But, a few days have passed and a little perspective offered by friends and family members has helped me to deal with this new reality in my life. Most importantly, I have come to accept that bad things happen, not just in cities, but everywhere. It's a scary, unfortunate part of life. My sister, Myra really brought this into focus for me. I was telling her that I used to feel safe in my neighborhood. "Em," she said, "I used to feel safe at Virginia Tech." Oh yeah, me too.
Also, I've realized that a big city does not necessarily mean higher crime. A big city means more people living in close proximity to each other and a higher chance that the bad things that happen will be witnessed by more people. And that is what happened on for me on Sunday night.
On a good note, the 22 year old exchange student who was shot is expected to make a full recovery. I think this fact is playing a big role in my ability to deal with this awful experience.
So, life goes on, and I will go on loving my D.C. neighborhood, with perhaps a new measure of street smarts and a little less obliviousness.

Too Close to Home

Crime sucks.

Now I Kind of Get It

Our five and a half year old niece, Kaila, came for a visit this weekend. She and her doting Aunt Em and Uncle Gideon, as well as cousin Josie, had been looking forward to this weekend ever since it was planned 4 weeks ago. But now I think I know who was really counting down the days... Kaila's mom, Angie. Why? Because she is a mom, and moms need breaks! How do I know this, since I am not yet a mom? Well, because Kaila came for a visit this weekend. And I am tired. Don't get me wrong... it was a fun-filled, wonderful visit. But I am tired.
Here is a list of what we did this weekend:
* Met Kaila at the Shady Grove metro station. Rode the metro back to town. We had the whole metro car to ourselves for at least 4 stops--excellent for sprinting and swinging on the bars. Kaila also read aloud a book called I Ain't Gonna Paint No More. I highly recommend it to all!
* Made peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches for lunch--all out of jelly. Oops, what a shame.
* Walked to the International Children's Festival. Well, Gideon and I walked; Kaila rode on Uncle Gideon's shoulders. At the festival, we visited displays from many different countries with activities created just for kids, such as crafts to make, games or musical instruments to play, or clothing to try on. We also watched Irish dancers and Rwandan jump dancers.

* Grocery shopped at the brand new Harris Teeter. Ate our way through the store. Whose idea was it to have free samples of sushi, cheese, pineapple and ribs (yes, ribs!)?! I would love to thank him or her!

* Made a cake for Sunday's Mother's Day celebration. Main ingredient? Nutella. Yeaaa.

* Took Josie to the dog park and practiced throwing frisbees and big sticks.

* Pulled out all of Aunt Emily's arts and crafts supplies. Made many Mother's Day cards, and a big fat mess.

* Ate tuna fish sandwiches for dinner--Kaila's life-long obsession (that actually started in the womb).
* Played a fierce game of checkers with Uncle Gideon, followed by Scrabble.

* Snuggled with Josie and let her lick Kaila's face for a good while.

* Dragged our sorry, exhausted butts to bed at 8:45. OMG. So. Tired.
* Woke up ready to go at 6:45am.
* Made pancakes and bacon for breakfast--specially requested by Kaila.
* Visited a really, really, really run-down house... a possible project for Uncle Gideon and Aunt Emily to take on.

* Ate an Italian lunch with PapPap and Aunt Debbie.
* Went to a couple of open houses.
* Drove out to Lovettesville... getting lost on the way. Had a farty-sound-making-contest in the car to amuse ourselves on the two hour drive.
* Celebrated with the moms at Ahh-Pa's house with corn-on-the-cob and more ribs!
* Returned Kaila to her rightful owner.

So, all that in about 30 hours or so. I really didn't know I had it in me.
Moms and dads everywhere, I salute you. I will take a long nap this afternoon in honor of you.

Docent Duty

Do you know what a docent is? (I've been kind of surprised at how many people I've met that don't know and have never heard the word.) Well, a docent is a museum teacher, usually a volunteer, and I am a docent at the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History. Of course, this is not a pure, selfless, volunteer act on my part. I help the museum by being a docent in the halls and dealing with the public; and they help me by connecting me to all sorts of information and people pertinent to my book project. It's a nice little symbiotic relationship...give a little, take a little.
My typical day at the museum (which is Wednesday, if you care to drop in and see me in action), starts off in the Discovery Room. This is a romper-room of sorts where kids, families, and school groups can get their hands on stuff. (We keep a lot of hand sanitizer handy in there.) I help out with the school programs in the morning, usually assisting with one or two hands-on lessons for visiting school groups. It's fun and it feels a bit like school, but I don't have to grade papers or be "highly qualified" or anything.
After the lesson, I head to the "members-only" cafe--the cafeteria for Smithsonian employees. Apparently, I qualify. I'm in the club! (But I still feel a bit dorky, since I often sit by myself. I miss my lunch buddies in NH!)
Then it's out into the halls for the afternoon. I put on my docent vest (think safari vest, with the word DOCENT embroidered in giant print on the back--we don't want anyone to mistake me for a fashion-challenged wanderer); I load up my Discovery Cart with all sorts of goodies (artifacts, specimens, etc.); and I plant myself in my hall of choice, which is currently the mammal hall. I spread my wares on the cart to lure unsuspecting museum guests into a mini-lesson on, you guessed it, taxidermy! I've become well-versed on the subject, although I have yet to create a mount. I have all sorts of fur samples, glass eyeballs, plastic noses, as well as a foam form of a squirrel. People can't resist touching the fur samples and I can't resist making them guess what mammals they are from. The best sample is a full pelt of a fur seal. It is quite beautiful and it is ridiculously silky, dense and soft. So, why people would guess that it is from a bear, wolf, or cow (!!!), I cannot even begin to understand.
I also have a swatch of opossum fur. It's really pretty nice, considering the unappealing look of the critter. Yesterday, I had a 6 or 7 year old girl named Kayla guessing the furs. She's the one in the blue baseball cap in the photo. Here's a snippet of our conversation.
Me: (holding the bison fur) So, what mammal do you think this fur came from? Here's a clue: it was important to the plains Indians.
Kayla: Um... I think it's bison.
Me: Wow! How did you know that?
Kayla: I'm taking social studies. (Duh.)
Me: Well, you must be paying attention. How about this fur? (holding out the opossum fur) Here's a clue. It's from the only marsupial in North America.
Kayla: Um... um...
Me: It starts with "O".
Kayla: Oh! Oh! I know! O...O...Opotamus!!!!
Too darn cute! I love this job.
So, come on over to the Natural History Museum... I have all sorts of stuff to show you!

All in a Day's Walk

Spring has sprung in DC and I have put on my walking shoes. My day starts off with a walk with Josie through the Kalorama/Sheridan neighborhood across the street. The neighborhood is home to many foreign ambassadors residences. Each home is more beautiful than the next. It also was home to many former presidents (while they were not living in the White House, I suppose); as well as Madame Chiang Kai-shek, influential widow of the Chinese Nationalist Party president who died only a few years ago at 106; and child-star turned diplomat, Shirley Temple Black. I feel special just walking through the neighborhood.
My sister, Myra, and I have also taken up the healthy habit of taking afternoon power walks through the city. Myra works only a few blocks down Connecticut Avenue from me, so it is easy enough to meet up a few times a week on her lunch break, and it's a heck of a lot cheaper than our former habit of meeting up for lunch once a week. On our first walk together about a month back, we headed towards a park in the distance. Our conversation, as we walked, went a little something like this:
Emily: What a beautiful park. I wonder what park this is?
Myra: What a beautiful house over there. Say... that kind of looks like the White House, don't you think?
Emily: By golly, that IS the White House. How long has that been there?
Who knew the White House was a block away from Myra's office building? Obviously, not us. But that is the beauty of a walk: orientation. Now we kind of know where we are, at least in respect to the most famous house in the city.
Last week while Myra and I were walking, we saw something plummet from the sky, nearly missing our faces, and bounce off my shoe. What the heck was that? A "dropling", my term of the week. A dropling is a baby bird that, well, drops from the nest to the ground, to its death. Now, where this particular little guy came from is anyone's guess, as there were no trees anywhere around. It think this one fell from a cloud. We got a bit sad, said goodbye and walked on.
One more walking story for you. Yesterday, my friend Marissa visited from NYC. We decided to check out a free (for tips) walking tour of the D.C. monuments I had heard about on the Internet. After marching around the base of the Washington Monument a few times, we finally spotted a group of a few dozen people following a red-head with a baby-blue t-shirt, on which was printed "Free Tours! Follow Me!" Follow we did, for an hour and a half of historical trivia and little-known tales of the D.C. monuments and city history. For example, did you know that a cat once climbed the Washington Monument, fell off, landed on its feet (of course), walked across Constitution Ave. only to be eaten by a dog waiting on the other side? OK, so maybe that was one of the tall tales tour guide Ben made up to keep us on our toes, but I'd say 99% of the rest of the information he shared was 99% true. So impressed was I with the tour that upon its completion, I marched up to tour guide Ben and handed him my business card. I said something like, "Great tour Ben. I am a teacher, history buff, and actress. If you need any more tour guides, I can do it." And he said something like, "You're hired. Are you serious? You're hired."
So, all in a day's walk (or two), I found the White House, kicked a dropling, and got a job as a D.C. tour guide. And I'm meeting Myra in a few hours for another walk.