Invasion of the Caps and Gowns

Yesterday morning, I went into DC to have coffee with a friend who lives on the Hill. Even though the sky was a little overcast, it was a gorgeous temperate day, great for tourists and locals alike. I noticed that a lot of roads were closed. I didn’t know why they were closed, but it didn’t matter to me because the route I took into DC was not affected by closures. My friend and I hadn't seen each other for months, so we sat in the back garden of a cosy little coffee house on H Street and caught up with the events of our lives. We talked about living in the Washington area and what we want to do with our old houses. She lives in a fantastic 110-year-old brick townhouse with large gracious rooms and high ceilings. I live in a 100-year-old American foursquare with a big wrap-around porch and the smell of old shellac. Some people cannot tolerate the idea of living in an old house, but we both love our old houses. We love DC, too, even though when it comes to traffic, DC is the second worst location in the country, after LA. Well, traffic be damned, we love it here.

OK, so I have no idea why I decided to drive home down Constitution Avenue afterwards. I certainly knew better! On any given day, there are droves of tourists strolling around gawking at the monuments and buildings. You can always tell the tourists by the way they dress, and the way they wander into traffic, walking out into the middle of the street to take photos of the Capitol Building and other uniquely DC sights. And the bus herds! They gather about the Mall and the Museums, holding up traffic, blocking your view of the street, jockeying for a space to park and wait for their tours to return. As annoying as all of this can be, I really enjoy watching the tourists in DC…so long as they don’t interfere too much with my commute. Now the buses …they are another thing…

Anyway, yesterday was different from the usual tourist-filled weekend day in DC. I astutely noticed this as I struggled down Constitution, from the Hill to the Potomac. In addition to the usual tourists, all along the way, there were waves of people, nicely dressed, crossing the streets, trying to flag down the limited (and insufficient) number of taxis. Sprinkled here and there were the graduates, wearing their gowns (and medals around their necks), holding their mortar boards, flanked by proud parents and other relatives. Some of the graduates looked a little like deer in the headlights, while others exuded confidence and promise. Some of the parents gawked at the monuments and buildings like tourists, but mostly they carried their graduate’s stuff. I remember how often I felt like a pack mule when the elusive offspring lived here, before going away to his elusive university life. “Here, Mom, would you hold this for me?” And darned if I wasn’t happy to hold whatever awkward or heavy thing he handed me. Proud, even.

Driving down Constitution Avenue yesterday at noon, I felt … well, nostalgic.