The Strawberry Blog

The spirits may have called me to New Orleans but it was this nation’s capital that birthed me (quasi-poetic apologies to my mother) and I can’t help myself…when spring time comes, all a native Washingtonian longs for during the crucial week between frost and humidity is a peek at the cherry blossom orgy. So I caught a plane to the District and rolled into Union Station where My Brother The Harried Nursing Student met me. My birthday plans? Spy the international blooms, hang out with my brother, eat first rate Ethiopian food. My research was important but played second fiddle to the redheaded sibling I adore.

For six days I desperately sought the sunny side of the street because, while this was mid-April, climatically it was more like early March. I found myself asking everyone from subway electricians to library archivists, “Hey, when you find April would you kindly let me know?”
Despite the weather it was a bumper birthday week filled with low-key, contiguous fêting and the marvelous sight of stalwart tulips. Despite the wind, the dogwoods barked, bit and otherwise stood their ground. Despite the rain, the city shone; despite the chill, the streets were active. Despite the Wizards’ defeat, the Redskins were in training. Despite wearing mittens to and fro, I gloried in the city of my birth, greeting monuments—Reeve’s Restaurant, 12th & F Street, U Street—with a nod to the parents who made it so and an audible exhalation for the city that is both Capitol and capital, Kennedy Center and Creme Lounge, Lincoln monument and neighborhood testimony.

And as for the cherry blossom orgy? Well, let’s just say that their weaker constitution initiated grounds for an earlier close this season. The [ahem] doors of colorful, Asiatic ill repute slammed shut for Occidental Mother Nature.
And with that jumble of metaphoric, unintentional punning, I bid you a farewell from overcast Los Angeles. Stephen Colbert: I challenge you to a Metaphor Face-Off!