Spring Bloodroot Moon
Cost $10 in public transportation + airfare to get to the Hotel Harrington. $6.50 in Minnesota and $3.50 on the metro here in D.C. Pretty slick. Got off at the Metro Center stop which let me out a block and a half from the hotel.
The Harrington is an old darling of a hotel. Thick paint on the woodwork, many different refreshes over the years. A few nicks and cracks in the tile, a room that would make a monastery feel good in terms of decor. Just right. And in the heart of things. The National Gallery is four blocks one way, the Whitehouse about the same in the opposite direction.
When I checked in the receptionist had handed a teacher a sheaf of papers and said, “Be sure to read that stuff to your kids. Wait. They’re college age, right?” They were. “Well, then they probably know, no running naked in the halls.” I chimed in with, “You try to stop that?”
When my turn came, I did check to be sure they’d given me a quiet room. “Yes, sir. The 10th floor. Quiet.” “Good,” I said, “I like kids, but I like them on their own floor.”
The Harrington books lots of high school and college civics and political science classes coming to see real live politicians in their natural environment. Some will go home scarred, others will devote all their energy to getting back here.
It’s a seductive place, D.C., just as all major capitols are. Rome in its day. Xi’an. Beijing. London. Paris. Cairo. Jerusalem. There was a time… But that was long ago.
