Bethesda, Maryland

It feels good to be back. In the States, that is. Hung in San Fran for a few days, but was way too excited with flush toilets and feather mattresses to blog to you right away. And in short order, I was scooped up by Peter Donohue himself to go on a truly luxurious East Coast foray to visit Grandma and Aunt Sara.

We flew Virgin Airlines cross country, in the first class cabin. The sensuous pleasure of this experience is beyond my powers of articulation. Let it be known that there were free Bloody Mary’s consumed and extreme levels of reclination.

I woke up in my own hotel room in Bethesda, the embodiment of “New Urban,” a place where corporate America can walk from office to lunch hour jewelry shopping and after-work drinks. All the architecture is post 9/11- downtown is a little like a mall turned inside out. On my rambles through this be-suited, tastefully highlighted reimagination of a city, I get asked a lot if I’m on my way to the beach. Barely free of the load of my backpack, I have little in the way of “polished outfits.” I feel clumsily subversive.

Maryland, or at least the Maryland immediately adjacent to our nation’s capital, is a upper class suburban sprawl of the highest order. Towns like Bethesda run into Chevy Chase runs into Rockville runs into inappropriately clogged highways and monolithically remote office parks. We drive from Grandma’s senior home, where we witness odd series of conversational fragments between stroke victims to my Aunt Sara’s lovely three story house, where my seven year old triplet cousins rule the roost with their Bermese mountain dog. Kisses are exchanged in on intergenerational cheeks and there is much catching up to be done.

Every once in awhile I sneak out to hang with my peer group- Jess and Jay, dear friends from the college years that are making a go of it in Washington, DC proper. Jay works for Bill Clinton and Jess is a defense contractor. They both live in wonderful apartments, easily affording tickets to baseball games and rounds at the bar. I am a hobo. We booze heavily and reflect wisely on the different paths that life can take you. They pay, mostly, for the drinks. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank them.

I’m back in the country, sure, but there’s still plenty of journey to be had. Planning on continuing ‘Pura Caitlin’ until that settles down a little so no worries, my pet, because at least for the next few weeks I am

Yours!

CD