nostalgia | In Retrospect

Christmas this year was peaceful. We had conversations by phone with family starting with Tyler, my 14 year old, calling me at 5:30am. I was sound asleep in the dark and my watch started vibrating. I woke up with a start and realized the phone was ringing so I rolled over and grabbed it. Tyler on FaceTime. “Oh, so you ARE up,” bright and happy! I was expecting could not sleep or upset about something, but nonetheless I was in the dark and a couple of teens were wide awake at their mother’s house and ready to interrogate me…

“Yes, I’m up now, but I’m going back to sleep.”

The next time they called us we were out on our Christmas run.

In my house we run separately except on Christmas and on major holidays, so today was the day. Usually we go down the National Mall from Lincoln past the White House and to the Capitol and back, but neither one of us wanted to see “that part of the town” in the current circumstances so we parked on Ohio Drive and ran south to Haines Point and back opposite the Wharf.

The Wharf in DC is a newly-redeveloped waterfront area of hotels, condominiums, restaurants, and nightlife. We head down there a few times a year for various events. Even though it’s a hassle and it’s overpriced, we usually enjoy it. Near the Wharf there was a flock of geese loitering.

Our run ended basically at the Jefferson Memorial which has always been my favorite as there are fewer crowds and it has a view over the Tidal Basin.

A lot of the seawall near the Jefferson Memorial is under construction and to be replaced, hopefully all the way down to Haines Point. They’ve built a temporary concrete plant next to the MLK Jr Memorial to handle all of this.

Anyway, after this we went home where we had mimosas and omelettes.

One of the more interesting gifts I received was a book of useless information. I haven’t read through it yet as I am busy reading a novel about Antarctica and flipping through Antarctic cruise guides.

As I was awake at 5:30am, the afternoon involved a nap.

For dinner I made Paul Hollywood’s fish pie with pastry crust from his cookbook Baked. And then we topped off the evening with a longer than usual dog walk down to our neighborhood landmark Alcova House.

Alcova House was the farmhouse of the original property on the land where we live. The owners sold the land off to the Alcova Improvement Company in 1920 at which point individual parcels were sold over the next couple of decades to people wishing were build. This practice, unlike some of the neighboring communities where the developer owned the land and homes built were consistent, led to the hodgepodge we have here today. We have a mix of ramblers, 1920s Cape Cods, small cottages that sat on large wooded lots back in the day, and infill development.

On our particular lot, many of the houses are built on lots that are three hundred feet deep and fifty feet wide, like half of a football field. Ours, however, is part of a lot that was diviced two or three times over the past hundred years. Our rear neighbor’s house was built in 1989 off of an eight-sided parcel that was taken from our lot. Our house was built in 1992 after the previous house on the lot – a house built in the 1920s that sat on the rear lot line – burned down due to a maze of extension cords catching on fire.

Thus, a hodge podge.

We’ll see what I get into this week. Today it’s time to start packing.

I learned to drive on my dad’s old Chevy truck—a hulking relic of steel and grit. It had a three-on-the-tree transmission, no power steering, and no power brakes. Every turn felt like arm-wrestling a giant, every stop a test of leg strength. But once you mastered its stubborn charm, it was magic. Perfect for long, lazy drives down winding country roads, where the horizon stretched wide and the world slowed down. Even in town, once you knew its rhythm, it danced through traffic with surprising grace.

Fast forward to today, and I’m behind the wheel of a Range Rover Sport. Funny thing—it’s about the same size as that old Chevy, and sometimes it feels just as commanding. I sit high above the fray, surveying traffic like a hawk. Parking still gives me that familiar “am I going to scrape the wall?” moment, though I never do. The turning circle? Huge. Sharp corners mean spinning the wheel twice, just like old times. But that’s where nostalgia ends. This Rover is a rocket. The supercharged V8 growls like an old Buick, but without the sway in corners. It glides over pavement like silk, stops on a dime, and those red brake calipers? They whisper speed even when standing still.

Then there’s my other ride: a ten-year-old Mini Cooper, base model, wearing its city scars—dents and scrapes like badges of honor. Driving it is pure play, like hopping into a go-kart. Quick, nimble, and perfect for darting through tight streets. My kids adore it. Most adults? Not so much—unless they’re car enthusiasts. And honestly, in DC traffic, it feels a little too fragile. Still, for errands and coffee runs, nothing beats its cheeky charm.

The past few months have meant countless miles—commuting for my kid’s treatment. In those long drives, I’ve found comfort in the Rover’s quiet strength and joy in the Mini’s spirited zip. But now, life is shifting. The urgency is gone, and for the first time in a while, I can leave both cars resting in the garage. Sometimes, the sweetest drive is the one you don’t have to take.

NOTES on writing this Post – I experimented using Microsoft Copilot to write this. Usually I take about twenty minutes to write these posts. As I have upcoming travel coming I want to practice jotting down and summarizing thoughts quickly and then simply adding photos. To write this, I instructed Copilot to write me a blog entry, provided three subject areas and summarized six or eight bullet points I wanted to cover for each. It’s the same method I may have used to write it myself but saved half the time and, let’s face it, Copilot’s writing is a little zippier. Honestly, I may have written more and droned on with pointlessness, but as it came out it was fine.

Christmas 2025

From Country Roads to City Streets: A Tale of Three Drives