Corita Kent (Sister Mary Corita): morning (1966)

Inscriptions and Marks
Signed: l.r.: Sister Mary Corita
(not assigned): Printed text reads: [tu]r[n] [tu]rn / turn / Morning Sometimes we go on a search and we do not know what we are looking for, until we come again to our beginning In the beginning (in the beginning of time to say the least) there were the compasses: whirling in void their feet traced out beginnings and endings, beginning and end in a single line. Wisdom danced also in circles for these were her kingdom: the sun spun, worlds whirled, the seasons came round, and all things went their rounds: but in the beginning, beginning and end were in one. And in the beginning was love. Love made a sphere: all things grew within it; the sphere then encompassed beginnings and endings, beginning and end. Love had a compass whose whirling dance traced out a sphere of love in the void: in the center thereof rose a fountain. Fields were set for the circus, stars for shows before ever elephant lumbered or tent rose. Robert Lax

—

"I feel nostalgia for those times without wishing to return to them for a minute."

Washington, DC, surprised me. Like most cities, it seemed as if it would be something different than it turned out to be. Like New York City, which is merely a close association of remarkably small neighborhoods, DC is also tiny at its root. It carries much history on its shoulders, but it's not a very complicated place. It is, or always was, a "Chocolate City," one of the few with a genuine African-American majority. It also features one of the more entrenched aristocracies in this country, featuring diplomats and higher-ups to match or better any other place. It has more blue-collar workers than most places but also more white-collar ones. It features more professional administrators than anywhere. Those elected to high office might maintain their offices there, but an invisible cadre of office workers and security personnel manages their affairs. It's the best-guarded city, and nothing happens there without many pairs of eyes witnessing, confirming, and cataloging. It features more Variety than any other ten cities anywhere.

I noticed the Variety of goods sold in supermarkets first. We'd been exiled from a city near the end of the logistics network, where many items were simply never available. Compared to home, Washington, DC, seemed like an actual Garden of Eden, for anything I might imagine seemed to be readily available there. I took to shopping to broaden my Exile-narrowed horizons. If I were to be captive there, I'd sure as Hell take advantage of whatever distractions might be available. I found a real butcher who would gratefully produce any odd cut requested. I found a reliable fishmonger who maintained fifteen or twenty varieties on offer and a backup one along the Potomac that offered a hundred. There were European grocery stores, African ones, and an Italian Deli secreted away in an industrial back alley. I became a regular at the historic Eastern Market and made my rounds between a hot half-dozen decent bakeries.

I'd never seen such selections of wine. I found odd collections on dusty bottom shelves and bought them conservatively, hoping the owner wouldn't catch on that he had an unacknowledged, underpriced gold mine there. I stocked our larder in ways I'd never been able to stock a larder before. This seemed just compensation for forfeiting our home. If we had to move away, better to DC than almost any other place I could imagine. The culture seemed fluid and capable of assimilating almost anyone, even us, perhaps. Representatives of every ethnicity seemed to be standing on nearly every street corner.

Furthermore, there were neighborhoods where certain types had gravitated. Falls Church, Virginia, for instance, featured the largest concentration of Vietnamese (and their restaurants!) of any place outside Hanoi. There were similar enclaves for virtually every other nationality.

We assuaged our isolation by at least feeding our loneliness well. I had thought I was a foodie before we were Exiled, but I improved my game by several degrees while there. My taste improved as I expanded my palate. I sometimes wondered how I'd ever cope if we ever managed to move back home, for I became dependent upon the unprecedented Variety I enjoyed there. On Friday, my usual marketing day, I'd typically drop The Muse off at her office near The Mall before buzzing down into my favorite Northern Virginia grocery stores. I'd become addicted to the coffee one shop there sold and to the reliably vast selections of vegetables found in those decidedly mixed neighborhoods. I'd roam into Northwest, out beyond Georgetown to Friendship Heights, to visit the best European Grocery before looping back to a Whole Foods near our rental. My route was only a few miles, but it circled the globe.

Now I'm back from Exile, fondly recalling the Variety available there. The Muse and I must drive two hundred and fifty miles to find anything remotely resembling the variety we found in our neighborhood there. There are compensations beyond access to such largess, and I imagine our place here, our little Eden near the end of the Oregon Trail, offers them. Still, come Friday morning, I catch myself wishing I could access my old route and routine to visit my butcher, fishmonger, and Italian Deli counterman again. A local butcher here promised me a fresh lamb breast today, something I was first exposed to during Exile, a taste for which I brought back. The salmon's better here, but I sometimes miss the Bluefish. The Steelhead was nonexistent there and readily available here. I believe that Variety, more than merely being the spice of that Exiled life, probably preserved our sanity as we struggled to cope with being so far away from friends and family. I feel nostalgia for those times without wishing to return to them for a minute.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Exiled, #PureSchmaltz