Saturday (7/19): As a law student and aspiring professor of, among other things, constitutional law, Justin felt something a vocational duty to visit the Supreme Court before the conclusion of our summer revels. And what better time to do so than in the company of Grandma Patti? With typical reckless abandon we headed en masse down to the Metro without any accurate information about where to get off. Somehow, we had passed through all our lives without learning that the supreme courthouse is situated directly behind the Capitol. In any case, we got off at the wrong stop—“Judiciary Square” seemed as good a guess as any—and had to walk longer than mortals ought to walk beneath the blazing Beltway sun. 
Actually our misdirection was fortuitous, as it allowed us to visit the Native American Museum and the Library of Congress en route.
The former was distinguished by a brilliant display of Native American dresses, the latter by the library of Thomas Jefferson. The august courtroom itself was closed for renovation—and hence closed to tours—so our visit to the marble palace was limited to a tri-generational photo, destined either to sink into oblivion or, as Eli spiritedly predicted, to make embarrassing rounds on YouTube upon Justin’s elevation to the bench. Odds favor the former option overwhelmingly. 
In the evening, Grandma Patti graciously babysat the girls while we went to a firm event. This event was billed as a “Wine Tasting Party” hosted by the office’s managing partner. (MP) In the event, it provided the occasion for the conspicuous display of the MP’s immense wealth. “The practice of BigLaw is as miserable as you can imagine,” cried the evening’s apparent theme. “But stick with it and you will have riches as innumerable as your pains.”
The night’s fun began at the MP’s home in an elegant neighborhood near Annapolis, MD—i.e. far, far away from where any of us live. Elegant as the neighborhood was, though, it was quite unprepared for the invasion of the Bull, next to which the vicinity’s procession of BMWs, Mercedes, Lexae, and (in the MP’s case) Ferraris looked shabby indeed. Most of the summer associates rode out on a chartered bus. But, desiring both to impress his peers and to be able to flee at a moment’s notice, Justin thought fit to drive the Bull. Lest this impressive automotive specimen escape anyone’s notice, moreover, we parked it right in front of the bus, so one and all could see the Bull—and its proprietors—as they alighted the bus before heading from the MP’s home to his nearby Yacht Club.
Before the festivities moved to the Yacht Club, however, we were given a tour of the MP’s wine cellar—duly organized by country, color, and century—during which the MP told of drinking a bottle of wine that cost in excess of a thousand euros and concluded by pronouncing upon the exorbitant bottle a reverent panegyric (“If God drinks, that’s what He drinks”). We were then shown the Ferrari and ushered off to the Yacht club.
As we started off in that direction, a partner parked in a BMW SUV—who apparently saw the Bull coming, if at all, only as a blinding flash—pulled out wildly in front of us and, but for the swerving effected by Justin’s cat-like reflexes, there might have been a collision. The partner, initially irked, was obviously conciliated as he beheld the Bull in its glory while he and his wife followed closely behind us all the way to the Club.
If there was any remaining doubt that on this evening Fate had cast us in the proverbial roles of fish out of water, the scene at the Club removed it. Justin had imagined there would be a wine table, innocuously relegated to the outskirts of the hall where those who wished to taste the fruit of the vine might do so. We imagined we would have dinner in the meantime. Instead, the hall and every table in it were filled with glasses and bottles, and it was painfully evident that dinner was not soon forthcoming.
We did the rational thing and left in an inconspicuous manner when an auspicious moment arose—i.e. after we had been at the Club for about five minutes. Our escape was delayed only by an initial failure to retrace our path out of that labyrinthine vicinity. But we were back on the open road soon enough and heading back to Silver Spring.
Never wishing to waste a free babysitter, however, we did go out to eat, swallowing unspectacular fare at the Macaroni Grill. It was wonderful to go on a real date. Upon reflection, the evening seemed a an allegory of Justin’s encounter this summer with private legal practice: the MP event represented all the wealth and misery of law firm life and the lovely evening with Lia representing all the penurious splendor of a life of plodding, happy scholarship.
Sunday (7/20): It’s always fun when Grandma comes, when Grandma comes to Church. This was a particularly interesting meeting. At the conclusion of the sacrament hymn the bishopric decided, after some deliberation, that the ordinance would have to be postponed, there being no bread (the young man assigned to bring it, as well as his two backups were absent). So, on with the meeting.
The first speaker arose, introduced her theme, moved effectively into the substance of her talk, and then nearly fainted. She was led out of doors by the hand while her husband took the pulpit and read the rest of the talk in her stead. It was a very good talk, followed by a stirring hymn and another good talk, followed in the end by the sacrament at last. An unusual meeting but a very good one.
Grandma was particularly delighted to learn that Betty Anderson was in our ward. Sister Anderson and her husband represent the “other” statistical couple of modern Mormonism. Sister Anderson and Grandma met some years ago at a statistical meeting, became fast friends, and have been meeting up at statistical meetings ever since.
In the evening Grandma watched the girls while we went to a “Why I Believe” fireside at the DC Temple’s Visitor Center, featuring testimonies from recent converts and addresses by Mike and Jackie Leavit. It was an inspiring event.
Monday (7/21): While Justin was at work, the female foursome had the sister missionaries over for lunch, making for an estrogenious sextet. Asked by her husband how it went, Lia explained later that there was “lots of girl talk,” upon which Justin’s inquiries ceased abruptly. We passed a happy evening; the girls really enjoyed having Grandma here for family home evening
Tuesday (7/22): This was, alas, Grandma’s last day. The ladies tried to make the most of it, however, visiting the Visitors Center—which Julia absolutely loved and had to be torn away from—and, in lieu of their rained-out swimming expedition—attending a curiosity called Eggspectation, dedicated, insofar as your blogger can gather, to the proposition that the preeminent (and nearly sole) flaw of the world is an insufficiency of eggs. For Eli it was a romp through fields Elysian.
At length, the doleful hour arrived, and Grandma made her way back to Reagan National Airport and thence back to Utah. Grandpa’s gain was our loss. We’re very happy and grateful Grandma could come.
Actually our misdirection was fortuitous, as it allowed us to visit the Native American Museum and the Library of Congress en route.
The former was distinguished by a brilliant display of Native American dresses, the latter by the library of Thomas Jefferson. The august courtroom itself was closed for renovation—and hence closed to tours—so our visit to the marble palace was limited to a tri-generational photo, destined either to sink into oblivion or, as Eli spiritedly predicted, to make embarrassing rounds on YouTube upon Justin’s elevation to the bench. Odds favor the former option overwhelmingly. In the evening, Grandma Patti graciously babysat the girls while we went to a firm event. This event was billed as a “Wine Tasting Party” hosted by the office’s managing partner. (MP) In the event, it provided the occasion for the conspicuous display of the MP’s immense wealth. “The practice of BigLaw is as miserable as you can imagine,” cried the evening’s apparent theme. “But stick with it and you will have riches as innumerable as your pains.”
The night’s fun began at the MP’s home in an elegant neighborhood near Annapolis, MD—i.e. far, far away from where any of us live. Elegant as the neighborhood was, though, it was quite unprepared for the invasion of the Bull, next to which the vicinity’s procession of BMWs, Mercedes, Lexae, and (in the MP’s case) Ferraris looked shabby indeed. Most of the summer associates rode out on a chartered bus. But, desiring both to impress his peers and to be able to flee at a moment’s notice, Justin thought fit to drive the Bull. Lest this impressive automotive specimen escape anyone’s notice, moreover, we parked it right in front of the bus, so one and all could see the Bull—and its proprietors—as they alighted the bus before heading from the MP’s home to his nearby Yacht Club.
Before the festivities moved to the Yacht Club, however, we were given a tour of the MP’s wine cellar—duly organized by country, color, and century—during which the MP told of drinking a bottle of wine that cost in excess of a thousand euros and concluded by pronouncing upon the exorbitant bottle a reverent panegyric (“If God drinks, that’s what He drinks”). We were then shown the Ferrari and ushered off to the Yacht club.
As we started off in that direction, a partner parked in a BMW SUV—who apparently saw the Bull coming, if at all, only as a blinding flash—pulled out wildly in front of us and, but for the swerving effected by Justin’s cat-like reflexes, there might have been a collision. The partner, initially irked, was obviously conciliated as he beheld the Bull in its glory while he and his wife followed closely behind us all the way to the Club.
If there was any remaining doubt that on this evening Fate had cast us in the proverbial roles of fish out of water, the scene at the Club removed it. Justin had imagined there would be a wine table, innocuously relegated to the outskirts of the hall where those who wished to taste the fruit of the vine might do so. We imagined we would have dinner in the meantime. Instead, the hall and every table in it were filled with glasses and bottles, and it was painfully evident that dinner was not soon forthcoming.
We did the rational thing and left in an inconspicuous manner when an auspicious moment arose—i.e. after we had been at the Club for about five minutes. Our escape was delayed only by an initial failure to retrace our path out of that labyrinthine vicinity. But we were back on the open road soon enough and heading back to Silver Spring.
Never wishing to waste a free babysitter, however, we did go out to eat, swallowing unspectacular fare at the Macaroni Grill. It was wonderful to go on a real date. Upon reflection, the evening seemed a an allegory of Justin’s encounter this summer with private legal practice: the MP event represented all the wealth and misery of law firm life and the lovely evening with Lia representing all the penurious splendor of a life of plodding, happy scholarship.
Sunday (7/20): It’s always fun when Grandma comes, when Grandma comes to Church. This was a particularly interesting meeting. At the conclusion of the sacrament hymn the bishopric decided, after some deliberation, that the ordinance would have to be postponed, there being no bread (the young man assigned to bring it, as well as his two backups were absent). So, on with the meeting.
The first speaker arose, introduced her theme, moved effectively into the substance of her talk, and then nearly fainted. She was led out of doors by the hand while her husband took the pulpit and read the rest of the talk in her stead. It was a very good talk, followed by a stirring hymn and another good talk, followed in the end by the sacrament at last. An unusual meeting but a very good one.
Grandma was particularly delighted to learn that Betty Anderson was in our ward. Sister Anderson and her husband represent the “other” statistical couple of modern Mormonism. Sister Anderson and Grandma met some years ago at a statistical meeting, became fast friends, and have been meeting up at statistical meetings ever since.
In the evening Grandma watched the girls while we went to a “Why I Believe” fireside at the DC Temple’s Visitor Center, featuring testimonies from recent converts and addresses by Mike and Jackie Leavit. It was an inspiring event.
Monday (7/21): While Justin was at work, the female foursome had the sister missionaries over for lunch, making for an estrogenious sextet. Asked by her husband how it went, Lia explained later that there was “lots of girl talk,” upon which Justin’s inquiries ceased abruptly. We passed a happy evening; the girls really enjoyed having Grandma here for family home evening
Tuesday (7/22): This was, alas, Grandma’s last day. The ladies tried to make the most of it, however, visiting the Visitors Center—which Julia absolutely loved and had to be torn away from—and, in lieu of their rained-out swimming expedition—attending a curiosity called Eggspectation, dedicated, insofar as your blogger can gather, to the proposition that the preeminent (and nearly sole) flaw of the world is an insufficiency of eggs. For Eli it was a romp through fields Elysian.
At length, the doleful hour arrived, and Grandma made her way back to Reagan National Airport and thence back to Utah. Grandpa’s gain was our loss. We’re very happy and grateful Grandma could come.
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1 comments:
JUSTIN HELLO!
You need more photos, what kind of attention span do you think I have! But I did see an adorable picture of your mom playing on the floor with grand kids. Weird to think that you all made your mom a grandma. She'll always be aunt patti to me. Anyway, glad to see you are alive and mostly normal, hahahahahahaha. Miss you terribly. Life just isn't the same without you to pick on occasionally.
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