I know. I promised things about regular blogging that just didn’t happen. And here it is, week 7 of my work experience and I haven’t told anyone on the internet a single thing about my time here in DC so far.
My bad. But if you’re still interested…
Things here are great, with a capital all-those-letters. Since first I wrote from DC, I have changed both where I live and where I work…though not for whom I work. Confused? Well so is the United States Post Office.
I had been working out of the Missouri bureau in the National Press Building, which was really nice. There was free breakfast, an attached food court and it was a short elevator ride to the awesomeness that is the Press Club’s weekly free taco night. But I was in a completely different building from the other (2) people in my bureau, so I left those digs to share a desk with a friend in the Scripps-Howard building. Now I see my colleagues every day and am much better for it.
As I mentioned, I’m also living somewhere new. I started out living with my boyfriend’s godmother in a Maryland suburb of DC. Things there were great — and free — and we got along well, but the living situation was only until she sold her house. Which she did. In one day. Impressive, no? So I had to find a new place to live. Luckily for me, the long arm of my undergrad casts a shadow over our nation’s fair capital and I found a great place to live with fantastic people in the District through a college friend. Seriously. There are so many Vassar people here that I know and love that I haven’t even been in contact with them all yet.
Anyway, the new place is in a lovely part of DC called Eastern Market, named for the large market located nearby. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s where it gets its name. I moved in during the last weekend of March and I can already tell that I’ll be spending most of my money there, indulging in fresh produce and cool trinkets. You see, I’ve been bad on a lot of counts.
One front where I hope I haven’t been too bad (my transitions, also bad), is with my work at the Star Tribune. I know I promised to put up links to my work and all that, but I’m busy with work and school and I’m also the only person who’s ever worked for that paper with my last name, so go look it up yourself if you’re so interested.
(Did that come across too harshly? Sorry.)
If you must be led to an article, though, I will share one I loved doing. Last week, I got to go to the Capitol to see the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASPs) receive the Congressional Gold Medal. These women flew domestic missions during WWII and were never given veterans benefits or commissioned, but they were the sweetest, loveliest, least bitter women I’ve ever met. Spines of steel and hearts of gold. I got to speak to one WASP in particular, the only one attending from Minnesota, Betty Wall Strohfus.
She was an absolute delight, and made me realize that whatever problems I may feel I have in my own life…at least I’m not in a country that’s totally mobilizing for war. I haven’t ever had to give up wearing nylons or plant a peace garden or even think about dying for my country. I dislike using cliché terms like “The Greatest Generation” but I do have to say that seeing those ladies made me feel like a whiner. Or a whippersnapper. Or something.
You can read the article here.
