These are blog posts by or about both of us.
Last night we attended a Christmas Eve service with 9,200 people we didn’t know. But they weren’t really strangers. It was the Washington National Cathedral’s Christmas Eve Eucharist, and it unfolded with pipe organ preludes, youthful choristers, and a procession complete with bishop, Cathedral dean, and vergers. There was the goosebump-inducing descant of “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” There were enough people present in the Cathedral – although…
Certain determined creatures don’t know there is a pandemic out there. They flit around in the understory or perch on tree limbs, foraging and pecking and standing out in their fine yellow, blue and red plumage. They trill and squawk and sing cheerily. When they are feeling magnanimous, they will sit patiently while I set up my tripod and focus my long lens on them. I have always…
The altar was adorned with lilies and the white and gold frontal signifying a High Holy Day. There was a guest trumpeter playing a fanfare. There was our deacon, Pat, singing Mozart’s “Alleluia” and hitting that shattering stratospheric high note at the end. There was the He-is-Risen return to singing the Gloria. And there were our fellow parishioners, sending up hearts and likes and tears and “Amens” and…
Today, Sue sewed masks for us out of one of my cotton 5K T-shirts. It’s another adaptation to the coronavirus lockdown that we could never have envisioned even a month ago. We plan our outings, calling ahead to the artisanal bakery 20 miles away where we now buy bread and pastries since our own local bakery closed. We drive up, announce our name, take the box and drive…
March 2020 began like any other month in our mostly laid-back lives. I had handbell rehearsal on March 1. Sue went to the chiropractor on March 2. I was designing a church website. We got our taxes done on March 4. We both got haircuts. We first heard the term “social distancing.” The corona virus news was starting to seep into our consciousness, provoking concern, but it still…
NOTE: Please see a portfolio of our Quebec photos. Part Two of three parts The accordion player ambled through the chalet-like dining room, belting out Quebecois folk songs as we played along with sets of spoons. We were in a cabane a sucre, or sugar shack, on the Ile d’Orleans next door to Quebec City. Especially in the spring, the sugar shack is a venerable cultural tradition sticky with sirop…
NOTE: Please see a portfolio of our Quebec photos. Part One of three parts At 6:30 a.m., we heard a rustling at our hotel door. Was someone trying to break in? Tentatively, we peered out. Hanging on the door was a wicker picnic basket. It was breakfast! Croissants, patisseries, yogurt, glass bottles of orange juice, cheese, and fruit. Amazed, I went down to the lounge of the Hotel…
Chincoteague is less than two hours from our home, and yet we had never visited. So we drove down the day after Labor Day, with Hurricane Dorian looming at the end of the week. We are already planning to return. Chincoteague is a throwback to childhood days at the beach. You have to forgive the tacky wooden billboards, one after the other, anchored in the marsh (oy) as…
When we entered the Conservatory at Longwood Gardens, it was about 4 p.m. and still light outside. When we walked out into the cold evening an hour later, the grounds were stunningly transformed. Hundreds of trees clothed in colored lights, festive fountains dancing to Christmas carols, lighted red and white orbs overhanging walkways, kids and adults alike with their mouths agape. Longwood Gardens is only 84 miles from…
Please see our New Mexico photo gallery. The last stop on our RoadScholar tour of Albuquerque, Taos and Santa Fe was another kiva – this one at Coronado Historic Site in the Albuquerque suburb of Bernalillo. A kiva is a sacred room within an Indian pueblo, where religious rites are performed. This visit required climbing up one ladder and down another one into the underground chamber; only 13…
There are a few places on earth where I feel like my soul is at home. Where the psychic roots run deep, my DNA is buzzing contentedly, and I always feel a welcome familiarity no matter how long I have been gone. One of those places is the Texas Hill Country, land of my mother’s clan and a rocky, rolling landscape of cedar, winding creeks and limestone bungalows.…
