The Christmas Letter

As long as I have a hand to write with and a tongue to moisten the seal, I will try my darndest to send out real Christmas cards — the old-fashioned, tree-killing, carbon-producing kind.  I just like the feel of a card in your hands: it’s a physical connection between you and someone you haven’t seen in a long time.  I’d much rather meet you for lunch, of course, but we can’t always do that.  Hence the cards.  This year’s came from England. See how much I love you?

On to the wrap-up.  2011 began with snow on snow on snow: quite a lot, though not nearly as much as last year.  Snow is usually accompanied by snow days.  Cinnamon rolls optional. 

When things had thawed out a bit, we headed north for a brewery pilgrimage with some friends and family.  Here’s us with my parents on the beautiful, chilly Delaware beach:

However, I happen to prefer this photo as representative of my nearest and dearest:

Spring brought a new friend and beautiful colors to compliment the Little Red House:

We enjoyed a brief jaunt to Boston, where our dear friend Stephen was elevated to the priesthood and Rob made a new friend (no, I don’t mean the duck!)

And scarcely had we returned than we flew south for a whirlwind week in New Orleans, where we were treated to uncharacteristically fine weather and characteristically fine food and drink.  Matthew was definitely the star of this trip — he wheeled and dealed at the antiques market, doubled back in an ingenious move for a second batch of beignets at Cafe du Monde, and almost left his wife for a 50-year-old bartender.  

But in the end he stayed.  Why wouldn’t he?!

We enjoyed a quick weekend in the Carolinas, where Rob’s beautiful cousin was married: 

What’s that?  You don’t believe I was really in the American South?

Ham, peanuts and BB guns.  Yes, sir.  And the views across the fields were spectacular. 

As the summer began in earnest, I enjoyed writing weekly about the food from our CSA.  You can read these columns, as well as quite a few others, at Catonsville Patch.  

We also welcomed our brother Zach for an extended visit.  Zach presided over a series of dinners that started big (The Goat Meal) and ended bigger (a Georgian-style supra for 13 guests that lasted about six hours, with almost that many courses.)  In between, we steamed live crabs for the first time: 

Six hours is also the amount of time we waited in line for front-row spots when U2 played in Baltimore.  Totally worth it.

Once I had recovered from my swoon, we had a long visit with the West Coast, seeing the sights, visiting family and playing with friends.

And by “playing with friends” I mean we sat in our hotel room in beautiful Sonoma for embarrassingly long lengths of time, playing simultaneous games of “Words with Friends” on our iPhones.  Hey, it’s Apple Country. 

Somehow, we managed to harvest a few things from our sadly-neglected garden: I blame the beautiful raised beds my dad built for us, without which I think we would have only had weeds. 

More guests — human and feline — followed by a quick trip to Atlanta to claim our inheritance and gallavant with cousins. Cat games, long dinners and the best Elton John impersonator I’ve ever seen. 

Labor Day brought one last chance to enjoy the sun — this time at beautiful Lake Eufala in Oklahoma.  Our BFF’s hosted, assisted by a pack of semi-wild dogs that often outnumbered us. 

School began again, and we buckled down: business as usual for Rob, who’s working on some landscape projects as well as teaching architectural design, and one last semester of grad school plus high school for Emily, who is almost finished with her MAT and continues to teach English at a private Catholic school. We took a break in October to accompany the same wonderful family (and the same semi-wild dogs)  to Lewes in celebration of Jamie’s 30th birthday.  Long walks on the beach, light sightseeing and an incredible late-night bonfire: 

The fall wound down with a few great concerts and a day trip to Bear Run, Pennsylvania, where Rob took his students to see some architecture and Emily tagged along for the scenery.

And we saved the last month of the year to tackle two daunting projects: a new kitchen and a new member of the family.  This is Mishka, the stray who whined and chewed her way into our hearts.

 

Kitchen photos will have to follow in a week or so.  And now, back to Christmas preparations: wrapping, decorating and practicing music.  For the first time I can remember, we’re celebrating Christmas on Christmas this year: church in the morning before returning home for breakfast, presents and a day of family traditions.

How we wish you could be here with us — and you are, in our thoughts and prayers.

Love, Rob and Emily

Ten Years and a Day

It’s hard to say what kind of a day it was, ten years after the most horrific tragedy I have ever known.  Two years ago I wrote about my experience on that day and the way it has never left my consciousness; yesterday was no exception.  It was a day of remembrance, tears and bleak thoughts.

It was also, in many ways, a day like all others.  Liturgy in the morning, bracketed by baptism and memorial services.  Two baby boys joined our family, neither of whom had waited for the hospital.  One was born on the bathroom floor, the other on the apartment steps — they were that eager to begin their earthly lives.  After communion I held the more placid of the two; he was a warm, firm lump in my arms, stirring every now and then to nurse an imaginary breast in dreamland.

The memorial was for all those who had died in the terrorist attacks and recovery efforts.  We did not read this prayer by Bishop BASIL (although I have visited the church Rod discusses in the introduction — a remarkable place); it was a memorial service like all the others we have served for parents, friends, cousins and co-workers who have left us, from our point of view, too soon.

We often spend time with friends on Sunday, and yesterday was no exception.  My high-school best friend had a baby shower and surprised me with two guests I hadn’t seen since our graduation; we spent time catching up and looking forward.  On the way home, I stopped to see the friends I had made ten years earlier when, in desperation, I fled my school’s campus in search of a safe place.  My goddaughter brought us peanut butter crackers as we talked over the noise of the football game.  We had dinner with our church family: melt-in-your-mouth pulled pork, velvety rice pudding, and laughter until our stomachs hurt.

But in between, and often during, these rituals of faith and friendship, I couldn’t shake the thought that this was a sad day.  During my hours in the car, I listened to the dedication ceremony at the United 93 memorial, which I was lucky enough to visit this past summer.  The speakers, each eloquent in their own way, gave messages of hope and inspiration, but also of grief.  One disagreed with the conventional wisdom about recovery — to recover, he said, would be to lose the bonds that linked us to those we had loved and lost.  The pain helps us remember, and in its own way, it is sweet.

Later, I heard the names at Ground Zero: two people read about a dozen names each, and ended with personal tributes to their own relatives.  It was almost too painful to hear, but it would have been harder to turn it off.  I listened, tears in my eyes, in rapt attention.

That night, I opened (for the first time in three months of delivery) a copy of the New York Times and read, cover to cover, a special section about the decade of rebuilding in the city.  Fiances who had not married. Children who had not recovered.  Buildings that had not been built — and some that had.  Photos of the moving memorial at Ground Zero, where waterfalls mark the footprints of the missing towers, framed by names of the dead.

Between rainshowers I drove home; I pulled over to take the above photo of a tribute on the roadside.  It would have to represent all the groups I had seen waving on overpasses, the flags flying at homes and churches, and the thoughts in my own heart about this ordinary, iconic day.

WHERE have you BEEN?!

Oh, floating around … 

Visiting family with friends in the Bay area, then again at the beach.  Generally enjoying the weather and the freedom that comes with it.

This week: catching up with the garden, finishing up my grad school course and trying to get my cat to love me again.  In the meantime, enjoy the photos.

Crabby Father's Day

How is it that it took thirty years of living in Maryland for me to bring live crabs into my kitchen?  Not just the best crabs I’ve ever had (freshly caught and steamed in Baltimore’s cheapest) but also well worth the price of admission in entertainment value.

Also on the menu: fried oysters, hush puppies, corn on the cob, and not-quite-pickled cucumber salad.  Dessert was this cake; it really should have been Smith Island, to go with the Maryland theme, but chocolate and raspberries are Dad’s favorite combination.

*Crabs were harmed in the making of this film. They were also delicious.

Road Trips

This month began with a road trip north, to see our dear friend ordained to the Holy Priesthood:

Boston was beautiful, and it was a special treat for me to relive tulip season.  The company, of course, was the best.

Now, at the end of the month (how is it over already?!) we are heading south for a family wedding.  I anticipate pimento cheese, pine trees and lots of sweating.  You’ll hear about it when we return, I’m sure!

I can’t go on a road trip without remembering the many, many times my saintly parents made long trips with three of us cavorting in the back seat.  They had many weapons against the twin enemies of fighting and carsickness.  Here are some of my favorites:

• Prizes: this was an all-purpose term for something unexpected and cool, anything from M&Ms to a vending-machine rubber ball.  Sometimes they staggered them, so we got something small for every 100 miles without a fight.  Sometimes we had to be good for the WHOLE trip in return for a bigger reward.  I most vividly recall the time they gave us each a pile of dimes; when we started to complain or snipe at each other, without a word they simply removed one from the pile.  That might have been the most effective of all!
• Songs: although we used to lament loudly about the bluegrass or sea chanties or Celtic folk music, the truth is that these experiences helped us all to be more well-rounded appreciators of music.  When I started to listen to my own music, my parents let me control the soundtrack; one year I made a mix tape of 70’s rock and my parents competed to see who could name the song first.  (Little did they know that their future son-in-law could blow the whole family out of the water in that department!)  We also enjoyed making up our own songs.  My sister was the undisputed champion of this activity, coining both a Maryland state song and innumerable verses to the Arabic Trisagion.
• Spankings: Sometimes the threat was enough.  Other times, they had to pull over and follow through on it.  Either way, it worked, though the atmosphere in the car was decidedly subdued and sniffly for the next hour or so.
• Games: Because we sometimes got carsick, we rarely read or played inside games, but we loved looking for license plates and playing the alphabet game (pick a category and try to come up with a word beginning with each letter.)  We also had familiar landmarks on the most common journey, to Atlanta to visit the cousins: the building in Richmond that you think you’ll be able to reach out and touch from the overpass, the signs to South of the Border, and of course the Gaffney Peach.
• Dramamine: One year they tried this as an anti-nausea medication.  They discovered it had the wonderful side effect of putting us to sleep.  After that, we were often given a dose “just in case.” Hey, you do what you have to!
• Snacks: These might actually be tied with prizes for everyone’s favorite thing about road trips.  My mom always packed the best lunches, and for car trips she’d go all out, with carefully-wrapped, customized sandwiches, crunchy snacks, fruit, drinks and always, always, something sweet at the very end.  My dad doesn’t have quite her foresight and planning instincts, but he makes up for it with enthusiasm: last year when we drove to JFK to pick up my sister from Korea, he brought a haul that included economy-size tubs of nuts, cheese crackers and lunch meat.  And SEVEN yogurts.  That last item has become one of our favorite jokes since then.

Time to go pack my own bag: trail mix, beef jerky and an iPod.  Some things do get simpler over time!