Village Green/Town²

Thanks to the kindness of a friend, my family spent Thanksgiving close to nature and far away from The Bubble. Sunrise and sunset views of the water were spectacular, the quiet was nourishing, the darkness at night was palpable. Wow--is night really that dark?   The tiny town which serves as "civilization" is about a twenty minute's drive away. Small shops. Narrow streets. Old sidewalks. Restaurants with individual flavor and personality. Store clerks who talked to you. It was all freshly decorated for the holiday season.   Beautiful, and, dare I say, sincere.   I wondered what it would be like to live there in the town, without a car. Or using a car only rarely. Could I do it? There's a little Acme grocery store on the main street, a pharmacy, too. Churches are walkable. Surrounding the main street are lesser streets that cross-cross neatly with old wooden houses, many with gingerbread ornamentation. Tiny well-groomed yards.   Wouldn't it be lovely? Small-town li...

When I was in high school I acted in a production of Thornton Wilder's one-act play, The Long Christmas Dinner . The play covers ninety years of Christmas dinner of the Bayard family. Similar to other Wilder plays, sets were minimal and much depended on mime. All we had were a table and chairs. The rest was up to us. As we worked out the blocking for the play, I came up against a problem with the gravy boat. I would carefully "ladle" gravy onto my plate, but when I passed it on, my classmate picked it up and "poured" it. I was indignant. What kind of a philistine poured a gravy boat? Being young and inflexible, I pointed out her error to the director. What followed was, shall we say, educational. It turned out that there were two kinds of gravy boats. The one at our house looked like this. The top was fused to the saucer and you used a silver ladle to serve the gravy. The one at her house looked like this. You poured it. In fact, once the discussion started, I ...

Yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, there was a shooting in Oakland Mills. Of course it lit up the news . It is a horrible thing. Gunfire. Crime. Masked assailant. Columbia neighborhood. We wince and shudder against the image of it. This shouldn't be happening here, we think. Not in Howard County. Not in Columbia. Not in my neighborhood. "And on Thanksgiving!" No sooner was the news spreading on social media than the familiar comments began to accumulate. "White or black?" "It was the apartments, wasn't it?" "Those people are thugs." "The victim was probably involved in illegal activity." "Columbia will never be safe until we get rid of subsidized housing." "Columbia used to be safe. Before those people came." Those people. Those poor people. Those black people. Those other people. As frightening and damaging as the shooting itself is the unapologetic racism and hatred of these comments. It is the attitude which a...

I found myself thinking yesterday about the many guests I assembled for Thanksgiving dinner in "A Blogger's Thanksgiving." Where are they now? I got bogged down in the knowledge that the event (as it were) could never be recreated. Things change. We lose family and friends to life changes, moves, even death. Nothing stays the same.   Sarasays and DinosaurMom have moved away. Annathema, GCGeek, vinotrip, LifesLittleComedies and TJMayotte are no longer blogging. Patch is no more, the Patuxent name is but a memory, and HoCoMoJo still exists, but is not the same. WellandWise has gone through its own changes. Columbia Compass? Hope springs eternal...   And of course you know about WordBones.   I woke up this morning realizing I had gotten too hung up on loss. Change also brings growth, and new faces around the table. A virtual Thanksgiving today would include people like Kirstycat, urbanbushwoman, and ukhousewifeusa. Lisa Rossi and David Greisman, formerly of Patch, would stil...

A Blogger's Thanksgiving, 2011 I arrived at Tarragon Park a tad early, and sat in my car listening to NPR so as to avoid seeming over-eager. I brushed my hair, and checked that my ipad was charged. The door was answered by @Wordbones, gracious co-host of our event. "Come on in. We're just choosing the wines for the meal." Pondering the perfect choices with him were the wine enthusiasts of @vinotrip. I knew right away that the selections for our gathering were sure to be first-rate. I heard some banging from out back. "Don't worry about that," WB explained. "That's just @53Beers getting his tailgate operation on. He's determined to deep-fry a turkey out there." Delicious aromas wafted through the house. I headed to the kitchen, where @hocohousehon and @howchow were discussing the finer points of roasting vs. sauteing the Brussels sprouts. Heavy cream and toasted pine nuts sat nearby. My offer of help was promptly refused. @jessiex had ...

Harlem , by Langston Hughes What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode? My heart is aching this morning. What can I possibly have to add to the conversation? Here is a sampling of what speaks to me on Twitter: @wilw: If only there were some process, perhaps a legal process, to present conflicting accounts and statements, weigh them, and come to a verdict. @rapsodymusic: "It doesn’t take 100 days to decide if murder is a crime, it takes 100 days to figure out how to tell people it isn’t" - @LeVelleMoton @billmaher: Waiting until night do to what you could in the day seems strange. Reminds me of how the Colts left Baltimore @michele_norris: Why was this announced at night @langston_poems: I am so tired of waiting, Aren...

Breaking: Sudden Crater Formations in Oakland Mills Yard!   I walked out of the house yesterday to this-- Animal tracks? One very large footprint? Two large footprints?   I looked around. More holes in the yard, in no particular formation. Holes, holes, holes. What the heck?   And then I remembered something my husband had said the day before.   I just found an unopened bag of almonds in my office, so I put some out in the yard for the local wildlife. This little guy came right up to me (closer than I've ever seen a squirrel come) and looked me right in the eyes as if to say "Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Mr. Dude!" So the squirrel buried them all Saturday and dug them up Sunday. Lack of patience? Intense hunger? Obsessive compulsive behavior? Or--horrors!--a squirrel thief? I hope not. I have always loved squirrels, as did my mother before me. She used to make them little peanut butter sandwiches with the heel ends of the bread, and they would come t...