Today was our second pickup day at the farm. I picked up for both families that are sharing our share, so I ended up picking four quarts of strawberries. I of course ate a lot when I got home as I was hulling our half. Some of them are so perfectly ripe that they have a supersweet flavor, something I've never before experienced when eating a strawberry before. Wow.
It was too hot to cook today, and had I managed to brave through it, Robert most likely would have whined ever so slightly. So instead, we had a cold dinner -- salad with freshly candied pecans and goat cheese, preceded by strawberry soup.
Here’s a rough stab at how I made the soup:
1 cup yogurt, 1 cup water, some sprigs of mint
~1 Quart Strawberries (fresh, organic, and from Lindentree, if possible!)
A few strawberries reserved.
Maple syrup to taste. (1-2 TBS?)
1. Put some of the yogurt, water, and all of the mint into a food processor and blend until the mint is pureed.
2. Put some of the strawberries in. Blend until smooth or chunky, depending on your taste. Put this first batch in a bowl.
3. Then put the remainder of the yogurt, water, and strawberries into the food processor and blend again. Put this batch into the bowl.
4. Add maple syrup. Stir.
5. Cover and refrigerate for a few hours.
6. Just before serving, garnish with slices of the reserved strawberries and possibly mint and sour cream.
7. Serve cold!!
Notes: I used fat free dairy products. This produced a fat-free and deliciously refreshing appetizer.
If you do not choose to use dairy products, you could probably use very soft tofu and achieve similar results.
I will try not to turn this blog into a repository for recipes, but I had to share this one.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
C-list denizen
I often marvel at people who live west of the Mississippi and who drive long distances for short events. In fact, Robert said that when he lived in Colorado, he'd think nothing of driving two hours each way for dinner, for example. Or Robert's mom who would regularly drive from Denver to Santa Fe (six hours), pick up her parents, and drive them back to Denver for a visit, all in the same day.
Well, Robert and I are driving to Manhattan this Sunday for brunch. This is kind of a command performance, one not worth making a fuss about, at least not to the people who are throwing it.
Last fall, we attended an over-the-top extravaganza wedding of a first cousin. Now, her older sister and only sibling is getting married, and it turns out that the six first cousins and their partners are Not Invited. In fact, when my mother told me about the engagement, her second sentence was an explanation of the DisInvitation. You see, it's a very small wedding, only 120 people, and there just isn't room.
My mother, of course, has been making all sorts of plans to go to Europe this fall, and it seems that I get weekly updates on whether this trip or that can allow her to dash back to New York in time for the wedding -- aunts and uncles *are* invited, it turns out. At one point, my mother had concluded that two trips to Europe were in order. Now, I have no idea what she finally decided to do.
To make up for not getting to go to the wedding, my aunt came up with the idea of throwing an elegant Saturday-night summer soiree, which actually sounded like a lot of fun. But somewhere on the way from A-list to B-list, we fell down a notch further to the C-list, and now it's a Sunday brunch, somewhat more inconvenient, but what really is convenient when we're talking about getting in and out of Manhattan?
This is supposedly a "party for the cousins", at least according to my mother, and I've heard that my siblings will be there. However, the invitations were quite fancy for just six couples and their parents, so I imagine there will be hordes of thousands. We'll see.
Well, Robert and I are driving to Manhattan this Sunday for brunch. This is kind of a command performance, one not worth making a fuss about, at least not to the people who are throwing it.
Last fall, we attended an over-the-top extravaganza wedding of a first cousin. Now, her older sister and only sibling is getting married, and it turns out that the six first cousins and their partners are Not Invited. In fact, when my mother told me about the engagement, her second sentence was an explanation of the DisInvitation. You see, it's a very small wedding, only 120 people, and there just isn't room.
My mother, of course, has been making all sorts of plans to go to Europe this fall, and it seems that I get weekly updates on whether this trip or that can allow her to dash back to New York in time for the wedding -- aunts and uncles *are* invited, it turns out. At one point, my mother had concluded that two trips to Europe were in order. Now, I have no idea what she finally decided to do.
To make up for not getting to go to the wedding, my aunt came up with the idea of throwing an elegant Saturday-night summer soiree, which actually sounded like a lot of fun. But somewhere on the way from A-list to B-list, we fell down a notch further to the C-list, and now it's a Sunday brunch, somewhat more inconvenient, but what really is convenient when we're talking about getting in and out of Manhattan?
This is supposedly a "party for the cousins", at least according to my mother, and I've heard that my siblings will be there. However, the invitations were quite fancy for just six couples and their parents, so I imagine there will be hordes of thousands. We'll see.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
small town day
Last night, Robert had a minor tooth irritation. This morning, the tooth had progressed to real pain and I urged him to call his dentist to at least see if there was anything that could be done over the weekend. Robert got an emergency number from the dentist's answering machine, and when he dialed it, got the dentist himself. No answering service, no long wait, just the guy he wanted to talk to.
After a few minutes' discussion, the dentist prescribed some medications and asked that Robert call first thing Monday if the tooth hadn't improved. Robert called the drug store when it opened, but waited on the phone too long, so he just drove downtown, got the prescriptions started, and came home again.
But it was hazardous waste day. Last week, we put together a small bag and yesterday I found out that the once-a-year event was today. So off we went to the town yard and sat in a short line waiting to donate our goodies (15 year old wood floor cleaner, anyone?). I've learned to go early. Later in the day, the lines back up and you run the danger of getting there after they've run out of money and have had to close the lines down entirely.
We spent part of our line time chatting with the policeman who was there to warn us that another policeman up ahead would ask for our driver's license (to prove that we were actually attending our own town's hazardous waste day, not some other town's). He talked about the difference between his training in LA and his work in our small town. In LA, he said he saw eight people killed, just driving around the streets. Here, he's seen dead people, all of whom died of natural causes. I laughed about a police blotter item I'd seen last week about a man who called in to complain that crows were nesting in the back yard. He said they get calls like that all the time. Once again, I feel good to live in a place where police at least hear out all phone calls, even if they don't actually take action on every single one.
Then we went to the Boy Scout bottle drive and car wash. For some reason, Boy Scouts around here think it's worthwhile to collect five-cent returnable bottles. Maybe it is a good fund-raiser; I think of it as a great service. We saw a neighbor. Robert thought the volunteers looked old, way past high school, and wondered if there were any Boy Scouts or just adults. Yes, there were some older scouts working the operation. Unlike in previous years, perhaps because there were so many adults there, I didn't even have to unload the bottles from the car -- someone did that for me.
Finally, back to the drug store, where they of course recognized Robert and handed him his meds. And then off to the local airport for breakfast, where the motto is "Not your average $100 hamburger", and they're right. Except now, for those who fly in rather than drive, it's probably more like a $250 hamburger. Last time we were there, the owner realized that I had left my jacket there the time before and made sure I took it with me. So I thanked her again and told her how happy I was to have it back. We ran into another friend, had a good meal, and came home.
Oh, and once upon a time, I lived in a city and none of this would ever have happened. We'd still be waiting for the dentist to call back, there would be no hazardous waste because there would be no garage to store it in, the policemen would probably be jumpy and curtly polite, the people at the drug store would be surly and spend hours filling the prescription, the Boy Scouts would be going to the country for relaxation, and my jacket would have been tossed in the dumpster with the rest of the evening's trash. I'm sure there were reasons to live in the city once upon a time, but I can't remember what they were.
After a few minutes' discussion, the dentist prescribed some medications and asked that Robert call first thing Monday if the tooth hadn't improved. Robert called the drug store when it opened, but waited on the phone too long, so he just drove downtown, got the prescriptions started, and came home again.
But it was hazardous waste day. Last week, we put together a small bag and yesterday I found out that the once-a-year event was today. So off we went to the town yard and sat in a short line waiting to donate our goodies (15 year old wood floor cleaner, anyone?). I've learned to go early. Later in the day, the lines back up and you run the danger of getting there after they've run out of money and have had to close the lines down entirely.
We spent part of our line time chatting with the policeman who was there to warn us that another policeman up ahead would ask for our driver's license (to prove that we were actually attending our own town's hazardous waste day, not some other town's). He talked about the difference between his training in LA and his work in our small town. In LA, he said he saw eight people killed, just driving around the streets. Here, he's seen dead people, all of whom died of natural causes. I laughed about a police blotter item I'd seen last week about a man who called in to complain that crows were nesting in the back yard. He said they get calls like that all the time. Once again, I feel good to live in a place where police at least hear out all phone calls, even if they don't actually take action on every single one.
Then we went to the Boy Scout bottle drive and car wash. For some reason, Boy Scouts around here think it's worthwhile to collect five-cent returnable bottles. Maybe it is a good fund-raiser; I think of it as a great service. We saw a neighbor. Robert thought the volunteers looked old, way past high school, and wondered if there were any Boy Scouts or just adults. Yes, there were some older scouts working the operation. Unlike in previous years, perhaps because there were so many adults there, I didn't even have to unload the bottles from the car -- someone did that for me.
Finally, back to the drug store, where they of course recognized Robert and handed him his meds. And then off to the local airport for breakfast, where the motto is "Not your average $100 hamburger", and they're right. Except now, for those who fly in rather than drive, it's probably more like a $250 hamburger. Last time we were there, the owner realized that I had left my jacket there the time before and made sure I took it with me. So I thanked her again and told her how happy I was to have it back. We ran into another friend, had a good meal, and came home.
Oh, and once upon a time, I lived in a city and none of this would ever have happened. We'd still be waiting for the dentist to call back, there would be no hazardous waste because there would be no garage to store it in, the policemen would probably be jumpy and curtly polite, the people at the drug store would be surly and spend hours filling the prescription, the Boy Scouts would be going to the country for relaxation, and my jacket would have been tossed in the dumpster with the rest of the evening's trash. I'm sure there were reasons to live in the city once upon a time, but I can't remember what they were.
Friday, June 15, 2007
a coupla random items
Farm update: We had our first pickup from the CSA farm this week. Let's see -- we got baby spinach, baby bok choy, baby kale, baby turnips, a few fresh herbs, lettuce, fresh strawberries, and a handful of flowers. I've cooked three meals (with a few supplements -- an avocado, some mushrooms, tofu, onions, and ginger), all yummy, and we still have lettuce and herbs left. The flowers are still on the table, miraculously, given that the cats still haven't learned that the table is a No-fly zone. This was apparently a very light week, so it's hard to imagine how we'll use up all the produce each week when growing really get underway. Let's hope that the farmer skipped right over the zucchini page in the seed catalog.
Work (past): Through a networking web site, I ended up communicating with someone from a past job. I didn't know him well, but he remembers me and told me how incredibly useful work that I did continues to be. Apparently, management saw fit to dispose of that work (a complicated manual describing how to upgrade a set of persnickety products that didn't work together all that well) but technical people still needed it. He was very sweet in his praise. It made me realize the kinds of effects we have on people all the time without even realizing it. It's nice to be appreciated.
Work (present, silliness): In an effort to tease our office manager, someone came into my office this week to solicit ideas for kitchen suggestions. There were loads of people in my shared office at the time, including my boss. We came up with some great ideas -- an espresso machine, homemade chocolate chip cookies, a bread machine, a fondue set. (And you have to understand that our kitchen, which is shared by perhaps 100 people every day, is minuscule.) We laughed ourselves silly. I didn't get yelled at (yeah!) by my boss who was busy laughing harder than anyone else. A nice reminder that you can have fun -- publicly -- at work and *still get work done* -- gasp!!!!
Family: While catching up on some correspondance this morning, I got a call from my mother-in-law. My father-in-law was out of the house and she was calling to ask that Robert call his father on Sunday, Father's Day. (To her credit, she called Robert's line, not mine, so it wasn't like she was expecting me to pass on the message, but I will.)
Apparently, not one child had called him on his birthday, and while my F-i-L was stoic about it, she said she was near tears (hurting for two?). I'm sorry I didn't know that a call was so important. I make sure that Robert always sends a card (and picks it out and writes the message himself) because I thought *that* was important. And he agonizes almost as much as I do over the choice -- I'm sure people have no idea. I had no way of guessing that in Robert's family, a phone call was even more crucial. So we'll make sure that phone calls happen from now on, on birthdays and Mother's and Father's days. I'm glad she told me, rather than stewing about it and getting even more upset. Oh dear.
This reminds me that when I was married the first time around, my husband forgot his mother's birthday one year until the actual day or maybe the day after. He promptly ordered a huge bouquet of flowers and we got a very tearful phone call from his mother (My birthday was very nice. My darling sister called. My darling daughters called. My darling husband took me out for a very nice dinner. I sat by the phone all day and all evening, but my darling son never called.) We then got a *scathing* letter from his father (You can neglect to send me a birthday card. But if you ever forget your mother's birthday or our anniversary again... some dreadful punishment or other.) So that's why I make sure that Robert acknowledges his parents' birthdays and I acknowledge my parents'.
It's so hard pleasing people -- you try to guess and do the best you can. But if you don't guess right, sometimes you end up causing tremendous unintended hurt. So I'm grateful that Robert's mother could articulate what would be less hurtful and we'll pick up and try to do better next time.
Work (past): Through a networking web site, I ended up communicating with someone from a past job. I didn't know him well, but he remembers me and told me how incredibly useful work that I did continues to be. Apparently, management saw fit to dispose of that work (a complicated manual describing how to upgrade a set of persnickety products that didn't work together all that well) but technical people still needed it. He was very sweet in his praise. It made me realize the kinds of effects we have on people all the time without even realizing it. It's nice to be appreciated.
Work (present, silliness): In an effort to tease our office manager, someone came into my office this week to solicit ideas for kitchen suggestions. There were loads of people in my shared office at the time, including my boss. We came up with some great ideas -- an espresso machine, homemade chocolate chip cookies, a bread machine, a fondue set. (And you have to understand that our kitchen, which is shared by perhaps 100 people every day, is minuscule.) We laughed ourselves silly. I didn't get yelled at (yeah!) by my boss who was busy laughing harder than anyone else. A nice reminder that you can have fun -- publicly -- at work and *still get work done* -- gasp!!!!
Family: While catching up on some correspondance this morning, I got a call from my mother-in-law. My father-in-law was out of the house and she was calling to ask that Robert call his father on Sunday, Father's Day. (To her credit, she called Robert's line, not mine, so it wasn't like she was expecting me to pass on the message, but I will.)
Apparently, not one child had called him on his birthday, and while my F-i-L was stoic about it, she said she was near tears (hurting for two?). I'm sorry I didn't know that a call was so important. I make sure that Robert always sends a card (and picks it out and writes the message himself) because I thought *that* was important. And he agonizes almost as much as I do over the choice -- I'm sure people have no idea. I had no way of guessing that in Robert's family, a phone call was even more crucial. So we'll make sure that phone calls happen from now on, on birthdays and Mother's and Father's days. I'm glad she told me, rather than stewing about it and getting even more upset. Oh dear.
This reminds me that when I was married the first time around, my husband forgot his mother's birthday one year until the actual day or maybe the day after. He promptly ordered a huge bouquet of flowers and we got a very tearful phone call from his mother (My birthday was very nice. My darling sister called. My darling daughters called. My darling husband took me out for a very nice dinner. I sat by the phone all day and all evening, but my darling son never called.) We then got a *scathing* letter from his father (You can neglect to send me a birthday card. But if you ever forget your mother's birthday or our anniversary again... some dreadful punishment or other.) So that's why I make sure that Robert acknowledges his parents' birthdays and I acknowledge my parents'.
It's so hard pleasing people -- you try to guess and do the best you can. But if you don't guess right, sometimes you end up causing tremendous unintended hurt. So I'm grateful that Robert's mother could articulate what would be less hurtful and we'll pick up and try to do better next time.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
father's day
Father's Day is coming up this weekend. I wouldn't typically send my father a card, but several years ago, my aunt mentioned that my father was hurt that he didn't get one from me, so now I always send one. I'm not sure if he was actually hurt or if my aunt thought he should be, but message received, and we reacted like grownups.
The thing is that my father moved out when I was three. He'd be out of touch for weeks (when we were all living in NYC) or months (when we were living further apart) at a time, though we've never fallen completely out of touch. The stories I later heard from both parents were not terribly attractive, though truth to tell, I think my mother tried to protect me more than my father did.
I'm not sure if I've mentioned this story on my blog before, but one time, my sister and I were in Michigan visiting our paternal grandparents. Various relatives and friends would drop by, and I didn't always understand who they were. I tried to react as I was encouraged to. One day, a man came for a visit and seemed very happy to see us. We seemed to be expected to sit on his lap, so we did. And I was terribly confused about who this might be. I just followed the conversation very carefully (I was quite good at putting together grownup conversations) and eventually figured out that this was my father -- I hadn't recognized him and it didn't occur to any of the adults to tell us.
Since the most unpleasant beginnings with my mother, my father has become a charming and gentle person, someone whom nearly everyone falls in love with. He is kind and thoughtful and very funny. The only time in my life that I've ever heard him say something mean about another person was when that other person acted irresponsibly towards an animal. He finds cats irresistible. For a while, some of his best friends were acquired when he picked them up as hitchikers.
So every year, I go to the card store, hoping to find the perfect card. Here are some of the choices:
The thing is that my father moved out when I was three. He'd be out of touch for weeks (when we were all living in NYC) or months (when we were living further apart) at a time, though we've never fallen completely out of touch. The stories I later heard from both parents were not terribly attractive, though truth to tell, I think my mother tried to protect me more than my father did.
I'm not sure if I've mentioned this story on my blog before, but one time, my sister and I were in Michigan visiting our paternal grandparents. Various relatives and friends would drop by, and I didn't always understand who they were. I tried to react as I was encouraged to. One day, a man came for a visit and seemed very happy to see us. We seemed to be expected to sit on his lap, so we did. And I was terribly confused about who this might be. I just followed the conversation very carefully (I was quite good at putting together grownup conversations) and eventually figured out that this was my father -- I hadn't recognized him and it didn't occur to any of the adults to tell us.
Since the most unpleasant beginnings with my mother, my father has become a charming and gentle person, someone whom nearly everyone falls in love with. He is kind and thoughtful and very funny. The only time in my life that I've ever heard him say something mean about another person was when that other person acted irresponsibly towards an animal. He finds cats irresistible. For a while, some of his best friends were acquired when he picked them up as hitchikers.
So every year, I go to the card store, hoping to find the perfect card. Here are some of the choices:
- Stupid: Themes on playing golf, lying on the couch, drinking beer, watching TV
- Sentimental: "Oh Dad, you were always there for me"
- From the dog: "Thank you for taking me on walks"
- Wise: "You taught me so much"
- Sappy: "I love you more than ..." whatever.
- Bad poetry: (don't even go there)
- Funny, or at least slightly amusing
- Confessional
- Friends who are like dads (how about dads who are like friends?)
- From daddy's little princess
- For my husband
OK, cute, appropriate for some fathers, and I'm sure all these cards will find good homes. But none of them really work for us. What do you get for someone whom you know very well in some ways but not at all in others?
I occasionally get a blank card and just write a short note. This year, I found a relatively cute cat card with a "hi" message which I think will do fine.
I don't want to sound like I'm whining about my father -- I'm not. And I'm well aware (and grateful) that my father is alive and kicking. As I write, I'm also well aware of many friends whose fathers are recently departed and severely missed. It's just that my father and I don't fit into those neat categories that the card companies seem bent on promoting. We can't even pretend, not even for one day.
Frankly, I grew up with this delightful man in my life, but not with a father. And yet, once a year, I am called on to acknowledge this person's role in my life as a father, or at least as my father. There is no path to follow, no pre-made model for this manufactured holiday, or indeed for any portion of our relationship. Sometimes we stumble through life, making things up as best we can, loving in the ways we know how.
Friday, June 08, 2007
the power of the sun
Robert and I have been discussing installing some sort of solar power for a while now. We made an initial attempt last summer, but for many reasons, that didn't work out. More recently, we met with an installer, got a quote, and decided to proceed with the project. You can read more about the decision process on the Sudbury Earth Decade site.
The installation took three days, and it's done! Click on the following picture to see a short slide show with captions that describe the process.
And so far, so good. During the installation, we were never without hot water when we wanted it. We have hot water now, with the heat partly generated by the sun and partly generated by electricity. As our holding tank heats up, I expect that the sun will be doing the lion's share of heating our water from now on.
The installation took three days, and it's done! Click on the following picture to see a short slide show with captions that describe the process.
 |
| adventures with sunshine |
And so far, so good. During the installation, we were never without hot water when we wanted it. We have hot water now, with the heat partly generated by the sun and partly generated by electricity. As our holding tank heats up, I expect that the sun will be doing the lion's share of heating our water from now on.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Linda Wheeler 1962 -- 2007
A few weeks ago, I mentioned that a newish friend had died. On Saturday, Robert and I attended her memorial service. The service was planned by two former partners, one of *their* former partners, and the one sister with whom she'd maintained contact. She had told many people that she had no family, and so it was a huge surprise that her other sister, the one from California, walked into the church and sat down. Her brother and parents were not in evidence.
Despite losing the connection with most of her family, Linda had created many new families, as represented by the people who attended -- workers at a Maryland newspaper; many of the staff and volunteers of WUMB, our local folk radio station; organizers of Boston's First Night; volunteers for the local affiliate of Habitat for Humanity; members of the recovery community and local lesbians; families of the former partners (she called the parents of one of these partners "mom" and "dad"); employees of our town and members of our cultural council; and a few uncategorizable people like Robert and me.
The service was at a local church, one with a lovely reputation. I was touched when the minister opened the proceedings by saying that Linda was not a church-going person, but she had become a member of the community by helping out at the church's coffee house and by attending pot lucks and yard sales. She said that she and the church were honored to provide this service for one of their own. I loved that the collective heart of the church was wide open enough to receive someone who did not attend in the traditional sense, but who was still very present.
Many people spoke and painted a complex picture of this incredible, committed, and at times, difficult, but loveable woman. We heard from her partners, from her twin sister and her husband and daughter, from people who had volunteered with her along the way, from a woman in the recovery community. We laughed a lot, but Robert also said he'd never seen so many men cry at a memorial service. The kleenexes that someone had discreetly placed in the hymnal racks were much appreciated.
Linda's first passion was apparently folk music and her second passion was every other type of music. So it was fitting that the musical interludes (which were sorely needed just for some downtime between talks) were all folk and all deeply appropriate (Pat Humphries, Cheryl Wheeler, and Judy Collins). The sound was much better than could be hoped for, thanks to another friend who attends that church. At the end, the dad of one of the partners stood and said that so many words had been spoken and he needed to express himself in music. He sat down and played Amazing Grace. I continued to weep.
Afterwards, we decided to head downstairs for the reception that the ever-present church ladies had prepared. (Thank goodness for church ladies.) We caught up with a few friends, met some new people. And then, another piece of magic. The planning committee thought it would be cool to have an actual folk singer perform. They found someone who was headed home from England that day anyways, but took an earlier plane to be there. She'd attended the service, sang three lovely songs, and stayed for the meal afterwards. And she was phenomenal.
Someone said that with Linda's organizational skills, she was probably looking on and saying "I could have done a better job than that." I don't think so. She went out with a wonderful tribute, beautifully and thoughtfully organized. We had directness, honesty, and rafts and rafts of love.
Despite losing the connection with most of her family, Linda had created many new families, as represented by the people who attended -- workers at a Maryland newspaper; many of the staff and volunteers of WUMB, our local folk radio station; organizers of Boston's First Night; volunteers for the local affiliate of Habitat for Humanity; members of the recovery community and local lesbians; families of the former partners (she called the parents of one of these partners "mom" and "dad"); employees of our town and members of our cultural council; and a few uncategorizable people like Robert and me.
The service was at a local church, one with a lovely reputation. I was touched when the minister opened the proceedings by saying that Linda was not a church-going person, but she had become a member of the community by helping out at the church's coffee house and by attending pot lucks and yard sales. She said that she and the church were honored to provide this service for one of their own. I loved that the collective heart of the church was wide open enough to receive someone who did not attend in the traditional sense, but who was still very present.
Many people spoke and painted a complex picture of this incredible, committed, and at times, difficult, but loveable woman. We heard from her partners, from her twin sister and her husband and daughter, from people who had volunteered with her along the way, from a woman in the recovery community. We laughed a lot, but Robert also said he'd never seen so many men cry at a memorial service. The kleenexes that someone had discreetly placed in the hymnal racks were much appreciated.
Linda's first passion was apparently folk music and her second passion was every other type of music. So it was fitting that the musical interludes (which were sorely needed just for some downtime between talks) were all folk and all deeply appropriate (Pat Humphries, Cheryl Wheeler, and Judy Collins). The sound was much better than could be hoped for, thanks to another friend who attends that church. At the end, the dad of one of the partners stood and said that so many words had been spoken and he needed to express himself in music. He sat down and played Amazing Grace. I continued to weep.
Afterwards, we decided to head downstairs for the reception that the ever-present church ladies had prepared. (Thank goodness for church ladies.) We caught up with a few friends, met some new people. And then, another piece of magic. The planning committee thought it would be cool to have an actual folk singer perform. They found someone who was headed home from England that day anyways, but took an earlier plane to be there. She'd attended the service, sang three lovely songs, and stayed for the meal afterwards. And she was phenomenal.
Someone said that with Linda's organizational skills, she was probably looking on and saying "I could have done a better job than that." I don't think so. She went out with a wonderful tribute, beautifully and thoughtfully organized. We had directness, honesty, and rafts and rafts of love.
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