Our little island has been flooded with a summer of ‘influencers’; what, we ask everyday that we encounter the clusters, are they? Who are they? And why must they stand in the middle of the sidewalk to pose for selfies? The ubiquitous nature of the trend is, I suppose, to post images and garner followers for monetary gain. The offense is that our island shopkeepers have exactly three months to make a yearly living. The tourists come in June and leave after Labor Day, a healthy amount of time to stash away for a quiet winter on a lonely ocean outpost.

But the young women (and, yes, they are all women) come loaded with pretentious ambition of garnering ‘free stuff’ in exchange for highlighting a business. It should be noted that our businesses have done just fine, thank you, before the invasion of influencers. Even non-monetized venues such as the Bluff Walk in ‘Sconset is now teeming with clusters of yoga panted women making their duck faces for the internet. Oh, my….

This trend will die out, as they all do, but when is the question. And what does it say about a generation? It’s difficult to find a restaurant on island that isn’t filled to the gills with people focused on their phones - taking photos of their ridiculously over priced lobster rolls (but, hey, yum!) and sharing with the world. How many people really want to see your lobster roll? Or your selfie? I can't imagine this is a trend that will last; I hope not. Everything has become a performance, something to be observed. And yet we know that the most meaningful memories are made when all of our senses are attuned to the moment - when we are fully present to the moment. That moment in time becomes seared into memory, without need of a photo, without anything except the deeply etched experience.

When phones are an appendage we very nearly obliterate the possibility for creating those meaningful moments. The eye captures so much more than a lense; the ears (minus the earbuds!) hear a cacophony of subtle sounds of nature - the peepers, the waves crashing to shore as you lie in bed at night; the smells of the tide…. It takes some quieting down to appreciate these things. I wish our influencers would put the phone down and enjoy our little island as it has been enjoyed forever: quiet, contemplative, bright, salty and rejuvenating.

We love hosting friends for parties - whether a lavish Christmas party with all of the fancy dishes, or an Easter brunch with fingers crossed for no-snow (we live very, very far north!) or a mid-summer cocktail party in the garden. Just such an event is planned for this weekend and, as usual, I have been busy planning.

It seems more and more of our friends are cutting alcohol out of their lives, or reducing the intake significantly. How to accomodate….? Well good news for all of us is that there seems to be a surge in recipes for delicious non-alcoholic libations. One of my favorites will be served: Cucumber Lemonade. It is refreshing, light, and simply perfect for a summer evening. It takes a bit of effort, but well worth it. Here’s how to make it:

1. Make a simple syrup - combine 1 cup of water and 1/2 cup of sugar together in a saucepan over medium heat; heat until just about to boil and sugar has dissolved. Place in the refrigerator until cool, about 30 minutes.

2. Blend one large, peeled cucumber in a blender (my Vitamix works perfectly for this task) until mashed into a pulp. Pour cucumber pulp into a fine mesh strainer placed over a bowl; allow to sit until you have about 2/3 cup of cucumber juice, about 15 minutes.

3. When ready to serve stir simple syrup , cucumber juice and the juice of 6 lemons into a pitcher, 2-4 cups of water and stir. Serve over ice. [*this base also serves as a wonderful foundation for a cocktail, by adding a bit of vodka, to taste]

We will be making pickled shrimp as a central feature to this party - a southern staple, and gloriously perfect for a warm summer evening. In our area the summer is short and we grab every minute of it while it lasts. Hope yours is equally delightful!

But New York City is not! And it is the place to be this summer as the (seemingly) rest of the world is burning or just so hot that it feels like it’s burning. But Paris is Paris and, as such, if there’s anything that comes close it is “Balthazar’s”. Even the horrible smoke from the Canadian fires has blown out to sea. Hooray!

The effects of climate change on Europe are fast becoming apparent, and it isn’t pretty. The discussion over air-conditioning in cities such as Paris (always a no-no in the past) are brimming with heated discussion. But the little window units that might bring a bit of relief are, in themselves, contributors to global warning. Mon Dieu…

We live in a part of the world that (also) disdains air-conditioning; and, thankfully, we rarely need it. Northern New England is blessed with a mild summer, short though it may be. We love our Nantucket time for friends, family, and - especially - the sea, but if I was suddenly forbidden from leaving my little bubble of northern New England I would not complain.

New York in the summer is a gamble - it can be scorching hot, or too crowded, or rainy, or on strike (!) but occasionally there is the sweet spot that we found: perfect weather, great theater, fantastic museum exhibits, hospitable New Yorkers (yes, they exist) and new restaurants that defy description of deliciousness.

Summer travel is becoming a gamble in itself. Families, of course, are bound by the school schedule - so if a vacation is to be had, it is somewhere in that three month period. It was, long ago, a tradition that people would flee their homes for a lake cottage or a beach house. Generations of families honed the tradition of shared summer glory in a shack or a grand manse. The Big House: A Century in the Life of an American Summer Home by George Howe Colt captures this period perfectly. The book is a chronicle of the family summer home on Cape Cod that expanded over the years to include more and more expansions of family members until, finally, the families stopped coming and vacations became something entirely different from the sandy wooden floored home in a sleepy beach town. People wanted Europe, or Asia, or a spa. What they seemed to not want was a few weeks with family. Very sad indeed. Just 60% of Americans report seeing extended family in the year; 20% report never seeing extended family. The Big House, needless to say, has been shuttered.

Vacations are necessary for rejuvenation. We purposely carve out time for our beloved family, but we also love adventures that include just the two of us. My husband is a big walker…. one day here in Manhattan we clocked 7.5 miles. That included SOHO, West Village, and MidTown. A lot of walking, but also the very best way to get a sense of a place: the smells, sounds, sights at a slow speed. And a gentle way to get out of our comfort zone and into big city life, knowing that we will return to glorious quiet village life imminently.

Our good friends in Kennebunkport, Maine sent the above photo in their 4th of July celebratory greeting. Maine goes all out on the holiday, as we all used to do. But this year felt remarkably different. If you are old enough to remember the 1976 celebration of the nation’s 200th birthday, you will recall (as my teenage self does) the crazy level of exuberance that led up to the actual event. There was no partisan divide - everyone simply was joyous that our nation had reached that milestone. This year felt very, very different.

My husband and I happened to be in Washington, DC in the week leading up to the 4th. Hot, humid, crowded and fraught with political tension. Ugh. We tried mightily to see some of the celebratory events but were blocked by miles of fenced blockades. Armed troops surrounded the Capital and patrolled relentlessly, leaving citizens in search of a happy celebration with a feeling of marshal law occupation.

What has happened in the 50 years since that national birthday party of 1976? Even then we were saturated with political discontent, but somehow we persevered and joined as one to commemorate something bigger and more important than a singular moment in history. A brilliant OP-ED by Barton Swaim (WSJ, 7.2.2026) highlights the Federalist Paper’s insight into human nature: the reality that fallen man can be counted on to conflate his own narrow interests with justice and the common good. Why, they (Hamilton, Jay and Madison) asked, was government necessarily all? Because, they argued, “the passions of men will not conform to the dictates of reason and justice without constraint.” And there lies the distinction between the American Revolution and the French Revolution - the French were wholly persuaded by Rousseau’s passionate belief that human beings are created wholly good; it is the introduction of private property (stuff!) that creates moral discontent. The Founders of this country were less optimistic concerning the essential nature of humans, they tended to side with the Hobbesian view of man: “nasty, brutish and short”. Hence, the only solution to civic chaos was/is a social contract where all parties agree to forfeit some rights for the greater good of the whole and, not coincidentally, benefitting each and every member of the social contract. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours; or, you don’t kill/steal/maim me and I will reciprocate in kind. (unless I can get away with it… the ‘free rider’ problem)

In our current politically fueled world we have slowly moved away from the social contract toward a loosely affiliated network of individual allegiances/affiliations. Each group screaming their demands, very few offering their national service. The 250th was marked by serious and somber reflection concerning the future of our nation. It is a time to stop and re-read the Founders documents that revolutionized the world. Ken Burns put it simply: the second greatest sentence ever uttered in the history of humanity was “we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” And the greatest sentence ever written or spoken? “I love you.” Amen to that, Ken Burns.

Something about a Sunday morning that inspires song, reflection, and relaxation. Yesterday’s Sunday morning was a blend of all three, in beautiful harmony. We drove to Weston, Vermont to attend Mass at the Benedictine Priory - high in the hills, a simple wooden structure set in the midst of cows and sheep grazing, wildflowers growing, and birds finding a home after their long journey north. It is a haven of tranquility, and a natural home to the Benedictine monks since 1953. Mass at the priory is held either at the small chapel or, magnificently, in the barn. The side doors of the barn open to the meadow, and the liturgical music is a combination of the sounds of nature. It is a simple way to get your head right.

Weston, Vermont is a small village with three major attractions: the Priory, the Vermont Country Store and the Weston Theater Company. We jumped into all three, heartily. A browse of the Vermont Country Store is a step back in time; wooden floors, penny candy, woolen goods, boots, flannel nightgowns… you get the picture. Charming, even if a bit hokey. They also boast a cafe with the very best chicken pot pie I have ever tasted. So after a satisfying lunch we headed to the Weston theater, to see the summer stock edition of the wildly popular Broadway show “Ring of Fire”.

The summer stock in Weston routinely hosts amazing young (and not so young) New York City actors who enthusiastically sign up for a summer in the hills of Vermont. The Johnny Cash show was no exception - top talent, all around! And the cast of six incredible musician/actors deftly moved between instruments with jaw dropping abilities. The show is a musical exploration of the life of Johnny Cash (my dear husband is a great fan), starting with the traditional song ‘Wayfaring Stranger’ - one that I cannot hear without getting misty. Same with ‘Amazing Grace’ - can anyone sing the entire song without tears in their eyes? But it was towards the end of the show that the Cash character sang Kris Kristofferson’s ‘Sunday Morning Coming Down’ as the character spoke about his addicitions.

Cash suffered with addiction, and his struggle seemed to resonate with the lyrics Kristofferson had written - especially coming to light on a Sunday morning when the world should be bright and full of hope. For most of us, Sunday morning is the symbol of all things peaceful - no matter how you spend those precious few hours. As a teenager I fell in love with the Etta James ‘Sunday Kind of Love’, even though I was too young to fully understand the complex lyrics, I just liked the idea of an easy love. Doesn’t everyone? And a few of us are lucky to find that kind of love - that lasts well past Saturday night, and into a lifetime of easy thoughts and emotions.

I know that it’s not quite summer, but it feels like it in a lot of the country. And, as such, I’m thinking about style and, particularly men’s sense of style. Where has it gone? Sadly, to the dogs, in many instances. There was a time when men cared about how they looked. Think ‘MadMen’ and all of those spiffy suits, skinny ties, Cadillac convertibles, and martinis. But today we are surrounded by men and (to a lesser degree) women who will dish out a small fortune at an upscale restaurant while dressed in jeans, t-shirt and flip flops.

Does it matter? No, not in the grand scheme of things, of course not. But a lot of social convention has little utility other than aesthetics. And when aesthetics are prioritised behaviour changes - for the better. For example, primary schools across the country have opted for uniforms in order to curb behavioural problems. What we wear, how we speak, how we engage in society shapes the very fabric of culture.

Dress codes can be formal, of course, but they are most often informal. We take cues from each other, and adapt accordingly. Dress is an outward manifestation of what we believe and who we respect.

Women are given a lot more latitude in dress than men, and many people are delighted with the transition to ultra casual. But I would offer that upping one’s game is a worthy experiment in self awareness. It feels good! And summer is a great season for experimenting with style. Just a few thoughts on a warm afternoon as a rolling thunderstorm passes overhead.

It is graduation weekend In Hanover, NH and the Dartmouth students are celebrating as past generations have always celebrated: loudly, proudly, and wistfully. The big difference this year is the world we are turning these kids out to…. job offers and salaries are off kilter from past years. A quick glance at the Wall Street Journal business section reveals a steady drumbeat of layoffs in every sector. When parents have sacrificed mightily to get their kids through a rigorous college program, with staggering debt incurred, the least they expect is that a job will be forthcoming. But where are those jobs? And what preparation is necessary for securing a decent future?

These are tough questions, not just for higher education but for all sectors of the American economy. A good life is dependent on a few basic fundamentals: enough money to secure housing and food, good friends, health, and the promise for a plentiful future. Most people are not striving for the moon, they simply want to feel secure. You may recall a study that was done a few years ago that studied the economic level of yearly income that made people feel secure. It came in at the surprisingly low number of $75,000 per year. Now, with inflation, that has surely gone up but the idea is the same - that once the basics are covered, individuals feel good about their place in the world. We don’t actually need a kazillion dollars and, most importantly, it actually doesn’t make us any happier than making enough to feel secure.

But today’s college graduates are facing a very challenging economic landscape, and an unprecedented amount of student debt. Layer that onto an increasingly automated workplace and you have a political stew of discontent. People will not merely shrug off the problems, they will organize, and they find solutions of their own makings. Some of those solutions are terrifying. The arsonist trial in LA is exposing a young man who consistently claimed that economic inequality justified his bend toward violence. The CEO of United Health Care’s murder in midtown Manhattan was another example of rage that turns toward violence. Politicians are increasingly turning toward some form of retributive justice that will “level the economic field” but how that happens is a vague and specious proposition. The one strategy that we (hopefully) can agree on is that violence is never the solution.

It is out of fashion to state that the American Dream historically fostered an economic landscape that fueled generations of immigrants who flourished and built thriving businesses and, consequently, generational wealth for their families. But it is still possible to flourish in this country; it requires political will, civic encouragement, and hard work. A refreshing of the American Dream is needed, especially as we are a nation more divided than we have been in a very, very long time. [I refuse to say we are more divided than we were as a nation during the Civil War!]

As graduations occur around the country and young people with brains, enthusiasm, and brimming energy spill out onto the workforce I hope that they will find their own ways to reshape the American Dream, without destroying it. Having spent my entire career teaching in higher education I have a bit of authority in saying that younger generations consistently express a desire to do good in the world. And that desire is as old as the species - Aristotle’s writings on happiness still resonate today because it appeals to a fundamental (rational) expression of human thriving.

→ Number of College Graduates in 2026: 4.2 million degrees awarded

→ Unemployment rate for college graduates is 5.7%

→ Underemployment rate for college graduates in 41.5%

→ Undergraduate salary expectation is an average of $80,004; actual starting salaries hover closer to $56,153

→ Average student debt:

Undergraduate - $48,000

Master’s - $69,140

Law school - $140, 000

Medical School - $200,000

If you are of a certain age, and grew up in the United States, you are familiar with the Dick and Jane series of books that were used in primary schools across this country. They were an innocent way of teaching phonics and, simultaneously, infused national values of hard work, family, kindness, honesty, and fun into the minds and hearts of young children. The pastel images of “Mother, Father, Dick, Jane, Sally, Spot and Puff” are embedded into the right temporoparietal junction of the brain [that region that activates the foundation for language and literacy]. The highly idealized version of the American family displayed was typical for the time: white, middle class, home owning with the 2.5 children as the national average. Was it reflective of the nation? No, not even back then when there was a white majority… even the milkman was white. But aside from the racial bias that was everywhere at the time, think television - all of the families were a reflection of the Dick and Jane family, with the odd tendency to throw in a widowed father on occasion [a column for another time…. troubling trend for the emerging women’s movement….]

What happened to the Dick and Jane readers? They slowly, and then very quickly, exited the national classrooms and were replaced by stylized cartoon characters. There is nothing wrong with that, of course, but a more recent trend of using iPads for elementary school teaching is - in my opinion - a disaster for the developing brains of children. The molding of a brain is dependent upon a variety of factors, but foremost in that endeavor is sensory awareness. The pastels of the Dick and Jane readers elicit something in the minds of children. I distinctly recall a day in second grade when I was suddenly jolted from my revery of ‘dick and jane land’ and back to a classroom with Sister St. Ambrose clucking away in front of a very old chalkboard coated in chalk dust, and the vision of those dust particles floating by her wimple. Very distinct! Why does that memory stick so firmly? Because, I believe, the imagination of children is sparked by those sensory experiences - and screens simply do not provide that experience. If anything we know that even science experiments are “conducted” by showing children a ‘you tube’ video. Not even close to inspiring future scientific inquiry! And the long term effects of screen saturation is a reduction in the formation of basic neural networks and a severe crimping of attention span. These consequences have long-term, negative effects for the nation.

The Dick and Jane readers were an update from the national curriculum developed in the 19th century - the McGuffey Reader. McGuffey’s goal was to teach reading to an increasingly diverse nation of immigrants who learned not just the English language but, equally important, the cultural values of the nation. Did they use religion? Yes, for sure, and no longer a tenable teaching tool obviously but the principles behind those lessons still hold firm: honesty, hard work, and civic pride.

Seems pretty simple: use moral education to instill the virtues and values that a nation needs to flourish. I am deeply skeptical that a ‘you tube’ video can translate that message to a young and eager mind. The examples of great teachers (Goodbye Mr. Chips, Good Morning Miss Dove, Dead Poets Society, to name a few) abound and were all very distinct in their methods of teaching but the one common thread is experiential teaching. Bringing material alive to a young brain is a thrill that the teaching profession is abdicating. Perhaps the push to limit screens in schools will reverse this horrible trend. One can hope.

In a world of unpredictable doings and pairings I was struck this past week by the unusually tight bond of the King of England with his wife Camilla. You will, no doubt, recall the first Mrs. Charles - one Dianna Spencer, she of the endless wardrobe changes, workout routines, and prearranged paparazzi shots. She of the endless need for attention. Sadly it was a match that was likely doomed from the start; why, you may ask? He was in love with someone else, from a very long time ago. His love choice was a horsey sort of woman with an apparent unfamiliarity with manicurists or ‘stylists’ and that, I suppose was one of her endearing charms for Charles. Let me say, firmly and adamantly, that I am no monarchist - at all - but I think Queen Elizabeth demonstrated something powerful in her lifelong dedication to public service. And, a credit to her legacy that Charles and his son William seem to be carrying on the tradition. Good on them! But the power behind the throne (in this case, literally) is often overlooked. Phillip? Amazingly supportive. Crude? Yes, indeed. But from all accounts it was a true love match and the current king seems to have (finally) followed in his parents footsteps. But Camilla? Yes, Camilla, with her uneven teeth and her rumpled clothes… but also her adoring look at her husband. Hard to miss an authentic love match, as opposed to people who pose for the camera in their best attempt at something resembling love. So it made me wonder why some people are drawn to each other, in spite of the obvious mismatch?

You may recall a film from the late 1980s - “Too Beautiful for You” with Gerard Depardieu as a wealthy French businessman married to the impossibly beautiful Carole Bouquet. This lovely little film shows the improbable passion that Bernard cannot quell when he falls for the frumpy temporary secretary, played by the delightful Josiane Balasko. Why, he wonders, is his attention so focused on her when he is married to the female ideal for French men? Voila! The indescribable allure of that something that drives us to another person. Woody Allen (I know, I know…) put it succinctly when he said “the heart wants what the heart wants. There’s no logic to these things”. Allen was, of course, referencing Emily Dickinson in her letter to her friend Mary Bowles. “The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care”, she wrote - describing the intense nature of emotional longing.

Last week a tizzy fit was had at Yale when David Brooks had the audacity to offer a student workshop on ‘finding love’ in these strange times. A noble offer, but it quickly turned into something ugly when students jumped on the fact that Mr. Brooks divorced his first wife (and mother of his children) and is now happily remarried to a much younger woman. Apparently none of the students believe that sometimes people divorce for amicable reasons and move on with their lives without recrimination. Impossible! Brooks, it is important to note, has written widely on the topic of human meaning, moral connections, social fabric, forgiveness, and joy in this tenuous little journey called life. Students at Yale, it seems, are so wrapped up in their rush to judgement that they cannot sit back and ponder on one of the great mysteries in life: what attracts us to other human beings?

Improbable pairings are not restricted to romantic pairings, but are also the funny stuff of great friendships. Many years ago a significant biography of Ted Kennedy by Peter Canellos, “Last Lion: The Rise and Fall of Ted Kennedy” (2010) was incredibly insightful on many levels but the most humanizing [note: I am not a Ted Kennedy fan] anecdote of the biography came in describing the deep friendship that Kennedy had with the Utah Senator Oren Hatch. I think it’s fair to say that you would be hard pressed to find a straighter arrow than Mr. Hatch. Devoted to his country, church and family with (as far as I know) not a single blemish on his remarkable life. And yet… the appeal to friendship with a hard drinking, womanizing, privileged jerk turned into something remarkable indeed, for both men. And that’s what friends (good friends) do - they change us, they inspire us to our better selves, they reflect what we wish to see in ourselves. Aristotle wrote extensively about the need for friendship and how a good group (not likely more than 3-5 in a lifetime) of friends is the emotional glue that keeps our s*** (stuff) together in times of stress. Friends also elevate the joy that we experience in life; a glorious sunset is 10 times more beautiful when shared with someone. Who can laugh at a joke by themselves as a belly laugh? And yet when shared with a friend it is a devilishly good, tears streaming down the face, good rollick.

The improbable friends that we gather over a lifetime are treasures to be held close. So few last the long haul, but those that do are joys to savor. My husband is a deeply thoughtful, quiet man with a wicked (dry) sense of humor and - to my delight - someone with a long list of friends. From elementary school to sports partners to work associations, he has a ton of amazing deep friendships. I mention him because of one of the more improbable friendship pairings I can think of. My dear husband with his Gary Cooper style of speaking (meaning: not much of it until he knows you very well) and his very, very buttoned up career as a banker, had a friendship that included golf and church, with one Vincent Furnier. Who, you may ask, is he? Also known as Alice Cooper. Yup, that Alice Cooper. I can assure you that no one would immediately associate these two men as having anything in common; and yet, there it is. Unusual pairings! When we least expect it, someone comes along who sparks a connection in us, if we are looking and receptive.

We recently saw the Noel Coward revival of “Fallen Angels” on Broadway, with Rose Byrne and Kelli O’Hara. Amazing does not do the play justice; it was a timeless analysis of life, love, marriage, friendship, and desire. Oh my…. What amazed us was the ease with which a 24 year old Noel Coward could capture the complexity of middle aged marriage. And no profanity! A true miracle to attend a play without a barrage of f*** bombs. Thank you Mr. Coward, truly.

We settled back into the early spring snow storm that Hanover, NH greeted us with (yup, April snow…. not that uncommon) and reflected on an extraordinary week in New York City. The Frick? Outstanding! The Irish Rep? Brilliant, as usual, if a little off-putting; a new playwright testing the waters with ‘Ulster American’. Still chewing on that one. But Central Park and our usual wanderings around the city left us with great hope for a beloved American landmark city. People are out and about and, seemingly, unaware that their city has been deemed ‘doomed’. Even our subway ride to visit the Cloisters Museum (way far north of the city) was easy-peezy. I am delighted to report that all is well (or good enough) in Gotham.

We are all fallen angles, struggling to make our way forward in this odd little world of ours. One step forward, two steps back. A quick plug for Broadway, and a further recommendation for the new revival of Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman” - who would ever think that Nathan Lane could epitomize Willy Loman’s existential nihilism? It is an artistic work worth reviving every decade; sadly, it never goes out of meaning. Never. Attention must be paid.

You may have seen that the author of the “Swedish Death Cleanse” died last week. Margareta Magnusson had a simple idea: get rid of your clutter as a final parting gift to your family before you die. Simple. But not so simple, obviously…. especially for a nation that invented the ‘storage unit’ business. We are a nation of hoarders, plain and simple. Americans excel at impulse buying and then stuffing those purchases in closets, garages, attics, basements, and - of course - storage units.

A close friend recently dealt with her mother’s passing, and it was (and continues to be) a nightmare. The house full of accumulated clutter that no one wants, the broken down car, the house itself that (she sadly discovered) had a reverse mortgage that had her owing money to dispose of the house. When she pressed her mother to make changes shortly before she died the mother responded that ‘what did she care, she would be dead’. Selfishness in the truest sense of the word. Another friend had to take a leave of absence from work to deal with her mother’s 13,000 square foot house that was filled to the rafters with a lifetime of ‘treasures’ that no one wanted. Let this be a lesson to those of us with more modest accumulation - get rid of it now and save your loved ones a massive burden in their time of grief.

I am not a hoarder, at all. But even my slightly obsessive tendency toward neatness leaves room for reassessment. My parents are long gone and I have no siblings, so my one and only - my beloved son - will be stuck with the burden of the ‘death cleanse’ at some point in the (hopefully) future. But Magnusson’s death and her lasting impact for a trend that we can all learn from, left me thinking about other sorts of final cleanses. How many of us have a deep understanding of our loved ones history/memories? Perhaps your parents, but not likely your grandparents or great-grandparents stories. I was inspired to think through some questions that would serve as catalyst for discussion. Ideally a notebook of reflections that are prompted by a question. The notebook needn’t be fancy, a spiral bound from Staples works fine. But one could get fancy, of course. Handwritten? The best! Seeing someone’s handwriting is a bit like looking into their personality. Loopy? Slanted? Tiny? All very telling characteristics of the person. But a computer version of reflections works equally well.

So, here are the 52 questions that serve as a weekly prompt for delving into important moments in someone’s life. They can be collected and given as a gift to a family member, or even recorded for posterity. Each question is designed to prompt reflection, not partisanship - so if it seems invasive, move on to something different.

Week 1 - Describe your (under 21 years of age) favorite birthday.

Week 2 - Describe your (over 21 years of age) favorite birthday.

Week 3 - How did you learn the ‘facts of life’?

Week 4 - Who was your favorite teacher?

Week 5 - Who was your least favorite teacher?

Week 6 - What was your favorite childhood movie?

Week 7 - When and where was your first kiss?

Week 8 - What is your earliest memory?

Week 9 - What was your favorite summer activity as a kid?

Week 10 - What was your favorite meal as a kid? Who cooked it? Why was it so good?

Week 11 - What is one thing that people would be surprised to find out about you?

Week 12 - If you had to pick four words to describe yourself, what would they be and why?

Week 13 - What are two or three regrets that you have?

Week 14 - Greatest accomplishment? (Just one! And why that one?)

Week 15 - Who were your mentors, in life and in work?

Week 16 - Describe your childhood best friend.

Week 17 - Describe a time that you embarrassed yourself.

Week 18 - What kind of music do you like? Has your taste changed over time?

Week 19 - What was the best compliment you ever received?

Week 20 - What do you want to be remembered for?

Week 21 - What was your first job?

Week 22 - What is the hardest part of growing older?

Week 23 - How do you describe ‘forgiveness’?

Week 24 - Who was your first love?

Week 25 - When did you first consider that you were a ‘grown up’?

Week 26 - Do you dance? Why or why not? What type?

Week 27 - Describe a perfect Saturday.

Week 28 - When did you learn to drive? Who taught you?

Week 29 - Were you ever fired from a job? Why? How did you rebound?

Week 30 - What is your favorite (physical) feature? Why?

Week 31 - What three things would you save in a fire?

Week 32 - Which book has been your favorite? Why?

Week 33 - Who/what makes you laugh belly laughs?

Week 34 - How has society changed for the better since your childhood?

Week 35 - How has society changed for the worst since your childhood?

Week 36 - Describe the best vacation you ever took.

Week 37 - Did you have a pet as a child? Why or why not? How do you feel about animals?

Week 38 - What are your favorite smells? What do they remind you of?

Week 39 - What is your favorite dessert? Why? Who makes it the best?

Week 40 - What are your thoughts about sports? Were/are you an athlete? Why?

Week 41 - If you could live anywhere in the world, where would that be? Why?

Week 42 - If you could be a cookie which one would it be? Why?

Week 43 - Who was your childhood hero? Why?

Week 44 - Who is you hero/heroine today? Why?

Week 45 - Describe one or two ‘guilty pleasures’. Why are they guilty?

Week 46 - How did you meet your husband/wife?

Week 47 - What do you think happens after death?

Week 48 - If you could pick only one song for your funeral/memorial service what would it be? Why?

Week 49 - What is the latest skill that you mastered?

Week 50 - Where do you get your news, and how engaged with politics would you describe yourself as being?

Week 51 - What is your favorite season? Why? How do you enjoy it?

Week 52 - Do you have a religious affiliation? Why or why not? How do you think about religion as a force in today’s world?

These simple prompts can bring light to relationships that we think we know already. But deep down each of us carries our memories/thoughts/sadnesses/joys in our souls. It is as much of a gift to share insight into our being as it is to de-clutter our messy surroundings. To scratch the surface of another’s life is a gift. Memories. They’re fleeting.

After a month away we marveled at the disparate food and weather that we enjoyed just this past week - leaving our winter get-away island of Boca Grande where we met up with friends, played golf and tennis, walked the beach, swam, and simply basked in the warmth. We loaded up the car with the usual athletic paraphernalia (I tease my husband that his car usually resembles a rolling gym bag….) and the suitcases, hats, etc. and headed north with a few delightful stops along the way. One of the gifts of this phase if life is the ability to take leisurely trips, with frequent stops; we drive south in the dead of winter and slowly work our way into weather that allows coats to be discarded and, eventually, windows opened. We stopped in Charleston to visit friends and found the typical southern hospitality on full display. The city is a treasure trove of walking and exploring; especially meaningful for us is the fact that one of my husband’s dearest childhood friends opted to retire in this beautiful city.

The drive home was typically bittersweet - sad to leave friends and physical activity, but happy to be returning home to our beloved New England. Friends along the way included a couple who recently located to Spring Island, SC - a brilliantly planned community that places an emphasis on the environment. Sitting in their home and watching the birds, dolphins, clouds, is a serious exercise in contemplative bliss. But on we trudged, making our way north as a new storm barreled through the northeastern seaboard. Why we thought highway 95 had improved in a true delusion… that stretch of interstate will still be chaos when we are long gone. But 95 it was, in all its misery, so that we could visit family along the way. The final stretch proved a bit much even for my intrepid husband: pouring rain, sleet, fog, construction crews, and maniacal drivers. When asked what music he would like he responded ‘silence’, and so silence it was for many a mile on the storm ravaged roads of the northeastern seaboard.

Is a road trip worth the effort? Absolutely! But only if you love being boxed in together for a week or so; temperament outs whilst facing traffic, hunger, boredom, etc. We actually like this yearly ritual and have developed favorite stops along the way that (some) are inspired by Paul Theroux’s excellent book “Deep South” and others are new discoveries. Cumberland Island, the Inn at Little Washington, Bluffton SC, Longwood Gardens, the list grows every year. Travel provides an opportunity for ‘rest and quiet imaginings’ (as the Lake District motto states). And indeed it does, if done right. No harried agenda, no social media postings, no expectations other than relaxation - an art that we as a society have largely forgotten how to enjoy. We were, again, horrified to see so many couples at restaurants who were buried into their phone screen, barely noticing what they were eating or who they were dining with. This is the antithesis of vacation. Learning to quiet down, to being totally present to the moment is essential for the human spirit. Especially at this time of world-wide conflict and tension, we need calm.

We made it home, anticipating a hurdle to get past the snow into the garage but, amazingly, our dear neighbor had shoveled us clear. Life’s smaller blessings cannot be understated, it is important to take the time to recognize them.

There is a quiet in winter that is unlike any other quiet: the crunch and squeak of snow under foot, the occasional winter birdsong, the wind through snow covered branches… all the music of the season. A walk around the pond this time of year is no easy feat, the temperature today is hovering at -15. That’s serious winter weather. But even in that primal cold, one finds a peace that is unique to mid-winter.

Our winter rituals involve Sunday afternoons by the fire, with steaming cups of tea and good music in the background. The smell and sounds of a good fire are inspirational. We will skip our usual routine this afternoon and, instead, head to a SuperBowl party. Friends gathered together, good food and drink…. what better way to beat -15 temps?

Winter in Northern New England is unique, especially the colors of the sky. We drove to Windsor, VT yesterday to visit a friend and as we meandered south of our little village on a beautiful road that hugs the Connecticut River, we were in awe of the pastel colors of the late afternoon sky. Especially as we approached Cornish, NH (famous as the long-time home of J.D. Salinger, as well as the Cornish Art Colony of the 19th century - St. Gaudin, Maxfield Parrish, etc.) It is no wonder that artists are drawn to this area, with its beautiful/surreal light.

The skiers, skaters, sledders, snow shoe-ers, and winter hikers are out in force, enjoying this special time of year. And we, too, enjoy it immensely but, that said, we also look forward to our annual winter get-away for a different kind of peaceful interlude: long Beach walks, watching the birds chase the ocean waves, bike rides in short and t-shirts… yes, blissful to feel sun on skin that has been hidden beneath layers of clothes for months. We will return as the snow begins its spring thaw and the garden shows signs of rebirth. A cycle of inestimable beauty and awe. But until then, we skate away, under a cerulean sky and a blanket of pillowy soft snow.

Occum Pond, Hanover NH

Today, Martin Luther King, Jr. day, we celebrate a man who is best known for his method of protesting racial discrimination: non-violent means to a just end. That method for exacting social change came about through an interrelating chain of intellectual/social ideas. Most notably, New England’s own Henry David Thoreau. In the 19th century Thoreau, like many of his friends and colleagues, was troubled by social ills of the time: the resistance to the abolitionist movement, taxation for supporting the Industrial Revolution and the Mexican-American war, as well as other issues of the day. His method for protest was deeply rooted in his own philosophical traditions, and came to be known as “civil disobedience”. Thoreau’s tipping point came as the US pushed further into the Mexican-American war and citizens dithered on the issue of abolition; the result was a refusal to pay his taxes. Notable, indeed, but noteworthy in that he readily acknowledged there would be a hefty (personal) price to pay for his moral choice - jail. Thoreau took full responsibility for his moral choices. A century later these same principles, of non-violent protest - were adopted by Gandhi as he incorporated Thoreau’s ideas into his own political protests. And then again, later, by Martin Luther King, Jr. And with each refining adaptation the ideas became stronger and more lucid.

The great 20th century moral philosopher John Rawls was intrigued by the method of civil disobedience. He described it as a public, nonviolent, conscientious yet political act against a [perceived] unjust law with the aim of bringing about social change. Where so we stand today in the grand scheme of evolving moral norms? Not well…. Not well at all. On nearly every side there is vitriol, violence, and hatred that shatters any possibility for understanding and civic unity. In history, it seems, for every step forward there are one hundred steps backwards.

Yesterday I attended a women’s group that I belong to here in our little social bubble of an affluent, peaceful, but socially charged village. The conversation skewed heavily toward dark thoughts, annihilation, depression, etc. Really? It left me wondering how these friends and neighbors were brought to the point of despair (and, no joking, some were literally at the point of not being able to leave their homes) and despondency. One issue popped up as a bit of kindling on the fire - the Episcopal Bishop of NH had recently given a talk and called for clergy to “get their wills and affairs in order” as they are morally required to engage with their bodies in the war against Trump’s policies. He warned his clergy to prepare for a “new era of martyrdom”. Issues of a call to violence, even if someone declares that it is simply reciprocating in kind… it is still a call to violence and that, I will assert, is reckless political antics that motivate citizens toward violent demonstration.

Other, more sensible, religious leaders took a different approach and, I would argue, a much better one. One Episcopal priest from CA wrote that the NH Bishop’s message felt like a ‘war cry’, and inflammatory. That particular individual sensibly called for a ‘middle path’ to do the work of peacekeeping while deescalating the tension between sides. How we do this is, of course, up to each individual’s conscience. Standing with a sign, writing letters, hosting discussion sessions, voting for better candidates, any method that works for someone who is genuinely opposed to the excesses we see in society today. But violence, as a means to that end, is never the right course of action. Violence merely results in more violence.

This is the time of year that we are burdened with the task of purchasing gifts, returning gifts, and lamenting and/or rejoicing the gifts received and given. Aside from the commercialization of the exchanges, it is important to remember that gift giving (or exchange) is as old a tradition as the human species. It is our way of connecting to fellow community members. To give a gift, no matter the monetary value, is to ensure a social connection and an enduring bond. Anthropologists have long studied the complex ties of gift giving, perhaps best exemplified in the ‘potlatch’ ceremonies of the Native Americans in the Pacific Northwest. The indigenous people gave away vast amount of wealth in order to display power and status, a yearly event that served (also) to ‘redistribute’ much of the community wealth. The psychological underpinning of this ritual resulted in deep bonds and mutual reciprocity.

Fast forward to the 19th century North America and the ‘robber-baron’ rush to establish philanthropic entities. Carnegie, Rockefeller, Ford, nearly all of the men (yes, they were men) came to the late-in-life conclusion that giving away wealth was as worthy an endeavor as earning the money to begin with. This push was clearly tied to the Christian belief that eternal life was dependent upon good deeds achieved in the earthly life. As much as we honor the intention, I have always wondered why there wasn’t a push to increase the wages of the average worker to a level of just compensation? In today’s philanthropic world we see the current crop of kazillionaires pledging to ‘give away’ their wealth - admirable, for sure, but why didn’t they work to share the wealth with the workers who actually created the goods? Just a thought…

As I have written in this space numerous times, I am firmly in the Adam Smith camp of ‘moral’ capitalism - a system that encourages healthy economic competition but also finds ways to keep the underprivileged (which there always will be) out of the poor house. A re-reading of Smith’s A Theory of Moral Sentiments is a worthy exercise as we flounder about deciding how to best construct (or deconstruct) an economic system.

But on a personal level, we all struggle with gift giving as the rush toward vast commercialization takes hold of us at this time of year. The push to simply have something/anything to put under the tree replaces the thoughtful crafting of a meaningful gift to family and friends. The days of a hand-made gift are behind us, for the most part. But the piles of ‘stuff’ we purchase and receive often fall into the forgettable category.

Last week we were ‘gifted’ with an invitation to spend a few days at our friend’s lake house in northern Vermont. Way northern! The temperature hovered around -5 and ice covered everything in site. It was stunningly beautiful, from the safe distance of a warm shelter with a blazing fire. But the most significant part of that gift was the deep friendship we share with these treasured friends - long talks, cooking together, sitting by the fire with books or needlepoint projects, shared love of good music and - delightfully - the sharing of other, new, friends. Is there anything lovelier that meeting new people who instantly click? Our friends threw a dinner party that included a nationally recognized novelist, a gifted photographer, academics, bankers, and artists. An evening that sizzled with great food, vibrant conversation, and pledges to nurture future get-together. That is a gift, a gift of sharing friends, making connections, and ensuring social bonds. Potlatch in the Northern Kingdom of Vermont!

Nope. Hanover, NH in 1943. The amazing thing is that very little has changed in our small New England village. The center post that blinked a light for traffic to slow down has been replaced by a [modern] traffic light, but everything else remains shockingly similar.

This Christmas Eve we give great thanks for the simplicity and continuity of life in small-town America. Our local theater, the Nugget, hosted a showing of “It’s a Wonderful Life” this afternoon and, to our surprise, the theater was packed with 20-something’s. Lots of emotional sniffles and a hearty round of applause at the conclusion. Some things never change, and the moral virtues in Frank Capra’s classic film still resonate.

Aside from wanting to wallop Mr. Potter (!) and strangle the nitwit Uncle Billy, the characters exhibit the qualities necessary for civic life: compassion, trust, empathy, and humor. We sat at the conclusion of the film, as we tend to do at every movie viewing, and dissect the qualities of the film. Every year we watch this film, but this is the first year we watched it on the big screen - what a difference! The anguish in George Bailey’s (Jimmy Stewart) face is wrenching…. And the alternate universe portrayal of his mother is other-worldly. How an actress can switch from kindly to utterly miserable is a talent that few have capacity for.

So we settle back in to our snow-covered home, with the fire blazing and my dear husband’s homemade gumbo on the stove (our homage to the Italian tradition of the seven fishes being eaten at Christmas Eve dinner); we are short on the number of fishes, but the quality of the gumbo is out of this world. We will share the meal with dear friends and then all head to midnight mass. Life in our snow globe is blessed indeed.

Listening to NPR this morning I heard something that I don’t often hear - when the announcer thanked the reporter for his story the response was a simple, clear, “you’re welcome”. Why has this gone by the boards as the logical response to ‘thank you’? We often receive a ‘no worries’ [what in the world is that supposed to mean?], ‘yup’, ‘uh-huh’, or - worst of all - no responses at all. Civility can be retraced to our language usage, and our society is in peril. From vulgarity to rudeness, words reflect values.

In an attempt for light-hearted humor we watched a movie the other night [David Spade in ‘The Other Missy’] that showed some promise because it had a fairly good cast. But the story line was filled with repulsive attempts at humor, and fell flat into gross sexual slams, often accompanied by ‘music’ that held some of the most offensive lines I have ever heard in music. How did we arrive here? When did it become acceptable to pass off vulgarity as entertainment? Or have I turned into a kill-joy? I don’t think so; I think our actions reflect our inner moral being and turning those actions around can also improve our moral bearing in this fractured world.

A recent passing comment by the Transportation Secretary for better dressing while traveling was met with fury. His point, I think, was that when people put some effort into how they present to the world, they rise to that image. How did we go from this:

To this:

I agree that the 1950s had a variety of social ills that we celebrate eradicating, but there was also something to be said for common courtesies and restraint. As the new year approaches I hope that people will reconsider the ways in which they present to the world. No need for white gloves and pill box hats, but covering one’s feet and midriff during travel would be a step in the right direction. And language that relies less on vulgarity and more on creative modes of expression would be delightful.

The season of gift giving is exhausting and often doesn’t result in the perfect gift, but the appropriate response is always “thank you”! And to add to the burden of time squeezes, a hand written thank you note is always the right way to end the season.

Proust wrote of searching for lost time and, for me, the idea that the lost time (in particular a special memory) can be recollected and re-experienced by venturing back to a certain location is an exercise in futility that I have - finally - come to let die. Those exquisite nuggets that are tucked into the back of our minds, pulled out when needed and, sometimes, when least expected, are the gifts of a long and loving life.

We recently returned from a memorial service for my husband’s much beloved aunt, who died at 101. A good life. A meaningful life. But even at 101 not readily accepted as done. The family had photos on display and it struck me how fleeting those young years are… the black and white of a young woman with a shy smile, stepping out into adult life with a cautious foot. The young bride full of expectation and dreams. The mother cradling a miracle newborn. Photos, as Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel sing “are all that’s left me”…. They fade into oblivion as the younger generations lose the connection to who these photos reveal, and why they were important to someone.

I have a small, framed photograph of my son on my bedside table. It was not professionally done, far from it - it was snapped by me on a summer afternoon as I was gardening and he, age 3, was ‘helping’. He pulled my large brimmed hat that I had set aside and pushed it onto his sweaty little head. I look at it often, these many years later, and I can very nearly smell his earthy little boy body in his Oshkosh overall shorts and his chubby little feet in their saltwater sandals. He is a wonderfully grown adult now, no sweaty little fingers reaching out for me on a summer day, but that photograph is a meditation in happiness. I have, of course, a very different relationship now - no less loving; more so, actually, but different… and that is the arc of a long life. Those sweet memories we hold so dear cannot be replicated, much as we might like.

I have tried more often than I wish to admit to reconstructing one of those memories. It simply can’t be done. But what we have are visible reminders of that experience in the form of a photograph. Not an image on the phone, but a real photograph that sits in a frame and can be stared at. One of my favorites is a black and white photo from my wedding; the photographer had snuck up right after the service to snap my reaching up to take my husband’s face in my hands and he beams back at me with tears in his eyes. It is the deepest look of love - saved for me, and me alone, but captured by a creative (sneaky:-) photographer.

A recent article on insomnia (one of my occasional afflictions) suggested that rather than doom scrolling, layback and recall one perfect memory. Focus on it. Take it apart, frame by frame and pull in to the details - the smells, the feel, the heartbeat. When done properly, deep into a nearly trace-like state, one can ‘almost’ relive that private moment. We fall prey to reliving the sad memories, the difficult ones that cannot be remedied; but the happy memories are often without word. They merely are, they exists in a timeless state that can be recalled, if we quiet down enough to bring them back to life.

Parsnips provide the perfect taste of fall - light, bright, sweet! Yesterday morning I made my usual parsnip soup (a favorite of ours) but decided to add a little something to give it more heft as a perfect fall lunch, post leaf raking.

If you have never tried parsnips, try them. They are delicious roasted or mashed but my favorite is in soup. A big pot of this soup will serve you lunch for an entire week, and, I promise, you won’t get sick of it.

First of all, homemade chicken stock is key - but, in a pinch, a good boxed stock will suffice. To make stock: place a bone-in chicken breast (my preference, but thighs works equally well) in a stock pot with onion, carrot, celery stalks, bay leaf, good shot of kosher salt and a few peppercorns. Simmer a good long while. Remover the chicken breast, let it cool then remove the meat from the bones. Strain the stock and reserve.

Soup: Melt 3 T butter in a large pot. Add 1 chopped onion and 3 1/2 cups pared and diced parsnips, sauté 3 minutes. Stir in the spices (here’s the best part!) - 1 t coriander, 1/2 t cumin, 1/2 t turmeric, 1/8-1/4 t cayenne. Cook for 1 minutes, to release the flavors of the spices. Add the reserved stock, season with salt and pepper, bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer for 45 minutes. While the soup simmers, cook 1 cup of French lentils (the little green ones that hold their shape) in 2 1/2 cups of water for about 20 minutes. Strain after they cook. Once the parsnip soup has simmered for 45 minutes use a hand blender (or a vita mix) to purée the soup. Add the strained lentils to the parsnip soup and simmer for an additional 15-20 minutes. Add the chopped chicken meat and 1/2 cup of light cream. Voila! Done and delicious!! It is hearty, healthy and satisfying. The perfect flavor for an autumnal afternoon by the fire.