That was one of Mama’s most oft-repeated quotes, though she rather deplored its sentiment. It’s why, I think, she was always trying to acknowledge—if not preserve—the best moments in the life of our family, the moments in which we were most truly ourselves and most truly together. How we teased and rolled our eyes every…
It is the Feast of the Epiphany, and I’ve watched the sunrise—as I have almost every morning of this blessed season—beyond the sparkle and magic of my Christmas tree. I’ve seen the low-hung clouds turn lavender and then flush with gold, as if at some heavenly delight, and the old holly tree awaken, its branches…
A friend and I were Chipotle-ing, talking Thanksgiving twists and turns—of college kids zooming in and out of our homes too quickly and rogue relations popping into town and offspring becoming adults with ideas of their own about how to keep holidays. What a mess we make this time of year, we agreed, despite our…
Some folks claim to be a “dog person or a “cat person.” Others say “I’m a people person”—I am particularly suspicious of these. I am a place person. A recent trip to New England is proof. My relationship with the region is not complicated. Having spent a chunk of my childhood in Connecticut, I am…
Face my direction, I wanna to see you better, dear. You’re a distraction from everything that I feel. ~ “Turn to White” by She and Him A week ago today, the spouse and I arrived at our getaway spot—a swanky hotel in the not-so-swanky city of Chattanooga. (Sometimes, the hotel is the destination.) Luke fetched a…
Disclaimer: The following represents a cornucopia of experiences, some of them exaggerated for dramatic effect. A composite, if you will. Names have been omitted or changed to protect the guilty. Congratulations! I say this with a megaphone, ticker tape—with gusto! I feel like I need these things to get your attention. Because your high…
We are grateful, dear readers, for the time you’ve spent here on Golden Hours this Christmas. Lanier and I have enjoyed every minute. Reader Lorrie has won the drawing for a copy of The Awakening of Miss Prim. Congratulations, Lorrie, and many thanks to all who commented and shared Golden Hours posts on social…
Miss Prim arrived at the appointed time in the early afternoon carrying a tray of freshly baked cakes. After almost three months in the village, she knew that tea, coffee, or hot chocolate, fine pastries, and a good liqueur were essential to any social gathering there. ‘It surprised me too at first, but I’ve…
I wrote this piece two years ago, the first Christmas after my father died. Placing it here once more in the hope that it might be a source of comfort and kinship for those facing a difficult holiday this year… I am so sick of death. It’s been a year of bereavement. Even before Daddy…
There are two speeds: Advent-speed and Christmas-speed. I don’t know about you, but around mid-December the former fades. Thanks for the memories—fireside readings with the family, meditating about all that is to come, eight hours of sleep, breathing… Nowadays, I am jacked up on Christmas. Which is kind of fun but also not so pretty….
I’m a namer. Shortly after we moved into this RV, my husband asked me what we were going to call it, knowing full well I’d have something in mind. I did–though it had taken a few days to rise to the surface. “Camp Marah,” I told him. It seemed so appropriate for a temporary home…
At times, the simplicity imposed upon us by both the house fire and our temporary living quarters feels like a gift brimming with meaning and grace. Stripped of all pretense and encumbrance, I really could not be better positioned to embrace the more penitential side of Advent, and this is a very good thing. But…
It is no-screen Sunday, and I am tired. Nevertheless, I cannot let the evening pass without wishing the Interwebs a most happy and blessed beginning to Advent. The first, brave purple taper shines! All in all, a good day at the Boggs household. Not perfect, mind you. Twas packed with church and chores and tree-twirling…
“I need the church to remind me of reality: time is not a commodity that I control, manage, or consume. The practice of liturgical time teaches me, day by day, that time is not mine. It does not revolve around me. Time revolves around God—what he has done, what he is doing, and what he…
We have cool friends. Seriously. Friday night, two of them hosted a Michaelmas party. The spouse and I went—with bells on. The gathering was billed as “an evening of readings and song,” and so it was. Following a crazy-talented singer-songwriter, a number of English madrigals performed acapella, a historian, an autumnal sonnet by Lanier, and…
I’ve never faced a holiday season with such uncertainty. Every year previous I’ve had a relatively comfortable idea of how things would go: when I’d start my baking; what night we’d decorate the tree; where we’d gather for various meals, and with whom. There’s always been an ageless excitement bubbling around the end of October…
This past Sunday was All Saints’ Day, a day on the liturgical calendar that carries a certain mystique—and perhaps an air of ghostliness, especially for my Evangelical friends. Ever-accommodating to the every-Sunday-is-Resurrection-Sunday set—his congregation is smack dab in the heart of the South—our Anglican church pastor (dare I say priest?) explained how All Saints’ marks…
Five years later, and I need to remember it all over again… November 14th, 2012 I’m sitting by my kitchen fire this chill November evening after a long day of almost monkish domesticity. I’ve been so industrious today that this welcome pause is almost too much: the warmth of the fire and the weariness of…
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