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’s a most unusual Thanksgiving. Instead of the typical flurry of preparation, I spent the morning scouring the internet for antique slag glass lamps (I’m obsessed) and historic wallpaper patterns. Afterwards, a leisurely ramble through the pasture with the animals, and lunch in the yard—it’s mild enough here in the South to eat outdoors, at…
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…
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…
October 26, 2017 Five months ago this night I innocently threw a load of sheets and towels in the dryer, and the next thing I knew, my house was in flames. “Contents fire,” the forensics experts agreed, with clinical detachment. In other words, they had no idea what aberration in that whirring mechanical heart caused…
This is the year, with fallen faces, we learn we’re not enough, This is the year to hold each other up. ~Eric Peters, “The New Year” The first two weeks after the fire are a total blur to me now. If it weren’t for the incoherent—almost compulsive—scribblings in my journal, I honestly would not…
Dear Friends, In purely musical terms, a burden is a good thing: a continual refrain rounding up and affirming the essence of a song. And if the song embedded in this season of life is a bit difficult for me to make out at times, the burden is unmistakable: thank you. In the nearly eight…
Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. ~Frederick Buechner This is not the next post I expected to write, and it’s certainly not the post I want to write. But you dear readers have followed my journey here in sunshine and in shade, and I feel the need to…
If there’s anything cozier than holing up in an Airstream during a thunderstorm, I’d like to know what it is. Better than the proverbial rain on a tin roof is the rhythmic tattoo of a downpour on a tin can camper. After three weeks of sunshine, a few days of showers have been a welcome…
The first three months of this year were filled to bursting with good things. School resumed with Hilary term in January, and although I was only taking one class (Italian Renaissance Art), it was every bit the challenge that my previous Oxford courses have led me to expect. I’m required to take half of my…
My dear friend Sarah had an enchanting post today about May Morning in Oxford. It’s a pageant I’ve always longed to witness, and one which Philip and I have promised ourselves we’ll experience in person one day. Reading about it in her words, luminous with her joy, made my heart ache a little. But I’ve…
You must remember, garden catalogues are as big liars as house agents. ~Rumer Godden, China Court My relationship with gardening has been a tumultuous affair from day one, fraught with all the heights and depths of a grande amour. Mainly self-taught, my earliest attempts were characterized by rapturous perusals of garden catalogues, advertising such wonders…
I confess, I’ve never hit a cynical patch where Valentine’s is concerned. I’ve always loved it. And with all the rancor in the world of late, the celebration of a day devoted exclusively to love seems more endearing—and more needful—than ever. I didn’t have a Valentine until I was 24, the year Philip and I…
Every afternoon at precisely four o’clock my mother’s teakettle let off a piercing shriek. It wasn’t just background noise, or an auditory adjective amid the jostle of supper preparations. It was a signal, a summons. And my sister and I knew exactly what it meant: it was time to lay aside whatever we were working…
I’m an absolute stickler about keeping the full Twelve Days of Christmas; it’s just too great and grand a feast to confine to a few days—even a full week. I’ve waited all year for this: I’m not going to be cheated out of a single second if I can help it. That’s just the thing,…
The Christmas of 1995 started for me on a frosty night in late October. I had driven up to my best friend’s house for an autumn bonfire and hayride, but when I opened the back door I was greeted with a rush of music so lovely I knew it had to belong to the Christmas…
I wrote this piece a few years ago, and while my heart is pierced by a loss I didn’t see coming at the time, I’m also struck by the fact that, amid a sea of changes, some things remain blessedly the same. A sweet second day of Christmas to you all! It’s been a day…
Lanier’s note: I asked the lovely Sarah (Clarkson) Fink-Jensen if she would give us a peek into her life in Oxford, England at Christmastime–I’m sure you’ll be as delighted with her response as I was! Happy Christmas, friends! And thank you, Sarah, for this day of ‘postcard wonders!’ The mornings are sleepy these days in…
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