Our Daughter's Thanksgiving Tribute to Mark

We have a new tradition in our family. Every Sunday morning on weekends the Quads are with us, we walk a couple of blocks down to Sharon's Diner in Holladay to have breakfast. We know our usual waitress by name, and we are recognize as "regulars." It's so nice for the kids to have that experience - of going somewhere where somebody knows your name and where the waitress already knows what you want to drink and what you usually order.

This past Sunday, our daughter Rachel brought her camera along. She is an extremely talented photographer and videographer, and she produced a video about that morning. Out of the simple, she creates meaning and loveliness. She surprised us yesterday by sending a link to the video she had just completed. With her permission, I want to share it with friends, family and whoever else reads this blog.

This is what Rachel wrote in the email containing the link to the video:

"As you know, the song choice is the hardest. Throughout watching the footage, I couldn't help but think of Mark's diagnosis and the good news you just got on Friday. I realized when I watched the footage that the video captured a simple moment: a family going out for breakfast. But I felt like it was so much more. It captured, I think, the love we all feel for Mark, and the sense of 'family' we get from being around him. Hence why I chose the song, even though not all the lyrics apply to him (you'll see what I mean when you see it)"

Here's the video:

Thank you, Rachel.

Under the Hood: My Sister's Big Day

This past Saturday, my sister Martha (pictured above as she advances toward the stage to received her hood) became the very first person in our extended family to obtain a Ph.D (Doctor of Philosophy). I am immensely proud of her. In her mid-30's, she moved back to the United States after living in Geneva, Switzerland for more than a decade and went back to school. Though she had had a successful career in the fragrance industry, she decided to follow her dream and her passion - to finish her bachelor's degree, then obtain a Master's degree in French, then - ultimately - to obtain her Ph.D.

During the thirteen or so years that it took to achieve her dream, she saw many ups and downs. She divorced. She moved to North Carolina to study at the University of North Carolina, where she had been accepted as a doctoral candidate. She met Koen Van der Drift and they subsequently married. 

Photo by Rachel Broom

Meanwhile, Martha persevered for several years to write, revise and ultimately "defend" her dissertation, which focused on the work of Nobel laureate Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio. During the course of her work, she was privileged to meet, interview and work with Le Clezio himself - a high honor for an American doctoral candidate.

And! Through this period, she was a constant and generous source of support to me when I came out of the closet in the fall of 2010. Thank you, Martha, and congratulations from your big brother.

********************

Koen and his family on their way to the ceremony (photo by Mark Koepke)

As we sat waiting for the ceremony to start, I started reading through the list of Ph.D. candidates and the titles of all the dissertations (see above photo). All of these titles had two things in common. First, most of them were completely incomprehensible to me. Second, each one represented the passion of the author. As I looked out on all those candidates, I saw passion - a passion for a subject that had inspired them to go through years of schooling in order to create something that wasn't there before: an original work of academic scholarship. It was inspiring sight to see.

Martha indicated above and below with Carolina blue arrows.

It was also a cool experience for me to be there with my daughter, Rachel. She will be beginning her journey of higher education this coming fall. It was thrilling for me that she was there to witness this - not only because of Martha's example, but also by the example of all the many, many other women who were being hooded that day and by the passion exemplified by all of the candidates. 

And Martha serves as a example - of perservence, of passion and of pursuing one's dreams - not only for Rachel, but also for my son, Adam, who is pursuing a degree at the University of Utah, my daughter Hannah, who has commenced taking on-line classes to complete her associate degree before moving on to finish her degree at a university in British Columbia (where I earned my law degree), and for my other children who are still at home.

My beautiful daughter Rachel and me before the ceremony.

Now some words about a hooding ceremony. I had never been to one before Saturday, and I didn't really know what it is about. So for my own benefit as well as that of others, I am shamelessly copying the follow from Duke University's website:

“The Hooding Ceremony is a special recognition ceremony for doctoral degree candidates during which a faculty advisor and the Dean of the Graduate School place the doctoral hood over the head of the graduate, signifying his or her success in completing the graduate program. The ceremony is similar to a graduation in that faculty and students are dressed in academic attire … 

“Today's academic dress has its origins in the clerical dress that medieval scholars used for warmth in unheated buildings. The tradition of special academic dress seems to have entered this country through King's College (now Columbia) in colonial New York. The custom grew so rapidly that in 1894, an American Intercollegiate Commission standardized the style and color of robes and hoods. The commission decided all robes would be black, which is not the standard for schools today. Bachelor's robes have open, pointed sleeves; master's gowns have sleeves that close at the wrist; and the doctoral gown has bell-shaped sleeves, velvet trim down the front, and three velvet strips across the sleeves. 

“The hood that forms part of today's academic dress was originally a head covering for bad weather. Later it was dropped to the shoulders in the form of a small cape. Eventually, the hood became a separate piece of apparel bearing even more symbolism than the gown. The hood's facing is colored velvet trimming denoting the wearer's discipline (e.g., Arts and Letters, white; Engineering, orange; Law, purple). The width of the velvet trimming designates the level of the degree. The lining of the hood identifies the institution that granted the degree, dark blue with a white chevron for Duke. 

“The cap or square has come to be symbolic of academia. It has evolved from a tufted, square cap called a pileus quadralus worn by medieval laity to a rigid, square academic cap, commonly called a "mortarboard." The velvet tam is commonly worn by doctorate-holders. A tassel is attached to the center of the cap. Tradition dictates that doctoral and master's graduates flick the tassel on the cap from left to right when the degree is conferred.”

Martha is at the top of the stairs. Her dissertation advisor is in the red gown, preparing to place Martha's hood over her shoulders. - Photo by Rachel Broom

The look on Martha's face says it all just after she had been hooded. - Photo by Rachel Broom

CONGRATULATIONS, MARTHA!

Amish Country With Rachel

We are now in Pennsylvania, staying just outside Philadelphia where my daughter Rachel is working as a nanny. We left Salt Lake late Thursday afternoon for a direct flight to Baltimore-Washington Airport, where we spent the night then drove up to Philadelphia yesterday morning.

We had received quite a surprise at the Salt Lake airport. We hadn't allowed ourself quite enough time prior to our departure and were dismayed to see the longest line to get through security that I have ever seen at that airport. Resigned, we joined the line, which moved fairly quickly to where an airport employee was checking people's boarding passes. He took a quick look at ours and said "Pre-Check - you go up there to that [short] line on the left."

Somewhat bewildered, we followed his directions to a relatively short line that was moving quickly through screening. As we stood there, I turned and asked a woman behind us what this was all about. She explained that, in this line, we wouldn't have to take off our shoes or our coats, nor would be have to take our laptops or our toiletries out. "It's just like the old days," she said. 

Hardly believing our good fortune, I asked her how we might have been so blessed by the travel gods to earn this beneficence. I hadn't applied for it; I didn't know anything about it. The only enlightenment the woman (whom I'm pretty sure was transgendered) could provide was that frequent fliers were selected for this program. So, I can only surmise that, because of the flying we have done this year, we were somehow selected. That is such a cool feeling when the universe reaches down/out and inexplicably lifts you from one (not-so-good) situation and just makes your day. So, thank you travel gods.

Rachel's Nanny Family House

Rachel was thrilled to see us, and we here, as we arrived late yesterday morning in a "mainline" suburb outside Philly. It had been beautifully sunny outside Baltimore that morning, but had turned cloudy, windy and quite cool by the time we arrived. But at least it wasn't raining. We had decided to head to "Amish Country" in Lancaster County that afternoon, so after a quick tour of the house, we got in the car and headed west.

Looking down Rachel's driveway

Our first destination was the Shady Maple Smorgasbord in East Earl, Pennsylvania. If there's a larger smorgasbord anywhere in the country (with the possible exception of Las Vegas), I would be surprised. Why would be go there? Because Rachel had been there with a friend about six weeks ago, and because after having visited Amish communities in both Illinois and Ohio, I knew that "Amish food" and buffets were a big part of the "Amish Country" experience.

As we were waiting in line, I heard these ladies speaking "Pennsylvania Dutch," a dialect of German
unique to the Amish and Mennonite Communities - a first for me

The food wasn't bad for a buffet like this. It was certainly way better than Golden Corral and not even  comparable to the, um, stuff they serve at Chuck-o-Rama (a Utah thing). Of course, one of the highlights was the dessert bar, where I helped myself to pieces of Shoo-fly and pecan pie and Mark treated himself to an apple dumpling.

After our late lunch, we checked out the mother of all gift shops in the basement of the restaurant, then headed out across country through Intercourse on our way to Paradise and on to Lancaster. (Yes, Virginia, there really is an Intercourse, Pennsylvania. And, of course, you have to experience Intercourse before arriving in Paradise.) Along the way, we saw some beautiful countryside and lots of buggies and horse-drawn implements.

Yesterday evening, we browsed around the King of Prussia mall, billed as the second-largest in America (the largest being in Minneapolis, apparently). It was an experience and kind of gave me a feeling of an "east-coast" Christmas (which, as Mark pointed out several times, is over six weeks away).

One can almost see the bubble above his head: "OMG, I have six weeks of this ahead of me!"

We ate dinner in a Food Court (I know, kinda plebeian, but it was ok). I had - of course - a Philly Cheesesteak with fries.

Today: Farmers' Market and Valley Forge with Rachel, then Mark and I head into Philly while Rachel goes to a church dance in New York City tonight. This evening, we're having dinner with Tom - a guy we met on our Corsican cycling tour - and his husband, Michael.

The Luckiest: Of Birthdays and Pumpkin Pies

My birthday - September 28th - two years ago was one of the most depressing days of my life. Mark and I had gone to Portland to visit his family and had left that morning for home. We drove all day, starting near Portland, and ended up in a dumpy motel in Baker City, Oregon. Throughout the day, I kept hoping that I would hear from one of my children; but as the day wore on, my phone never rang, I received no text, and there was no Facebook message or email to wish me a happy birthday.

I didn't think I could have felt any lower when we pulled into Baker that evening, but when I saw our motel room, I felt even worse. That's when I lost it and cried like a baby while Mark held me. Later, we went out for dinner at a restaurant there in Baker, a place where I felt every eye in the place upon us, a gay couple. It was a place that looked like it was frequented by men in cowboy hats. Mark had hoped I would feel better after going for dinner. But it didn't work. As we walked back to the truck, I felt anxious, fearing that  group of men in the restaurant would follow and attack us because we were (and are) gay.

We drove back to the hotel and got ready for bed. It was then that Mark came around the corner from the bathroom, holding a pumpkin pie with lit candles, singing "Happy Birthday" in his best Marilyn Monroe imitation (think of her singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" to John F. Kennedy, but she was wearing clothes). By way of explanation, I had told Mark that, for many years, we had celebrated my birthday with a pumpkin pie because we always had cake on my oldest daughter's birthday which was only four days before mine. It was a moment I will never forget as long as I live. His simple act of love and thoughtfulness salved my wounded heart.

Fast forward two years, to yesterday. It was another birthday I will never forget. What a contrast to two years ago! I heard from most of my children, receiving warm expressions of love and wishes for happiness. In particular, I was able to FaceTime with my daughter, Rachel, who is three weeks into a new job working as a nanny on the east coast. In the course of our conversation, she told me that she had published a post on her blog as a birthday present to me. 

I'd like to quote a few parts of that post here, but first I need to explain that Rachel and I hadn't really talked (at Rachel's request) for over two years, until this past June, when a fortuitous conversation arranged by her older sister broke the dam of pain, hurt, mistrust and misunderstanding that had grown up between us. In her post, Rachel wrote:

"Four months ago I spoke with my dad. Not a polite conversation: an honest one. I remember sitting nervously next to my older sister and brother-in-law as my dad came in the room and walked over to me. I reached out and hugged him (to my surprise), and all of that love, disappointment, and anger that I held towards him leaked out of me like water escaping from cupped hands. In that instant all I had for my dad was love; overwhelming love for someone that had mistreated me, confusing me with his new lifestyle he chose when he moved out. It was this indescribable love that I knew was inside of me the entire time, waiting to come out.  

A large part of my heart was unclogged that day. Since then I have grown and opened up more. I am more honest, loving, giving, and kind. I am more open minded and accepting of others’ lifestyles. I still have a long way to go, but I’m on my way. I’m going." 

She went on to write:

"I’m sorry I missed your past two birthdays. I’m sorry I didn’t want to listen to your side of the story and turned you away countless times. I am sorry for locking you out of my life. But I thank God every day that you’re in my life. I thank him for the love that you have for me and the knowledge that I can call you any time and I know you will answer. I thank God that I was able to take a risk and mend things with you back in June, and that you were willing to, too ...  

"Thank you for all those letters you wrote to me, wanting so badly to spend time with me but only getting rejection. I saved every single letter, every email, every note. I treasure them. Thank you for accepting where I’m at right now with your lifestyle and for not forcing it on me ... Thank you for loving me as much as you do."

It was one of the best birthday presents I could have received ... ever.

But the day was not over.

Mark took me out to dinner last night at the Four Seasons Resort here in Maui. There is much I could write of this experience. He had arranged for us to have a special table looking out over the ocean toward the sunset (thus, the two pictures above). We had our salad, then our main course, then it was time to order dessert. We each placed our orders and sat back and enjoyed the scene in front of us. 

Then, it happened. The server brought out two plates of - you guessed it - pumpkin pie. I was so surprised! It turned out that Mark had inquired whether the pastry chef could make a pumpkin pie, and when he was told that was not possible, he did the next best thing, i.e., he went to Safeway, purchased a pie and delivered it to the Four Seasons while he was supposedly at the gym, working out.

This is the kind of man Mark is. I am the luckiest guy in the world. As we walked out of the restaurant that evening, several servers turned to say "Happy Birthday" to me; then as we walked past the receptionist, she, too, said "Happy Birthday" as we passed. It's such a wonderful feeling, to feel special. That was Mark's gift to me. It was such a wonderful evening.

What a contrast to two years ago the day had been. As the song says, "I am the luckiest ..."

Sweet Breezes: I Love My Children

I love my children. Although there has been much hurt and pain in our family over the course of the past three-four years (much of which has been beyond my control), every now and then – more now than then – I catch a vision, feel a breeze, sense a new creation, of a changed, different, more healthy, more vibrant family that is emerging. Not a family in the traditional Mormon sense by any means, but a collection of individuals who are bound together by love and by a common value of living life authentically within different dynamics.

I had a dream last night, or rather a series of dreams, somewhat like a movie showing then and now scenes of the lives of various of my children. Of course, I don’t remember any of the details now – I’m terrible at remembering my dreams – but what I do remember is what I felt: an overwhelming sense that things happen for reasons, people turn out the way they do for reasons, and love and authenticity are the healing balms in people’s lives.

Then this morning, I read recent posts in my older daughters’ blogs and felt such a sense of love, such a tingling of renewed life. My daughter Sarah wrote “an open letter to God,” expressing her love for her husband and appreciation for her growth. I want to quote it in its entirety:

Dear God, 

Thank you for this man. I love him. Thank you for helping me to see the good in him. For letting me make the choice to marry him. For answering my prayers to help me love him when I didn't feel like loving. For helping me let him love me, even when I don't love myself. For teaching me that the most soul-fulfilling marriages happen not when two people need each other, but when people want to share life together. For helping me see that my husband doesn't judge me. For helping me learn to accept help not because I deserve it, or because someone wants to give it to me, but because I need it. For whispering to me to not judge myself as weak when I can't do something. For being patient with me when I'm a stubborn, impertinent child. For admiring me for the woman I'm growing into. For opening your heart and your world to me. For filling my soul like nothing else can. 

I love you, God.
Love,
Me

Then I read a couple of Rachel’s most recent posts. She just left for Philadelphia yesterday to take a nanny job there. Here are some extracts of what she wrote leading up to that departure:

“The point [of my recent stay with Sarah out in California] was I will always be grateful for that time to be me with no strings attached. I learned so many things about myself that helped me understand what I want to do and who I want to be. And I learned that it's okay to not have life figured out. if you talk with most people, they will admit to having no idea what they are doing! Do any of us? None of us are experts on 'how to live life.' There is no guide, no rule book. Why should we be limited to a set path when there are endless paths to be explored?”

“But frankly, I don't like having a plan. I don't want to know what my future holds...what mistakes I will make and what opportunities will be offered to me. I don't want to know. I'd rather enjoy the ride and let life take me where it wants to go and surprise me along the way …

“So...overall if you ask me what I plan to do next I won't answer you :) I will shrug my shoulders and say, 'who knows?' No one knows what I will do next. What does it matter? I don't want to live my life waiting on the future. I want to live my life in the present.

“And I can't tell you how excited I am to go out to Philadelphia. Honestly, I'm not scared. I'm excited. So so so excited...and happy. Happier than I ever remember being. It's a good feeling to be able to smile and feel content inside. You might see drastic things happen to me while I'm gone that make you think, 'really Rachel? I didn't know you were like that.' It's because for the first time in my life I feel like I get to be me. Any kind of me that I want. There are no rules. There is no guide.”

Then there is my daughter Hannah, whose vibrancy, along with that of her gorgeous daughter Hazel, infuses her blog. This recent picture of “Nutella” says a thousand words.

I love my kids. My big kids and my little kids. Aaron, our 10-year-old, texts me short messages from time to time. The other day, he sent this one, Aaron’s spelling challenges making the note all the more endearing to me:

“Levi ses goodnight the cat ses meaw.”

I love my kids.

Of Pianos, Pot Roasts and Deep Freezes

We had a wonderful dinner at our home the other night with a couple of friends, Ben and Tina, and four of my children - Rachel, Nathan, Aaron and Levi. This was only the second time that Rachel has had dinner in our home, and the first time she has been here with Nathan. It was almost surreal to me to see and experience this; for it had been several years since I had experienced them together.

I wrote in my journal the next day how words failed as I contemplated how wonderful it was to see Rachel sitting at the keyboard in the living room, playing while Nathan knelt next to her, singing. I don't think I'd ever seen that before, even when they were younger. It meant so much to me to see them together and to see them in *our* living room, a part of my life, a part of our life.

Another first came a bit later when Rachel decided to make gravy to go with the pot roast Mark had prepared in the slow cooker and the mashed potatoes that Tina had brought. She had never been in our kitchen, and to see her there was ... so satisfying, so warming. 

Then to watch Tina and Rachel talk about the secrets of making good gravy. Such simple things, but heartwarming to a dad who has missed these kinds of interactions with his children for so long.

************

On an unrelated note, I have been reading, along with several other books, Wayne Dyer's book on the Way of the Tao. There was a time when this material was totally unapproachable by me. I started to read this book a year or so ago and just couldn't get into it. Now, however, it's different. And I see that as a good thing. It means I'm progressing along my spiritual path.

As I was reading about the Tao, a couple of thoughts floated into my head, or rather questions.

First, why do we insist on "anthropomorphizing" God? We simply cannot abide the notion that "God" may simply be a creative and energizing force, an essence. We insist that "he" be a "man" like us. After all, even most rank and file traditional Christians (as opposed to Mormonism which has taken the anthropomorphizing thing to a whole new level) view God as a kindly old man.

Second, why do we insist that we must be judged and found wanting and punished?

As I wrote these questions down in my journal, I thought back on the days of my youth, especially my freshman year at Illinois Wesleyan University, and on the intellectual curiosity I had and the feeding I felt. I explored questions such as the ones I've just described and many more besides. 

Then it occurred to me that I am exploring again all these concepts and ideas after all these years because it's as thought my mind - the intellectually curious part - has been in deep freeze for most of my adult life. For when I joined the Mormon Church, curiosity and openness was replaced with certainty and closed thinking - at least insofar as it related to spiritual matters and theology.

Now, it's like the ice has thawed and I am re-awakening. I am exploring thoughts and concepts now, in my 50's, that most people my age would have processed long ago. In one way, it's exhilarating and liberating. In another sense, it also feels a bit weird, like doing so is not "age appropriate." But I'm going to focus on exhilaration and liberation and pick up where I left off 30 years ago.

San Francisco Diary: Rachel and "Seeing" Life

Our last day in San Francisco was spent with my daughter, Rachel. She had spent a month with my oldest daughter in the Silicon Valley, and Mark and I were going to take her back to Utah with us. We took her to breakfast at Brenda's French Soul Food, where Mark and I had eaten a few days' previous, and where I was able to indulge once again in their fabulous sweet potato pancakes with butter pecan sauce.

The line outside Brenda's as we left

After going back to the hotel and checking out of our room, we headed down Van Ness Street in a bus, and we would switch to a street car on Market to take us down to the Ferry Terminal at the foot of Market. Since she grew up in Bountiful, I wasn't too surprised when Rachel told me this was the first time she had taken public transit.

I recalled listening to a "testimony" a number of years ago in our Bountiful ward of a young man who had graduated from high school describing taking the bus into Salt Lake City. The way he described it, it was a huge adventure for him and his "testimony" consisted, essentially, of how proud he was that he hadn't judged anyone on the bus - because, well, you know what kind of people ride the bus.

Rachel's attitude couldn't have been more different. She was intrigued and interested in everything she saw, whether it was people or things, buildings or simply materials used on the streetcar we were on. 

She commented, for example, on the horizontal bars in the windows of the street car - something I wouldn't have particularly noticed, but through her eyes, she saw patterns. Mind, she's always had a good eye and has taken beautiful pictures for years with her little inexpensive camera.

The closer we got to the end of Market Street, the more intrigued Rachel was. Even though it was Sunday morning, there were people - all kinds of them - everywhere. She seemed to be breathing it all in and loving it. 

After getting off the streetcar, we browsed through some street vendor tents and decided, for the princely sum of $8, to get Rachel's portrait sketched by an elderly Chinese man.

From, we walked along the Embarcadero to the craziness of Fisherman's Wharf, where we had some lunch. Then a quick visit to Japan Town, then time to load up the truck and head over the Golden Gate and toward home. It had been a great day. Rachel loved it, and so did I.

Recording the Summer

I wrote yesterday about Rachel and Philipp's visit this past week. As a thank you to us, they made a video of pictures they had taken while here:

A few weeks ago, my daughter Hannah made and posted the following video of pictures and clips from their trip:

And here's one my daughter Rachel made of a trip she took to Pineview Reservoir a few weeks ago:

Maybe one of these days, I'll be brave enough to try to make one of these myself.

Summer Weekend

This past weekend, like most of our lives these days (or so it seems) kind of passed in a blur. But it had its precious moments, and it is in these moments that life is truly felt, savored and remembered.

On Friday night, Mark and I went out to dinner. It was the first time we had been out alone in weeks, and given what is coming down the pike, we knew that this would be our only opportunity to do this for at least a couple of weeks.

We went to Market Street Grill in Cottonwood Heights - the first time I have been there. Mark was looking forward to oysters. I tried one. That was enough. I savored my Maryland Crab Cake.

The first time I had eaten crab cake was in the summer of 1976, the year I graduated from high school. Our Methodist Youth Fellowship took a trip back east to see Gettysburg, Washington, D.C., and Williamsburg. We also spent a couple of days camping on the Maryland shore. It was when we stopped  at a diner in some little town in the eastern party of Maryland that I first had crab cakes, and I've loved them ever since.

Playing pinochle on our Methodist Youth Fellowship trip. I'm at right.

On Saturday morning, I drove to Bountiful to pick up the Quads. On the way back to my house, we made the mandatory stop at Winegars to get donuts. While there, Annie - who had brought along a zip lock bag with some change in it - saw a ball she'd like to buy with her money. I was distracted for a couple of minutes while picking up some items, and didn't really notice what Levi and Annie were doing until I came around a corner and saw Levi down on the floor of the store, counting out Annie's money to make sure there would be enough. There would have been a time when I would have reprimanded him for being down on the floor of the store (germs, etc.), but I simply laughed when I saw him and took a picture.

The kids and I had a pretty laid back day. The temperature was supposed to hit 106, so we decided not to try to go to the pool because we knew it would be jam packed. Instead, they decided they'd like to spend the afternoon in an air-conditioned theatre (a decision which many other people made as well, as the parking lot of the theatre was packed), and we went to see "Man of Steel" (the new Superman movie).  It was a great movie, and it was humorous to listen to Levi's running commentary, e.g., the time when Lois Lane was plummeting toward earth from outer space in a capsule and Levi matter of factly said, "She's going to have a big headache."

A picture of Levi that was actually taken right after our trip to Disneyland. He had come upstairs in the morning, but had then fallen back asleep on the living room couch. I love this picture.

When I dropped out the kids that afternoon, I picked up my daughter Rachel. She and I have recently "reconciled" - a development I did not foresee but which I have welcomed. This process unexpectedly started a few weeks ago, and subsequent events propelled it forward. As I have contemplated what has transpired, I was reminded of the story of the butterfly which one chases, it ever eluding our grasp, but which comes, unexpectedly, to sit on our shoulder once we have given up the chase and waited patiently for it to come to us.

A picture of Rachel and me taken a few weeks ago.

Saturday evening was a big step for Rachel. She would be having dinner at our house and meeting Mark for the first time. It went well. Rachel - an accomplished pianist - had brought along some of her music to play on our keyboard, providing me with the opportunity to hear her play for the first time in 2-1/2 years. It was lovely.

Rachel chatted almost non-stop throughout the course of the evening. I felt like I was becoming reacquainted with her, like she had been out of the country for three years, without means of contact, and had now come home, a changed person. She leaves for California tomorrow. I'm so glad I had this opportunity to spend time with her before she leaves.

We awoke Sunday morning to gusting winds pouring out of the canyons. It provided an opportunity to record the sounds of the new chimes that went up in the linden tree earlier this summer.


That afternoon, Mark's niece (another Rachel) and her husband Philipp and two children arrived from Portland for a few days' visit. (Their son is pictured in the lead photo, offering Mark a bite of his popsicle.) They brought each of Mark and me a gift. Mark is known in his family for his affection for Blue Sapphire gin, so Philipp (who is German) presented us with two bottles of gin and two bags of gummy bears. He first presented me with the large bottle and huge bag of gummys, then presented Mark with the other bottle and bag. Priceless.