Teaser Tuesday (and an editorial from the NYTimes)
I decided to read the region section of the New York Times online yesterday between patrons at the library and encountered a delightful article about faith. The writer in question was raised Roman Catholic, and is raising her children in the same faith, but is far more convoluted in her own religious beliefs than strict dogma allows. The intersection of her faith in her own life and in the legacy she presents to her children is charmingly written, so I thought it worth passing along.
And now, a teaser!
Imagine if you will a small ball-room, modest in its construction, but with doors that open onto delightful gardens, letting in what breeze might be had in the muggy summer months. Partners dance to a fiddle, as has become popular in recent days, listening for the steps to be called as their fingers lightly brush those of their partner. Women and men all wear white wigs, ridiculous in the heat, and some have powdered their faces to a paler shade, in which can be seen the path of sweat droplets from the exertion of the dancing. Along one side, older men chat, discussing business and smoking cigars. Just beyond the open doors, young people gather to flirt, still inside the view of their chaperones, but at the edge of that vision, giving some semblance of independence.
It was that scene precisely that I stumbled into, after finishing a dance with my cousin Abigail's husband, who had been kind enough to be sure I wasn't standing alone. The evening was far too warm to stay inside, and there was conversation to be had on the patio.
And now, a teaser!
Imagine if you will a small ball-room, modest in its construction, but with doors that open onto delightful gardens, letting in what breeze might be had in the muggy summer months. Partners dance to a fiddle, as has become popular in recent days, listening for the steps to be called as their fingers lightly brush those of their partner. Women and men all wear white wigs, ridiculous in the heat, and some have powdered their faces to a paler shade, in which can be seen the path of sweat droplets from the exertion of the dancing. Along one side, older men chat, discussing business and smoking cigars. Just beyond the open doors, young people gather to flirt, still inside the view of their chaperones, but at the edge of that vision, giving some semblance of independence.
It was that scene precisely that I stumbled into, after finishing a dance with my cousin Abigail's husband, who had been kind enough to be sure I wasn't standing alone. The evening was far too warm to stay inside, and there was conversation to be had on the patio.