Église Saint-Germain-des-Prés is one of the oldest Churches in Paris and is in the middle of one of the most exciting, historic neighborhoods. Whenever I visit Paris, I hop on the Metro and zoom over to the Church.

It’s always one of my first stops in town, primarily because I still always light a candle there in memory of my Grandmother. I took the image above, and tucked into the middle is one candle taller than the rest.

That one’s for you, Grandma.

On one of my visits, it was a cold, dark, and rainy day, and the Church steeple was covered in mist. I walked up the steps and pushed against the closed front door. It was stuck, so I had to press harder to open the door.

Behind the door is a small vestibule before you enter the Church. I stood there momentarily before opening the second small door to enter. The door opened a couple of inches, and as I entered, I had one of the most amazing experiences of my life.

The Church was rather dark, and suddenly a ray of sunshine poured through one of the windows like a beacon directed at me. At almost that moment, I heard an organist begin the opening notes of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” The music became louder and louder, with notes soaring to the very top of the Church.

I was transfixed. I thought, “Wow, is this a sign?”

I sat down for about 20 minutes while the organist continued the practice. The music started and stopped during that time, and each time, I was stunned that there were only three people in the Church for that one session.

The organist, my Grandmother, and I.

When we lived in San Francisco, I decided I needed a motorcycle, specifically a Honda 550-4 model like the one shown here. Never mind that I didn’t have 10 minutes of experience riding a bike like that, nor the required driver’s license.

These were minor details in my plan. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before a friend took me to a Honda dealer in Alameda, across the bay from San Francisco. Once at the dealership, I had a brief discussion with the salesperson, signed some papers, and in a frightening length of time, I was (with my bank) the proud owner of a brand new, blue Honda motorcycle.

Emboldened by my lack of experience and knowledge I hopped on the motorcycle (no helmet, please) and wobbled around their parking lot for about 30 minutes. That was plenty of instruction for me and shortly found myself blasting across the San Francisco-Oakland-Bay Bridge on my way home, going at least 60 miles an hour.

Miraculously, I made it home in one piece.

My confidence grew and, I came to love that motorcycle. My three daughters took turns riding with me as we discovered the hills and streets of San Francisco. We’d go on rides up the coast to Point Reyes, Bolinas and Sonoma for top-class picnics. As I write this now in retrospect, it’s highly unlikely, to say the least we’d do this without safety gear.

However, since I was now a skilled driver, at least in my own opinion, I wanted a regular, enthusiastic riding partner. Who better qualified for this than my youngest daughter; she was the most fearless and she was up for anything I cooked up for us. To her, nothing was too ridiculous or dangerous.

She was my perfect match.

One Saturday morning I woke before dawn; I went to her bedroom and shook her awake. I told her to quietly get dressed and meet me downstairs in front of our garage. Ok, Dad, this is another great plan waiting in the wings.

It was just about dawn when we started our journey; she had no idea where we were going, but it didn’t matter. The Golden Gate Bridge was a short distance from our house and, soon we were zooming across the bridge as the sun started to rise. It was a beautiful sight and for a moment, it seemed we were flying. We were, in a sense.

She wanted to ride forever; however, we crossed the bridge and returned home, stopping at our favorite bakery, Ahren’s for a bag of doughnuts to share with our family. We made it back home before anyone was up or knew we’d gone anywhere other than to the bakery. Neither my daughter nor myself mentioned our sunrise ride.

Some things are just too special to share, I suppose.

Last night, I watched another rerun of the PBS showing of the annual Lawrence Welk Christmas show. It was, and is, a spectacular collection of music, incredibly corny skits, and an army of talented, charming children of cast members.

My mom loved the weekly Lawrence Welk shows; she never missed one episode. We had a Motorola television set (black and white, of course). When it was time for the show, my mom would quiet everyone, and we’d dive into the music and entertainment.

A show like his wouldn’t have a chance in today’s media market. However, at the time, he (and the show) was one of the most popular ever. How Lawrence Welk went from his Honolulu Fruit Gum Orchestra leadership to Champagne Music is beyond my imagination. I saw a live show decades ago; it was terrific, and the other guests around me were a rainbow of early 60’s fashion.

He was pretty strict with show members. However, he featured and introduced some of the most talented, professional, and famous musicians ever. The performers radiated talent even in the early days before the color broadcast. As the show grew and improved, artists like The Lennon Sisters, Norma Zimmer, and Myron Cohen kept their train moving ahead and on time.

Around the time the program moved into color broadcasting, we bought a new television; now, my mom was thrilled. The show had the most incredible costumes; the dance numbers were spectacular, and the audience grew. Now, the show is one of PBS’s most-watched weekly programs. It’s possible to see fantastic performers like Ava Barber, Lynn Anderson, Bobby Burgess (from the Mickey Mouse Club), and Jo-Ann Castle.

From time to time, PBS features one of the earlier shows, sponsored by Geritol; now that’s a name brand that will live on forever, just like the show itself.

 

 

 

 

In the movie “Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga,” Rachel McAdams co-stars with Will Ferrell as a lead singing contestant.

I happened to watch the movie again last night; if you do, the best ten minutes are at the end. She is lip-singing to a fantastic song called “Husavik,” which means “home” in Icelandic.

Even though the song is sung by an artist named Molly “My Marianne” Sanden (she’s Swedish), a sensational singer in her own right, Rachel’s performance is spectacular.

Many of us have a love-hate relationship with Netflix; however, this is one great movie they are streaming now.

I am fortunate to have visited some of the world’s most beautiful hotels. While most of them are somewhat predictable, the Keio Plaza Hotel in Tokyo really impressed me. I stayed here for two nights in one of their Tatami Suite accommodations. I don’t know how I ended up in this incredible room, but it was one of the most unusual, comfortable, and memorable hotel experiences I’ve ever had.

Most especially since this suite is located in a high-rise hotel, one you’d never, ever believe had such a suite. When you walk off the elevator and open the door, you are momentarily stunned at what you see. To say it’s beautiful is an understatement. It’s subtle, calm, and unique. It’s on a very high hotel floor (I think it was the 40th floor), which makes this even more impressive. The bed was a traditional futon; the room was large enough to accommodate at least four people, and the traditional Japanese bath was, in a word, unforgettable. I’ll never forget this experience, ever.

Growing up, I always looked forward to family meals, especially ones at my Grandmother’s house. She loved to cook, entertain her large and wonderful family, and have her daughters nearby to help.

My aunts were all amazing; however, my Aunt Dorothy streaked to the head of the pack when it came to specialty cooking. She was a creative (tough to do in the ’50s), imaginative, and excellent cook.

She particularly excelled at building Jell-O mold salads, all individual works of art. Almost anything imaginable found its way into her salads. Cottage cheese, tiny mandarin orange slices, minuscule carrot pieces, stuffed olive slices, pineapple, miniature marshmallows, and my favorite, banana slices.

I have no idea how she created these works of art. Other family members always brought their favorite dishes (my mom’s ace in the hole was some sorta’ garlic sausage dish), but no one could overtake Aunt Dorothy.

In childhood, she contributed many things to me; the Jell-O salads are near the top of a long list of her outstanding accomplishments.

Today, I learned about the passing of my friend’s wife after a long illness; it is, coincidentally, her birthday.

The couple have been married for more than 60 years. They have a wonderful family; she was a delightful person, a revered teacher to thousands of children, a mom, a grandmother, and a dear friend to all (she also loved banana pudding most of all.)

A passage from the Bible (John 16:22) beautifully reminds us: “So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again, and you rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.” It’s a comforting message about hope and the promise of joy returning.

Her smile, laughter, and goodness will remain with us always.

Our church choir flew across the Atlantic to sing. The choir from St Stephen’s Episcopal Church, our church in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, brought the Evensong service of choral music, chant, and prayer to life in London’s Westminster Abbey. Our choir and supporters (50+ strong) were in London for a series of choral concerts and tour highlights for 10 days. While performances varied, Evensong, performed in this world-famous church, is a highlight.

Our choir (and our director of music) bring their voices and joy to us every Sunday. As a member of St Stephen’s, I feel proud when I imagine this group presenting Evensong in this prestigious church. The collective voices of the group filling the space remind me of the inspiration and passion this service brings to life. Whenever I go to our services, I will have my friends who went to London and their incredible performance on my mind. What an incredible gift.