Christmas Letter
2007
December 17, 2007
Merry Christmas from Marion Station.
We are into our sixth year of living
in rural Eastern Maryland, and our
children keep asking us when we’ll
move back to civilization. We just
smile. Some days I miss having
stores, restaurants and shopping
within 15 minutes, having my post
office carry more than two types of
stamps, having access to 7 network
TV channels, and being able to hop
in the car and get to the
Smithsonian, Franciscan Monastery,
National Zoo, Baltimore Inner
Harbor, Red Hot and Blue, the
Theater, and the Blue Ridge
Mountains in under an hour. From
Marion Station it takes me an hour
just to get to Cambridge.
I don’t miss the traffic, the crime,
lines at the MVA, 8 to 10 lanes of
cars, and seemingly endless vistas
of concrete and asphalt. The Eastern
Shore has a sense of place not
repeated in Maryland, with its
rolling farmland, endless marshes,
miles of shoreline, waterfowl, and
small towns that have more churches
than stores. Our newspaper headlines
are more about community than crime.
A December front page headline in
the Star Democrat read, “Traffic
Light planned for Preston.” This is
big news if you’ve ever tried to
drive through Preston at peak hours.
The truth is, we love the Eastern
Shore more every year we live here.
We are home.
We bought a camper in June and took
it to Dan’s home state of Maine for
a two week vacation. We traveled up
the coast and spent about four days
on Deer Isle, famous for its pink
granite, and being the kayaking
Mecca of North America. I read
Travels with Charlie by John
Steinbeck in June. Deer Isle was one
of the towns Steinbeck visited when
he wrote the book in 1960. His Deer
Isle description sounded much like
Crisfield and intrigued us enough to
make it a vacation destination. In
truth, it was much like Crisfield,
only the waterman were called
fisherman and they were after
lobster instead of crab. Kayaking in
Maine was much the same as Maryland,
save for the occasional seal that
swims by and scares the hell out of
you. The lighthouse on our Christmas
card is East Quoddy Head, on
Campobella Island in Canada. We took
a day trip there when we were
camping in Eastport, ME – the
eastern-most point of the United
States. I snapped this photo just
before sunset.
 The
best part of the Maine vacation was
seeing Dan’s family. Dan’s siblings,
David, Steven, and Kathy and many of
their children and grandchildren
live on a parcel of land in central
Maine that spans over two hundred
acres. The Burgoynes can celebrate
on a moment’s notice, offering
endless hospitality. I had an easier
time understanding the Maine accent
this trip – though I got confused
when a nephew asked his wife why
she’d taken his khakis, and she
responded that he’d taken her
khakis. I finally figured out that
they weren’t confiscating each
others’ pants, but the implements
used to start the car… “car keys”
for those of you in the southern
states. The Burgoynes are
fascinating, artistic, and
hilarious. I feel fortunate to call
them family. They have a passion for
life, devotion to their children,
and a love for each other that is
subtle and boundless… qualities in
my husband I so admire. It makes for
an exciting shared life having Dan’s
love and steady constancy compliment
my crazy, non-stop, obsessive,
talk-a-mile-a-minute approach to
life.
In February I went for to Ireland to
do some final research for the book
I’m writing, Thin Places; Travels
through Celtic Holy Ground. I spent
most of the three weeks in the south
of Ireland following the paths of
saints and druids, visiting some
thirty stone circles, church ruins,
holy wells, and monastic sites. I
stopped when I felt the subtle urge
to join a convent. I took a
diversion from all things holy when
I interviewed a retired policeman in
Bandon (outside Cork City). He
wanted to talk more about the
conflict between Catholics and
Protestants than thin places, and
told me he could introduce me to
someone who could identify and name
Michael Collins’ assassin. I
declined the introduction as any
sensible almost-fifty year old
American female traveling alone
would have. On this trip I also
discovered yet another setting of
St. Patrick’s breastplate that
speaks of clothing oneself in
Christ’s presence as a light to
guide, protect, and reveal. Part of
the setting appears on the front of
this Christmas card.
Last month, Arcadia Publishing
Company released my second book,
Easton – Then and Now. It’s similar
to my first book Snow Hill about
another Eastern Shore small town.
Easton – Then and Now is an
historical picture book chronicling
Easton as it began as Maryland’s
Eastern capital, to how it evolved
into the cultural hub of the Eastern
Shore with upscale restaurants,
museums, art galleries and shopping
– still keeping that small town
feel. The Snow Hill book had great
success last year selling over 1000
copies (one third of the total
printing) in its first month. I
attributed this to having 500+
relatives and several hundred
friends. Here’s hoping you’ll all be
just as interested in Easton. The
book is available on Amazon.com.
Our children are all moving along
well in their lives. Albert and Ruth
, married just after Christmas last
year are expecting their first baby
– a girl – January 17th. Becky,
Harry, Connor and Benjamin are in
New Jersey, all doing well. Dominic
is a graphic artist, living in
Columbia. Lara and David are still
nearby, living in Salisbury. David
just graduated from Salisbury
University. Daniel and Amber moved
to Culpeper Virginia this year, and
little Daniel, Grace and Mia are
growing fast. Big Dan went back to
the Iron Workers Union making more
money with fewer headaches. I still
work for the State of Maryland.
I was cleaning out our attic just
before Thanksgiving and came across
an old book of Christmas carols. My
grandfather bought it for me when I
was very little. The cover had a
sketch of a family singing carols
around a pump organ. Grandma told me
the sketch reminded her of her own
family when she was little girl, and
her mother would play carols while
the family sang. I remember my
mother playing from that same book
at our piano during the Christmas
season, singing those carols to me,
and teaching me to sing them. I also
remember her choir coming to our
house after Midnight Mass and
singing around the same piano… along
with much laughing and general loud
partying. I repeated a similar
process with my own children –
music, choirs, and parties after
Mass on Christmas Eve. It is these
types of random experiences that
weave the tapestry of Christmas
memories we share - parties, food,
friends, family, music, good times
and some sad times like Christmases
marked by loneliness or loss of a
loved one. Christmas is like a great
magnifier that examines our life and
makes everything – good and bad -
seem larger. I’m happy to say, this
Christmas, all is good in our home.
St. Anthony of Padua said, “Love is
eternal; so that without love, all
efforts are vain, no matter how much
good we accomplish.” Love is what
lies beneath the surface at
Christmas, and best flourishes in
the spirit of humility. Every year
someone will invariably proclaim
disgust regarding the
commercialization of Christmas, but
I generally ignore these
proclamations. Commercialism doesn’t
diminish Christmas. It’s rarely the
presents or shopping or decorations
that we recall in our Christmas
memories. It’s always the people we
remember, and the experiences shared
with people; experiences that occur
when possessions and the trappings
of this world are stripped away, and
humility – the true understanding of
who we are – arises and creates
magic moments where time stands
still. These become our Christmas
memories… the affirmation of a
child’s imagination, school
pageants, singing Christmas carols,
little hands gripping the banister
during the rush downstairs on
Christmas morning, family dinners
and gatherings, the first Christmas
away from home, the first Christmas
in a new home… these are the things
we remember, and it’s the warmth of
these experiences that generate
meaning and cause us to continue to
look forward to Christmas year after
year.
If you’re receiving this letter and
card, then you are someone we
remember this Christmas – someone we
care for and are likely to never
forget. You may be a friend we met
just this year, a relative we’ve
known all our lives, or you may be
someone we’ve not spoken to in a
long time - but know if we saw you
tomorrow we could pick up where we
left off as if time and distance
never separated us.
Dan and I wish you a very Merry
Christmas. May God bless you and
those whom you love during the
coming New Year.
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