Family
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Thursday was wild card day so we chose a city of interest between Friday’s Berlin walk-about and Rothenburg. Martin Luther is a famous catalyst for the Protestant reformation and in the year 1517 he posted 95 reasons why indulgences, buying and selling absolution for sins, was contrary to the standard of sola scriptura, or by…
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For a brief moment we touched 180 kph on the autobahn, but now we drove on cobblestone streets lined by structures dating back to 1170. Rothenburg ob der Tauber ( red fortress over the Tauber river), is our home for two days. Amongst the ruin of a city called the “most German of German” cities…
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To the train we skipped along a trail by the lake, under a bridge, into a tunnel, to Rathaus, or council house where the city government is located. We ate bratwurst and currywurst and walked to get gelato. Then canoes on the Alster river, a network of lazy canals winding behind huge beautiful homes with…
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“See dad, this is why I love Europe.” Lauren chirped as I awaited the definitive progressive announcement of civilization, a word picture that sums it all up. “Hmm, what is it?” I intoned with jet lag weariness. “They have armoires!” “What’s an armoire?” said Jenna. God bless my cultured children. This morning we awoke to…
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A Gatorade cooler dumped on my head moment of clarity regarding my diminishing skills as a shortstop happened one summer evening in the hole between short and third as I reached down across my body for a grounder and caught a bit of dirt and air turning a routine out into a single. I turned and…
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Part of my Saturday mornings are intentionally aimless…and saturated with too much coffee. I become so driven by task during the week that I need to unhitch my mind and let it drift away with Noah’s last dove carrying a to-do list and an olive branch. This post is for my son Brandon, who’s doing…
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The advent of Facebook has relegated Christmas letters to the category of sleigh rides and blinding silver tinsel, not that I don’t enjoy those, but it’s just easier to push a button. So here goes, a Christmas letter selfie opening our front door to you for a view of our lives ad nauseum, as if…
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At the age of four, I doubted Santa for the first time. Not his girth or beard or constant jolliness, but rather my own worthiness to receive his gifts, and the weight of guilt rang in my ears with every chorus of, “He knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness…
Bespoke 