Today's forecast for the Boston area calls for close to two feet of snow. Thank goodness yesterday was National Hot Chocolate Day.

I was in the car this weekend, listening to the radio, when I heard news of this delicious holiday. Apparently hot chocolate is the preferred beverage for the winter season (made with milk not water, and don't scrip on the marshmallows).

The trivia lesson also went on to point out that 39 degrees is considered to be the ideal winter temperature. And finally, that children like winter more than adults. No surprise there.

Never mind the rest, they had me at marshmallows......

"The superiority of hot chocolate, both for health and nourishment, will soon give it the same preference over tea and coffee in America which it has in Spain." – Thomas Jefferson

Today is Kansas Day, the anniversary of the admission of Kansas into the Union in 1861.

Kansas has never been a destination for me, but I have driven across its liminal landscape on plenty of occasions. Like an infinity pool, the plains of Kansas go on for as far as the eye can see. It's as mesmerizing as it is disorienting.

“You can never really escape. It goes with you, wherever you go. Somehow, the prairie dust gets in your blood, and flows through your veins until it becomes a part of you. The vast stretches of empty fields, the flat horizons of treeless plains. The simplicity of the people—good, earnest people. All that—it’s etched into your soul and it colors the way you see everything and becomes part of you. When you leave, everything you experience outside of Kansas will be measured against all you know here." – P.S. Baber, Cassie Draws the Universe

I don't know why, but I've never had much luck with kites.

My Dad bought us a box kite when my brother and I were kids. The design certainly didn't inspire confidence in its aerodynamic potential. Too much empty space and not enough fabric it seemed to me.

Our attempts to launch our kit-assembled prototype were most often met with short-lived flights followed by death-spiral crashes. It was all very ........ humbling.

Perhaps the point was to learn more from the crash than the launch.

"Children are like kites. You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground. You run with them until you are both breathless. They crash. You add a longer tail. You patch and comfort, adjust and teach. You assure them that someday they will fly.

Finally, they are airborne. They need more string, and you keep letting it out. They tug, and with each twist of the twine, there is a sadness along with the joy. The kite becomes more distant and you know it won't be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that binds you together and they will soar as they are meant to soar...free and alone. Only then do you know you have done your job." – Erma Bombeck

As the challenges of the pandemic continue, seemingly unabated, I have found solace in the unlikeliest of places. Watching old reruns of The Amazing Race.

It's not so much the frazzled pairs; leaving their comfort zones, sorting out their relationships, or facing their fear of heights. It's the beautiful surroundings that form the backdrop.

The windmills of Holland, the congestion of Mumbai, the rugged peaks of Peru. It is all there and so much more.

Travel is a feast for the eyes. But more than anything, the immersive experience that travel offers changes us in a way nothing else can....

"You cannot understand the otherness of places you have not encountered. Travel is a set of corrective lenses that helps focus the planet's blurred reality." – Conde Nast Traveler

Yellow fire hydrants. The industry standard, or so I thought.....

Much to my surprise, I recently discovered hydrants are color-coded. Yellow denotes the water comes from a public water source. Violet indicates the flow traces back to a lake or pond. Red, orange, green, and blue reveal the corresponding water pressure (from <500 gallons per minute to >1,500 gallons per minute).

For years I was blithely unaware of this hydrant hierarchy, perhaps because the fire plugs in my old neighborhood had designs painted on them. One boasted a Boston Bruins logo. Another offered a teddy bear motif. On a particularly vibrant corner, the hydrant was awash in the colors of the rainbow.

There are also more pragmatic variances. As an example, the hydrants in my neck of the woods often sport a long orange stick that extends an additional three feet in the air, in case a passing plow inadvertently buries them in snow.

Out of sight perhaps, but never out of mind.

"I used to work in a fire hydrant factory. You couldn't park anywhere near the place." – Steven Wright

On the southern coast of Maine is a wildlife reserve named after famed biologist and environmentalist Rachel Carson.

In her seminal work, Silent Spring, she warns of the lingering effects of using DDT, particularly on the migratory bird population. Application of such pesticides, under the guise of boosting agricultural harvests, she feared would decimate the avian population, rendering our world silent of their warbles, caws, and chirps.

The land that bears her name is filled with salt marshes, estuaries, barrier beaches, and forest. Deliciously silent of everything but the sound of the rushing tide, the birds, and the joyous heartbeats of those lucky enough to wander through......

"For as the shore configuration changes in the flow of time, the pattern of life changes, never states, never quite the same from year to year." – Rachel Carson

I'm a Skippy kind of girl. Spread evenly on white bread. Smooth not chunky.

Lest you take me for a Puritan, I always left the crust on and jazzed up the finished product with a sheen of red raspberry jam. That combo was considered pretty avant-garde in the neighborhood in which I was raised. Most of the other kids' sandwiches boasted a large dollop of Fluffernutter. Or grape jelly. Never jam with seeds.

It's funny how these staples from long ago still appeal, as if something as pedestrian as peanut butter could capture the essence of one's childhood. And yet that's exactly what happens, with just the bite of a peanut butter sandwich, the yank of a yoyo string, or the sight of a lightning bug in the mid-summer dusk....

"I would like a magical palm tree that had a lot of shade, and instead of coconuts, there would just be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Cheetos underneath." – Channing Tatum

In honor of Inauguration Day, a time of pomp and ceremonial flourish, it seems fitting to focus on our nation's capitol. Every four years the hopes and dreams of America hover over the candidate taking office. In the process, our democracy is again renewed.

Some who watch cast their votes for the winner. Some not. But in that moment, with the world watching, the burden and aspirations of all of us are laid on the shoulders of the new president.

Inaugurations are a spectacle. But presidencies, more often than not, are made and lost in the quiet moments, far away from the camera's watchful eye. As our first president reminds us.....

“The turning points of lives are not the great moments. The real crises are often concealed in occurrences so trivial in appearance that they pass unobserved.”

― President George Washington

Dr. King was many things, but among them, he was a preacher.

Raised in the shadow of his father's pulpit and the recipient of a doctorate in systematic theology from Boston University, King was perhaps best known for his erudite and evocative prose. Homiletic flourishes aside, King acted as the conscience of our nation, starting with his beloved church...

"If the church does not recapture its prophetic zeal, it will become an irrelevant social club without moral or spiritual authority." – Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

O'ahu.

The thought of it conjures up images of Waikiki beach, rows of pineapple plants, the craggy face of Diamond Head, and the swells of the Banzai Pipeline.

I have been fortunate to see the thundering waves of O'ahu twice in my life. Oddly enough I heard the wall of crashing water before I saw it. Such is the power of the O'ahu surf.

Lifeguards leapt from their chairs when we dared venture down to the sand. Even standing well away from the tide line didn't mean you were safe. Here where a rogue wave could swoop in before you had time to turn and flee.

During a time when errant waves seem more common than not, my experience of the Pipeline acts as a reminder not to focus on the surge, but to hang on to the board.

"You can't stop the waves, but you can learn to surf." – Hawaiian Proverb

The world headquarters of Converse is just a few miles from my home. It's located on Boston's Freedom Trail in a space that occupies over 214,000 square feet spread over ten floors. This glass behemoth overlooks the harbor, enjoying stunning views in every direction.

I never had a thing for Chuck Taylors. I am more of a New Balance kind of a girl. But every time my wife drives over the Zakim Bridge and passes the gleaming monolith she looks out at the building and audibly sighs "ah, heaven......." Her devotion to Converse is both fulsome and longstanding.

What many folks don't know is that hanging in the lobby of this same building is a one-of-a-kind chandelier. With bulbs that shine through translucent soles, it is comprised of 200 Converse sneakers dangling from a towering canopy. If that isn't heavenly, I don't know what is.

"I always wore sneakers when I wanted to. It was always about being comfortable and being myself." – Whoopi Goldberg

My Dad went to the barber shop every Saturday morning.

Like many men of his generation, particularly his military mates, it was a celebrated weekly ritual. A quick trim, the buzz of the back of his neck, and a hot shave. It was his version of a spa day.

I would often ask to go along. I loved everything about the barber shop; the musky smell of cologne, the thwack of the razors being sharpened on leather straps, the rumbling guffaws of the other men telling their tales.

Even now, whenever I see a barber shop pole, a rush of nostalgia comes over me. A whiff of Old Spice and I am right back there, sitting with my Dad, wondering how I got to be so lucky.....

"Barbering is the act of creating without an eraser."

I have been spending a lot of time outside these past few months. Wandering the forest, breathing in the crisp air, a respite from COVID-19 and the growing sense of isolation living in a cold climate can bring.

These days the gray of the sky feels more like a mood and less like an atmospheric attribute. The endless stream of very short days seems, well, endless.

So I find myself musing on greenhouses, filled with the smell of moist soil and dazzling color. Glass houses that transport me to the long summer days that are just around the corner....

“My eyes widened at this jungle of freshness, the earth on the ground. The back wall, around thirty feet high, burst with terra-cotta pots filled with every herb imaginable - basil, thyme, coriander, parsley, oregano, dill, rosemary, and lavender. There were tomatoes of almost every variety beaming with colors of red, dark purple, yellow, and green. Lemon trees. Avocados. Lettuces, like roquette and feuille de chêne. Zucchinis and eggplants. Fennel, celeriac, artichokes, and cucumbers. Leeks, asparagus, cabbages, and shallots, oh my. I exhaled a happy breath. ― Samantha Verant, The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux

As kids, after breaking a few too many window panes with errant foul balls, my brother and I soon found ourselves the proud owners of a wiffle ball and bat, courtesy of my mother.

At first, we felt like we'd been demoted to JV. Such a flimsy excuse for our wood bat and red-stitched rawhide. But then we learned how to throw a mind-bending curve ball with that funky plastic ball. And we could swing the bat for hours without tiring. And most importantly, we stopped getting yelled at all the time for breaking the garage windows.

It was..... fun. Which was the point, right?

"It's supposed to be fun. The man says 'play ball!' not 'work ball' you know." - Willie Stargell (left fielder and first baseman for the Pittsburgh Pirates, 1962-1982)

Barry C. Black has been the chaplain of the U.S. Senate for many decades at this point. But I imagine, in all of his years of ministry at the Capitol, he has never had a week like this one.

The quote below was taken from a prayer Reverend Black offered after Wednesday's breach of our nation's legislative hub. I have long admired surgically-crafted sentences, dazzling vocabulary, and the lyrical turn of a phrase. But I also harbor a profound respect for the brute force of words; their ability to change opinions, transform hearts, even alter the course of history.

"These tragedies have reminded us that words matter, and that the power of life and death is in the tongue." – Barry C. Black, U.S. Senate Chaplain

I found myself on an emotional rollercoaster for much of yesterday, listening and watching our nation's unrest play out in real time.

The National Mall in Washington is anchored by the Capitol building at one end and the Lincoln Memorial at the other. The stretch of land that falls in between has witnessed much history. So this morning, as I digest the recent events at the Capitol, I fix my gaze to the other end of this hallowed ground.

"I am anxious to afford some alleviation of your present distress. Perfect relief is not possible, except with time." – President Abraham Lincoln

In honor of the yesterday's Georgia elections, it seemed like a good time to muse a bit about peaches.

Originally from China, peaches were brought to the Georgia coastline by Franciscan monks in 1571. But they likely wouldn't have made the same impact on the Georgia economy had it not been for the boll weevil.

After huge swaths of cotton were decimated by the pesky beetle, peaches, pecans, apples, and onions were planted to diversify the state's crops. Peach cobbler 1, Boll Weevil 0.

I was never a big fan of the peach, unless you're talking about cling peaches swimming in a vat of sugary syrup. But I love the idea of peaches -- plucked right off the tree, a refreshing and juicy treat on a warm summer day.

“Sunrise paints the sky with pinks and the sunset with peaches. Cool to warm. So is the progression from childhood to old age.”

― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

Charlotte and her gang of barn animal friends found their way into my heart long ago. Everyone needs a friend like Charlotte, despite her arachnoid pedigree.

As a child, I read the dialogue between Charlotte and her pal Wilbur in a very matter of fact kind of way. But as I aged, I saw how deftly E. B. White wove into into his children's classics more nuanced life lessons. Without even realizing it, he had lured me into his own literary web. 

And I didn't mind one little bit......

“You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die. A spider's life can't help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that.” 

― E. B. White, Charlotte's Web 

Gilligan's Island is a slice of nostalgia cut straight from the heart of my own childhood.

On air from 1964-67, the show hit a cultural sweet spot with an audience still enamored with the supposed simplicity of the 1950's. Mary Ann, the proverbial "girl next door," was a real life beauty queen. Crowned Miss Nevada in 1959, Dawn Wells played the ingénue of the castaways with an understated flair.

What I didn't know until I became a minister was that creator Sherwood Schwartz crafted the characters, including Mary Ann, on the seven deadly sins.

Miss Wells died just a few days ago from COVID-19. One last castaway on the island.

Bon voyage sweet Mary Ann........

"You were always great fun and loved to laugh. Decades of laughter and good times together will remain with me always. Off the island, but forever in our hearts." – Barbara Eden (star of I Dream of Jeannie)

Today Billie Eilish turns 19.

The first time I understood the phenomenon that was Billie Eilish was the night back in January when she won an armful of Grammys, so many in fact that by the end of the show she looked positively embarrassed by her windfall. 

I later watched her interview with Gayle King on CBS Sunday Morning. During their time together she gave Gayle a tour of her childhood home, including the bedroom where she wrote nearly all of her songs. She had gone from singing into her hairbrush to stardom virtually overnight. 

There is no doubt it’s difficult to make it in the music business, but the culture of underestimating young women shouldn't be overlooked. Luckily for Billie, it was her voice and creativity that mattered and not the package it came in.

“It’s rare for anyone to value the opinions of a teenage girl.” — Billie Eilish