Apr 16

Culloden

The Battle of Culloden was the final confrontation of the Jacobite rising of 1745.
On this date, 16 April 1746, the Jacobite army of Charles Edward Stuart was decisively defeated by a British government force under Prince William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, on Drummossie Moor near Inverness in the Scottish Highlands.
1250 Jacobites died at the battle, and almost as many were wounded with 376 taken prisoner (those who were professional soldiers or who were worth a ransom). The government troops lost 50 men while around 300 were wounded.
I took the photos below when we visited Culloden in 2023.

Apr 13

Sunrise, Sunset…

Actually – 2 weeks…

It started a bit on Friday, November 14, 2025 –  not quite Friday the 13th this year.

This weekend, I had been planning to attend a local handbell festival

On the morning of Friday 14th, my 102-year-old mom announced that she wanted to go to the hospital.  We’d been thinking about taking her on Monday the 16th since she was having a few issues.  I knew we’d need to get medical transport and they required a 48 hour lead time.

So, I called 911.  The fire truck arrived first (in our county, fire and ambulance travel together) and did a quick assessment.  The ambulance arrived and took mom to the ER.

We drove over to the ER and somehow arrived first.
We were met by someone we knew from church. Cue:  It’s a Small World After All…

When we were in the ER room, I let my pastor know what was going on and he came and prayed with the 3 of us. Talked about what she believed and what might happen here.

There are moments in life when everything shifts quickly—when one decision leads to another, and suddenly you find yourself navigating a world you weren’t prepared for.

My mom ended up diagnosed in the ER with an upper GI bleed. From there, she was transferred to the hospital, and the whirlwind began.

Questions came quickly, often before we had time to process the last answer.

Would a blood transfusion be enough?
What if it didn’t work?
What would the next step be?

A CT scan revealed more complications—a significant impaction—adding another layer to an already complex situation. Eventually, she was moved to a room in the hospital, but clarity still felt just out of reach.

In the middle of medical decisions, there are also family decisions.

Our son asked if he should come right away. At that point, the answer was, not yet. It’s strange how you find yourself trying to measure urgency when everything already feels urgent.

Later, he and his wife decided they would bring the kids the following weekend. Even in the uncertainty, we were trying to hold onto normal rhythms, to give everyone time and space while still staying connected.

As things unfolded, we began talking with hospice.

That word carries weight. It shifts the conversation. It invites questions you may not feel ready to answer:

  • What are our options?
  • What does care look like now?
  • What does my mom need most?

We kept talking—with doctors, with hospice providers, with one another—trying to understand what each path might mean.

On November 14, I stepped away briefly to attend the final program of that bell festival I mentioned at the beginning of this post. It was a moment of beauty and normalcy in the middle of everything. And then, just as quickly, it was back to the hospital.

We were told she wasn’t sick enough for inpatient hospice.

So then what? Send her home… and then what happens next?

The in-between space is one of the hardest places to be—when someone isn’t well, but doesn’t fit neatly into the categories the system provides.

The conversation began to shift toward in-home hospice—what it would look like, how it would work, and how we could support her in a place that feels familiar.

We talked to more people. Asked more questions. Tried to piece together a plan that honored her dignity and comfort.

This journey has reminded me that:

  • There are rarely clear, easy answers.
  • Decisions often come before you feel ready.
  • And sometimes, the most important thing you can do is simply keep asking questions.

Above all, I’m learning how important it is to walk with one another through uncertainty—to listen, to support, and to take the next step, even when the full path isn’t clear.

Tuesday, November 18, things began moving quickly again—this time in a different direction.

At 8:30 AM, representatives from a “senior living” community came to the hospital to evaluate my mom. Another conversation, another set of decisions. Everything felt both urgent and strangely routine at the same time.

I went to work that morning and sat through our staff meeting, trying to focus, trying to stay present. Life doesn’t pause, even when your heart is somewhere else.

At noon, I left to sign the papers.

My mom would be moving into a small apartment—her own space, with a living room and kitchen. It sounded comforting in theory, like a step toward stability. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t fully aware of what was happening. That realization sat heavy with me.

By mid-afternoon, the practical details took over.

At 3:00 PM, I brought clothes to the hospital so she would have what she needed for the move. The plan was for her to be transported by nurse and ambulance to the senior living facility.

The irony wasn’t lost on me—the facility was right there on the hospital grounds. Close enough that she could have been wheeled over. But this is how systems work sometimes: not always efficiently, not always logically, but steadily moving forward.

And so, she was transferred.

She arrived, got settled in, and just like that, another transition was complete.

That evening, at 7:00 PM, I went to handbell practice.

It might seem like a small or even insignificant detail, but it wasn’t. It was a moment of normalcy in a day filled with decisions, paperwork, and emotional weight.

There’s something grounding about showing up for something familiar—ringing bells, following music, being part of a group that doesn’t require explanations.

And so, we keep going. One step, one decision, one day at a time.

Wednesday, November 19, we met with the hospice supervisor. Another step, another layer of care, another attempt to understand what this new chapter would look like.

And yet, alongside those serious conversations, something surprising was happening.

My mom had gone down for breakfast. She was attending activities. She had lunch.

There was a sense of routine beginning to form—small pieces of normal life reappearing in the middle of everything that had felt so uncertain just days before.

That day, I returned to some of my own routines as well. I taught piano lessons, then went to church for piano and organ practice with my duet partner. Music, once again, became a place to breathe—something steady when everything else felt unpredictable.

Thursday, November 20, brought another meeting—this time with the hospice nurse who would be visiting weekly.

When the nurse arrived, my mom wasn’t in her room.

She was getting her hair and nails done—something she had never done in her life.

In the midst of diagnoses, transitions, and difficult decisions, here she was experiencing something new, something simple, something joyful. It felt like a small gift—unexpected and beautiful.

Eventually, she came back to her room to meet the nurse. Then it was back to the salon, and then on to lunch. Life, in its own way, was continuing.

I arrived at work late that day, again trying to balance responsibility and presence—two things that don’t always fit neatly together.

Later that afternoon, a friend offered to help find furniture for my mom’s new living space. We went over to see mom, hoping to get a sense of what she might need.

But when we arrived, she was asleep.

So we quietly stepped away and returned to our day.

Back to work.
Back to responsibilities.
Back to trying to make sense of how to live in two worlds at once.

I stayed late at work to make up the hours I had missed. And then, as if to close the day in a familiar way, I went to choir rehearsal.

There is a strange tension in this season:

  • Deep, weighty decisions… alongside ordinary daily routines
  • Conversations about hospice… alongside hair appointments and lunch plans
  • Grief and uncertainty… alongside moments of unexpected grace

Life doesn’t stop. It layers.

And sometimes, in the most unexpected places—like a first-ever manicure—you catch a glimpse of something tender and good.

We are still walking this path. Still learning. Still adjusting.

One day at a time.

Friday, November 21, life felt like it was moving in multiple directions at once.

Our son and his family had started their trip to come see us. At the same time, my phone filled with texts and pictures from the friend who was helping find furniture for my mom’s new place.

“Just pick something,” I said.

At that point, decisions didn’t need to be perfect—they just needed to be made.

I picked up the rental van, another practical step in a day full of them, and headed over to see my mom, bringing more clothes and personal items.

She was sleeping again.

There’s something disorienting about walking into a room prepared to do something—to help, to organize, to connect—and finding stillness instead.

So much was happening around her. And yet, in those moments, everything felt very quiet.

I went home, but the day didn’t slow down.

A good friend had the furniture ready and wanted to bring it over. So we went back again. It took two trips to move everything in.

She slept through all of it.

The room was slowly becoming a living space—furniture in place, things beginning to look like home—and she wasn’t aware of any of it happening.

Meanwhile, another thread of the day was unfolding.

We took our son and his family to their AirBnB—only to discover the code didn’t work. Plans shifted quickly. Suddenly, they were back at our house with all their bags, and everything felt a little chaotic.

Our son started calling around, trying to find another place to stay.

In the middle of it all, we did what you do when things don’t go as planned:

We went to IHOP. Just us, two little kids, and their mom—sitting down for a meal in the middle of the uncertainty. It was simple, a little messy, and somehow exactly what we needed.

While we were there, a text came through: son had found a place. He went back to our house, gathered their things, and met us at the restaurant.

We dropped them off at their hotel, finally settled for the night.

And then we came home.

After a day of moving furniture, making decisions, shifting plans, and holding space for everything in between, I sat down on the sofa—and fell asleep.

 

Saturday, November 22, we gathered at the senior living community for what was meant to be a lovely Thanksgiving brunch. It was one of those moments where you hope things are turning a corner—where maybe, just for a little while, things might feel normal again.

But in the middle of it, my mom collapsed in the bathroom.

Just like that, everything shifted again.

And yet, somehow, the day continued. The rest of us went to Applebee’s for dinner. It felt strange—how life keeps moving, even when something inside you has paused.

Sunday November 23 brought church.

I played handbells. The kids were on the playground. Their mom packed up. We went to IHOP—again. And then they headed back home to a more normal life.

There was something grounding in those familiar rhythms, even as everything else felt uncertain.

That evening, at a community Thanksgiving service with other area churches, I found myself moving handbell boxes to make space for a larger choir. In the process, I broke my toe.

Despite the pain, I sat down and played the organ for the postlude in a piano-organ duet. Sometimes you just keep going because that’s what the moment asks of you.

Monday, November 24, we went back to see my mom. I canceled my piano students. It felt like the only thing I could do.

She spent the entire visit screaming.

There are moments in this journey that are deeply peaceful—and others that are incredibly hard. This was one of the hard ones.

Later, I went to the emergency room. Yes, my toe was broken.

It felt almost surreal—trying to care for my mom while also needing care myself.

Tuesday, November 25  brought a different kind of moment.

There was a cut on my mom’s leg – where did that come from?, a visit from the hospice nurse, and a chaplain who came and sang hymns with her.

In the middle of everything, there was music again.

Wednesday, November 26 I went to work, canceled piano students again, and another visit to mom. Life kept layering—responsibility on top of responsibility.

On Thanksgiving Day November 27, we held onto tradition where we could. We had lunch at Cracker Barrel.

It was a day of contrasts—gratitude and heaviness sitting side by side.

On Friday, November 28, the call came.

My mom had a fever of 102. The hospice nurse said she likely had three to four days left. They were doing everything they could to keep her comfortable.

Even when you know it’s coming, hearing those words changes something inside you. My mom must have known somehow what was coming – before we left her she said “thank you” and “I love you”.  Words we’d rarely heard from her before.

That evening, we went to a Mannheim Steamroller Concert – we’d had the tickets for a long time. It should have been enjoyable, but it wasn’t. Nothing quite felt right. We went out to dinner afterward, trying to go through the motions, but everything felt muted.

At 5:25 AM on Saturday, November 29, the phone rang.

“Your mother has stopped breathing…”

We went right away. Hospice hadn’t arrived yet, so we waited. There’s a stillness in those moments that’s hard to describe—quiet, heavy, suspended.

When the hospice nurse arrived, he made the official announcement.

And just like that, it was real.

Afterward, life didn’t stop.

We went to BJ’s to buy shoes for my husband. Then back to Sunrise. Another hospice worker came. The funeral home arrived and gently took her away.

And then we went home.

There is no clean ending to a week like this.

Only moments:

  • A brunch that didn’t go as planned
  • Children playing on a playground
  • Music played through pain
  • A chaplain singing hymns
  • A Thanksgiving meal held together by love
  • A quiet room at sunrise

And a final goodbye.

In the end, what remains is not just the loss—but the love that carried us through every moment, even when we didn’t realize it at the time.

Sunday, November 30, we went to church, I sang in the choir. During the prayer time, the pastor mentioned my mom.

There is something deeply comforting about hearing your loved one named out loud in a place of faith. It makes the loss feel seen. Held. Shared.

Monday came with no students.

Just… moments of weirdness. That’s the only word that fits. Not quite sadness all the time. Not quite normal. Just an unfamiliar quiet where something—and someone—is missing.

On Tuesday, there was no staff meeting, but I went to work anyway. I didn’t do much. I didn’t need to. It was enough just to be around other people.

That evening, I went to bell rehearsal.

Music, once again, offering something steady.

Wednesday, I didn’t teach. DH went to PT and AA. I had planned to go to balalaika rehearsal, but changed my mind.

That night, he got lost on the way home after dropping someone off in Manassas. I found myself guiding him back using my phone—directions, “Find My,” trying to piece together his route.

Even in grief, life keeps presenting small, ordinary challenges.

Thursday brought work and choir rehearsal.

Friday brought snow—and the thought that maybe we should start removing things from my mom’s room. But not yet. Some things take time.

On Saturday, December 6, we began cleaning out mom’s room at the senior living place..

Then Sunday came with another moment of… weirdness.

I met a friend at the senior living place to remove her furniture.

It was gone.

We asked at the front desk. They gave us a key to check another room—full of furniture, but none of it hers.

Another loose end. Another unanswered question.

A few days later, on Wednesday, December 10, we finally found out what happened.

The friend who had originally brought the furniture… had taken it back.

Just like that, one more piece of the puzzle resolved.

We dropped off her urn at the funeral home.

And somewhere in the middle of that moment—a moment you never quite imagine—you realize something unexpected:

Amazon has beautiful urns.

Even in grief, there are these small, almost surreal realizations. Things you never thought you would know. Details you never expected to matter.

 

 

 

On Saturday, December 13, we finally cleared everything out of her room.

Every item gone.
Every drawer emptied.

We handed back the key.

There is something final about that moment—not just symbolic, but physical. A space that once held a life is no longer yours to enter.

A few days later, on Monday, December 15, I wasn’t myself.

I was short. I was angry. I yelled at DH. Words came out that I didn’t mean and couldn’t take back.

Grief doesn’t always look like sadness.
Sometimes it looks like frustration.
Sometimes it looks like exhaustion spilling over.

And yet, even that day, I went to practice piano-organ stuff with duet partner.

Because somehow, music keeps showing up.

On Wednesday, December 17, I picked up my mom’s urn from the funeral home.

Another moment you can’t quite prepare for.

It’s small. It’s quiet. And it carries the weight of everything.

On December 18, something shifted.

We realized—we could travel again.

For weeks, everything had been about staying close, being available, responding to whatever came next. And suddenly, that constant vigilance was no longer required.

So we made plans.

We would go see our son, his wife, and the grandchildren for Christmas—for three days. And, I broke my thumb…

And just like that, something new entered the story:

Not just grief.
But movement.
Not just loss.
But the possibility of joy.

What This Season Has Taught Me

This journey has not been linear.

It has been:

  • chaotic and quiet
  • sacred and frustrating
  • full of music and silence
  • marked by both breaking and healing

And somewhere along the way, I’ve learned this:

Grief and life don’t take turns.

They walk together.

Stay tuned for posts about trying to plan a service, trying to get her death date on a headstone with my dad, trying to get her to Maine for burial…  Today is April 13 and only the obituary is complete.  But I’m working on the other stuff!

Miscellaneous Comments

December 30 – Wow!  Who knew?  A relative I never heard of.

From drsrheritage on 30 Dec 2025

Mary Alice Tibbetts Kelly

Please accept our condolences in the passing of Mary. She would have been my Dad, Art Shaw’s, first cousin.
My love and prayers,
Darlene

~~~

Thinking of you and your family during these difficult times.  Your mom is in great hands….God’s hands.  God will take really good care of her. I know you will miss her greatly and will treasure all of the memories.

With love,
A Church friend
~~~
My deepest condolences on your loss. May she rest in peace and be remembered 🙏
~~

Hi everyone,

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving.

I’m sorry to send a message to everyone at once, but I’m not sure yet what this coming week will look like for lessons.

My mom passed away this morning, and there will be a lot for me to take care of in the days ahead.

The only thing I know for certain right now is that her burial will be in Maine next to my dad, so I’ll need to travel soon to make arrangements.

Thank you all for your kindness and patience during these last few whirlwind weeks with the ER, Fair Oaks Hospital, Sunrise, and hospice.

Your support has meant a great deal.

I’m hoping things will be more settled by next weekend, and I’ll keep you updated as I know more.

With gratitude,
Mary

~~~

12/3
Sorry for not reaching out. Honestly not sure what to say. Lessons no worries – totally understandable.
But the loss – kinda hit home reminding me of my grandma. So I feel terrible and cannot imagine what you are going through. Even E was taken a back and said he was sad and sorry for your loss. How are you doing?
Is there anything you need – a meal?
Let us know happy to help in any way. For now big hugs!!
Sincerely,
A Piano Mom

Apr 13

Mary Alice Tibbetts Kelly

 

In Memory of
Mary Alice Tibbetts Kelly
October 29, 1923 – November 29, 2025

Scripture Reading

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”
— 2 Timothy 4:7

Life Story

Mary Alice Tibbetts Kelly was born on October 29, 1923, the youngest of four children. Her three siblings were already college-aged when she arrived, making her a late and unexpected gift to the family.

At the age of six, Mary and her father both contracted pneumonia. Mary survived; her father did not. From that time forward, she was raised as an only child by her mother—an experience that fostered her independence, resilience, and quiet strength.

Mary graduated from Bates College with a degree in biology, an uncommon achievement for a woman of her generation. While attending her family church, Sixth Street Congregational Church in Auburn, Maine, she met a newly arrived young pastor, Francis Ross Kelly. Mary’s focus and determination were unmistakable, and the two were married on July 13, 1946.

Mary and Frank welcomed their only child, Mary Alice Kelly, at Central Maine Medical Center. Over the years, they made homes in Westerly, Rhode Island; Springfield, Massachusetts; and Barre, Massachusetts. After Frank’s retirement, they settled in Wilmington, Delaware. Following his passing, Mary moved to Fairfax, Virginia, to be near her daughter and family.

For the final fifteen years of her life, Mary lived with Tom and Mary (Kelly) O’Connor, sharing daily life, celebrations, and family milestones.

Music, Learning, and Creativity

A lifelong learner, Mary had a deep love of music. Although her daughter took piano lessons as a child, Mary learned by listening and observing. As an adult, she taught herself to play the piano and later used that knowledge to teach herself the organ. She became the organist at the local Roman Catholic Church—while her husband preached at the Congregational church across town.

Mary was also an accomplished knitter and sold many of her beautifully crafted creations. She loved to read and authored several published children’s stories, reflecting her imagination, creativity, and warmth.

Adventures and Resilience

Mary’s life included both adventure and remarkable perseverance. During Hurricane Carol in 1952, while living near Misquamicut, Rhode Island, she famously suggested, “Let’s go down and see the waves.” Rising floodwaters soon surrounded their car, and they would likely have been swept out to sea if not for a truck driver who pushed them to safety. Mary later preserved photographs of people rowing boats through flooded streets.

Her medical history reflected extraordinary resilience. Mary survived colon cancer twice—alongside her husband and sister-in-law, who did not. She later participated in a clinical trial for the cancer drug Camptosar and again survived. She learned to drive as an adult so she and her husband could travel cross-country from Connecticut to Seattle to visit her brother.

Later Years and Joys

After her daughter graduated from college, Mary and Frank traveled to exotic destinations with Globus Gateway travel groups. In later years, Mary especially enjoyed solving jigsaw puzzles, walking with her husband while collecting coins others had dropped, and playing Monopoly online with her grandson Michael Kelly O’Connor using FaceTime and iPads.

Music remained central to her life. She delighted in playing round-robin piano duets and trios with Chris Hagan, her grandson Michael, and her daughter Mary—moments filled with laughter, concentration, and shared joy.

Closing Reflection

Mary Alice Tibbetts Kelly lived a long life marked by curiosity, perseverance, creativity, and quiet courage. She survived much, learned constantly,  lived on her own terms and cherished her independence. Her legacy lives on through music played, stories written, puzzles solved, journeys taken, and the family who knew her strength and grace firsthand.

Mary’s Memorial Service was May 2, 2026 at 2pm.  Pender UMC, 12401 Alder Woods Drive, Fairfax, VA.

 

Apr 11

Today is Barbershop Quartet Day!

National Barbershop Quartet Day is observed annually on April 11.  Barbershop quartets have a way making the heart flutter.  Very often they transport us back to a simpler time or at the least make it stand still.

Barbershop quartets are a style of a cappella or unaccompanied vocal music.  Their music features songs with understandable lyrics and easily singable melodies.

Between 1900 and 1919 barbershop music found its popularity.  In the 1920s, it began to fade into obscurity.  However, the barbershop quartet saw a revival when the Society for the Preservation and Encouragement of Barber Shop Quartet Singing in America was founded.  This tongue twister of a men’s organization grew quickly as did other similar organizations promoting barbershop music as an artform.  Today, just under 25,000 men in the United States and Canada are members of the SPEBSQSA.  SPEBSQSA often called “SPEBS” for ease is now called The Barbershop Harmony Society.

Sweet Adelines International is a worldwide organization of women singers, established in 1945, committed to advancing the musical art form of barbershop harmony through education and performances. This independent, nonprofit music education association is one of the world’s largest singing organizations for women. “Harmonize the World” is the organization’s motto. It has a current membership of 24,000 and holds a yearly international singing competition.

Several years ago we were waiting for a small Windjammer Barefoot Cruises ship when we met some folks who lived relatively near us.  Karen was also a music teacher and we clicked right away.  She belonged to a Sweet Adelines group relatively near me and I joined up.

I loved everything about Sweet Adelines – the singing, the sequins, the wigs, the false eyelashes, the competitions, the conventions – everything but the huge time commitment.

In the early days, we made our own costumes, complete with rows of sequins.  Our “sewing room” – now my mom’s room – has an outline on the floor from where I had to spray on Fray Check.  Forgot to use a newspaper underneath.  Oops!  It looks like the crime scenes on TV where there’s a body outline.

Then, I got Cushing’s and had to take a lot of time off for surgery and such.  I tried going back a time or two but I just couldn’t handle it.

I still have my collection of medals from various competitions over 10 years and some days I really miss it.

I still love to listen to Barbershop and have a large collection in Spotify.

Here’s a favorite from the men:

 

 

My old group:

 

 

Sadly, the Windjammers have gone out of business.  In October 1998, Hurricane Mitch was responsible for the loss of the s/v Fantome, a four-masted schooner operated by Windjammer. All 31 crew members aboard perished; passengers and other crew members had earlier been offloaded in Belize.

The ship, which was sailing in the center of the hurricane, experienced up to 50-foot (15 m) waves and over 100 mph (160 km/h) winds, causing the Fantome to founder off the coast of Honduras.

The story was recorded in a compelling book The Ship and The Storm by Jim Carrier.

Apr 06

Today is National Tartan Day

We were in NYC April 6, 2019 for our daughter-in-law’s birthday and the Tartan Day Parade.  Look who the Grand Marshall was!

I am so sorry we missed 2015 when Sean Connery was Grand Marshall

Get ready to don your kilts and play the bagpipes – National Tartan Day is here, and it’s a whirlwind of plaid pleasure! Celebrated in the United States on April 6, this day throws us back to 1320, when Scotland shouted out its independence with the Declaration of Arbroath. This wasn’t just a historical moment for Scots; it set the stage for America’s own break for freedom, with a hefty slice of the Founding Fathers rocking Scottish roots!

Tartan Day Takes Off

Canada kicked off the Tartan Day party in the mid-1980s, flaunting its 15% Scottish bloodline. It’s a day for Scots far and wide to revel in their heritage and remember April 6, 1320, when Scotland declared itself free to rule. The U.S. didn’t want to miss out, so in 1998, thanks to the Coalition of Scottish Americans, National Tartan Day became a thing, tipping its hat to the stellar contributions of Scottish Americans.

This plaid-clad festivity has since gone global, popping up from Canada to Argentina, where a surprising 100,000 Scots descendants live. Scotland itself got on the bandwagon in 2004, painting the town tartan and officially joining the celebration.

What’s in a Tartan?

Tartan Day is all about that iconic crisscrossed cloth, a symbol of Scottish clan kinship. No clan tartan? No problem! The day welcomes all with universal tartans like The Black Watch or The Caledonia.

Party Like It’s 1320

Though not a public holiday, Tartan Day is a perfect excuse to sport a kilt and dive into Scottish culture. While Australia opts for a July 1 celebration, the rest of the world sticks to April 6, honoring Scotland’s rich history and vibrant traditions.

How to Rock Tartan Day

– Hit a parade and be dazzled by the kaleidoscope of kilts and the stirring sounds of bagpipes and drums.

– Embrace the kilt life, complete with a sporran – because who needs pockets when you have a stylish Gaelic purse?

– Feast on haggis and black pudding, Scotland’s culinary badges of honor.

Mind-Blowing Scottish Snippets

– Tartans are a clan’s calling card, with each pattern telling a family’s tale.

– The New Year’s anthem “Auld Lang Syne”? Pure Scottish gold, penned by poet Robert Burns.

– Bagpipes may scream Scotland, but they boast ancient Egyptian roots.

– Gaelic still echoes in Scotland, a living piece of Celtic heritage.

– And yes, Scotland’s national animal is the mythical unicorn, a nod to the nation’s love for legends and lore.

So, whether you’re a Scot by blood or just in spirit, Tartan Day is your passport to a world where history, culture, and myth blend into one fabulous festival. Strap on your tartan, and let’s make some noise!

Black Watch tartan

Black Watch tartan

Apr 04

It’s National School Librarian Day!

I spent many years helping the school librarian in my son’s elementary school.

They do fantastic things!

 

April 4th is National School Librarian Day.  It is set aside to honor all school librarians.

School librarians spend long hours keeping the library organized, helping our children find the resources they need to keep learning and are dedicated to creating an environment they can learn in every day of the year.  All of this hard work often goes unappreciated.

The school librarians aid our youth in many ways, and their patience sets an example for our children on a daily basis.

Read the entire article here: NATIONAL SCHOOL LIBRARIAN DAY – April 4 | National Day Calendar

Apr 01

It’s April Fools Day!

Q: How many critics does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Critics can’t change a light bulb. But they’ll watch you do it and tell you a hundred ways you could have done it better.

Mar 12

AARRGGHH!

 

 

Feb 22

Those Genius Grands

Read more about those grandkids and infinity here.

 

Jan 13

Not Friday the 13th in 2026

air-florida2

Today, January 13, holds a couple anniversaries for me.  I remember the day of the Air Florida Flight 90 Crash in 1982 so well.

We were living in the Metro DC area and our young son had just turned 2 in December.  Tom, my DH, worked in DC and I was never sure the route that he drove home from work. Sometimes, he left his car at the Vienna Metro lot and took the subway. It all depended on traffic, what he had to do that day, how late he was running.

Light snow started falling in the early morning. By noon, moderate-to-heavy snow had spread over the entire area, and by early afternoon the snowfall rate was very heavy.  There was enough snow to close Washington National Airport (now Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport)

I think I had the TV off and on in the early afternoon because I was worried about the snow.  Tom worked for the government then.  Many federal offices in downtown Washington had closed early because of the quickly developing blizzard conditions – but I didn’t know if Tom’s was one of them. Although we were both from New England, had lived in Milwaukee and knew very well how to drive in the snow, I was concerned about other drivers.

According to the TV news, an extremely cold Arctic outbreak had spread across the eastern half of the United States, dropping temperatures to -25°F in Chicago and near 0°F in Atlanta. There was a major freeze in the central Florida citrus groves. At National Airport, the temperature dropped to 2°F.

There was a one-hour period during the early afternoon when the snow dropped visibility at National Airport to a sixteenth of a mile. Approximately 2-to-3 inches of snow fell during that hour. Then, the snow ended abruptly in the mid-afternoon.

During this day, I was also heavy with memories.  On this date in 1976, I had had a miscarriage.  We were living in Silver Spring, MD, then.  I remember waking up in the night in pain, bleeding.  We called my gynecologist in Alexandria, VA (we hadn’t lived in MD long) and he said to get to Alexandria (VA) Hospital at once.

We packed up our dog – she wasn’t trusted to stay at home alone.  But her antics are for another day.

We raced around the Beltway at top speed to get to the hospital.  I was admitted and I don’t remember a thing until the morning when I heard that I’d had a “missed abortion”.  The doctor (or someone at the hospital) had performed a D&C (dilation and curettage) and the baby was gone.  Even though I was pretty drugged up for the next several days, the mental pain was more than I ever could imagine.

I always wondered if this miscarriage was related to an accident we were in at Christmas.  We were in Boston to visit Tom’s family and there was snow, of course.  A young woman hit our car from behind.  None of my doctors would confirm, or deny, that this was a contributing factor in the miscarriage but I always wondered.

I was remembering these events on January 13, 1982, tending to my young son, worrying about my husband when the news got worse. There was no internet then, no cell phone, only radio and TV reports.

The Air Florida’s scheduled departure time was delayed about 1 hour and 45 minutes because of the temporary closing of Washington National Airport. Moderate snowfall continued and the air temperature was 24 °F.

From Wikipedia:

The plane had trouble leaving the gate when the ground services tow motor could not get traction on the ice. For approximately 30 to 90 seconds, the crew attempted to back away from the gate using the reverse thrust of the engines, which proved futile. Boeing operations bulletins had warned against using reverse thrust in those kinds of conditions.

Eventually, a tug ground unit properly equipped with snow chains was used to push the aircraft back from the gate. After leaving the gate, the aircraft waited in a taxi line with many other aircraft for 49 minutes before reaching the takeoff runway. The pilot apparently decided not to return to the gate for reapplication of deicing, fearing that the flight’s departure would be even further delayed. More snow and ice accumulated on the wings during that period, and the crew were aware of that fact when they decided to make the takeoff. Heavy snow was falling during their takeoff roll at 3:59 p.m.

…

At 4:01 p.m. EST, it crashed into the 14th Street Bridge across the Potomac River, 0.75 nautical miles (1,390 m) from the end of the runway. The plane hit six cars and a truck on the bridge, and tore away 97 feet (30 m) of the bridge’s rail and 41 feet (12 m) of the bridge’s wall. The aircraft then plunged into the freezing Potomac River. It fell between two of the three spans of the bridge, between the I-395 northbound span (the Rochambeau Bridge) and the HOV north- and southbound spans, about 200 feet (61 m) offshore. All but the tail section quickly became submerged.

air-florida

Meanwhile, at 4:29, the subway system (Metro) suffered its first fatal crash at the Federal Triangle station near Tom’s office.  In my mind, Tom could have taken the subway…

The news on TV was just getting worse and worse when…our power went out.

When Tom finally did get home, safe and sound, it was cold, dark, cranky baby, hysterical mom, frantic dog…but our little family made it through that day.

We were lucky – many others didn’t 🙁

From the description of the video a different video:

Air Florida Flight 90 was a scheduled U.S. domestic passenger flight from Washington National Airport to Fort Lauderdale – Hollywood International Airport with an intermediate stopover at Tampa International Airport. On January 13, 1982, the Boeing 737-200 registered as N62AF, crashed into the 14th Street Bridge over the Potomac River. The aircraft had originally been purchased by United Airlines in 1969 and flown with the registration number of N9050U. It was sold to Air Florida in 1980.

The aircraft struck the 14th Street Bridge, which carries Interstate 395 between Washington, D.C. and Arlington County. It crushed seven occupied vehicles on the bridge and destroyed 97 feet (30 m) of guard rail[3] before it plunged through the ice into the Potomac River. The crash occurred less than two miles (3 km) from the White House and within view of both the Jefferson Memorial and The Pentagon. The aircraft was carrying 74 passengers and five crewmembers. Four passengers and one flight attendant survived the crash. Four motorists from the bridge were killed. The survivors were rescued from the icy river by civilians and professionals. President Ronald Reagan commended these acts during his State of the Union speech a few days later.

The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) determined that the cause of the accident was pilot error. The pilots failed to switch on the engines’ internal ice protection systems, used reverse thrust in a snowstorm prior to takeoff, and failed to abort the takeoff even after detecting a power problem while taxiing and visually identifying ice and snow buildup on the wings.
Major real-life air disasters are depicted in this TV series. Each episode features a detailed dramatized reconstruction of the incident based on cockpit voice recorders and air traffic control transcripts, as well as eyewitnesses recounts and interviews with aviation experts. Sometimes, interviews with investigators who dealt with the disaster or even actual footage are featured. In Canada, where the series originated, the show is called ‘Mayday’. In the US it is ‘Air Emergency’. Everywhere else it is called ‘Air Crash Investigation’.

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