Play in the Time of COVID
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Play in the Time of COVID

Those of you who met my mother, or saw her photos online, would all agree that Sylvia Myers Willoughby was a determinedly fashionable woman. In the rehab hospital, healing a cracked pelvis at 88, mama (pronounced as in “Downtown Abbey” with emphasis on the second syllable) chose her outfits carefully and always added accessories.

“See that Syl sits on the front row.”
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“See that Syl sits on the front row.”

So picture my dear mama (emphasis on the second syllable – as elocuted in Downton Abbey) Sylvia Myers Willoughby, age around 88, sitting comfortably in a corner of this settee, crime novel in hand. It’s cocktail time at the Lake, which invariably involves gin and tonics and a tray of sharp, sweating Vermont cheddar perched atop Triscuits.

How the Angels Dragged Me to Higher Ground
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How the Angels Dragged Me to Higher Ground

It was about six years ago. I was riding a bicycle across the multiple train tracks in a small, charming rural town in Cajun Prairie country, in Louisiana. I had my laundry carefully folded and packed into two large plastic bags that were hanging from my handlebars. Apparently, I hadn’t really thought through the mechanics of this transport.