Death of a Swan

The past couple of days have been pretty kicked-back and slow. Today, we drove up to Baden-Baden to enjoy an afternoon at the spa (otherwise known as the "thermal baths"). It started snowing while we were there. This was pretty nice, to be outdoors in the hot spring water with snow falling on your head. The snow didn't seem quite so nice, though, on the drive home. (Nothing dramatic....just very slow going on the autobahn.)

In case you were wondering, there are several bathhouses at Baden-Baden. Some are nude. Some are not. We go to the one that is not. If you ever come to visit, we will take you on the short drive up to Baden-Baden and you can choose your own preference. If you go nude, though, do not expect Theresa or I to come with you.

Since it's a slow day, I have to go to my filler material. Here is a photo-essay that I call "death of a swan".

Christmas Miracles

I've always been a sentimental sap for Christmas. More than any other holiday, Christmas is about connections with family and friends and heritage. Each and every year there are the rituals of gift giving and holiday dinners and cookies and tree decorating and kids and nieces and nephews and church going. The world can be pretty crazy and life can change pretty fast. But there is something in Christmas that provides security and comfort and stability.

Christmas this year is bittersweet. It is exciting to be in France and even better to have Amanda here visiting with us. However, there is an empty chair at the table where Jake should be sitting. We miss him a lot. We miss a lot of other people too.

There are a lot of things I could write about for Christmas. I could tell you about the Christmas dinners where all the expatriots get together. Or I could describe how crazy the shopping is on Christmas Eve. (Since everything is closed on Dec 25 and 26, there is a rush for bread and milk at the groceries.) Or I could tell you about the nice little gift exchange between Theresa, Amanda, and me.

This posting, however, will be about Midnight Mass in the Cathedral.

I'm not going to pretend to be pius or anything. An heaven knows I'm not the worlds most adherent Catholic. It's a purely selfish thing. No matter how much things differ between France and the USA, the mass is pretty much the same. Yes, the language is different ... but there is a rythym and musical quality that trascends everything else. Strasbourg or Rome or Greenwood or Evansville....it is all the same. You go to a Catholic mass anywhere in the world and you get the same product. I find great comfort in that.

And so, on Christmas Eve the streets of Strasbourg finally start to quiet down. The stalls of the Christmas Markets all close at 5 pm and the throngs of tourists finally disappear. The streets, though empty, are still quite bright from the Christmas lights that hang across from side to side.

The Rue Mercière runs right up the the front doors of the cathedral. It is beautifully lit with arches of lights with stars in the center of the street. The street roughly traces one of the old Roman roads that used that used to run through the village. The other main Roman road ran perpendicularly just behind what is now the cathedral. It was this confluence that eventually caused Strasbourg to be named "Strasbourg" - the city of the roads.

At the time of the very first Christmas, there was supposedly a temple of Hercules where the cathedral now stands. A few centuries later, it was replaced by a Romanesque church and, sometime in the 1200's the construction of the present day cathedral was started. Viewed from the outside, the cathedral is stunning. The pink sandstone is carved so finely that it looks like lace. Moreover, the exterior is covered with allegorical statues that symbolize the stories of the bible, carved for the faithful in a time when literacy was rare.

The inside of the cathedral is, forgive me for being blunt, dark and drab. There is not a lot of ornament. An Italian or Spanish church would have an ornate high altar with paintings and gold leaf. Not so here. Where the high altar would stand, there is nothing but a simple cross. This Spartan furnishing is very much a result of what the history books call the "protestant reformation". In the years following Martin Luther there was bitter conflict in this area of Alsace, along with the other German principalities and the Netherlands and Switzerland. Much of the "idolatrous decoration" was, I believe, removed by the protestants in the periods when they held the cathedral.

The protestant vs. catholic violence continued up until the start of the 20th century. As a side note, it seems that the protestant sects fought pretty bitterly amongst themselves as well. So much so that a couple of small sects from the area - one led by a guy named Jacob Amman and the other led by a guy named Menno Simon - decided to pack up all their faithful followers and move to America. And so it goes that one group became the Amish and the other became the Mennonites. The locals tell me that the language of the Pennsylvania Dutch is really Alsacien. They loved the movie "Witness"with Harrison Ford. No subtitles needed for them to understand the Amish dialect.

But back to Midnight Mass.....

We arrived at the cathedral at about 11:30 or so. You have to enter through these small side doors. (I have never seen a cathedral open it's front main doors. They are just too large. Maybe 20 to 25 feet tall and 12 feet from side to side. ) The place was completely packed. There was a choir performance before the mass and we were hoping that perhaps some squatters would give up their seats when the mass started. It was a good strategy and, in the end, we all got seats.

The cathedral, which is usually very dark, was very brightly lit by stage lights. Perhaps this was for television. But with the lights I could make out details I'd never noticed before. For example, the ceilings showed traces of faded murals and in the vaulting, where the ribs come together, there were faces carved in the stone as if they are looking down from heaven.

The Archbishop of Strasbourg was the lead celebrant with 11 other priests assisting. The opening procession was a parade priests. But once started, it was the same Midnight mass you would get anywhere else in the world. Sure, it was in French, but it was still recognizable.

Notre Père qui es aux cieux, que ton nom soit sanctifié, que ton règne vienne, que ta volonté soit faite sur la terre comme au ciel.Donne-nous aujourd'hui notre pain de ce jour.Pardonne-nous nos offenses, comme nous pardonnons aussi à ceux qui nous ont offensés.Et ne nous soumets pas à la tentation, mais délivre-nous du Mal,

And, so as we are sitting there, it occurs to me that this same celebration has occurred every year in this same building for the past 700 years or so. That means that 700 years ago, the same carved faces in the vaulting were looking down on the poor townsfolks and peasants who, no doubt, were also standing in wait for a seat. Furthermore, if you allow for the earlier churches, it means that the same celebration has occurred in the same spot, more or less, for perhaps 1500 years.

There is a comfort in that. There is a permanence. It is comforting to know that the little dramas that seem so big in our lives are, in the scheme of things, just a small part of a larger story. 700 years ago the people standing for a seat were probably also worrying about their children.

The first reading was in French. The second reading was in German. The gospel was in French and German. This was very fitting for a Christmas in Alsace, where to this day people struggle to balance their German and French heritage. But it doesn't matter the language. You recognize the story.

Il y avait, dans cette même contrée, des bergers qui passaient dans les champs les veilles de la nuit pour garder leurs troupeaux. Et voici, un ange du Seigneur leur apparut, et la gloire du Seigneur resplendit autour d'eux.
Ils furent saisis d'une grande frayeur. Mais l'ange leur dit: Ne craignez point; car je vous annonce une bonne nouvelle, qui sera pour tout le peuple le sujet d'une grande joie: c'est qu'aujourd'hui, dans la ville de David, il vous est né un Sauveur, qui est le Christ, le Seigneur.

The sermon was in French, and it was a bit long. The archbishop had a captive audience and he was not going to pass up the chance. By Amanda's count, the sermon went on for about 40 minutes. She was bored. But I really liked the sermon.

The theme of the sermon was Christ as the bringer of peace. The archbishop started out with his take on the modern world and his opinion that we could certainly stand for a lot more peace in the world. I suppose this is true. Was there ever a time when it was not true?

Then he told a story as to how, when he was first named as Archbishop to Strasbourg, he made a call on one of the city fathers. This one in particular had been mayor after the war and later a representative to the European parliment. The old man told the Bishop that in his youth, he had seen French and Germans die by the hundreds, and then the thousands, and then the hundreds of thousands. There was not enough room in the world for all the sorrow. And then, with time, they learned to live in peace. So much peace had come that they all now come to celebrate midnight mass together. He said that in the past 65 years of his life he had seen a miracle.

And this got me to thinking....

I've always thought of miracles as things that happen instantaneously. Blind can see. Lame can walk. God snaps his fingers and things happen.

But really, the biggest miracles come not with the snap of a finger, but with the steady hand of God guiding things over time. I remember when my brother Bob was 10, I thought it would be a miracle if he lived to be 12. Now he is a grown man in his 40s with a beautiful family. If you knew him at 10, you would agree that this is a miracle. As another example, after 45 years, I still am blessed in this world with my parents and all my brothers and sisters. By any standard, this is a miracle. My own children are no longer children, but rather struggling toward adult lives of their own. There is much that is miraculous in this. There is much to be thankful for.

I suppose that miracles are not so rare as I once thought. In truth, each life is a miracle in the making. And I count myself blessed by all the miracles that are my family and Theresa's family.

Eventually, the bishop finished his sermon. Then came communion. (This was chaos. Even at church, Europeans do not know how to form a line.) Then the bishop and all the priests and altar-persons lined up for the recessional at the ending of the mass. Now, all of the music prior to that point had been a highly-polished production by the choir. The recessional hymn, though, was for everyone to join in. I knew the song well. Even though the words were strange, it was the same song that ended every midnight mass I'd ever been to.

Stille Nacht ! Heilige Nacht !

Alles schäft; einsam wacht

nur das traute, hochheilige Paar;

holder Knabe im lokkigen Haar,

schlaf in himmlischer Ruh,

schlaf in himmlischer Ruh.

I turned to follow the procession out and saw that they had opened the huge, main doors of the cathedral. Through the open doors you could see the lights of the Rue Mercière. There were arches of lights and stars and garland stretching out to the horizon. It was magic. It was as if all the roads of the world came together there and ran through the main doors and up the center aisle. That same road where Roman soldiers may have stopped one cold night to look up at a strange star in the southeast.

And I know too that the road runs the other way. It runs to Greenwood Indiana, and Evansville, and Florida, and North Dakota, and Ohio, and Texas. To all the places where my heart is. To all the places where miracles are in progress.

Merry Christmas to all of you, with love.

Germany

Amanda has been nursing a cold since she arrived. A headcold of the kind that makes you wish you could cut off your own head at the neck. I feel for her.

On Tuesday we took a trip to Frankfurt. I won't write much of this trip because, frankly, there is not much to say. We got lost in the city and couldn't find the Christmas Markets. The best we could do was to find a decent oriental restaurant for lunch. In the scheme of things, Frankfurt is a large city. It has 4 to 5 million in poplulation, which is easily ten times that of the Strasbourg area. Consequently, one can't just trust to luck in finding and following the right signs. Prior proper planning.......definitely required. The only good thing about the trip was that we stopped off at a Walmart in Karlsruhe on the way home. Seems that Walmart has a fairly large presence in Germany resulting from their purchase of a local chain of "hypermarkets". In Karlsruhe, they have, by far, the largest Walmart I have ever seen in my life. Heaven can be defined as anyplace where you can buy Charmin toilet paper. By this definition, Karlsruhe is heaven.

Wednesay was a lost day. Theresa and I had to get our "carte de sejour"...which is the final document that allows us to stay in France (legally) for more than three months. Like all good beauracracies, the French immigration service required us wait in line for four hours. Specifically, we had to be in front of the Prefecture by 7:30, stand outside until the doors open at 8:00, wait for another 30 minutes until the police sorted out the mob trying to get in (Europe in general and France, specifically, do not form waiting lines very well.) , and then finally, wait another 3.5 hours until our number came up for service. I cannot bad-mouth France about this, though, because it seems that the USA has become far worse for entrance since 9/11/2001. In the end, we have the required visa in our passports. That is all that matters.

The adventure for Thursday, then, was to go to Freiburg, Germany for the Christmas Markets. This took a bit of courage after the disaster that was Frankfurt. Freiburg, however, is a much smaller city. The city center was easy to find, allowing for a couple of U-turns thrown in to rectify the lousy driving. Once found the city center was absolutely charming.

First off, Freiburg sits in a picturesque setting at the foothills of the mountains that make up the Black Forest. Put some mountains in the background and any city will automatically look ten times better.

Second, Freiburg has a beautiful old cathedral in the city center.

The cathedral (or Munster as the Germans call it) has a bit of folklore to it. It seems that, during WWII, the entire city center was destroyed in air raids. Destroyed, in this case, means absolutely flattened. ABSOLUTELY FLATTENED. Miraculously, not a single bomb touched the cathedral. And this is a HUGE building. Statistically, it is impossible to explain unless you believe in higher powers.

Here is a picture of a stained glass window in the Munster. I really like this one because it has images of pretzels in it. (Look toward the bottom and you can just make them out.)

The Christmas Market in Freiburg is very much more intimate than the markets in Strasbourg. It is much smaller and feels much more home-grown. The biggest measure of this is in the food. The Freiburg market offers an assortment of food including an incredible array of sausages, sauerkraut, fried potatoes, beer, mulled wine, chocolate-dipped bananas, and dried fruits.
The selection of ornaments was not so good. We set out looking for a tree-topper. In the end, we went home empty-handed. However, we did manage to fill up on some pretty good sausages and chocolates. All-in-all, I find myself agreeing with my German friend who said that the Christmas Markets in Germany offer more charm and authenticity than do the ones in Strasbourg.

And finally, the markets in Freiburg win my heart because they have springerles. There is nothing more peculiar and special in my Christmas memories than these rock-hard cookies. I cannot remember a Christmas where these cookies were not made by either my mother or her mother or her relatives. Moreover, I don't think I've ever seen one outside the context of a family get-together or gift exchange. Yet here they were, in Freiburg, for sale as a common item as if people would acutally choose to eat them out of taste, rather than ritual.

The picture above shows 12 springerles. The first 6 were purchased in Freiburg, Germany. The remaining 6 were sent by my momma in a Christmas care package. I defy anyone to tell the difference.

Amanda Arrives

On Sunday, December 19, Amanda arrived to visit. When she got off the plane, she was as tired as any college kid who had just finished finals week and got on a plane and sat next to people who wouldn't let her sleep because they kept talking loudly in Hindi while the kids behind her kicked the seat. She was pretty tired. Sick too. We went out briefly to get something to eat and picked up a small Christmas tree on the way home. When we got back to the apartment she was up all night with what sounded like the mother of all head colds.

So, today we all slept in. Lazy days in Strasbourg. The only real item on the agenda today was to decorate the tree. So, at about 4:00 in the afternoon we finally motivated to take the tram into town and brave the Christmas Markets.

Monday seems to be a good day to hit the markets. The crowds seemed to be considerably smaller than the week-end and you could actually walk without feeling like you were surfing on the waves of humanity. Here is the entrace to the marketplace at Place Broglie. Theresa is the tiny head in the lower left.

The ChristKindelMarik is a traditional name from a traditional story that best as I can tell goes something like this. Way back when, if you were a child in the Teutonic regions of Europe then you had two good reasons to look forward to December. The first was St. Nicholas. The second was the ChristKindel.

St. Nicholas is the one that especially warms my heart. On the eve of December 6, St. Nicholas would come and leave gifts and candy in the shoes overnight. This brings a tear to my eye because, growing up, I could never really figure out why St. Nicholas came to visit my family and not my friends from school. My momma explained it as having something to do with the fact that we came from a Germanic background. Now, in my old age in a city far from home, I feel this heritage more strongly than ever before. St. Nicholas is celebrated on December 6 in all the Teutonic regions of Germany, Czech Republic, Austria, Switzerland, and..of course...in Alsace. You pick St. Nicholas out in the crowd of decorations because he is the guy that looks like Santa but with a bishop's miter instead of a floppy hat. Also, all of the boulangeries (bread stores) prominently feature a special brioche for St. Nicholas day....an 8 inch tall man-shaped sweet bread.

Ok...enough of St. Nick. This is the story of the ChristKindelMarik.

The ChristKindel is the Christ Child. If you were a good kid, on Christmas Eve the ChristKindel would come and leave you presents. If you were a bad kid, well then you had better beware of Hans Trapp. (Note...when you see something in a different color, that usually suggests that you can click on the text to link to something else. Give it a try. Click on it.) Long before there was a Santa or a Pêre Noël there was the ChristKindel. I suppose that the Anglicized story of "Chris Kringle" derrives from this as well.

Anyway, the ChristKindelMarïk has been in Strasbourg's Place Broglie since 1570 they say. It is literally, the Christ Child Market - the place where one goes to get the gifts for Christmas eve. The name, then, is quite authentic. The lights, I believe, are a more recent addition.

When this story started, it was all about a simple trip to get decorations for the Christmas tree. Here is your typical booth in the KristKindelMarïk. As you can see, there is no worry of going home empty-handed.

Here are the ladies in the act of shopping.

Needless to say, we now have a tree with a base, lights, and ornaments. It is very pretty. And that is what is important. I've come to understand that one should not ask what things cost. One should definitely never ask what things cost. One should just treasure the joy of family and the beauty of the decorations and the warmth of tradition.

Les Marchés de Noël

History, tradition, and commerce all converge in December for a phenomenon known as the Christmas Markets. (Les Marchés de Noël). The Christmas Markets spring up all over Alsace and Germany starting the first week of Advent. Each village will have their own version. Some last only a week-end. Others continue each and everyday from the end of November to the New Year. Some have the feeling of a local festival where the townspeople turn out to peddle their arts and crafts. Others have more the feel of the Indiana State Fair Midway with hucksters and peddlers and busloads of tourists.

Like all potentially profitable traditions, there is a bit of controversy over the Christmas Markets. Strasbourg at times will refer to itself as the "Capital of Christmas". I have a friend from Germany who sneers and calls this crass commercialism because "everybody knows that Christmas was invented in Germany". There seems to be a strong basis for the argument that the Christmas Tree came from Germany and Scandinavia. However, the first written records of Christmas Trees are to be found on the French side of the border.

Christmas trees were sold in Alsace in 1531. Alsace was at that time a part of Germany. Today it is part of France. The trees were sold at local markets and set up in homes undecorated....The oldest record of a decorated Christmas tree came from a 1605 diary found in Strasburg, France (Germany in 1605). The tree was decorated with paper roses, apples and candies.

I suppose a little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone. Though, by historical standards, it would be hard to say that France and Germany are friendly rivals.

Anyway, back to the Christmas Markets......

Strasbourg pulls no punches. The town is crammed with little wooden huts from which people sell Christmas ornaments, crafts, junk, woodwork, candles, junk, artwork, candy, quiltwork, lacework, junk, cookies, crepes, jams, jellies, pizza, and...finally... more junk. Don't get me wrong, all the junk is good junk. But it puts you into sensory overload pretty quickly. The town is a Christmas Machine. And, as testimony to it's success, the town is crammed with tourists from all over Europe. I think that, in December, French is the language that you will hear least in the streets. English (at least the British version), German, and Italian are heard all over. The public parking is filled with tour buses from Italy and Germany and the West of France.

Above, you see a picture of Strasbourg markets on a "slow day".

But even with the swarms of people, you can't ignore the charm. The streets of the city are decorated with lights and the old half-timbered buildings are decorated in all fashion. And it doesn't hurt to have one of the most magnificent cathedrals in Christendom as a backdrop. It really is quite pretty. You have to have a hard heart if this doesn't put you into the Christmas spirit.

Today, we went out of town toward the villages on the advice of some local friends. They have become a little disenchanted with the commercialism of Strasbourg and prefer the smaller, village markets that have a bit more authentic local charm. Kaysersberg is a small village that is in the Southern part of Alsace near the larger city of Colmar. It sits in the middle of the vineyards at the foot of the Vosges mountains. Kaysersberg is a typical, charming Alsatian village. Houses that date back to the 1500's, surrounding vineyards, old mill stream, beautiful old romanesque church, and a ruined château (castle) standing watch on the high ground.

I suppose on a normal day the city has about 5,000 inhabitants. On the week-ends of its Christmas Market I suppose it must be 5 or 10 times that. This is where the people who live in Strasbourg come to. The irony is that Strasbourg is much better prepared to handle 500,000 visitors than these small villages are to handle 50,000. But no one seems to mind.

The picture above shows one of the side streets in Kaysersberg. If it looks like it is cold, well, it was colder than it looks. It snowed like a blizzard for a little while. The wind came off the mountain and gusted down the streets. With every gust of wind you would heard the locals cry "oh-la-la" and scamper for a wall to hide behind. Honest. I'm not making that up.

Every story should end on a happy note. The picture above shows my baby after a successful day of hunting and gathering. The bags in her right hand contain the "prey" that were apprehended in the pottery and ornament booths. And so, with empty wallets but warm hearts, we return to Strasbourg to await tomorrow's arrival of Amanda.

Geography 101

At the risk of being boring, here is a little geography lesson. Sorry bout that. Just bear with me.

If you say "Paris", then people immediately associate it with France. If you say "Strasbourg" however, many people will place the city in either Germany (based on the sound of the name) or Austria (based on confusion with Salzburg).

Strasbourg however, is in France. It sits in the broad plain of the Rhine River Valley and is capital of the French region of Alsace. You can literally walk across the bridge into Germany. Thanks to the European Union, you no longer have to show your passport when you cross.

Though Strasbourg is in the flatlands, the dominating feature of Alsace is the mountains. The Rhine river starts somewhere in Switzerland and cuts a valley that is bordered by the Vosges mountains on the West (France's side) and the Black Forest (Germany's side). These are not your stunning-granite-Rocky-Mountains. Rather, they are more like the smooth-tree-covered-Smokey-Mountains.

In the valleys they grow corn and vegetables and boatloads of cabbage. There is actually a village named "Krautergersheim" which, roughly translated, means "village of the sauerkraut makers". In the foothills and low sides of the mountains they grow grapes and produce, arguably, the best sweet white wines of any region in the world. On the tops of the mountains they grow.....well....lots of trees. Trees and hiking trails. Hiking trails that are marked with mysterious signs that make it easy to get lost.

Every now and then, just so the hikers can find their way, they place a castle on the top of a mountain. Actually, the French call them Chateaus. The Germans call the Schlosses. Whatever you call them, you gain an appreciation for the poor folks that had to drag the stones up there to build them.

Above is the view from Château du Haut -Koenigsbourg. In the background, you can see the valley and, if not for the mists, you would see the little villages nestled amidst the vineyards.

In the two photos above, you have the view from the ancient convent of Mont Saint Odile ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Odile). Somewhere out there behind Theresa's head is the city of Strasbourg. Somewhere to her left (right side of picture) is Germany. Somewhere to her right (left side of the picture) is Greenwood, Indiana.

The Who, What, When, Where, and Why

The Beverly Hillbillies were lucky. They had a 2 minute song that told the whole story of how they came to move to California. Short, simple, and catchy banjo music.

Come and listen to my story bout.....

Theresa and I were happy as clams living in Greenwood, Indiana. Then came an opportunity to work on a year-long project at Lilly's factory in Fegersheim, France. (Thus the title of this blog as "yearinstrasbourg" because Fegersheim is a suburb of Strasbourg and the project is scheduled to run from September 2005 until September 2006). So, here we are now....living in Strasbourg since middle of September.

First, I would like to introduce you to the other people who are sharing the same adventure. These are the other people who, like us, have come here for a year and are part of the expatriot team. From left to right are:
Andrea, (spouse Tim not pictured), Chris (spouse of Jill), Jill, Joe, Irma (Mother of Gabi), Pat, Wade, Tree, Jim, Theresa (spouse of...)

Note that Gabi is not pictured because she is holding the camera.

People who are not qualified as "spouse of" or "mother of" are part of the Lilly project team.

As you can see, if it weren't for Theresa and I, the average age for the group wouldn't even make it into the 30s. But that's ok. Old age and duplicity can beat youth on any day.

Theresa and I are living in Strasbourg in an apartment. Perhaps later I will post on the shock of returning to apartment living. But for now, I give you only a picture of our humble abode.

17 Boulevard Ohmacht, 67000 Strasbourg, France. This is our address. The apartment itself is on the 3rd floor. (3rd if you are counting floors in American style. Europeans say we live on the 2nd floor. Regardless, I still count 3 floors by the stairs going up and down every day.)
The building itself was built nearly 100 years ago in what was called the "imperial period". At that time, the mailing address would have been Germany instead of France. (Strasbourg alternated between France and Germany 5 times between 1870 and 1944. Of course, the verb "alternated" provides no comment on the flesh and blood cost of these changes.)

As a side note, the 2006 Tour de France is scheduled to pass down the street shown above on July 1 of next year. I fear that the parking situation will really be bad on that day.

Hello and Welcome

OK....I've always been a terrible pen pal. Never been much for writing letters to friends and family. So it goes. The only thing that saved me was the fact that a.) nothing much ever happened and b.) family and friends were close enough to visit with periodically. Life was good.

This changed in September, 2005, when Theresa and I packed it up to move to Strasbourg, France, for a year. So, even though nothing much ever happens the background scenery is certainly a little different. And also, it is much more difficult to see the friends and family to "catch up on things".

So, with that in mind, this blog is intended for the friends and family of Theresa and me. If you happen to be here and are not a friend or a family member...then bugger off to somewhere else. If you are one of the intended audience, then we hope not to bore you or be pretentious. We just want to stay in touch....

So, the intent of this page is to simplify things. If you please, bookmark this page and check back periodically. We will update it from time to time with our latest news and events. Think of it as kind of a "blanket e-mail" that we are sending to you. Sending, of course , with love and best wishes from Theresa and Jim.