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Sotterley Plantation memorialized as UNESCO Slave Route Project Site
for role in Middle Passage 
       Historic Sotterley Plantation, along the Patuxent River in Southern Maryland is the 94-acre site of bountiful colonial revival gardens, music and wine festivals, picturesque weddings, an organic farm, special events and of course, tours of the historic 18th-cen­tury manor house and grounds.

Tinder lights the fire

      Love is tricky. The adage goes, you never know where you’ll find it. Maybe it’s out on a dock by the Bay or under the awnings of a local coffee shop. For me, love was where I’d least expected to find it: Tinder.

Army combat veteran uses humor to talk about a difficult subject and to generate awareness of how vets don’t want to be treated differently

     It’s a packed house and the crowd is warmed up as the emcee introduces the next comic at D.C.’s celebrated Comedy Improv.      “Please put your hands together for Adam Keys, ladies and gentlemen!” Cheers and applause.      As Keys climbs the stairs below stage left, the audience registers something different about him. Is it his rocking gait? His height? His outfit, maybe?

Separated from Earth by four billion miles, the ­New ­Horizons spacecraft explores the outer limits

     Stakes were high and tension palpable New Year’s Day at the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Laboratory in Laurel, as Sarah Hamilton and her colleagues waited for a long-distance radio transmission confirming either a successful mission or a failure.
Observing long-standing tradition is a good thing. It provides comfort, a feeling of stability in a rapidly changing world. However, tradition followed with unyielding rigidity can blind us to new opportunities and pleasures. In short, it can become synonymous with being in a rut.

When I was 10 years old I asked my parents for a pair of walkie-talkies for Christmas.  My friend Randy and I were planning on protecting the neighborhood by going out on reconnaissance missions, not really knowing what "reconnaissance" meant, but in every war movie we watched whoever went on one had a walkie-talkie.

We lived on a farm with a barnyard full of animals when I was young, but moved to a small subdivision where no farm animals were allowed when I was twelve. Mama often talked about how much she missed the farm and the animals, but sadly accepted that she would not have that life again. On that first Christmas Eve at the new house, our family gathered for our traditional family dinner and gift exchange. Most of the family was in the kitchen when my brother burst through the door, breathless and wild eyed.

On Hubbard Street, situated in the heart of Concord Massachusetts, is an old brick house with black shutters. In this house on Hubbard Street, lived a mouse by the name of Margaret. Margaret lived with her Mother, her father the carpenter, and her younger brother Maxwell. Margaret and Max were so close in age that they quickly became best friends. Margaret and Max spent all of their time together. They would take swimming lessons together at Walden Pond and ice skating in the winter. They loved catching games at Fenway Park.

“No, I’m not going to put up a Christmas tree this year. After more than 70 years of Christmas trees, I think I can take a break. When the children come over for dinner, I’ll just put out a nice little table with a red cloth and they can put their gifts there. As for me, I don’t need anything anyway, except maybe a box of Belgium chocolates. In any case, my gifts to them are mostly in small envelopes these days. No need to have a tree just to have a place to put gifts.”

Somehow, around the Christmas holiday, I still recall a story that my father verbally recounted to me when I was a young teenager in the seventies.