White Ginger Blossom
I was driving down our main interstate to meet my husband for lunch in downtown Houston. A large car dealership had a flag at half-mast and I wondered if I had missed something, not having seen the news since the previous day. It struck me that President Bush Senior might have passed on and then I forgot about it.
When I arrived home and turned on the TV, there was the sad news of yet another mass shooting of officers who had been guarding a peaceful protest in Dallas TX. This time, I have no opinion of the circumstances or gun law but just wanted to express my condolences not just to the officers killed this time but all the other innocent victims from other atrocities all over the world.
I now expect something awful when I turn on the news. Hostages killed in Dacca, bombs in Iraq marketplaces, a massacre at a nightclub. May they all rest in peace.
The French Huguenot Church
Never has a street been more aptly named. There was one wonderful church after another. The title photograph is of the French Huguenot Church – it is simply known as that. I noticed it particularly because it is painted a delicate pale pink with black cornichons. The Huguenot’s were French Protestants who escaped persecution from the Catholic Church. I loved the way they embraced the Protestant ethic and yet created a house of worship with a certain French soupçon of elegance. Below is the exquisitely simple interior with a startling blue chandelier, accentuated with the blue prayer books.
Nave of French Huguenot Church
St. Philip’s Church
Above is St Philip’s Episcopal Church which is the grandest on the street. Another tourist later told me that the church keepers weren’t very friendly (well, they are Protestants – I am sorry but there is always a lapsed Catholic devil sitting on my shoulder). There is always a fine line between visiting a historic site and respecting that it is a current house of worship. No talking, flip-flops or chewing gum, please! There were some very distinguished guests in the graveyard and it was so serene on a hot, steamy Charleston afternoon.
Well, Charles certainly has a lot to answer for…
Both churches were in the French Quarter. The streets were a charming mix of old and new.
St Philip’s Graveyard
It was only after I left Charleston that I remembered about the Charleston Church massacre more than a year before, at the Emanuel African Methodist Church. The victims of this hate crime, their relatives and the people of Charleston give us something to aspire to in this horrific week. Dignity, sorrow and forgiveness.