It might seem incongruous that the theme we chose for our letter
this year is peace. And maybe that's right. It is, after all, a
year in which the U.S. government indulged itself in a war, and a World
War at that. It is a year in which the U.S. was subjected to the most horrific
terrorist attack in history. If you don't count wars.
And yet to us, parochially, this year was distinguished by peace, characterized
by peace, at least in contrast to other, recent years.
Despite Steve's fear that we would never go back, we spent three
whole weeks in our Caribbean hideaway, without towns, without stores,
without TV, without hot water, indeed without water at all except for the
rainwater that funneled into the cistern, and most assuredly without any
Internet connection. 
It
was wonderful. For Steve, it was long enough to feel like leaving the real
world altogether, like being in an entirely other place, like practicing
sleeping fourteen hours a day as he did as a kid. For Helen, it was perhaps
a bit too much kite flying and shell sifting, and other diversions are
planned for next year.
We completed enough renovation on our "new" apartment, both inside and
on the terrace, to be unashamed, at long last, 
at
having guests over, and proved it with a comparatively busy social life,
including summer garden parties and a celebration of Fifty Years of Helen.
In partial celebration of our completed terrace, but also in celebration
of having a place to do it at all, we built a rather short snowman
on the terrace last winter. He (we think he was male) lasted only a few
minutes, after which the wet snow of his body gave way and he fell over
and, well, fall apart.
Beautiful new children were born to nieces Katie and Elisabeth, and
there are now four generations in the Bowden family.
We got a cat this year, a Russian Blue mix whose life centers around
being fed and shedding. Steve continued to write in his ridiculous
weblog.
And then came September 11. Weirdly, we watched it all on TV just like
everyone else. We couldn't actually see the World Trade Center from our
apartment, and it was never part of our day-to-day experience of The City.
There was the acrid smoke, though, and the constant presence of the National
Guard to remind us that it never did get back to normal.
As war broke out, we spent an amazingly placid week in coastal
Maine doing not very much, and that was really quite wonderful. A small
wood-burning stove heated our thermally leaky cabin on the shore, which
seemed much like our Caribbean refuge, but colder and with more lobster.
Is there peace in the world at large? Certainly not. And yet, in our
own small lives, and with the help of our treasured friends, we have found
some measure of peace.
Peace,
for us, was holding each other in the morning, every morning, before we
had to rise to the day. It was holding each other, by phone, or email or
just in our thoughts, as we went about our lives. It was talking quietly,
or not talking at all, each evening. And it was sleeping through the night.
That's what was important, that's what was fundamental for us this year.
We wish you what peace can be found, amidst the turmoil of the world,
and within yourselves.
