EMMA GRAY TRIGG
Christmas Play, ’37; Posture Committee, ’38;
The Piper, ’38; Board of Publications, ’38, ’39,
’40; Library Tea, ’39; Arcade Committee, ’39;
Library Committee, ’40; Head of George Washington
Ball, ’40; Senior Play, ’40; Glee Club, ’40;
Enjoys punning at its best
Must have tennis
And she “swims with a vim”
Great amount of common sense
Regards life in proportion
Tries harmony to any tune
Interested in the arts
Generally going to Casanova
The dead might wake into a world like this,
And know its white lost ecstasy their own.
I am a stranger wearing flesh and bone,
Peering beyond my dusty chrysalis.
No scent or sound invades the integrity
Of peace beneath the ermined thatch of pine.
Nor whir of wing, nor quick heart-beat of mine
Shall spill the cradled silence from a tree.
No God of Sinai shatters the timeless pause
With “Thou shalt not.”
But from each holy bush
Love speaks, articulate in this white hush.
Here life and death may meet, obeying new laws,
And mingling as easily as flake with flake.
Into a world like this the dead might wake.–Emma Gray Trigg
The congregation of St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church was officially organized in 1911
under the guidance of Rev. Zebulon S. Farland. That same year a simple brick chapel was
erected near the end of Grove Avenue to house the group. As the neighborhood near the
church grew, so did the congregation; thus in 1921 planning for a larger structure was
underway. A lot west of the chapel, at the corner of Grove Avenue and Three Chopt Road,
was purchased. The same year Rev. Giles B. Palmer assumed the duties of rector , which
included overseeing the construction of a new building.–VADHR
This the place where my mother’s memorial service will be held February 22, 2014.
We seem to give them back to you, O God, who gave them to us.
Yet as you did not lose them in giving, so we do not lose them by their return.
Not as the world gives do you give, O Lover of souls.
What you give you take not away, for what is yours is ours also if we are yours.
And life is eternal, and love is immortal, and death is only an horizon,
and an horizon is nothing, save the limit of our sight.
Lift us up, strong Son of God, that we may see further;
cleanse our eyes that we may see more clearly;
draw us closer to yourself that we may know ourselves to be nearer our
loved ones who are with you.
And while you do prepare a place for us, prepare us also for that happy place,
that where you are, we may be also for evermore.–Fr Bede Jarrett O.P. (order of preachers)
It Is Well (With My Soul)
It Is Well (With My Soul) performed and used here courtesy of my friend David Ezell.
Resting in Peace, Emma Gray Emory, born June 18, 1922. Died February 8, 2014.
This photo taken by her grand-daughter, Emma, February 3, 2014.
Sophie turns 14 with grace. I am thankful.
I never complain about the pavement in neighborhoods because when the membrane is allowed to deteriorate sufficiently many benefits accrue.
There is the traffic calming benefit, travel speeds are reduced, drivers moderate their speed.
This is a poor man’s pervious pavement, allowing some recharging of groundwater levels.
I wonder if there is a correlation between condition of streets and median income of the surrounding neighborhood?
Walking on the mall yesterday I saw a dog in the distance that looked a little like Daido Moriyama’s famous canine,
a little like Robin’s sweet dog, Irene.
I was reluctant to approach, then recognized the human, John Kirkpatrick. Kirkpatrick is one of my favorite photographers. He took the picture above of me and Otto.