As a physician, I often look at “history” through the lens of a chart—a series of dates, diagnoses, and data points. But this weekend, I was reminded that the most vital histories aren’t written in ink; they are baked into recipes and shared across dining room tables.
I finally did it. I baked the walnut cake.
For Roy’s cousins, it wasn’t just a dessert; it was a bridge to memories. Their joy was palpable, and I was praised for the one thing that truly matters in a family recipe: I didn’t skimp on the walnuts.
There is restorative power in the act of reminiscing. As I watched Leroy’s face light up while he talked with his cousins about aunts, uncles, and grandparents, I felt that familiar universality of family. Though I was sitting in a beautiful dining room in Laurel, MD, I was mentally transported back to the dining rooms of my own youth in Birmingham, Alabama. The geography changes, but the experience of shared memory is a constant.
Familiar Rhythms in Baltimore
Following our time in Laurel, we returned to our familiar “home base,” the Delta Hotel at Cross Keys. Having stayed there for years—back when it was the Cross Keys Inn—there is a comfort in that continuity that I’ve come to appreciate more with time.
Our time in the city was a series of well-paced moments: a wonderful dinner at Cece’s Roland Park, a slow morning at Easy Like Sunday, and a quick stop at Pied Piper Kids to find a beautiful new outfit for the newest member of our family. This was all in the newly energized Village of Cross Keys.
New Life in an Old Factory
The final leg of our trip took us to York, PA, for brunch with family. Their apartment is in a truly remarkable space—a renovated coffin factory. There is something poetic about a building once dedicated to the end of life now serving as a vibrant, amazing home.
The brunch spread would make any family proud: brisket, ham, corn soufflé, collard greens, and yams. It was the kind of soul food that demands you slow down and be present. We spent the afternoon exactly as we should—lingering over our plates and soaking in the company. Of course, the real highlight was spoiling our three-month-old grand-niece.
Presence Over Pictures
It wasn’t until we were on our way home that we realized we hadn’t taken a single photograph. In an era where we feel compelled to document every moment, we had simply lived in them instead.
As a physician, I know that being “fully present” is one of the hardest things to achieve, yet it is where the most healing happens. We didn’t need digital proof of the weekend; we had the memories of the laughter, the stories, and the light in Leroy’s eyes. Some snapshots are better kept in the heart than on a phone. Getting back home early wa