My religious background is mixed. My grandfather was a Baptist minister. My mother and father are atheists. My husband is Jewish. My brother is Buddhist. I have many Evangelical Christian, Pagan, Catholic, Agnostic friends and relatives, too. I like to float between all religions, claiming membership, though my latest joy has been learning about my husband’s traditions. We did Easter the previous year (ate a lot of eggs, chocolate, and ham with my mother), so this year we went to visit his family in Boston. First, we snuck in some time in witch-tastic Salem. I’d always wanted to go.
My main rule for the weekend was to soak up history and religion and to avoid all reading–unless trashy tabloids to which I am addicted. We toured the Witch History Museum, ate at Red’s, meandered down the quaint streets and even toyed with the idea of “ghost tracking” at our B&B*. This seemed too scary so we remained sedate, indulging in touristic opportunities. I purchased my witchy souvenirs and even had a mischievous black cat cross my path (scaring the you-know-what out of husband).
My editor hat found its way back on my head during the tour of The House of The Seven Gables. So much had happened in that house over centuries: fortune made and lost, families and literature. The rooms, the ornate wallpaper, the snifter of brandy, chandeliers, and low ceilings. Of course, I had to get Nathaniel Hawthorne’s classic to go with my experience! I forgot about religion entirely.
Or maybe I realized that books are my religion.
*There is a ghost tracking app on the iPad, which, I confess, we use often.