“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.”
—Ernest Hemingway
Stepping into Bishop’s Palace is akin to crossing a threshold into a bygone age, where opulent décor and intricate craftsmanship speak volumes of a time when elegance and grandeur reigned supreme. I never knew I would be so moved by a piece of architecture and I was surprised by how familiar it felt upon my arrival. Dickens on the Strand had arrived in Galveston and Adi and I suited up in our best Victorian garb to participate in a weekend of revelry with an eye on the past.
But first, it’s important to give some back story on what brought us to this moment. 2023 was a challenging year for Adi and me, fraught with unexpected twists that left us off-balance for the entire year—2023 was one of the most challenging years of my adult life.
In January, my mother passed away at the ripe old age of 85; she had a wonderful life and the last time I spoke with her she said to me, “I think I’m ready to go now. I’ve had a good life and your dad, and all of my friends are gone now. I think it’s time to let go.” Two days later, I mentioned to Adi that we needed to make plans to go back to Iowa to see my mom when the phone rang, this was unusual because it was 4 am. “Mom died,” my sister said on the other end of the line.
“When?” I’m not entirely sure why I asked this. It wasn’t particularly relevant, but the shock of the news left me with little to say.
“About an hour ago,” she said. “The Alverno (this was the home where my mom was staying) just called and told me.”
She was gone. The finality of that seemed surreal. Even though I was preparing myself mentally one can truly never know how they will react when a parent dies. It was especially surreal because I had a show later that evening and it wasn’t the kind of thing where I could just call and say, “Hey, I’m not going to be there tonight.” I would go do that show and quite frankly, I couldn’t tell you one thing that happened during that performance. To say the least, it was blur.
Things in 2023 would not necessarily get better from that moment forward.
Adi’s mom got mysteriously sick one month later, went to see a doctor and was told she had 3-4 months to live. This was a complete shock because she had just put her own father (Adi’s grandfather) to rest only two months prior. She was 61 so this made far less sense than my mom passing on to the Great Beyond (read more here). No one wanted to think this was a possibility but in August of that year her mom succumbed to a battery of ailments that ended her life much too soon. Her death was far more difficult than even my own mother’s death which somehow felt far more appropriate.
The year that followed was exceptionally difficult. Adi went into a deep mourning period and without doing so consciously, would wear black for the entire year following her mom’s death. She was in a state of shock and for the first time in our relationship her smile left her and the pain of losing her mother was the greatest test of her life to date. We did everything we could to get through the first year following her mom’s passing.
Finally, at the one year anniversary of her mom’s death, we knew we needed a change; we had to fight our way out of the rut we were in and we decided that we would move to Galveston to take up residence in Adi’s mom Victorian home on the island that had been vacant for almost two years. Our hope was to breathe some life back into The Big House and breathe some life back into us.
“We need to have fun again,” Adi said to me as we were preparing to move. “This year at Christmas I want us to go to Dickens on the Strand to celebrate Christmas and my mom. And I want us to go in full costume!”
I was thrilled that Adi had something to look forward to; I was happy that she was looking for ways to bring some joy back into her life and if that meant donning a “topper and tails” then I would gladly go all out for the event.
I write this missive at the end of the first week of December of 2024—enter The Bishop’s Palace and the start of Dickens on the Strand. For those, like I was, that are unfamiliar with this festival, it’s important to understand the people of Galveston and their attachment to the Victorian Age. These people go all out to turn the Strand into a replica of 19-century London and almost everyone who attends dons Victorian costumes that truly make you feel like you hopped in a time machine and went back to have tea (or hot spiced red wine) with Charles Dickens himself.
Dickens on the Strand was first established in 1974 by the Galveston Historical Foundation as a way to preserve and promote the historical significance of Galveston’s architecture and heritage. Inspired by the works of Charles Dickens, especially his classic tale “A Christmas Carol,” the event brings together performers, vendors, and visitors, all donned in period costumes to create an authentic Victorian atmosphere. Over the years, Dickens on the Strand has grown to attract thousands of attendees from near and far, contributing greatly to Galveston’s cultural and economic vitality.
Adi and I met folks from California, Maine, and London who make the annual pilgrimage to Galveston to capture the heart of an era long passed. What makes Dickens on the Strand so special to the people of Galveston is its ability to foster a sense of community and tradition while celebrating the city’s historical roots.
Friday night came and I put on my tails, plopped on a much too big top hat and off we went to the spectacular Bishop’s Palace. Adi was dressed beautifully in a costume her mother hand designed years ago for her own foray to Dickens on the Strand. This truly was a tribute to Big Mama and her large spirit which still pervades the home we live in.
As I stepped through the grand doors of Bishop’s Palace, the air was alive with the melodic strains of carolers serenading the season with songs that seemed to echo from the very heart of a Dickens novel. Outside, the streets of Galveston had transformed into a vibrant tapestry of Victorian splendor, where throngs of revelers, dressed in their finest garb, paraded beneath twinkling lights and garland-draped facades.
Inside, the palace embraced me with its opulent warmth, each room a shimmering delight adorned with intricate woodwork and jewel-like stained glass, reflecting the joyous spirit of the season. The laughter and chatter of fellow merrymakers filled the air, blending seamlessly with the distant harmonies of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” It was as though time had gracefully folded back on itself, allowing us all a fleeting glimpse into a world where elegance and festivity danced hand in hand. In this enchanting setting, with the ghost of Christmas present vividly alive all around, I found myself not merely an observer, but a most willing participant in the grand pageantry of Dickens on the Strand.
As I wandered through the opulent halls of Bishop’s Palace amidst the jubilant echoes of Christmas carols, I felt an unexpected warmth—a presence that seemed to linger in the air, gentle and comforting—Big Mama was with us. Her spirit was there and I could feel it.
In the quiet corners and the grand rooms alike, we felt her presence beside us, almost as though she was threading through the crowd with her infectious laughter, participating in the revelry she had cherished so dearly. It was as if the beauty and joy of the palace that evening had woven her spirit into the very fabric of our celebrations. Adi and I exchanged a glance, feeling her warmth and love envelop us, and for the first time in our grief, there was peace. It was as though she was smiling down from above, sharing in our laughter, delighting in the sights and sounds that she once adored, assuring us that her love was eternal and ever-present.
In stepping into this magical celebration, we unwittingly found a balm for our wounded hearts. With each carol and every shared smile, we felt the heavy cloak of loss lift slowly, replaced by a profound sense of healing. We realized that by honoring her cherished memories, we had also given ourselves permission to move forward, to seek and embrace the light that tomorrow promised. Her wisdom echoed softly within us, reminding us that life, with all its twists and turns, forever offers another day, another chance to find joy and solace. And so, in this shimmering, festive refuge, we found what we had unknowingly sought—a gentle passage towards healing and the enduring promise of hope.
No one cherished this event quite like Big Mama did, and I could feel her spirit gently whispering, “Do you remember this place? Can you recall, in another time and another realm?” Almost as if speaking to the very essence of her presence, I softly murmured, “This is home.”
Indeed, it felt like home. Galveston, with its vibrant heart and timeless charm, wrapped around us like a warm embrace, grounding us in the familiarity and comfort of cherished memories.
Adi and I stood together in the gentle glow of Bishop’s Palace, surrounded by the echoes of laughter and song that filled the festive air. As we took in the scene, it became clear that we were not merely reminiscing but also honoring Big Mama’s spirit, allowing her vibrant love for this celebration and for Galveston to be beautifully alive within us. Though our hearts still bore the tender traces of loss, we were healing, finding solace in each shared moment and every joyous experience that felt like home.
Together, we pledged to keep her spirit thriving on this beloved island, in every corner where her laughter once rang, and in every moment of revelry she so dearly adored. With each passing day and every echoing carol, we were weaving the threads of her legacy into our own lives, nurturing the spirit of hope and connection she so embodied. In doing so, we discovered not only a path to healing but also a profound bond that would forever connect us to her, to each other, and to Galveston—the cherished home of our hearts.