A Tale of Two Quotes

“I’m excited, and a little sad. But we’ll still have fun, right?” Timothy, about our first Masters spring break without his older brothers." April 2, 2016

On my desk is a blue folder with MASTERS written on the tab. On the inside cover is a  list of all the places where we have vacationed during Masters week. In those early years, when the boys were young, we went to Florida a lot. Because we were still confined to a school schedule, it made sense to select locations within driving distance (Florida, South Carolina) and save the longer trips (Italy, New York, California) for the summertime. 

So many spring breaks over the years. So many memories. So many stories.

But Masters week does not correspond with college spring breaks, so as time went by first Nicholas, and then Jonathan, were no longer free to travel with us. Our spring breaks went from five people, to four, then to three.  We still had Timothy for several more years.

But then he left for college, too, so this year, for the first time ever, there was no one sitting in the back seat of the car when we backed down the driveway. There was no one to forget their swimsuit or ask to go to the bathroom just half an hour after leaving home. We did not have to bring car snacks or remind everyone to pack their toothbrush.

The morning we left, a Facebook Memory reminded me of Timothy’s quote from so many years ago. I read it aloud to Joe but changed it  to reflect our New Normal of a Masters week without kids.

“I’m excited, and a lot sad. But we’ll still have fun, right?” Me to Joe, about our first Masters spring break without the boys.

In the end, our Spring Break 2023 will be remembered for two reasons: it was the first Masters week without the boys, and it was the first time our spring break was interrupted. When we received the news that Joe’s 95-year-old father was in the hospital, we left Tennessee after just three days and drove 10 hours to Virginia Beach where we spent the rest of the week.  

It was the spring break that was and wasn’t. It was a spring break without our boys. But it was all good. We went on three beautiful hikes before leaving Tennessee, we were able to spend time with Joe's father and his siblings, and Papa rallied. 

Here's to next April!

 Spring Break: Through the Years

1999 Orlando

2000 Orlando

2001 Tennessee/Missouri

2002 Orlando

2003 Myrtle Beach

2004 Palm Coast, FL

2005 Hilton Head

2006 Orlando

2007 Myrtle Beach

2008 Orlando

2009 Palm Coast, FL

2010 Washington DC

2011 Orlando

2012 Palm Coast, FL

2013 Orlando

2014 Myrtle Beach

2015 Hilton Head

2016 Orlando

2017 Virginia Beach/Myrtle Beach

2018 Orlando

2019 New Orleans

2020 Blowing Rock, NC (delayed until November because of Covid)

2021 Gulfport, MS

2022 Sedona, AZ

2023 Crossville, TN/ Virginia Beach

The French Connection

Today is my parents’ 57 wedding anniversary and I am going to take this opportunity to inform my dad WHO exactly he married. I mean, he THINKS he married this cute Italian girl 57 years ago, but there is more to the story …

Of course, my mother IS Italian. She was born just outside of Verona. Her parents, sisters, grandparents, cousins, and friends are all Italian, and although she married an American and became an American citizen, she is fiercely proud of her Italian heritage. My mother is very close to her family and we traveled to Italy often (even living there for two years). She was an Italian translator during the Atlanta Olympics, she taught Italian at Augusta College and Aiken Technical College, and she passed on her love of all things Italian to all of us. It is my inherited Italian genes that inspired me to start my blog, organize three Girls’ Trips to Italy, and write a book.

But then …

A few years ago, we gave our mother an Ancestry DNA kit for Christmas. When the results arrived, my mother was horrified (and indignant) to discover she had almost as much French DNA as Italian. I don’t have the actual numbers but she was only slightly more Italian than French.

Oh, the insult! How could this be?

We had a good laugh but also reminded her that she did, in fact, have a French connection.

You see, in my mother’s family it is common knowledge that Napoleon Bonaparte himself spent the night in the very home in which my mother was born. In gratitude for their hospitality, Napoleon gifted the family a crystal tumbler with his profile etched on one side (a family heirloom that currently resides in my parents’ dining room.) This event of Napoleon’s visit was so significant that when the house, still owned by my mother’s family, was eventually converted to a bar and a bank, both were named Napoleon. A large painting of Napoleon Bonaparte, which used to hang in the bank, is currently leaning against a wall in my aunt’s attic.

(Incidentally, a plaque outside the home designates it as being on the historic register. The plaque reads: "Napoleon stayed here on the eve of the Battle of Arcole, 10 November 1796.)

So after all that family history, we found out the French connection also comes with bloodlines (maybe not Napoleonic, but still). Of course, this affects me and my siblings; after all, we have discovered an entirely different (and previously unknown) side to our heritage.

And it got me thinking: do I need to plan a Girls’ Trip to FRANCE?

Ooh La La …

In the meantime, my dad now knows that he didn’t just marry a cute Italian girl 57 years ago. He also married a cute French one.

So I will end by wishing my mom and dad a special day in THREE languages (just to cover all bases).

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!

Felice anniversario!

and …

Joyeaux anniversaire!

Las Vegas: A Little of Everything

When I stepped away from social media it was Ash Wednesday and we were in Las Vegas.

I’m not going to lie. It was weird entering Lent while in the middle of Sin City. I wanted church bells, quiet countryside, or a mountain glade, but we were surrounded by flashing lights, an orchestra of bells and whistles from gambling machines, and the smell of marijuana (which, btw, was everywhere).

Oh, and we also had Donny Osmond. And the Cirque Du Soleil show “O”.

Donny Osmond was a last-minute decision: we were walking through Harrah’s, saw the ticket desk, inquired about same day tickets, and one hour later we were listening to him sing “Puppy Love.” For a spur-of-the-minute decision it was one of our best because the show was so incredibly entertaining. We were all smiles when we exited the theater later that evening.

On our last day we visited Red Rock Canyon. It was incredibly cold and windy so we decided to drive the loop, stopping along the way for short hikes or scenic overlooks. We saw more petroglyphs and again, standing in front of cave drawings from over 2000 years ago put me in a contemplative frame of mind. And ponder my place in the world.

That night we ate in Paris and then walked across the street to the Bellagio. On the way to the Cirque du Soleil Theater we passed several exclusive, high-end shops. At one point I stopped in front of Tiffany’s and said (rather hopefully), “Yes?” and Joe said (very emphatically), “No.”  

Huh.

Anyway, if you have ever been to a Cirque du Soleil show then you know what a magical experience it is. We left the theater trailing magic and fairy dust. Outside we listened to the music at the Bellagio Fountains. Then we turned a corner and …

saw someone vomiting into a gutter.

That's Las Vegas. A little of everything. 

Masters Bounty: Tiramisu and Vodka Spritzers

 Well, it’s been a while. I had thought that when I decided to give up social media for Lent it would inspire me to write in other areas, but this is what happened: I did not write at all. More on that later …

We also had a spring break that wasn't. Again, more on that later ...

In the meantime, I resume the annual tradition of reporting what our Masters guests left us. This year, we had a player (top 30 in world ranking) rent our home, so I felt a little more pressure to deliver. It also inspired me to finish projects, most notably a gallery wall in our dining room. The Sunday before we left Joe hung TWENTY-FOUR paintings/pictures in the dining room and study. He was a little grumpy about it.

Then this morning it was my turn to be grumpy. Because of a scheduling conflict, the housekeeper we hired for the week was not available to do the final cleaning so … everything I did before leaving home I had to do AGAIN once we got into our house. I cleaned for six hours.

Anyway, what did our Masters guests leave us?  When we first walked in there was a nice surprise waiting for us on the kitchen counter: a jar filled with magnolia blossoms, an autographed golf hat, three autographed golf balls, a golf pencil from Augusta National, and a personal note.

But wait, there's more: five bottles of wine, a case of Topo-Chico mineral water, Vodka Spritzers, a case of Vodka Sodas, gourmet popcorn, frozen pizzas, a pimento cheese sandwich from The Augusta National, fifteen bags of beef jerky, a sealed container of pimento cheese, a tray of frozen cheesy bread, Pillsbury Lucky Charms sugar cookies (to be baked), organic salsa, and an entire pan of Tiramisu from The Olive Garden. Joe even found an Easter egg in the backyard because they (evidently) had an Easter egg hunt for their small children.

We also have a FULL trashcan.

Anyway, it is good to be back. I will sign off now and go enjoy a Vodka Spritzer and a slice of Tiramisu. They go together, right?

The second (and last) day of our vacation.

More on that later.

Whatever am I Going to Do?

Next week I am accompanying Joe on a work trip to Las Vegas and this is what I am wondering: whatever am I going to do to keep myself occupied?

Perhaps I can do this …

or maybe this ...

or even this!

STOP IT. 

I am kidding about the last one. It is a Las Vegas joke! A joke I tell you!

Sheesh. 

But if you have any suggestions (other than the obvious), let me know!

Speak to Me Sunday: The Garden of Answered Prayer

One of the hardest things in life is watching someone experience such a difficult challenge that good intentions of a dinner, a phone call, or a note seem insignificant in comparison to the desert they are facing. Even prayer somehow feels woefully inadequate. 

Recently, during a recent Bible Study, we talked about this very topic of answered and unanswered prayer. As we shared our stories and read the reflection on how unanswered prayer can be a testament to our faith, I was reminded of the following quote from the musical, Hamilton: “A legacy is planting seeds in a garden you don’t get to see.” While this quote refers to the legacy Alexander Hamilton wanted to leave our young country, I realized that replacing the word ‘legacy’ with ‘prayer’ reminds us how every prayer is a seed, planted with faith and watered with hope, while we wait to see what it grows into.

But just as there are many answers to prayer and many ways for that seed to develop. It can blossom the way you envisioned, or bloom into something entirely different, or take root in ways you never thought possible. The key is remembering that the seed always turns into something, whether we get to see it or not.

There is so much we don’t understand about prayer, but if we acknowledge that God’s ways are not our ways, but are infinitely more imaginative and always perfect, then we also need to remember there is no such thing as unanswered prayer.

We may not always see the fruits of our prayer seeds, but we are still standing in a garden.  

Two Seconds

I am listening to one of my very favorite songs, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square. It is hauntingly nostalgic and brings with it a memory that lasted all of two seconds.  

It was a Sunday evening and I was listening to the song on repeat while I folded laundry. All of a sudden, Timothy poked his head around the laundry room door. 

"What are you listening to?" he asked.

So I told him the name of the song and explained how it was popular during WWII because it evoked feelings of separation and longing for a happier time.

"Dance with me?" I asked hopefully.

Poof! He disappeared. But then he reappeared almost immediately and stood in the doorway.

"Come on," I said. "Two seconds. Come dance with your mom."

So he came in, and as the nightingale sang in Berkeley Square we danced in the laundry room. Just two turns because then--Poof!--he disappeared once again.

But it is those two seconds that I am remembering today.

One of my favorite versions of the song is by Tori Amos.

But this one by Michael Buble is a close second.