Lessons from a Lockdown

On this day three years ago, when I flipped the calendar page from April to May, I reflected on the lessons we learned from a world-wide pandemic that kept us housebound. Those lessons still apply...

1- Every day is the same. Every day is different.

2- You can’t see something unless you look for it.

3- A day is filled with endless possibilities.

4- The best playroom is outside your back door.

5- People are kind. And self-sacrificing. Don't let those who are not cloud your judgment.

6- Simple is beautiful. Simplicity is liberating.

7- Simplify.

A Whole Lot of Less

I once went on a day trip to Atlanta with a nun from Tanzania who, upon leaving our house, slipped a handkerchief into her pocket. No purse, no handbag, no jacket or snack. Just a hankie.

That image stayed with me and later I wrote (and published) a story on the lessons of simplicity Sr. Gaudiosa taught me during her visits with us. (A Hankie for My Pocket)

Those lessons keep me mindful of too much, of clutter that has a way of taking over all aspects of life, everything from what is in our closets to how we schedule our free time.

It was in this mindset that I packed for our spring break trip this past April.  I wanted to keep things simple. Then, because I needed to provide drawer and closet space for our Masters guests, I squirreled away the rest—the clothes, shoes, and jewelry that weren't going with me—into storage boxes. Here is what I packed:

-enough clothes to mix and match outfits for nine days

-six accessories (Fitbit w/ interchangeable straps, a ring, a pair of earrings, a wrap bracelet, one scarf, one black backpack)

-beauty products (only the essentials, all packed into one small zippered bag)

That's it. I packed all these items into one medium sized suitcase and one tote.

For those 9 days of vacation I had what I needed; I had a choice of what to wear but was not burdened with too many selections. I wore a watch daily, added the wrap bracelet and ring in the evening, but didn't waste time pawing through my jewelry drawer. When it was chilly I wore a cardigan, when it got warmer I knotted it around my shoulders, and I carried the same backpack all week (sometimes packed with snacks for a hike, sometimes packed with just a wallet and iPhone).

I wanted for nothing, but had exactly what I needed. Not too much, not too little, but the blessing of just enough.

Interestingly, we have been home for three weeks and I still haven't pulled the rest of my clothes and jewelry out of storage. I'm sure at some point I will, but I don't even miss them.

Living with enough is more than plenty.

An Ode to the Storytellers

His name was Dale and he welcomed us to the Monterey Depot Museum, our visit a last-minute substitution for a hike that had been postponed due to rain.

It was not a big museum; the first room contained a model train display, and the larger, second room was filled with artifacts from the area’s rich mining and railroad traditions. But Dale, despite being almost completely blind, knew every inch of the place and gave us a personal tour, telling story after story until that little museum showed us a little corner of the world where "the hilltops kiss the sky".

With a soft drawl, he pointed out different objects as he described coal mines, miners’ strikes, moonshine stills, homesteads, and a railroad that connected it all. Like any master storyteller, Dale could recall names and spit out dates, all while weaving history and legends and folklore that kept us totally engaged.

Dale reminded me of my father, who loves to spin tall tales and will often sing a ballad right there sitting at the kitchen table; he reminded me of grandparents and uncles and visiting preachers who sit in rocking chairs on rickety porches, talking and entertaining and telling stories with humor and cliff hangers and impossible heroics; he reminded me of Story Keepers, those gifted individuals who are walking libraries of histories that, one day, will be lost.

At the end of our visit, Dale encouraged us to visit a local site called Bee Rock, an overlook on the Cumberland Plateau. He provided detailed directions, and fifteen minutes later we were standing on the overlook, surrounded by hemlock, pine, rhododendron and mountain laurel, breathing in the views and grateful for the storytellers …

the Dales of this world.

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.