Give Him a Full Pantry

Earlier this week I received the following text from Timothy: “Can I make some protein shakes this summer? I won’t have as much access to food, so I want to get some good source of protein and healthy food.”

WELL, as you can imagine, I put him straight. “What?!?” I texted back. “Not have access to food and worried about not having enough sources of protein? Do you think you will starve?”

I was half laughing, but also slightly insulted. I mean, really. All the cooking I do, and he is worried about not getting enough to eat? To his credit, Timothy immediately texted back saying he did not mean it the way it sounded; it is just that he has been working out (and bulking up) this past year and needs to eat more often.

Still half laughing and half exasperated, I did understand. After all, he just spent the past year living within walking distance of FIVE dining halls and was accustomed to eating at all hours of the day (and night).

What can I say? The kid likes to eat. Timothy’s well-being has always been affected by the state of our pantry. A full pantry = happy teen; a bare pantry = worries that he will starve. In high school, when he noticed how I always stocked the pantry just prior to a visit from Jonathan or Nicholas, he began asking for a Jonathan-is-Coming-Home-Pantry or a Nicholas-is-Coming-Home-Pantry.

Tomorrow Timothy is coming home for the summer, so yesterday I spent several hours at three grocery stores—Publix, Lidl, and Costco—and a good hour and a half unloading the groceries and putting them away. Full pantry, full fridge, full freezer. Whew. 

When I was finished, I sent Timothy the following text: A Jonathan AND Nicholas pantry is waiting for you.

And I added some kissy smiley faces for emphasis.

Full grocery cart at Publix. 

There was also a full grocery cart at Lidl and Costco. 

A Very Royal Tea Party

Just in time for Saturday’s coronation, look what arrived to Angevine’s*:

Commemorative demitasse spoons from the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. The satin lining shows the hallmarks, along with the city and corresponding symbol, where each spoon was made (the symbols are engraved on the back of the handle).

And to help you make a proper cup of tea, we also have Royal Albert teacups (Lady Hamilton pattern).

(*Some of you may not know that, for the past year, I gave been working part-time at Angevine's Fine Silver and Gifts)

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!