It's Been Curiously Entertaining!

Rob and I have been talking about our 10-year plan and for some time now it's included retiring to Wrightsville Beach, NC. I even get Zillow updates on properties for sale in our price range. This year when choosing where to vacation we decided we should visit the place we want to retire, you know, before actually purchasing a property and moving there. So here we are in Carolina Beach, NC. We couldn't afford find a place to rent in Wrightsville.

Located just south of Wrightsville, Carolina Beach is billed as "a family-friendly, extraordinary beach town that's curiously entertaining!" The "curiously entertaining" part should have been a clue. I'm pretty sure it's synonymous with "uncomfortably amusing" or "freak show." Carolina Beach is also described as "North Carolina's most authentic beach town," which means "America's yahoos vacation here." Allow me to share the top 10 things I've seen this week (and the week is only half over):

1. A tee that read "Cool story, babe, now get me a beer."
   
2. A sign for a "Gun & Tattoo" show.
3. A visit from the paramedics. Despite the fact that we were hanging on the front porch enjoying ourselves, she walked past us to the front door and when we looked at her strangely stopped and said "Didn't you call 911?" We hadn't. 
4. Fishing charter boats so skanky I'd be afraid to eat anything they caught.
5. Abby and Hope almost hit by a car and Rob giving the guy an earful.
6. An absurd amount of vaping...
7. A preponderance of Willie Nelson look-a-likes.
   
8. An alligator.
9. A bar with no public restrooms and a sign forbidding "club colors." Forgive my naivety, but I really didn't know Carolina beach towns were havens for gang violence.
10. A brand new boardwalk all of three blocks long on which there is nothing but swings overlooking the dunes. Not a glimpse of the ocean to be found. And the boardwalk shops aren't actually on the boardwalk. Nor is there anything remotely worth shopping for. This place makes Seaside Heights look impressive. Almost. 

And now that I've gotten my elitist comments out of the way, allow me to add that bringing Lily on vacation was a mistake. We've had one escape in which she took off across the street, through parking lots, over the dunes and onto the beach. Some guy caught her by the collar and she dragged him several feet before he wisely let go. We haven't been able to leave her alone for fear she'll either die of a stress-related heart attack or destroy the house. We're going to the beach in shifts. 

Now, none of this is to say we're not having fun. The beach is lovely and the water is about the warmest I've ever felt the Atlantic. Yesterday we took a ferry to Oak Island and found a dog friendly beach that Lily enjoyed. We've played several rousing games of Polish poker, I finished a good book (Tana French's Broken Harbor), and we experienced hair raising thunderstorms. 

Still, I'd say there's an excellent chance we'll be home early. I prefer my yahoos without a southern accent. 

Considering the Possibilities

A few years ago my friend Emily adopted a New Year tradition wherein she selects one word that
summarizes her goals, resolutions and ideal state of mind for the year.

Last year I joined Emily in this endeavor, and I choose the word "perspective." As in, "Let's keep things in perspective before we have a melt down, or let's consider someone else's perspective before automatically assuming they're an idiot." I wrote my word down in red ink on a small piece of paper, taped it to my computer and promptly forgot all about it. Ironically, the next time my written reminder caught my eye, I noticed that the ink had faded to the point where it was almost unreadable. I guess you could say I had lost my perspective.

Like we do every year, the kids and Rob and I celebrated this New Year's Eve with Emily, her family, and several friends. Because we're getting old and a little pathetic, by 11 p.m. there was a good deal of moaning about being tired and wanting to call it a night. In an effort to save the evening and keep us awake till the ball dropped, Emily handed us each a piece of paper and instructed us to come up with our word for the year. Rob chose "Hillary," not because he's a fan, but because he thinks this year will be all about her. He also went off on some tangent about the concept of "relevance." Obviously he didn't get the idea behind the one word challenge.

I decided on the word "possibilities." It came to me while we were in Arizona over Christmas. I found myself thinking a lot about the possibilities for my next stage of  life. With Ian heading to college next year and Abby only three years behind him, the door is wide open for Rob and me to make some exciting changes (that don't involve choosing new spouses). Like moving to Arizona! (We've already ruled that out.) Or maybe buying one of the swanky new condos they're going to build in downtown Media. Or maybe we'll move to Wilmington, NC where I can work part-time at UNC and spend the rest of my time reading books on Wrightsville Beach. So many possibilities, so much fun to think about them!

For the more immediate future, I've been considering the possibilities of what I might do with my increasing amount of free time. With the kids needing (and wanting) less of me, there are opportunities for me to do the things I couldn't do when they were little. Right now, pursuing my love of theatre is top on the list. As many of you know, I took a step toward this possibility by registering for Villanova's "Graduate Certificate in Practical Theatre." I figured it was worth $50 a course to hone any skills I might possess and see if I have what it takes to make it in the cut throat world of community theatre.

In the fall I took my first course: Principles of Acting. And I loved it. I was a nervous wreck before every class performance (and there was one practically each week), but I really did enjoy it and I came out of it with an audition piece to use if I ever get up the courage to actually try out for a play. This semester I'm taking Musical Theatre, which is the type of performing I grew up on. I'm not sure what I expected, but I think it's fair to say it's more than I bargained for.

First there was the solo performance the very first night of class, which was repeated the second night of class the following week. Then I saw the syllabus, which includes:

• Initial Response (IR) papers for every musical we view and every related journal article we're assigned to read (basically one a week). 
• A practitioner report with a PechaChuka presentation
• Character, music and lyrics analysis for each solo we perform (there's at least two of them)
• "8 Counts of 8" in which each student is required to teach the class a dance routine

Did I mention there's dancing for about an hour of each three-hour class? Have I mentioned that I can't dance to save my life? 

Did I mention that my first IR was seven pages long and took no less than 7 hours of my time between the viewing and the writing? 

And my practitioner report, in addition to the Pokemon-sounding presentation, requires an MLA or Chicago format bibliography. Do you want to guess how long it's been since I wrote a bibliography?

And did I mention I can't dance? Nor can I effectively carry a tune when I'm a nervous wreck. 

My loving husband asked a couple valid questions the night before my first class (before I even knew about the time commitment/workload). He asked, "Isn't a hobby supposed to be something you enjoy? If it stresses you out and overwhelms you, doesn't that defeat the purpose?" 

Damn. He's always got something insightful to say. I hate that. 

Part of the problem lies in my unwillingness to fail or look bad. You'd think for as often as I embarrass myself in my blog posts (can everyone say protective panties?), I would be immune to the fear of humiliation. Nope. When it comes to the things I choose to invest my time in, I'm either really good at them or I quit. That translates into my need to get an A on every paper, and deliver above-average performances in the singing and dancing categories. That translates into weekends lost to homework and fingernails lost to anxiety. I can't just do what I need to do to pass the class and move on. I'm not hardwired that way. 

After spending my snowy weekend tied to the kitchen table, viewing Showboat, reading, and writing, I asked myself more than once if this is really what I want to do. It's not that I detest the work (I actually enjoy the musicals and don't mind the written response), but do I enjoy it enough to dedicate so much of my time to it? Shouldn't I be binge-watching something on Netflix? Or playing Wordbrain? Or at least reading a book for pleasure? It's not like I'm dying to earn another master's degree or want to make a career change. In fact, this level of commitment is exactly why I dropped out of an NYU PhD program 20 years ago. I don't know how to balance the goals I set with having a life. They're probably not supposed to be separate, are they?

A couple Saturdays ago, my friend Andria from church brought together a group of women for the one-word experience. As we gathered in smaller groups to talk in detail about our word and what it might mean for us, one of the older, wiser women responded to my "possibilities" with something completely unexpected. She said something like this:

"You may have to consider the possibility that you can't do everything you want to do, or that it's not right for you, or that you might actually fail or not live up to your own expectations." 

Wow. In my mind, the possibilities are all positive and shiny with rainbows on the horizon. Are there possibilities of failure or disappointment? 

You may think my wise friend was being a Debbie Downer, but I found her comments brought me some relief. I am allowed to fail, to change my mind, to come to the realization that something just isn't for me. Maybe the possibilities for my life don't involve theatre and moving to NC, but instead call for me to be a spokesperson for Icon undies, or to travel the world as first mate on a 72 foot yacht. Who knows? 

I've really rambled through this one, haven't I? I suppose the topic was better suited for my personal journal, but part of me is looking for your advice or encouragement. To theatre or not to theatre? To move on, or establish deeper roots right where I am?

I'd also love to know if you have a word of your own. I'm finding it's helpful to have a partner or a group of supporters to keep me focused. So please share if you're interested in playing along. It's not too late to join us!

My New Reality: A Preview

It's been a strange summer thus far and it's going to remain strange right up until the first of August. It began in June with Ian heading off to a church youth group retreat in the Poconos the Monday after school let out. He returned home on a Friday afternoon and declined to join his family at the Phillies game and fireworks that evening. The next morning, Rob took Ian and his friend Keaton to the airport at 4:15 a.m. for a flight to Atlanta, where Keaton's parents would pick the boys up and take them to Lake Burton, Georgia. Their stay in Georgia lasted 10 days. On the day they returned, we dropped Abby and her friend Maddie off at Immaculata University for soccer camp. They spent four days there. Three days later Abby left for the Poconos for the middle schoolers' week-long church youth group retreat. That same day Rob and I flew to Minneapolis for the All Star Game. We left Ian home alone, paying one of Rob's coworkers to spend the nights with him.

Rob and I returned from Minnesota last Wednesday afternoon; Abby got home on Thursday. On Saturday, Rob and Ian headed out on their road trip to Oxford, Ohio where Ian is spending two weeks in Miami University's Summer Scholars program.

At the parent meeting for Abby's soccer camp, the leaders told us this would be a good first step toward college for the girls. They were responsible for getting themselves where they needed to be, when they needed to be there. They had to remember their gear and their water, and be sure to change their socks and clothes frequently enough that they didn't develop any strange rashes. They ate in the dining hall and slept in the dormitory and if they had lost their keys it would have cost us them $75. Naturally, Abby and Maddie were just fine. Those two could run the camp.

Ian's two week experience at Miami will be an even greater pre-college test. The question is, who will perform better, him or me?

While I usually welcome the opportunity to have a few days away from my children, I have to confess that this June-July anomaly has me a bit freaked out. Let's face it, these exoduses away from home are just harbingers of things to come. And those things to come will be here before I know it. And quite frankly, I'm not sure I'm ready. Me. The one who started counting down the days till they left for college when they were three. Me. The one who thought this motherhood thing might have been a poor (and irreversible) job choice. Me. The one with the 10-year plan that includes no one except me and Rob on a beach somewhere. How has this happened? How is it that I actually have a small ache in my heart?

I think what happened is that I've grown to really like my kids. Loving your children is pretty much a given, but liking them? Not always. As they've gotten older, we actually have meaningful conversations (as long as Ian's not sitting in front of a screen of some sort), and I find I truly enjoy their company. Ian's bright, quick wit never fails to amuse and impress, and Abby's observations, intelligence and competitive spirit provide a challenge.

I'm amazed at the way they've both changed in the past year or so; Ian, in particular. Last summer he couldn't wait to come home from two camp experiences right here at Villanova, 15 minutes from home. He was miserable. This year he's nine hours away for two weeks, spending his days with complete strangers. And he loves it. He's made friends, enjoys his classes (The Business of Sports), and finds the whole experience "great." "Great" is high praise indeed from a 16-year-old boy. On day one it was only "good."

Knowing that Ian's doing well has eased that small ache, but I do miss his sense of humor. I suppose I better get used to it.

This Saturday, while Ian's still in Ohio, Rob, Abby, my mom and I will drive 10 hours to Banner Elk, NC for our church mission trip. We'll leave a day early, Friday, August 1, in order to pick up Ian at the Baltimore airport where he'll fly in from Cincinnati at the conclusion of his Miami U. experience. We'll return home that night where we will begin the month of August with nothing more than Vacation Bible School on the calendar.

It'll be weird, being together like that. I just hope the kids don't get on my nerves.

Midwestern Meditations

There's nothing better than getting away for a few days. It doesn't even matter how far you go, as long as you're not in your own home with your never-ending to do list in plain sight. I swear I become a different person. Almost pleasant to be around. It's delightful!

Summer presents the most opportunities for these bits of respite from reality. In the past couple months, I've enjoyed an overnight to Cape May with my family; a visit with my parents, sister and nephew near Barnegat Bay; and most recently, I traveled to Minneapolis with my husband for the MLB All Star Game. On this little jaunt I made several observations that I'd like to share with you. This top 10 list isn't particularly meaty (except for the steak and BBQ) or deep, but it's all I've got time for. Seems these little getaways get in the way of getting stuff done and now I'm behind in my job, my home life, my volunteer obligations, yada, yada, yada. The good news is that I actually have a couple of ideas for more substantial posts in the near future. So you have that to look forward to. I seriously hope, however, that you have more to look forward to than a blog post. But I digress. Without further ado, here are the Top 10 Things I Learned on My Summer Vacation (in no particular order).

1. Pepsi, popcorn, donuts and beer can bring a person to their knees. Literally.
   
2. You can't help but feel a tremendous sense of pride and patriotism when six U.S. Air Force Thunderbird jets do a flyover in a flat delta formation at about 400 mph just as Idina Menzel hits the final note of the national anthem.
3. Somewhere over the rainbow, skies, indeed, are blue.
4. Some people over-pack clothes when they travel. I over-pack reading material (and never have enough clothes).
5. You hear some memorable stuff when you visit new places, like "Can you pass me my cheese curds? I left them under your seat."
6. Money can't buy you love, but it can buy you one hell of a steak. 
7. People in Minnesota are just nice. TSA folks in the airport there actually appeared to like their jobs. Just can't imagine seeing that in the City of so-called Brotherly Love. 
8. Every state believes it's the master of BBQ.  
9. I don't know what it is, but elderly black men have some of the most beautiful faces I've ever seen. I saw Hank Aaron at a pre-game event over the weekend, and his distinguished face reminded me of the Rev. Dr. Gardner C. Taylor, one of the greatest elder statesmen (96!) of the black church (and a Judson Press author).  

   

   Mr. Hank Aaron

   

   Rev. Dr. Gardner C. Taylor
10. It's awesome to see people you love as others see them. Over the weekend, I was able to watch my husband in his element, associating with colleagues from around the MLB. He's the same friendly, intelligent, engaging, real, humorous and well-respected guy I fell in love with. Now if only he could return to proper form at home. Ha! 

Here's hoping that wherever your travels take you this summer, you come home with your own top 10 list! And how about sharing it?

If I Could, Would I?

Ever since I graduated from college, my dad has wanted me to go into business for myself. He's offered to help financially, and even offered his support if money is the obstacle to my writing a book (it's not; it's just laziness on my part). After 50+ years of "working for the man," my dad knows that true job satisfaction comes from pursuing your own dream, not someone else's. While I'm certainly blessed to have such supportive parents, unfortunately, I'm chicken shit scared to death at the prospect of going out on my own. The work I do for others stresses me out, and that's with a guaranteed paycheck and benefits. I can't imagine how insane I'd be if financial security and success rested almost completely on my shoulders. This fear of doing something so radical leaves me awed and inspired by those who go for it.

In the past few years, more than a couple friends have taken the leap to fulfill a dream. My college friend Tom and his girlfriend moved to Florida from PA and started a kayak tour business. Freakin' Angel Kathy decided to go solo with her law practice, and FA Andria is engaging her creative side in making unique pieces which she sells in local stores and at shows. MPC friend Bill opened a Sports Clips Haircut location. My former Judson Press colleague Linda ventured out on her own as a marketing consultant; and while I'm not exactly sure what she does, my old Lehigh Valley friend Cathy appears to be successful in whatever endeavors she's pursuing. Among my craziest most inspiring friends is Dave, who just a couple months ago fulfilled his dream of opening a restaurant (get thee to The Granary!). I'd be scared to death, but even if he's a tad nervous, he doesn't show it. Geez, imagine my blog posts if I was trying to succeed in business on my own. You think I bitch, whine and complain now!

An example of Lori's stunning photography

As impressive as these friends are, there is yet another who inspires me at an even deeper level. Imagine sacrificing your salary and the comforts of home to spend thousands of dollars in order to travel to a foreign country to help others in need. In two short weeks, my friend Lori Sheppard, a pediatric physical therapist, will leave for Morocco where she will train and provide support to people caring for children with special needs. This will be Lori's third visit to this country - her first two visits were for two weeks each, but on her last trip she felt called to return for nearly three months.

Lori's company is kind enough to hold a position for the duration of her trip, but she needed to resign from the management job she held and will return as a staff physical therapist. As you can imagine, this decrease in salary adds to the financial burden of this opportunity (home mortgage payments don't stop while she's away). Lori has made some lifestyle and budget changes over the past year and has started a small photography business (she's amazing!) to help bring in some funding. These changes alone are not enough, however, and this is where we come in to the story.

While many of us like to think we would do something like this if we could, realistically, most of us can't. Lori can and is, and her only reward will be the joy of helping others in need (a nice reward, albeit with no monetary value). The cost of Lori's trip is $12,000.00, including travel (airfare and in-country), living expenses, ministry expenses and financial obligations here at home that cannot wait. Would you be able to give a tax-deductable monetary donation to help out?  There are a couple ways to give:

Lori

• www.compassion-corps.com - On the donation page, select ‘short term trip-Morocco’.  On the payment info page, use the drop down box under ‘designation’ to select my name.
  
• Checks (payable to “Compassion Corps”) can be mailed to the address on the website – put Lori Sheppard's name in the memo line.

Lori would remind us that the finances are not the only important item to consider. If you are so inclined, would you please keep her endeavor in prayer?

Thanks for thinking of her and offering your support. Of course I also encourage you to eat at the Granary, buy Andria's cool gifts, get your haircut at Sports Clips, and seek legal counsel from Kathy. And if you're ever in Holmes Beach, FL, visit Sea Life Kayak Adventures.

As for me, I'm going to ask my dad if he'll support my desire to purchase a boat and take friends fishing. I'm sure that would pay the bills!

My New Fear of Flying

Air travel was never an issue for me. No fear. No need for a drink to calm the nerves. Heck, I didn't even mind getting stuck in the middle seat. I think my only real issue with flying was the increasing expense. Damn them and their luggage fees and unwillingness to give me a freakin' bag of pretzels! Yes, the dollars and cents of it was the only gripe I had. But that was before Friday, when my family and I flew from Denver to Philadelphia. Friday's flight changed everything. I'm just glad no one was hurt.

I knew I was in trouble when I sat in a row with a mommy and daddy and their 11-week-old bundle of joy, Samuel. Sammy looked a bit like a Cabbage Patch kid, but he wore the bug eyes and bald head really well. I oohed and aahed and that's saying something because I'm one of those terrible people who believes there are ugly babies in the world. But I'm getting off track here. The important thing for you to know is that Samuel started to cry before we even left the runway. Karma at work. If I had let Rob sit in that seat instead of foisting our children off on him, I would have had relative peace and quiet. Or so I thought.

I'm not sure when the disturbance began. Early on I was probably distracted by Sammy's Cabbage
Patchness, or that heart-breaking newborn cry of his. At some point fairly early in the flight, however, I became painfully aware of what I was dealing with. I should say what "we" were dealing with given that she affected at least a dozen people - certainly those seated directly in front of, behind, and next to her, but those across the aisle and a couple back as well. I was one row behind on the other side of the aisle and could not escape. The "she" in this story didn't have gas, wasn't snoring and didn't fall asleep and slobber on her neighbor's shoulder. Those fairly typical airline experiences would have been preferable. No, in this case, "she" turned around in her seat to talk to someone in the row behind her. For the entire flight. No exaggeration. Certainly that would have annoyed the person sitting next to her or next to the person she was speaking to, but here's where it gets ugly. This MAAPE -- Most Annoying Airline Passenger Ever -- spoke loudly enough for my dad, my mother-in-law, and the deaf guy on Project Runway to hear her. Did I mention this continued for more than three hours?

You know how people come together in times of crisis or despair? They form a special bond having lived through a terrible experience together. Well, that's what happened to passengers in rows 14-17 on flight 1752. As the hours went by, trips to the bathroom were opportunities to share a sympathetic and somewhat crazed smile. When the MAAPE volume increased, or she took a rare breath, our brothers and sisters in travel hell turned their heads to look at one another and communicate their frustration wordlessly. The poor guy next to me was trying to get work done, but gave up because he couldn't concentrate. Even earplugs didn't help block the noise. About two-plus hours into it I turned to my husband and told him I was going to say something (in keeping with my Grumpy Old Woman status). It seemed absurd that we should all suffer when perhaps she just didn't realize she was a loud talker (the polar opposite of Seinfeld's low talker). My husband, never one to make a scene, told me not to. Why I listened to him is beyond me. I said nothing and the dozen-plus people around her suffered in silence. Until...

One man, seated in front of me (the aisle across from the MAAPE) finally could hold his tongue no longer. He stated, loudly enough for all of us to hear, "Thank God this isn't an overseas flight! Three hours straight?! Seriously??" In the ultimate display of camaraderie, a gentleman sitting in front of the MAAPE passed back one of those airline-sized bottles of whiskey. Followed by one filled with vodka. Followed by a can of Coke. "So this is how you're surviving!," replied the grateful fellow passenger who took the whiskey in one shot. The laughter united us, and the MAAPE turned around and smiled, wondering about the joke she must have missed. She then continued talking. As loudly as before. We all had one more good laugh at her expense when I sneezed (never a subtle thing on my part) and my quick-witted son Ian announced for everyone to hear, "Geez, Mom, must you be so LOUD!" Love that kid.

When at last the plane landed and passengers disembarked, the palpable tension was broken and along with sighs of relief were comments and questions like, "Why didn't someone say something?" (We can all blame it on Rob.) One woman suggested the flight attendant should have spoken for all of us. The attendant responded with "I couldn't believe it. I kept thinking she had to stop eventually, but she just kept going."

I learned several valuable lesson on this flight:

1. Everyone should own noise-canceling headphones.
2. Alcohol is a good idea, regardless of whether you need it to calm your nerves.
3. Never listen to your husband when it comes to dealing with a problem.

Oh, and one more thing. Don't diss the baby. Little Samuel slept through the whole thing. Lucky little Cabbage Patch kid.

Priceless Unplanned Moments

I'm not a fly by the seat of my pants kinda girl. While I admire those with a sense of adventure, personally I don't have a taste for "winging it." I greatly prefer having a plan. I think that's part of what made Italy such a great experience for me. The itinerary was set on paper, nearly down to the hour. We knew when we were eating, what time we needed to be on the bus, where we were going, what churches we'd be visiting, and when we could take a nap (a.k.a. free time). We had a 24-7 Italian guide who took care of everything except fluffing our pillows. Agendas were in place, schedules were adhered to, everything ran smoothly. And  naturally, the most special moments were those we hadn't planned for.

Silvertones with Maestro del Coro John Shankweiler

The first of several memorable moments took place after the Silvertones' first concert. We were in the beautiful seaside town of Gallipoli for an evening performance in Sacro Cuore di Gesu, one of the dozen-plus Baroque style churches we were to visit on this trip. The singing was lovely and audience appreciative. In fact, oddly appreciative. A few older women gave us standing ovations, repeatedly. A little over the top, I thought. Well, it turns out that unbeknownst to us, the Silvertones were performing a tribute concert of sorts. It seems a few years back, a young man named Andrea heard the Silvertones perform when they were in that same part of Italy. A young composer and musician himself, he embraced the group and was involved in arranging one of their performances during that visit. Sadly, Andrea died from hepatitis B at age 32, just a year before the Silvertones returned to the Puglia region for this tour. When his family learned the group would be performing, they invited friends and extended family and printed a special tribute book. After the concert and the repeat standing ovations, his mother presented Silvertones' director John Shankweiler with a piece of art, and the family surprised the kids with a pizza party (which was being followed by a pre-planned 7-course meal). The highlight of the evening, however, was when friends of Andrea's sang one of his songs for us. That magical moment moved me to tears, and when I looked across the room at my son, I saw his eyes were also welling up. Just one of the many reasons why I love that kid.

I'm happy to say that none of the other special, unplanned moments of our trip had that kind of sad note to them. However, another did involve singing by someone other than -- or I should say in addition to -- us. After a performance in a church in Martina Franca (I think it was the one that was cold enough that we could see our breath), a local gospel group suggested we get together to perform for one another. The next evening after dinner, the Wake Up Gospel project paid a visit to our hotel where the five of them blew us away with their performances of classic American gospel music. I thought the Silvertones were good, but these folks were amazing. Of course, to be fair, they'd been together for seven years while our group changes every nine months.

I was being sarcastic when I said it was impressive.

Number three on the list of pleasant surprises was an unexpected invitation into a woman's home while we were strolling the streets of one of the historic town centers. As we meandered through the narrow alleys admiring the architecture, an Italian woman, probably in her 50s, invited us into her home to see what these residences looked like inside. Yes, 40+ Americans made their way up her glorious marble staircase and found ourselves in the quintessential Italian lady's home. An older woman lived there with her three adult daughters, surrounded by furnishing and decor that hadn't been touched in 30+ years. Naturally there wasn't a speck of

Valentino. Word of lung cancer
still has not reached Italy

dust among the mismatched photographs, trinkets and tableware, but all I could think of was how amazing that space, with it's 12 foot ceilings and marble columns, could have looked with some updating. The Silvertones thanked the women for the impromptu visit by gathering around her dining room table to sing for them. That performance gave me an opportunity to admire the artwork, including the impressive painting above of a pope or bishop or some other Catholic holy guy. The most fascinating tidbit of info we learned during that visit was that the home previously belonged to Rudolph Valentino.

Finally, the most lighthearted unexpected moment of our tour came in Matera, the last "big" city we visited. As we walked along the city wall, high above a valley below, we witnessed wildlife of some sort racing along the ravine. That wildlife? Wild boars. Trailing a short distance behind them? Baby boars struggling to keep up. The country has no deer, squirrels, rabbits, etc., but wild boar? Absolutely.

Hog heaven

Prior to this trip I did very little traveling outside the U.S. (and not that much inside the U.S. either). I'd only been to Yorkshire, England 15 years ago, with a couple of trips to Mexico in between. Visiting Italy awakened in me a real desire to travel, to see more of this amazingly beautiful world we live in. If I can get the kids to go to Villanova, I will happily spend their college savings (and perhaps their inheritance) exploring places I've only seen in pictures. And I'll be sure to leave time in my well thought out itineraries for those memorable unplanned moments.

Random Musings: Italian Edition

I have returned from the Silvertones' singing tour of the southeastern region (Puglia) of Italy. It was an amazing experience and worth every penny of my children's college education money. Just seeing Ian's tremendous smile when singing or hanging with his friends was incredibly special. I told him I must go on the next tour in two years. And maybe I'll continue to go after he graduates. He told me the kids liked me best out of all the chaperones, but lest I think too highly of myself he added, "That really isn't saying much when you consider the competition."

As I prepare to return to the daily grind, time and my jet lagged brain do not permit a full post reflecting on the experience at this point.  But because I know you've missed me terribly (and Rob disappointed you by not taking advantage of a great opportunity to get even with me for a three years worth of somewhat questionable posts), I thought I'd quickly share:

20 Things I Learned in Italy

A frogfish face only a mother could love.

1. I do, in fact, like red wine!
2. I do not, however, like octopus, or squid, or veal, or sushi, or vegetables...(most of the adventurous multi-course meals were wasted on me; I think Ian actually ate more than I did).
3. Frogfish does not taste as bad as it looks.
4. America's bread, cheese, salami/prosciutto and pizza pale in comparison to Italy's. Just don't try to bring home the meat. Damn those customs agents! Damn me for including the salami on the declaration form! 
5. Italian men are instantly recognizable and live up to their reputation as Lotharios. Our girls were frequent objects of "affection."
6. Older Italian women look like my mother-in-law and her sisters. 
7. Italians, at least in the region we were in, don't often use garlic, and the country as a whole is not

   

   
   

   particularly wild about chicken.
8. Or, hair conditioner.
9. Hotels don't feel adequate hair dryers are important, but they're big on heated towel racks and bidets.
10. As a tourist, siesta time sucks. This is why I didn't buy you anything. All the stores were closed when I wanted to shop.
11. Buildings in Italy are considered modern if they were built after the 17th century. 
12. Italians don't dress up for church, even on Easter Sunday. It's perfectly okay to wear ripped jeans and a sweatshirt, as long as you don't expose your shoulders, elbows or knees.
13. The long-legged blondes in our group turned a lot of heads in Italy. Same as they do in America.
14. Italians sell pizza topped with hot dogs and French fries. 
15. In the piazzas, throngs of people stroll through the streets (and I do mean "stroll." No one ever seems to be in a hurry over there. Maddening for speed walkers like me). Vehicles also drive on these streets, causing us to frequently shout "CAR" during our walking tours.  
16. There's a trend toward rosé wines at the vineyards in Italy. Rob is terribly disappointed to hear this.
17. Depeche Mode sounds awesome when drinking tea in a bar (what we would call a cafe or coffee bar) next to a 15th century church in Martina Franca.
18. The window balconies you see on castles and fancy homes were shaped outward to fit women's big
    
    dresses back in the day.
19. There are more than 50 million olive trees in the Puglia region.
20. The best moments in life are generally those you didn't plan for. 

And those special unplanned moments are what I'll share in my next post. Until then, arrivederci!

The Power of Suggestion?

I'm in Atlanta until Wednesday for the International Christian Retailing Show. It's where Christian publishers like Judson Press hawk their wares present their newest titles to Christian bookstore buyers. A rockin' good time to say the least. What are you snickering at?

It just so happens that the four days I'm in Atlanta are the same four that Rob is in Phoenix for the MLB All-Star game. Playing golf, wining, dining, and watching the best players in all of baseball. I know he's totally wishing he had my job and could hang out with the holy in Atlanta's convention center, but we can't all be so lucky.

While Rob and I are both out of town the kids will be enjoying the company of their Nana (my mom). They are sure to enjoy this little break from me given that my mom decided recently that she only wanted them to love her and therefore she would no longer in any way discipline them or ask them to do anything around the house. Great for her. Sucks for me.

Mom asked me yesterday before I left, with a touch of melancholy in her voice, if I get lonely when I travel solo. I coughed up what I was eating and milk flew out of my nose when I laughed and responded with "Are you kidding? I love it!" And I do love it. It's downtime for me. No one to clean up after. No one to reprimand. No one saying "I hate her/him, why did he/she have to be born?" I like having a bed to myself, and a tv to watch while propped up on way comfy pillows in air conditioning (our attic level bedroom is an oven in the summer). I don't even mind eating alone which some people are uncomfortable with. Just gives me a chance to read without having to make conversation.

So yes, I told mom I love to travel alone.

And wouldn't you know it, the whole way to the airport, and sitting at the gate, I was oddly homesick and missing the kids, and Rob, and my mom.

...I can't believe I'm stuck traveling all alone.