It’s a rare thing to have the inn to ourselves – very rare – but the other night I took the opportunity to actually sit in the unusually quiet dining room to work on my weekly breakfast menu planning, bacon & eggs and so much more, while Abi watched the world cup soccer game back in our apartment.  It’s true.  I admit it.  I could care less about watching the world cup soccer games.  Am I the only one?

oWe traveled across the USA this past December and January. There were several places and stories, such as the Battle of Franklin, that really stood out. The stories have stayed with me sitting on a little brain shelf waiting to be dusted off and told.  Some stories are easy.  Some, not so much. I want to do the characters justice by finding just the right niche, the not so common side of things.

Imagine living to be 99-years-old and living your entire life in the same place, never going beyond what you know.  This is the story of Alfred – Alfred Jackson – an enslaved man who spent the better part of his life in servitude to President Andrew Jackson.

The alarm nudged me out of a deep sleep at 4:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning.  Tuesday, May 27, the last day of what was a practically perfect 8-day whirlwind of joy, laughter and yes, a few tears.

Sardine.  At this moment I think I understand the feeling of the proverbial sardine in a can. I am currently somewhere around 30,000 feet trapped in a tin cylinder with about 240 other sardines. The man sitting next to me is probably 6’2” if he’s an inch and although I pity him, practically folded in half in his middle seat, no way am I giving up my aisle seat for anyone.

Washington, DC.  Each year when Mother’s Day rolls around I give a little extra thought to my life as a mother; a precious part of my life for which I am boundlessly thankful for the gift of the incredible young man I call my son.  Actually, I call him, my son the attorney, because I love the sound of it and I love the way he rolls his eyes when I say it.  I never get tired of it.  😉

When we travel, and when we walk in the paths of those who came before us, I have a tendency to fixate on a singular person of interest.  I want more than the surface story, I want the details, the behind the scenes story. I’ll read everything I can find on the person, i.e. Johnny Cash, until I exhaust the resources.  And, if I’m lucky enough to find videos on YouTube, I’ll watch as many as I possibly can.

“Man, that record came out and was real big in Memphis.

They started playing it, and it got real big.

Don’t know why-the lyrics had no meaning.”

Elvis Presley

At this time next month we will be back in Washington, D.C. and I am filled with eager anticipation.  I cannot make the days go fast enough.

Do you stay in B&B’s when you travel?  That’s probably one of the most frequently asked questions from our guests.  We always smile, look at each other with a secret little gleam in our eyes, and answer, “No, we don’t.”  And, of course, the next question is, why not?