Two-hundred-fifty.  That’s the number of published posts – as of today – I have written.  Yep.  In less than two years live, I’ve written 250 posts.  That’s a lot of thoughts.  No wonder my brain hurts so often.

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.

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.

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.

Rules of Chocolate Easter Eggs

• If you get melted chocolate all over your hands, you’re eating it too slowly.

“The last stroke of midnight dies.

All day in the one chair

From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged

In rambling talk with an image of air:

Vague memories, nothing but memories.”  — William Butler Yeats

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?