Travel wishlists

The travel bug has hit me HARD. At this time last year I was packing up and getting ready to head off to a yoga retreat in Lucca, Italy and then to travel with my husband through Florence, Lake Como, and all over Switzerland. We took it all in… gorgeous European lake life, city hustle and bustle, and an escape up to the Alps were I had spent a lot of time in college. I swam in the Mediterranean and Lake Como. I took Italian cooking lessons and spent a week with my dear friend Kari. We saw art we had never seen before. I took my husband to Mürren, Switzerland and found an old friend there the minute I got off the gondola. My husband got me to walk, hike, and explore places I would have missed to photograph in the villages. Every bit of it was just magical and romantic. I would do it again in half a second.

We are starting to plan our next trips. We have a wish list of places to go. Some are mine, some are Donald’s and some are mutual. We have found it’s really fun to plan a trip where we each pick a country and visit both of them. We find we both love the other’s choices. We have tentative plans for travel for the next two years. I find the research extremely joyful. I used to rip out bazillions of photos from shelter magazines or great decorating ideas. Now I rip out travel stories. I am keeping files of articles about the places we want to go. I’m starting to map out our calendars to make sure we get out there and see these magical spots. And every time I go I look at real estate listings and imagine what it would be like to live in the Alps or by an Italian lake.

Next up…. this fall we will head to Barcelona, the Pyrenees, and western France. I’m excited to go down the rabbit hole of planning another great trip.

Our home for a week in Lucca

Florence

Lake Como

Cinque Terra

Cinque Terra

Lake Como

Florence`

Our romantic hotel room in Florence overlooking a hidden garden

Lake Como

Throwing up my arms in joy while swimming in the Mediterranean with friends Kari and Savonn!  

I love summer!

I love summer! I love everything about it!! I was raised by parents who loved the water. My father the sailor and my mother the sun worshipper raised three children who embrace the sand, salt, and sea. I’m married to a man who MAY even love the beach more than I. He however was raised on glorious fresh water on a Great Lake.

The other night we were delightfully ditched by our twenty year old daughter in Charleston and had a wonderful dinner together at the Ordinary. We sat at the bar and drank fun cocktails and mocktails and had a raw bar feast. I had grabbed the hotel pad and pen as we left The Mill House and brought it with me. Together we made a list of the things we want to do in Vermont this summer.

Here is our Vermont wish list and yes… I know… Vermont is far from the beach!! Our beach list will come next!

1. Something special with our oldest daughter before she moves to Canada.

2. Visit Johnny Seesaws, an old Vermont favorite that has been fully renovated.

3. Have dinner in Londonderry at SOLO. We have yet to make the drive over the mountain to get to this spot which gets rave reviews.

4. Go see Rudyard Kiplings house and bring our youngest who loves The Jungle Book.

5. Go back to The Mount, the beautiful home of Edith Wharton

6. I want to make ravioli with the pasta machine I bought after taking a cooking lesson in Lucca, Italy last summer.

7. Donald promises to make me a soufflé'. He wooed me with this skill when we were dating and I haven’t seen once since! (other than in our favorite restaurant in Paris!)

8. I want to volunteer for programs that feed hungry Vermonters.

9. We want to perfect Swedish Cream, a desert my mother in law used to make. I tried it once after her passing and it was a disaster.

10. We want to get concert tickets at SPAC

11. Take a picnic to the top of Mt. Equinox

12. Buy tickets to the Dorset Theatre Festival. I saw they have a play on Agatha Christi I plan on going to!

13. Visit the peony garden at Hildene, the Lincoln family home in Manchester

14. Go see Farm Ballet, where the ballet dancers are dressed as VEGETABLES!

What do you do want to do this summer? Please feel free to leave an answer in the comments. I love reading about YOU!

Summer is coming

I sit here this morning in Boca Grande, Florida winding down our second winter in Florida. Donald is in Baltimore this morning with our two youngest children and my brother and his family. Henry and Gay are babysitting for their two oldest grandchildren (two adorable girls 4 and 1) and a house full of family dogs. Later this morning Donald and Courteney will head to Vermont with a U-haul of college apartment belongings. Donald will open the house and begin planting his garden at Starlight Farm. I don’t garden anymore. I was never very good at it and have passed the torch to our resident expert. My only request was to be in charge of the planters in front of our house.

Life on the island is much quieter than normal. I would imagine this is what Nantucketers feel like mid October. It’s like the morning after a dinner party. You had a great time, you loved seeing everyone….but you take a deep breath and enjoy your quiet house. Quiet island. It’s divine.

I have had this little business for the past year and a half. The dream started a few years ago when Donald was remarking that we needed to have more Michigan needlepoint in our lives. We love to travel, and we tend to spend our time in remote spots, small island, mountains, and next to a big Lake. The idea of kits came quickly, especially with a daughter who was creating a booming design business. Never for a minute did it occur to me that the business would grow so quickly. I’ve taken great pains to grow it at a manageable pace. We have a year and a half under our belts now and we are ready to grow. And grow we will. My aim is to keep the personal touch, keep the relationships with our customers, and provide more product to be shipped out to you, wherever you are.

This summer I will be launching paquets made by four more designers. I will add designs by two current needlepoint designers and one brand new needlepoint designer. We will also be launching our first exclusive line of Paquets de Needlepoint created by an über talented old friend who is both an architect and an interior designer. He has created magic and I can not wait to tell you more and show you what is coming!!

For the next few weeks I will be working behind the scenes preparing for our jump, our leap of faith, and our growth. I am so excited for summer. It’s coming! and I am going to be ready to embrace every single minute of my favorite season!!

Frances Valentine

I have always been a BIG Kate Spade fan and shared the country’s grief when this gorgeous light dimmed.  I was so saddened for Kate and for all of her family, especially her daughter.  (Not to diminish the depth of dispair over this entire situation, it’s not where I am going to focus today. Having lost a parent as a child, I prefer to make this blog about design and not someone else’s private family grief.)

I first became aware of Kate and Andy Spade back in the days when the world welcomed this uber talented duo. I remember a time in my life when Kate created a particular purse I worshipped and desired. (It was green tweed and would have been perfect for life in Vermont). I was a divorced mother with 5 small children working multiple jobs to keep us afloat. There was no way it was in my budget. Two of my dearest girlfriends independantly appeared with that purse and carried it beautifully. I’m not one for jealousy and I am by far not the most fashionable gal on the block but I do remember feeling that little twinge  of jealousy.  And then I discovered Kate’s apartment in New York….over the years I have spent hours drooling over the Spades’ New York City apartment in which Kate and husband Andy managed to pull off the trifecta of perfection….classic timeless elegance, a home for their child, and a glorious mix of gorgeous neutrals with yummy pops of color. As someone who struggles with an obsessive love of neutrals and a teensy tiny passion for color in interiors, I always wonder….how do I pull this combination off? How do I balance my love of neutrals and find ways to add color without it coming out too cute or overly contrived? Like the Spades. That’s how it’s done.

Many of these photos come from one of my favorite websites www.theselby.com. Do go check it out. It’s magnificent. I first found them when Amanda Cutter Brooks posted about their visit to her. I have been a loyal follower ever since. I also found fabulous photos by www.thecoveteur.com, an amazing website I found through the wonderful Heather Clauson of www.Habituallychic.luxury. I highly recommend looking at all three websites for more information and photos of the Spades’ amazing home.

Let’s get started!

As I’m looking at this for the umpteenth time I am noticing those glossy black doors!! Kate’s gorgeous signature style and the magical mix of design elements make this photo timeless. photo by The Selby

Gallery walls galore in the front enterance. I love gallery walls and these photos inspire me to keep trying to get it right! photo by the coveteur.com, photography by Alec Kugler

Anyone who has lived with children knows there is the struggle of where to put the stuff and keep up appearances! I love how the Spades just mixed it in. photo by The Selby

I’m just crazy for this painted piece and the gilded mirror. Look at that glass!! photo by The Selby

Again, they are mix masters. I have not quite gotten this right. I LOVE antiques and they have found a way to masterfully mix in modern pieces. Photo by The Coveteur.

Oh the red pipping!! and family portraits!! photo unknown

In a video with People magazine Kate said this was her favorite table in her house because it has all of her family on it. Photos from The Selby

I miss socially appropriate ashtray displays of stolen hotel finds. I also miss matches!! Photo by The Selby

I too have a love for and collection of old cigarette boxes. Kate also said in the people interview that she started this collection with one of her mother’s and that she then found the rest of these. Photo by The Selby

Is that chair not the absolute most gorgeous blue?????? photo by The Selby

I spy some real treasures here!! Can we please have gorgeous logo matches back??? I’m going to start passing out matches for my needlepoint business!! photo by the Selby

As a recovering cigarette aficionado I LOVE this. I smoked many a candy cigarette as a child with my grandmother at Shraffts Ice Cream Parlor in Scarsdale, NY. Photo by The Selby

That phone!! I love this because it’s a real working desk. Not a desk for show. There are several chairs with needlepoint cushions in various photos. Photo by the Selby

LOVE a great bar tray!! photo by the Selby

photo by The Coveteur

What always appealed to me about Kate’s style is she took what we saw our mothers’ love…women who were raised in the 40s and then raised their families in the 60s and 70s….. fabulous classic American style with early European influences… and she added a modern twist. Kate took all of this one more step farther, with a genius use of color.

Don’t you want to hang out in this kitchen???? I always get drawn into the details of family life. I too have a TV in my kitchen in Vermont. It keeps me company while I create masterpieces or sit and have a cup of tea. Phone, cookbooks, I love it all. photo by the Selby

LOVE this. Why do I so love the combination of silver and liquor bottles? I just love the way it looks so much! Phot by The Selby

photo by The Selby

Photo by The Selby

Photo by The Selby

Photo by The Selby

I hope there are Sea Monkeys in there! photo by The Selby.

photo by The Selby

A magical corner where I’d like to sit. Photo by the Selby

As you may be aware Kate and Andy Spade began Frances Valentine after the sale of their first business. It was an opportunity for Kate to keep creating. The names Frances and Valentine are family names on Kate’s side. Kate and Andy’s daughter is also named Frances. There are many articles about the company and it’s structure and all of the wonderful people involved on the magical internet. I encourage you to read them. Kate’s dear friends, husband, and family are dedicated to keep this company going. They are all involved. They are not muddling through… they are moving forward with talent and enthusiasm and dedication. Kate’s niece Rachel Brosnahan has done an amazing ad campaign for Frances Valentine. The photos, the bags, the shoes, the colors, the attitude, all of it. They have nailed it. (Have you seen The Amazing Mrs. Maisel??? My sister Puddy would not stop talking about it and badgering me to watch it. She was right, it’s absolutely hilarious. Watch it! I have recently become a big Rachel Brosnahan fan.)

Photo from Frances Valentine of their gorgeous bags www.francesvalentine.com

photo from www.francesvalentine.com

photo from www.francesvalentine.com

I have decided to really get behind this company. That’s what you do right? When a family powers through a personal tragedy we as a community make casseroles, drive carpools, send notes. When a family and their friends carry on with a gorgeous beautiful brand in honor of their beloved founder, we get on board, we open their emails, we look at their website, and we buy beautiful bags and shoes.  There are so many beautiful products to choose from. I can’t wait to buy a summer bag. Maybe they will make a green tweed one for winter!!

xo Tricia

When you teach a child to stitch....

Thörn Alexander and Martha Alexandra Thompson Thorn. Brooke, the Founder of Thörn Alexander, above as well.

I don’t have any local needlepoint shops near me. The closest one that carries Silk and Ivory is two hours away, I’ve been there twice in the past two weeks... 8 hours of driving for needlepointing! I’m designing a very special and limited edition Boca Grande goodie for an auction here on the island. Although I kit needlepoint for a living, sometimes I just need to get in front of a wall of fibers, hold all the colors in my hands and move them around and look at my options to pick the perfect palette. (This is also how I choose fibers for paquets.) I did this wall worship yesterday at Needlepoint in Paradise in Naples, Florida. While I was waiting for something else (I will tell you about later) I made myself comfortable in a sitting area and saw a very proud and excited grandmother buying her two grandchildren childrens’ kits. The little sweet shy boy who was about 5 got an apple, and his bouncing,  jumping for joy 7 year old-ish sister got a unicorn.  It really took me back as I watched this little girl who was seriously bubbling over, tip toeing dancing around waiting for her kit to be rung up. She could not contain her absolute joy. I watched and thought.... who knows where this will take these children, their own families, and the needlepoint community. I thought of my own cherished grandmother. I thought of the numerous grown men who have told me in this past year that they know how to Needlepoint because their mothers taught them as teens. 

This photo is of my grandmother, Martha Alexandra Thompson Thorn. Both she and my mother taught me to Needlepoint when I was 6.  My mother would pass away unexpectedly the next year and my grandmother would continue to nurture my love of fiber arts. We lived in a tiny one square mile town called Bronxville in the suburbs of New York City. My grandmother also loved dollhouses and together we would knit miniature blankets and needlepoint rugs for our small houses.  My grandmother would bring me to the fiber shop in the next town often. She was an avid knitter and seemed to go in frequently to ask questions about things like putting sleeves on the sweaters she knit for me. (Yes, I was that child in the class who only had hand knit sweaters with mother of pearl buttons, over my Danskins!) While at the shop I would pick up needlepoint kits. I dabbled in childrens’ kits for years until I was a teen and I finished a project for my grandmother when she could no longer see 18 mesh canvas. This first major project I stitched was 12x12 pillow on 18 mesh which sits in my stepmother’s home in Bedford, NY.  I’m always in awe when I pick it up and see stitches going in all directions and a random display of way too tight tension. No one ever told me there were so many mistakes! (And I’m so grateful now, because I never knew, my enthusiasm was not squelched). Maybe Grammy (above) is the real muse for my last blog post about there being no wrong ways to make your art!! 

My grandmother’s love and nurturing of needlepoint left behind a legacy none of us could have imagined. In this photo she is holding one of her three great granddaughters. That little watermelon clad babe is Brooke, the founder of Thörn Alexander!  This needlepoint teaching grandmother is holding a baby who would design needlepoint which was photographed by and published in Better Homes and Garden 23 years later.  I just can’t even imagine how very proud she would have been. 

In my stash of current projects are four projects for my great nieces, my grandmother’s two youngest great great granddaughters Madison and Taylor.  In fact, as I sit here and type it occurs to me that Martha’s granddaughters, and great granddaughters are ALL stitching designs painted by that very baby above. 

 If you give a mouse a cookie... I mean if you give a young person a Needlepoint... you never know where it will take them! 

Dear New Stitchers

Dear New Stitchers,

I feel joyful every single time I see a new stitcher. You make me happy!

I am often asked for stitching advice. It’s the grey hair, right? I love it! But I think it’s because ya’ll think I’m old!! (I am to you so that’s okay!)

Here is my advice to you dear friends:

We have come a long way from where we were in the needlepoint world when I learned as a 6 year old sitting with my mother on our living room couch. I learned as a young girl that both my paternal grandmother and my mother needlepointed  a little differently. The first time someone told me I was doing something wrong, I was about 10 and my sister’s best friend had a completely different approach to needlepoint. I remember thinking both methods work. I remember thinking “how I am doing it is not wrong” but I also remember thinking “your way doesn’t make it right”.

What I am seeing now 48 years later on Facebook and on instagram is people actually telling each other they are not right. A while back I posted a video on my IG account of scooping basketweave (a stitch that runs diagonally) and a person commented to another follower that needlepoint should never be done in that direction, that it can only be done in one direction and must be in a frame. I laughed when I saw the comment, because I’m a big girl and I can see through it but I could see how other might feel hurt by misinformation like that. I am appalled seeing bossy comments all the time on social media. I have heard equally appalling comments in person in shops.

We have come a long way over the years, that I - only one person, have been stitching.  In the days when I was a girl, you went to one shop, maybe one more if you were lucky enough to go on vacation near another shop, and you did what your shop told you. You did what your friends or family told you….but what you didn’t do was constantly read about what others said you had to do or what was wrong.

Here is what I say to you my new needlepointers…. What you like to do is NOT WRONG. There are no needlepoint police (although some people like to play them in shops, online, or at gatherings.) What you do IS NOT WRONG.

Here is what I can tell you:

It’s not wrong:

1.  To support your local needlepoint shop. (Find one which is lovely to you! They are out there! I have favorites that I LOVE LOVE LOVE and I am happy to tell you where to find them and why I love them!)

2.   To buy online. These folks are business owners too, like the shops these designers are making money to support themselves/families in the way that feels best to them.

3. To stich on a frame

4. To stitch “in hand”

5. To stitch white any time you want

6. To stitch white last

7.  To stitch on a plane, a car, a park, on a boat. It’s especially not wrong to stitch on a beach or on a boat!

8.  To only stitch at home

9. To eat peanut butter cups and drink chai lattes with your cat on your lap while wearing your Disney pajamas and needlepointing while binge watching 5 seasons of the Bachelor

10. To stitch in your pet-hair free needlepoint room wearing gloves and using a hair straightener to make sure your fibers lay beautifully

11. To cry over your lost love, with snot dripping down your face while stitching kittens dancing under a disco ball

12. To do continental (that stitch that goes back and forth) for your entire life. It might take you little longer but honey, it’s not wrong god damn it!

13. To get super competitive with your stitches and trying to be the very best you can (trying to make other people feel small = wrong.)

14. To flip your canvas 

15. To never flip your canvas

16. To do that fabulous steps and poles thing

17. To not give a flying fuck about that fabulous steps and polls thing

18. To bring small scissors on a plane, and maybe have TSA take something from you

19. To bring small scissors on a plane and maybe never have TSA take something from you

19. To show up for a gathering of a Stitch Club Official event or at your local shop  (in a safe public place) by yourself, knowing no one. (imagine the friends you could meet!) (I recently sent someone to one and they loved it! Thank you Charleston Stitch Club- You the best!!)

20. To stitch swears or bunnies, or boobs, dicks, or dogs wearing tutus, Go for it!

21. To do what stitches make you happy! And to ignore the advice of others

22. Make mistakes!  Needlepoint is not a competition. Needlepoint is art. Make art. Art has no rules. You are making pieces of art for your home or your friends. You are the boss of your art.

Over time we have gone from people isolated around the country each thinking we are doing everything right. The online connection brought people together, people with different ideas and they were shocked to find people doing things differently and sadly the needlepoint police was formed. Seriously, isn’t there some kind of Dr. Suess book about this? That Butter Battle book right??? I am going to rewrite this and call it the Frame Battle book!!

YOU, you wonderful millennial stitchers are breathing a new life into this fabulous art. AND YOU ARE NOT WRONG!!! You do you!! You make needlepoint the way you want. You are inspiring middle aged folks who never learned to stitch to get on the band wagon. Hear that! You are inspiring the older folks to start!!

My daughters will sometimes say to me…. “you do you, and I’ll do me, moooom” (insert sarcastic mom name with extra syllables.)  Okay this probably means I’m bugging them to do something my way.  It means “back off mom”, right?! But I get it!!  I think it’s great! (Let’s not tell them I think it’s great, ok!)  I do it my way, they will do it their way! I like that!!

If you want to learn how to do something faster, easier, or differently just ask. In the meantime, what you are doing IS NOT WRONG! You do you! I will just be here cheering for you!!

And in the long run, I’m going to learn something new from you. We both know that, right?

GO! GO! GO!

We are cheering for you! Each and every one of you!!

xo Tricia

Bancroft Barrington

Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Actually, no one is innocent but I changed them anyway.

When I arrived on the St Lawrence campus my parents pulled into a little parking space next door to Dean Eaton, the freshman girls dorm.  My older sister had graduated from the same university 11 years before so my father knew where they were going to drop off the baby of the family and be FREE. I had gone to boarding school for the last three years, but this was a whole bigger level of empty nesting.

When we pulled into this little parking area I saw a girl crying. Because I had been in boarding school I was ready for a drop and roll, smooches all around, wave, wave, goodbye. Get my rents on their way and let the fun begin! College. Bye mom and dad, see ya! But this girl was crying. I needed to see what was wrong. I felt sorry for her, surely she was terrified being dropped at college.

I walked up to her and the first words she said to me through tears were “Bancroft Barrington”...“Bancroft Barrington” she choked out again, “just left” and she pointed to a little itty, bitty, teeny tiny, microscopic diamond ring on her finger. This was not quite what I expected but, okay, I would just go with it. It turned out her high school boyfriend had just dropped her at school. (We would learn years later that her parents in Darien didn’t feel like driving to Canton, NY to drop another daughter at college so they paid said Bancroft Barrington one hundred dollars to make the 12 hour long round trip.)

I brought the sobbing girl, we will call her Jenny, with me to check in. My mother peered at me over her reading glasses wondering if she needed to assist with said crier. Turns out we were roommates and had 4 other roommates, in a former faculty apartment. Within minutes the 6 of us decided to throw a party, made a huge trip to the liquor store and invited everyone we knew from our home towns, knew slightly, or met that day.  Unbeknownest to me, my parents didn’t leave on my scheduled departure plan, and I ran into them again 2 hours later as we were bucket bragading cases of beer and bottles of tequila into our spanking new dorm. We got Jenny to forget about her tears for one night. We partied like it was 1999. She danced and sang atop a table. And I laughed so hard, I doubled over, banging into a chair and had a nice shiner for the first week and a half of college. 

There would be a lot of tears about Bancroft Barrington the first semester of Freshman year. I remember meeting him over Thanksgiving vacation and being thrilled by this fun, fun, fun guy. And then there was no more Bandcroft Barrington.  Like for many of us, a wonderful boyfriend from home does not always survive the college life.

Over the years we saw different boyfriends and a husband but we all were kinda like “Can we have Bancroft Barrington back?” “Jenny, where is Bancroft?” Back before the internet and cellphones kids kept in touch via the mail and calling home phones which sat in proximity to ease dropping family members.  We had no Snapchat people, communication was work.

Bancroft Barrington was a name which stuck with me. The first two words I heard when I arrived on my college campus. Occasionally I would hear about him through the grapevine.

Marissa Tomei made a movie which made me laugh and made me think of my dearest Jenny and Bancroft.  In the movie Only You Marissa decides to go looking for the mysterious Damon Bradley, a name the Ouija board told her was her soul mate when she was 11 and playing with her brother. A fortune teller concurs years later and Marrisa’s character goes on the hunt for this elusive soul mate all over Europe.

As life would have Bancroft Barrington and Damon Bradley would resurface. In their forties, after first marriages, children, and divorces, Damon, I mean Bancroft would in fact come back to us.

Today I board a plane heading to visit Jenny and Bancroft. Tomorrow I will pick up two other dearest, cherished St. Lawrence friends at the airport and we will go help the Barrington family with a joyful project they are working on.  

There will most certainly be a party, there will absolutely be dancing on the table, and with any luck I will not return with another black eye.  

My Father Had Two Wives

My father had two wives. When I read that sentence it stops me in my tracks a teeny bit. It’s a big statement, one many of you can make as well. It’s funny to me though. My father was not the type of man you would predict would be married multiple times. The fact is, he was not the man any sane woman would want to divorce, nor would he have given up on his wife without very good reason. Bill Thorn was a true gentleman. He smiled easily, used his words and giant squishy bear hugs to express great love, and was a big ol’ bundle of humor, smarts, empathy, and appreciation for the world and people around him. This World War II ambulance driver, boy from Bronxville, and proud Choate alum, ran a big department of a big insurance company in New York. He had a gazillion friends who he only spoke highly of. My three favorite things about my father were holding his beautiful hands, his honest answers, and his belly laugh. An absolutely devoted sailor and father, he raised his children on the family boat. As a Marine insurance man, he made sure we could all swim very well when we were very small.. I don’t remember an age when I had to wear a life jacket or could not join my family swimming off our boat in Long Island Sound.

My parents sometime before I was born.

My father’s first marriage was to my mother Patty, a woman he met at a party in a basement in Bronxville. This sentence makes me laugh because I too attended many parties in basements in Bronxville. My parents had each gone to the party with a date. Yup, not a good day for either date. I don’t even know their names. Helen Stewart, the hostess, had planned a picnic, and it rained. The party was moved into her parent’s basement and Thorn history was made. My parents were in college, after their engagement my mother transferred to be closer to my father who was at Yale. They built a life together, had a great love story, and had three children together. They lived within a block of the house where they met. There were a lot of laughs, a lot of child antics, and a house full of teenagers driving my mother batty during the 60s. I vividly remember my parents glued to the TV news while my teenage brother was at Woodstock. We spent a lot of time in Chatham and Edgartown, always on the water, always on a boat. My mother would tell my father which direction to sail and when to come about so that the sun shined on her.

Patty and Tricia at American Yacht Club 1965. My brother and sister were 12 and 14 when I was born.

Bill, Patty, and Tricia @ 1969

In 1972 my mother died. It was a crushing blow to my father, my siblings, and I, one we did not see coming. She died of malpractice after having a hysterectomy in a local hospital. Her two doctors lived in our town, one lived two doors down from us, the other was the father of my sister’s classmate. My father was widowed with 3 children aged 21, 19, and 7. A man in the insurance business who dealt with catastrophe every day was hit with one he never saw coming. The miracle of the whole thing is that he rose, man did he rise above it all. He assembled his team, he jumped in with two feet, and a big fricking heart and he raised his children in the manner which would have made their mother very, very proud. I was the seven year old and although we experienced this horrific loss, and not to belittle it, I can tell you with all honesty that I had a happy childhood because my father gracefully stepped into the role of both mother and father. And God bless those mothers in Bronxville. They had him on a field trip with the second grade in his business suit within weeks. I know he was nervous they were going to try and make him “a class mother.”

At one point that year I thought it would be absolutely perfect for my father to marry the divorced mother of my playmate next door. We could be sisters! My friend thought so too!! We told all our friends in second grade that our parents were getting married. My father was at a cocktail party a few weeks later when a group of mothers approached him to inquire about his upcoming nuptials, apparently my father had just taken a big sip off his gin and tonic which he accidentally spit all over the room in shock and horror. Needless to say I got a lecture about spreading this story over my Lucky Charms the next morning.

I’m happy to announce that my father would find love again, right in front of him, with a wonderful woman who had worked for him for years. My stepmother, whom I also call “my mother” just to really complicate things, was his happily ever after. Best friends, great loves, companions, spouses, joyful partners in all things good for 35 plus years. She brought him great comfort, great joy, and made him feel so very loved. She dedicated the last several years of his life, to taking impeccable care of him as he succumbed to dementia.

My parents (Bill and his wife Saralou) in Ireland kissing the Blarney Stone. I was the 7th grade photographer.

My father had two wives, he modeled happy marriage to his children, not once, but twice.

Saralou and Tricia Lakeville, Ct.

Bill Thorn, very happily married to Saralou for over 35 years.

When I decided to leave my first marriage, I had been watching the movie You’ve Got Mail over and over. In the movie Meg Ryan talks about having a dream of someone, the right someone. I had that dream too. Although my first marriage was nothing like I had hoped, it didn’t sour me to marriage. I always knew I wanted to get married again. I like marriage. I just needed the right person to share the journey with. I wanted to find the love of my life. As a single mother with FIVE, yes FIVE young children I knew this would not be easy. My college friend Aimee, who was divorced with three small children assured me that there were men out there who were not afraid to date women with children. I have to admit I didn’t believe her at first, but was happily shocked to find out she was right. I used to say my 5 children were like a colander for dates. Only the good ones (for me) made it through my very special filter.

I had one very important thing I wanted in my life partner. I didn’t know what he would look like, do for a living, or how many children he would have. But I knew one thing. I wasn’t getting married again without one key word playing a huge role in my decision. I realized that what my father had in both of his marriages was something I wanted, one simple word from the wedding vows. I wanted someone to cherish, and I wanted someone who would cherish me. It as that simple. I was optimistic this was possible. Because I’m Bill Thorn’s daughter. And he showed me it was. And he was right.

What are YOU?

Last weekend I went to Houston with my husband to celebrate the birthday of a very favorite friend, Jeff. It was joyful to gather around this wonderful man with his family and friends. Although I had a commonality with the family, as a very long time ago I had lived in Houston…they are all friends from Vermont, where they have a summer home. Our friends Jeff and Katherine have had oodles of family and friends from Houston visit over the years so it was great fun for us as we knew many guests at the festivities over the weekend.  I had not been back to Houston in 19 years since I left with my 5 little children to start a new life.  It was really good to be back. If felt like home again. I can’t wait to bring the children back and show them all the places that were important to us. I was grateful to share it all with my husband Donald who I met three years after arriving in Vermont.

We attended a dinner Friday night at hands down the most beautiful home I have ever been in.  Although I didn’t have the nerve to take any photos other than some candids of the birthday boy with his family, I am going back!! Julie and David, I’m coming for you and your gorgeous house, brazen Yankee that I am, camera in hand. Saturday night was spent in an amazing venue in Houston. The band was joyful, the food fantastic and our hosts for the evening are the best! I am so grateful to have been included. Do you know Sunday night they threw another party for 300! I called “Uncle!” and was in bed by 9. I couldn’t keep up! That says a lot for a St. Lawrence girl!

I love to travel and do it fairly well. I am a professional traveller. In fact, my business card title is “traveling stitcher”. I wear this self proclaimed title very proudly. I am not a gadget person in real life, like a tech gadget or kitchen gadget person…but I am a travel gadget girl. I am also obsessed with luggage and travel capsule wardrobes. Adventure and packing are my jam.  I freaking keep notes on what I pack on trips. I try to bring only what I’m going to wear and I add to my notes after my trip. I am a huge traveling dork!

And I always travel with my camera. I’m not a tidy, great camera gear bag kind of gal. Oh no, I am a throw my beloved dusty camera over my shoulder kind of gal. It’s always available and an extension of my being. There are times that I snap lots of photos, for example if I am taking photos of one of our soon to be NINE great nieces. Photographing little people sometimes takes a lot of photos to get just the absolute perfect candids. Other times I lift my camera, take one photo and I know I have my shot.

The photos below were taken on Sunday at a restaurant in Houston called La Table. I had come in wearing my camera on my shoulder, sat in my seat, and saw some things I wanted to capture. One, two, three, done. French food, here I come!

There was a young couple sitting at a table a foot away from us and the gentleman who was across from me asked if I was a photographer. “No, I have a blog that I love” I said sheepishly and that was the end of it. He didn’t look convinced and I went back to eavesdropping on his conversation….first date, blind date, fixed up by family friend and a hairdresser, he was quite a bit younger than she. She didn’t appreciate him or was trying way too hard to play hard to get, which I found ironic because he seemed way out of her league. Dying to know if there is a second date!!

What I am left with after the lunch in this restaurant was that I said “no” when asked if I was a photographer. I would tell you I was a sailor (spent my childhood raised on the family boat and in sailing camp.) Yet, I am a better photographer than I am sailor. (The Thorn family will attest to the fact that I am the worst sailor in a family of very accomplished sailors! My comfort on boats has zero relationship with my interest in navigation or sailing jobs.) Why can I not say I’m a photographer?

What makes us something? Is it time? Confidence? Accolades or financial compensation? Should we, or in this case I, own what I love and claim it as my own? I think this month I am going to spend some time pondering what I love and what I feel good about and how to make it my own. Today I start my saying, yes, I am a photographer.

Bringing Up Baby

Being the youngest child is hard.  I know, I know, all the older kids out there are rolling their eyes. Being the first, and having to do everything that is unknown first IS hard! I really felt for my oldest as she had to go into the world, to kindergarten, to high school, to study abroad, blindly and faithfully that it would all work out. (You slayed it, honey!) Then there is that middle child thing. Something probably only middle children really understand!! My brother Henry was the baby for 11 years before I was born, so he got the only son, baby thing for more than his fair share of time. In our family, our big beautiful blended family, we really have 2 oldest children, 3 middle children (another who had been the baby for so long) and 2 babies. The two youngest are 18 months apart, almost to the day, but really there is one baby, Courteney.

In my family growing up I had 3 parents. I had my very adored only child father. My father had gone from Riverside Day School, to boarding school in 7th grade, on to fight in World War II, and then to the then all male Yale. As he said, he wore a tie from the time he was 5.  He was a man who had lots of “brothers” and loved nothing more than some gross dining hall or mess food, like corn beef hash or that gross thing …what’s it called?… oh yes, chipped beef on toast, or as my father used to joke with a twinkle in his eye “shit on a shingle.”  My mother on the other hand was the middle child of five. My grandfather’s first wife died during labor so my eldest aunt was about seven years older than the next. My mother had two sisters above and a little sister and brother. She and the little sister Clairy were thick as thieves. A tragic and premature death of my mother, brought about some changes in my home and my father remarried a lovely woman who would be my (step) mother from the time I was 8. My stepmother came into our lives with a huge heart, a tiny VW bug, half a house in Vermont, and cousins galore for me. (Phew! I needed some!) My stepmother was also the baby in her family, the youngest of 3 very close sisters from Garden City.  Finally, finally, finally, someone understood what it was like to be the youngest!! Although she never said “I know how hard it is”, she told me numerous stories which showcased her true understanding of my situation. I understood that although my brother and sister where so much older than I, and I so missed all the activity in the house when they went off to school, she had it worse. She was just old enough to be on the fringe of all  the teenagers in her house (including the two teenage boys who would one day become my uncles). However, she was also juuuust young enough to be left at home by sisters who didn’t want a little sister tagging along. Just young enough to be out in the car with her mother waiting outside the movie theatre to pick up happy, bubbling, chatting teen girls.

Being raised as the youngest by 3 different older parents absolutely had an effect on me. My mother was pretty unruffleable when I was little and pushing the limits. In the late 60s while I was throwing tantrums about being allowed to put my own ketchup on my hamburger, my mother was unfazed. Her concerns were far greater, like what were those Beatles and why was my sister at Shea Stadium? or would my brother’s numbers be drawn to call him to Vietnam? I remember clearly some nervous parents pacing and watching the news when they got word their 17 year old son and his girlfriend  had borrowed her mother’s car and headed to Woodstock. It is for this reason, that as a toddler when I threw a full on screaming, rolling on the floor tantrum in Lord and Taylors in Scarsdale, my mother stepped back into the crowd and looked around and said “Who’s child is that?”  (My sister who was a teenager at the time and witnessed for this from the crowd, still tells this story with a mix of glee and horror.)

My husband is the youngest child as well. With two older sisters and an older brother, my mother and father-in-law were also up to their eyeballs in teenagers. With a neighborhood full of big families, the mothers on the street often divided and conquered. My husband is a devoted golfer to this day because Mrs. Ball, a lovely neighbor and dear family friend used to take Donald and her son Jonathan to play golf with her, while my mother-in-law Mame held down the fort. (Clearly Mrs. Ball won that one.)

When you are the youngest child your siblings often play a big role in your parenting. Both my husband Donald and I experienced this and we have happy memories of being both nurtured and bossed around. You go with the flow as the youngest, because you are literally carted around everywhere to other kids’ activities. In our day we rode in the car in the center of the bench seat between our parents, or often loose and free in the rear of a station wagon. Many of my childhood friends from Bronxville are the youngest children as well. In fact most of them are. My class in particular was filled with babies, almost everyone of them from considerably bigger than my own family of 3 kids. We are kindred spirits. recognizing the signs, visiting childhood homes with unoccupied bedrooms of college kids.  Our small school in our one square mile town was K-12, and although the elementary school and high school are in separate wings, we saw teenagers on the way to special places like the library.  The babies, recognized and identified in the halls and called out by the older kids. I spent much of my nursery school years on the bleachers watching my brother play high school football. He was a junior the year I started kindergarten.

This brings me to today. In a teeny house on a little island in the Gulf of Mexico three babies bask in the sunlight pouring in the windows. Each quietly entertaining ourselves within a 50 foot radius. Donald doing the NYT crossword puzzle, I at my computer, and our youngest child working away at the kitchen table. She is stuck with her parents, while 6 older siblings are literally all over the planet, living in their own homes with roommates, working, pursuing their dreams. It’s not easy being the baby. It’s especially not easy being the baby with two baby parents!! We are not as sympathetic as we should be. We sometimes laugh at her when she complains.  We totally commiserate. We know what it’s like when those big wonderful kids go off and abandon you, and it’s quiet, and you are stuck with the parents. It’s shocking when it happens, all of a sudden they are gone. We also know that the project she is working on at the kitchen table, and her drive to join them out in the world will take her very far. Be patient little one, your time is coming, and it’s almost here.

Struggling with the commercialism of Christmas

I am having a Christmas struggle this year. Before I share my story I need to be clear, this is not a judgement piece. I have no judgement for anyone on how they do the holidays. As my daughters say “you do you and I’ll do me.” (That is actually usually said to me when the youngest one has lost patience with my nagging!)

I am SO respectful of shops and vendors and makers and doers out in the world promoting their products and providing amazing holiday presents for people to give their loved ones. Hell, I am buying some of those very wonderful things. I am in awe and love what each of you is doing. Please keep doing it!! I need you!!

This has been an usual pre-Christmas for me. In the past I have been in Vermont and more recently at Starlight Farm nesting, setting up the house, dragging car loads of packages in the house every day. For years my sister Puddy and I had a contest to see who could get their Christmas shopping done and wrapped first. She kicked my ass one year having it all done by HALLOWEEN!! Today I sit and write to you all from a tropical island in the Gulf of Mexico. As a born and bred East Coaster, I find the whole decorating of palm trees super fun and delightful but not Christmassy at all TO ME. So on December 17th I find I have very little prepared and can not bring myself to promote my business. In fact, I have shut down all shipping until after the New Year….why?

I don’t think that I have lost the spirit of Christmas. I am almost sure it is just dormant. In fact, now that I think about it…I actually think I have it back. I think I am internally very Christmassy without any desire to produce more piles of plastic, discarded paper, or things which will end up in a landfill. I am feeling a little Laura Ingalls Wilder-ish….if my children don’t look out, they are each going to get a corn husk doll and a peppermint. Hell, if I had gotten my shit together earlier I would have needlepointed you all something special. That to me is where I’m at.

I am so looking forward to flying to Vermont on Wednesday and having (many of) our children under one roof. I am also excited to have two of their significant others, my sister and my brother-in-law around my table. I’ve just ordered electric blankets to keep everyone warm. (thank you Amazon for not being like me and shutting down your site!)

We have a huge pile of firewood to keep both the living room and the kitchen fires aglow. I am excited to pull out my silver feather tree with it’s little antique ornaments from the basement and set it up in my dining room. I can’t wait to get my lifetime collection of both gorgeous and funny ornaments for our big tree out of my special hiding place. I can’t wait to go pick up my 6th needlepoint stocking from my friend Maria at my local needlepoint shop. I have visions of a traditional Christmas Eve fondue party (my sister is already telling my children the story of when the table lit of fire when they were babies asleep upstairs.).

For many years my vision of Christmas was giving my children things which made them smile. Trying to find the right gift. This year, as our children are adults, I have different visions, actually memories of them traveling with us. Drinking wine together in Napa, having dinner in Yosemite. Black tie in Palo Alto, standing on the top of a mountain looking over wine country. Those are the gifts I want to give my children now that they are out working in the world. In someways Christmas has already happened for us.

Our Christmas was a little different last year. We had a snow storm. We had family visiting. We had a houseguest most of us had never met. We had a Christmas birthday. We had family members of a loved one have to leave town in a rush to meet the arrival of a new Christmas birthday baby. Things kept changing by the hour, the snow kept coming down, faces came and went. Laughter and love happened with us all together in snowy Vermont. I remember NOTHING about the presents. I remember the presence. I remember the laughter, the toasts, the board games. I remember my brother-in-law Phil’s hilarious laughter bellowing through the house when one of those board games got really out of hand. I remember explaining mucus plugs and dilation in a fancy french restaurant in the country to an awaiting new uncle while his sister was in labor. And the joy the whole house felt when the good news came that Baby Bowen arrived after midnight and would share his Christmas birthday with Uncle Ethan!

This year I am excited for Bing, Nat, and Dean. I am excited for friends. I am excited for extended family. Fires, board games, fondue. Birthday Cake. Needlepoint stockings. Many of our children under one roof. All of it. Every last smidge.

I will get the presents together, but I am really looking forward to the presence of loved ones.

Daisy

After months of scouring the internet and searching, searching, searching for a rescue dog to fit our family, I found the perfect one by accident. 

I had planned on driving to New Jersey to pick up a nine year old Cocker rescue when I got cold feet. It just didn’t seem like the right fit and I was concerned. At midnight on that Friday night, I found a great lead on another dog, a scruffy pudgy terrier named Rose. I got up the next morning and drove an hour and a half to find her at a rescue event.

When I walked into the dog adoption event the I learned that Rose was not there that week, it turns out that she was back at the shelter being spayed. Very disappointed, I took a deep breath and decided to look in the other cages. Sound asleep in one of the first crates I peered in was this girl. When they took her out she was TERRIFIED. Cowering and fearful, my girl was devestated by being in the giant pet store, with all the noise and barking. She’d just arrived from the long long drive from Tennessee two days before and had been separated from her doggy “sibling” from her previous home. She peed all over the floor and looked at me with pleading eyes. I ran out to my car and grabbed my Finn. When I brought him over she stood up and brightened up and wagged her tail. I knew I had to take her home. I couldn’t possibly leave her there and I told her so. But I had to, I filled out the paperwork and paid the fee to secured her adoption, and she return to the shelter to be spayed.

When I went to the shelter to get her, she peed again and cowered. The vet tech told me she had come from a home, and all this shelter stuff was freaking her out.  

This girl walked in our home and came to life. She is 100% housebroken, sits on command, and loves with all her heart. She has absolutely no idea what the word “no” means yet she does knows the sound of a bag of dog treats being opened. Someone loved this sweet girl before we found her. 

Daisy operates in 3 modes.... 

1. PLAY PLAY PLAY

2. Sleepy -can’t keep her eyes open

3. And PET ME!!!!!!! 

Most of the day is spent moving a dog that goes floppy when she doesn’t want to be moved and in “PET ME!!!!!” Mode.

Did I mention that she can’t tell time and sometime floppy and “PET ME!!!” Happens at 3 a.m..  

We’ve been rescued. And Finn once again has a very best friend. 

Practical Magic brewing in Dorset, Vermont

No one throws a party like our dearest YaYa, Interior Designer extraordinaire Amy Thebault. With the ease of a well-established hostess and the eye of a true artist, Amy sets the scene for a magical soiree. Over the years there have been many occasions, each better than the next…small snowy winter birthday parties, stream side BBQs, cocktails on the front porch, big blow out celebrations and the best themes you can imagine. Last night was a celebration of the full moon, a gathering of women, and a friendship palooza. The ever wonderful Practical Magic Party!

Little notes around her home set the stage for the evening. The one in the powder room said “Do Epic Shit” and paid homage to another YaYa Laurent Ferrante who reminds us all daily to stop waiting for the future, not miss an opportunity and to make sure…we spend our lives doing “Epic Shit”!!

Amy spent part of the afternoon picking flowers at an amazing garden and another part finding multiple four leaf clovers for each of her guests. Yes, you read that correctly. Amy is the Queen Four Leaf Clover Huntress. None of us have any logical explanation for it!!

While Amy and Lauren put the finishing touches on a gourmet vegetarian dinner in the kitchen, guests are invited to fill the bowl with written dreams, thoughts of gratitude, prayers, or wishes.

Our hostess setting the island buffet.

“What do you want?” ….When was the last time you asked yourself THAT question??

“The great thing about living in Dorset is that if I don’t know what I’m doing someone else always does.”

Velvet, Cashmere, and a warm fire. I can not think of a better way to welcome Fall to the country.

Pam and Lily catch up by the warm flames.

Mini Lemon Lulu’s, a famous local cake from Mother Myricks in Manchester.

The bowl is full with some little country dressed fox gents to guard our dreams.

Amy leads the charge as Caren leads the revelry. Our dreams and wishes come with us!

A fire by the stream is the perfect setting for women to gather.

Away we go!!

Prayers, wishes, and words of love and support of each other and our sisterhood.

Our dreams join the fire and up into the universe. Carmel insures they all make it to the right spot!

Women gathering, supporting other women. Some old friends, some new friends, age 18 on up.

“... a full moon shimmered over (Southern Vermont). This was no rinky-dink moon. This was a moon you had to curtsy to. A big, heavy, mysterious, beautiful, bossy moon. The kind you want to serve things to on a silver platter.”
― Rebecca Wells author Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood

If this appeals to you and you want to learn more, I highly suggest look at Amy’s beautiful website www.thebaultdesign.com

Reflections at 5:43 am under the influence of jet lag.

As I sat down to write a blog on something entirely different from where I am going to go, my instant messenger awoke and brought me a plethora of fabulous messages from our son in London.  When he found his mother was still on European time and wide awake since 4 am we quickly switched to FaceTime and I had a long fabulous chat while I got to look at his handsome face and hear about his first week at work. While traveling (and wandering around places visually taking in the feasts of the sights) I had a lot of time to think. One of the topics whirling it's way through my brain .... is that of electronic communication.

As a HUGE Jane Austin fan, who also follows and absorbs other period literature which reflects on the societal interactions of people, I love observing human interactions, including communication with the written word.  Dropping by and leaving a social calling card, a written invitation, or a love letter...whether engraved on paper,  handwritten in ink, and delivered by various methods all intrigue me. Although I grew up in a home where thank you notes were a strict requirement, and then rebelled against them for a way too long period of time, I love nothing more than getting a correspondence. I love the mail. I love an invitation, a thank you note, or a friendly card. The thing I love most is a love letter or poem written by my husband. No wait, I love those with all of my heart, but the thing I love the very most is a letter, card, piece of art, or very thoughtful text from one of our children. I don't feel disingenuous saying this part about ranking our children's communication above that as my husband's because I would imagine he feels the same way.  

You hear so much negativity about everyone's noses being down to their screens. While traveling this month and observing people from all over the world, I witnessed this first hand. I did it myself at times. Yet, I think there is a very lovely part of this era in time....because in some ways, I liken it back to the Austin days, when written words were used to make social and love connections. Disclaimer: According to Doug Chapman's fabulous and intuitive book The 5 Love Languages, there is no question- my love language is words. 

Those of us of a certain age talk about how we grew up without social media, texting, portable communication, etc etc. We bask in this fact and talk about how hard it would be to be young now and seeing what everyone else is doing.  FOMO our kids call it. The Fear of Missing Out.  The comparisons are obviously challenging, especially for teenagers and young adults. When we were kids we didn't know what others were doing or what we might be missing. We had no answering machines. We had no call waiting. We had to call from a telephone located in a public room of our house attached to wall not far from adults and chances are you were going to get a parent on the other end of your phone call to your friend. My own parents monitored my greetings very carefully for a time and finally relented when I had the "Hello Mrs. So and So, This is Tricia, MAY I PLEASE speak with Bloopty Bloop." If that "May I please" was not said, there would be loud whispers at me, guiding me into correcting myself. All calls had to be made in very respectable hours. Communication with the world outside of your house stopped around 9 pm unless you were assured there were not parents home at the other house.  We didn't have man servants delivering handwritten notes at all hours of the day like the lovelorn in Austin's day.

I like to think of written communication whether it be emails or texts, or private messages as some sort as a modern way for old fashion communication. The fact that millennials, and now many of the rest of us, no longer prefer talking on the phone has taken us back to a time before we had them. A quick message to connect to new people is like as a social calling card dropped on a silver dish in the foyer.  An email invitation for dinner as a noninvasive way to invite a potential friend mimics the old fashion note delivered to their home. A text from a child telling you what they are really thinking or feeling, and a love email from your paramour resemble the written words of the Austin era.

As I end this piece my messenger awakes again. This time it is the identical twin of my earlier morning communicator. (And yes, they have contacted me in birth order.) This one is from France. This joyful boy is sharing news and thoughts and ideas. My heart is full. 

Next stop Florence

Leaving Lucca was hard. I was sorry to say goodbye to my two decade long, dear old friend  Kari and my new found friends from my yoga retreat that I just adored. The estate where we happily made our temporary home was magical, luxurious, and homey all at the same time. I was delighted to have had the opportunity to have an extended stay at such an elegant and scenic spot up in the tippy top of the lush green hills of Tuscany. The staff was warm and friendly and the food was high end restaurant quality with a home cooked feel.  I love Italian food and have recently drastically reduced my meat intake. To have home-cooked vegetarian Italian food was just plain dreamy. This parting would have been very sad if my dearly loved husband had not be on a flight to meet me in Florence.  

These two have been together longer than 13 years and probably know a thing or two about each other!

In thirteen years together, Donald and I have learned a lot about each other, about traveling together, and about what works best for us. Our interests both joint and individual mesh very well together. We have found after several different trips together, that we both love boutique hotels in unique spots, off the beaten path. As I type this we are on a Swiss train headed towards Gstaad. We will not stop here but continue on beyond this world famous ski resort to areas off the beaten path, to a smaller destination. Since I’ve left the yoga retreat, I’ve only met 4 American tourists at our hotel in Lugano and 2 in Como.  Other than that our time has been spent among locals and other travelers from around the world. Although I struggle with spoken languages other than English, I am very comfortable being the only English speaker in a crowd..  I love wandering around for an afternoon just being present  and not speaking with anyone.  When necessary I am very well equipped at communicating to order in a restaurant, shop, ask directions, and navigate with a taxi driver with a combination of big smiles, a few local words, written language, and the smiley question “okay?”. Being from New York originally, I can also muster up a very good stay away face and the universal scowly “no” in any language when necessary.  

I had the funniest thought when I saw this. In the 1970s and 80s Lord and Taylors in Scarsdale, New York had a lovely little restaurant called the Bird Cage. When I was a girl growing up in Bronxville all the female members of my family used to frequent meet there for lunch. Standing on a balcony looking down on this sight I thought of the Bird Cage and thought if I grew up in Italy, this is where my grandmother would want to meet for lunch.

Donald and I started out trip together in Florence and met up with each other in a romantic boutique hotel outside of the tourist area on the other side of the bridges. My childhood friend from Bronxville Alejandro Saralegui is a gardening and travel expert and highly recommended that we visit the estate of Giardino Bardini to view the magnificent gardens. Only on Ale’s recommendation would I climb a gigantic hill to see a garden!  Boy was he right on the money! It turns out the Bardini gardens were in close proximity to our hotel and were a divine way to spend the day! 

Dinners in Florence were had in tiny family establishments in local neighborhoods where we were the only American tourists. I obviously have nothing against Americans.  I do, however, love to people watch in a local spot where I am the only outsider. I can people watch Americans at home whenever I want. I love to spend time sneaking glances at folks and watching their interactions, habits, and especially their outfits. Even though I would absolutely never be called a fashionista, I love studying the customs and attire of women in other countries. As someone who is not particularly interested in trends, or the latest look, or God forbid looking like everyone else in a particular community, I still find fashion fun. It's a love of textiles, craftmenship, and colors. I learn a thing or two from women in other countries. For example, in the Netherlands it’s not uncommon to see a woman riding her bike to or from work in a gorgeous monochromatic outfit - all in a gorgeous shade of lavender, chartreuse, coral, or turmeric. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to wear a blouse, cardigan and scarf all in the same glorious shade, but it’s a fantastic and glamorous look! On a previous trip to Italy I noticed that the trend in the stunning 30 and 40 something tour guides was to wear jeans with a romantic billowy sleeveless blouse with form fitting jacket or blazer, I found this to be both flattering and stylish, and both feminine and professional.  In Switzerland I recently noticed women wearing gorgeous high quality outfits in shades of neutrals, with coordinating pop of a unique color which were then coordinated with shoes, purse, and/or  a scarf i.e. a black and taupe outfit with a red purse, shoes, and red and taupe scarf. We all know the French are fabulous in their attire. I also recently noted that on the Swiss Riviera there was a lot more color blocking with a statement clothing item like a pair of pants or sweater in fabulous citrus shades and bold shades of turquoise, raspberry, or lavender. Bright and cheerful everywhere! 

After 24 hours in Florence we were on our way again, this time to Lake Como. I had always had dreams of visiting this gorgeous lake area of northern Italy. I’ve learned to LOVE lakes. Being married to a midwesterner with strong family roots on Lake Michigan has me convinced there is nothing better!  Water, Italian architecture, wooden boats, and the amazing gardens spoke to me. This area has been on the tippy top of my must visit list for quite a while. An interest in George and Amal was not my catalyst for going. however, the paparazzi photos of them there, only encouraged my interest in the waterfront villa architecture. (And no, we never saw their house, nor did we go looking for it.) 

The Five Lands ~ Cinque Terre

I am beginning to feel like the only person who had never heard of Cinque Terre. This is the name for the 5 villages on the rugged rocky portion of the Italian Rivera.  My yoga retreat group had a day planned in Cinque Terra which involved an extensive 3 hour, steep incline hike between two of the villages. I knew there was no way I could handle that. I can walk for hours on end on flat terrain, hills are my chubby asthmatic nightmare.  Yet.... I LOVE anything to do with the water and was anxious to see this part of the rivera. My friends were delighted and encouraged me to come and assured me there would be lots of photo opportunities for me while they hiked. The train I was told was super easy. All true. I was in heaven wandering around and photographing the seaside and especially the seaside homes while the others hiked. We met up for lunch a very easy and inexpensive 4 euro train ride away.

Our fearless yoga leaders Savonn and Kari.

What fun it was to end our magnificent day in this amazing spot with a swim in the Mediterranean. This was my first time swimming in this sea and I've thrown up my arms in pure JOY!

Day four in Lucca: wine tour and massage!

As I sat down to write this I received a text from my son Colin asking me if I was looking at real estate. I figured he must have been reading my blog about interrogating Stephano our driver about real estate in Lucca. Apparently, he had not been reading it, he just knew his mother and her love of Italy, homes, and 

This is the view from our backyard. If you look in the center of the photo you will see a big estate at the top of the hill. That is a winery!

We took a long walk down our very windy mountain road down to the Vineyard.

This home is the former home of the Duchess of Lucca. She and the Duke had three large estates, this one was hers and is feminine in decor and style.

Details of this gorgeous flower wreath.

Since I know some of Kari's family is following this blog.... I thought you might get a kick out of this. While our lovely tour guide was telling us all about the vineyard, I looked over to find a certain someone sneaking peaks into the beautiful garden building. I have been joking about Lucy and Ethel go to Italy. Here is Lucy taking a little peekaboo in the part we were not allowed in.

And then I watched Lucy saunter over and check out the door!! It was locked but I learned she's been trying to get in here for two years!!! (BiG LAUGH)

The general consensus of everyone in the group was that wine by Mother Teresa was very good and we all bought some to bring back to our villa. I also purchased Olive Oil and honey from the vineyard to bring home to Vermont.

My day ended with an AMAZING massage back here at the Villa. A great day!!

Italian Cooking 101: First lesson- Ravioli is serious business

For today's lesson we are making ravioli. The first thing we learned is that the flour is very important. Keep it handy and use it often.

Even though I am a very experienced and enthusiastic cook I have never made my own pasta. I was fascinated watching this fabulous flour and egg technique.

Super serious supervision as the eggs are mixed and the flour is gradually mixed into the dough.

A plastic spatula like instrument is used to keep the flour in place.

Meanwhile a magnificent filling is made with spinach, ricotta cheese, parmesan cheese, white pepper, and nutmeg.

We all tasted the filling to make sure it was PERFECTO!

This whole process looks rather simple, right? It's not.

My turn to make the pasta. I have multiple coaches. Which I needed.

YAY!! It's working!!!

Stuffing the ravioli.

cutting the pieces.

I am pretty confident I can do this back in America. My teacher does not share my confidence!

Our lovely teachers cooked the ravioli we all made for our lunch and it was outstanding.

I feel so grateful to be here.

An evening in Pietrasanta

On Sunday evening our group divided into two groups depending on their interest. Some went into Lucca to see opera singers perform Puccini arias and some of us went to Pietrasanta. I love the opera and would have been happy to have attended but I didn't want to miss my chance to visit another Tuscan village.  I sat in the front seat with the driver on this gorgeous drive and interrogated him about real estate prices in Lucca...because well of course, I want to live here. :) I keep hearing from other people on instagram that they have American friends here in Lucca and I have heard there is another Vermonter here. How funny is that....that I am up in an old estate in the mountains and I've heard there is a Vermonter down in the valley?! Wouldn't it be funny if they heard there was some Vermonty "traveling stitcher" doing yoga up in the mountains?! :) 

Pietrasanta was an amazing experience. It's a small, very manageable town with lovely things to walk around and look at. There are many charming outdoor dining opportunities and very few tourists. In fact, there was not one other person besides my friends that I recognized as being American tourists. 

In the early evening the restaurants begin to set up in the street, locals are walking their dogs and shop girls are waiting for diners to visit their stores.

Savonn our yogi extraordinaire and leader of our trip lead the way.  When we arrived she helped us get our bearings and we located the restaurant we would meet at later in the evening. This way we could all explore. We started together and then broke off into our own journeys.

Our first spot we visited was the square which had it's annual sculpture event in front of the sculpture museum. The museum is located in an old Catholic Church and really quite amazing. The wear and tear and well aged structure is absolutely breathtaking with a classic old Italian patina, in the church is more modern paintings and sculpture. The juxtaposition is sublime.

Apparently there is a yoga theme all over Tuscany! Loved this happy dancing sculpture!

Sitting atop the marble steps leading into the sculpture museum church is this beauty.

Lisa takes in this magnificent site...and sight.

A modern marble sculpture of a mother nursing her baby surrounded by antique paintings of Madonna and her baby really captures you.

My dinner companions minus one after an amazing Italian dinner at Pinocchios.