Category: 2026

It seems like a lifetime ago that HHH and I lifted off on our biggest adventure. We spent most of December on an extensive cruise through five exotic countries we’d only read about, all new to us. But, before we could sail under the Golden Gate, we’d need to fly over the snow-covered Sierra Nevada mountains to San Francisco..

At 4 am, Mr. and Mrs. Lovebird delivered us to an early morning airport scene full of whispered conversations and the clickity-clack of heaving suitcases. Checking in for a flight is different these days, involving computerized kiosks. Upon arrival, we found not one, but two airport angels waiting to help us navigate this new way of travel. Automated to the max, after scanning our phones, we received baggage tags and boarding passes. Everything was so efficient, we were seated at our gate just 20 minutes after our arrival.

During the two-hour wait, I had a quiet conversation with God. Now, let me make this very clear. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to fly. Having taken my first flight when I was just 11, it’s the most exciting thing anyone can do. I love every aspect of each flight from beginning to end. But, on every flight, I ask God to surround the airplane with angels. This flight was no different.

Angels. Such an interesting group. They certainly surround us at all times. Who knows? They might pose as a fellow passenger, flight attendant, or stranger. Those small acts of kindness, passing smiles, help with a bag, or calming words that appear at just the right time. It’s hard to tell which ones are human goodness or real angels. I choose to believe it’s a mix of both.

For the flight, HHH and I chose opposing aisle seats. No middleman, just great access to the bathroom and full control of at least one armrest. On the last row of a very small plane, 29B and 29C were in a four-seat row. Expecting a full flight, we’d wait to see just who’d be sitting in 29A and 29D.

My seat remained empty until moments before the door closed. It was then that a lovely young woman asked if she could slip by me. 29A beautiful, but a bit frazzled. She hadn’t flown in 25 years, and things had changed, including the size of the seats. Fiddling with her purse, I learned she was visiting a daughter in Nashville. After that, we both retreated into our own thoughts, mine involving a continued conversation with God about the issue of angels.

29A was a true window gal. She watched every cloud blow by, taking pictures along the short flight while holding her breath during minor turbulence. While in flight, I experienced a quiet sense of peace. We weren’t traveling alone. I could feel it.

And then, we both saw the same thing at the very same time. Outside our window was a “rainbow orb”. It’s the only way I can describe it. Suspended outside the window, it was completely spherical. Not exceptionally large or small, it appeared to be traveling with us.

Before I could even process what I was seeing, she had her phone out, capturing it on video. I asked if I was seeing things. She assured me I wasn’t. Neither of us had ever seen such a thing. The difference was that SHE captured it on video, which she replayed a few minutes later.

It was then she laughed and said she’d asked God to surround the plane with angels. I gasped and told her I had sent the same prayer in exactly the same words. Our eyes met, and we both broke into spontaneous laughter.

After the laughter calmed, a sisterhood had formed. I asked if she would send me the video.

Hmmmmm. She couldn’t find the link.

Wait. WHAT?????? She showed it to me again, but couldn’t find the link. At this point, we were on the ground, and headed for the gate. She allowed me to photograph her Instagram account. (I didn’t write it down, but photographed it.) As the plane came to a stop, we both said “God is Great” at exactly the same time. As our flight ended, more laughter erupted from the back of the plane.

Just like that, a friendship formed. Wheels touched down, bags were grabbed, and our adventure continued. Something inside felt gently changed. I’d seen something unexplainable, and met someone very, very special.

With bags in hand, our adventure began. And what an adventure I have to share with you….

Oh—-BTW—I did look up the Instagram account of 29A. No such person or account could be found, even though I’d photographed her account page. As for rainbow orbs? It could have been an optical illusion. However, it could also be the angel escort requested by the back of the plane. I know what I’m choosing to believe……Just sayin’.

More tomorrow.

After such an amazing start to our adventures, things only got better. With a month of great memories to share, I need to skip to the end. My conversations with God continued across one country after another, until it was time to board another plane for home.

If you haven’t flown in a while, let me warn you. Everything has changed. These days, it’s quite normal to see dogs of all types and sizes wandering the concourse. No longer in tiny little handbags waiting to be snuck on the plane, these are out-in-the-open, barking, squirming, happy dogs traveling with their anxious owners. Along with people who don’t understand what can and can’t fit under their seats, these dogs are everywhere.

To accommodate these dogs, the airlines have installed bathrooms for these pets. Our own airport did a cute design with its own fire hydrant and fake lawn. I wish I were making this up, but it’s true. The dogs have their own restrooms. therefore avoiding accidents. Each day, hundreds of happy canines serve humanity across the friendly skies.

For hours as we waited for our plane, HHH and I were pretty grumpy about the situation. Really? Thinking of our own two fur babies at home, we focused on the obvious. What about the noise, mess, and unpredictability? Safety issues? Personal space? We found hundreds of reasons to say, “Not on my plane.” And, I will admit, that was included in my conversations with Him. “Please, not today, God.”

Six long hours later, our boarding time arrived. After praying for angels to surround our plane, we took our places in two aisle seats in the back of the plane. In this plane, the seats were six across, so I had two unknowns. And, surprisingly, with the door was almost ready to close on a sold out plane, they remained empty.

Until.

Oy.

Vey.

Three beings came to join me. Two smallish humans and their Pit Bull/Aussie cross. Green-eyed, brown-nosed, just like someone else I know. THREE in a space meant for 1.5. Why did it have to be a Pit Bull anything????? Avoiding eye contact, I stood for them to enter.

Immediately, the canine moved the tiny bit to the left. With one word, the beast was at attention and sitting in the correct place between his owner’s legs. It behaved in a way that showed hours of training. And, of course, there was a very large, shock collar around its neck.

HHH gave me a few superior glances, as he had scored the great seat without Pit Bull involvement. And with that, we took off.

After about 15 minutes, everyone in row 29 had relaxed. It was then that I felt the softest sniff at my ankle. Just a little breathy “Hello”. I smiled, hoping it wasn’t the sniff before a bite. And then it happened. This soft, sweet, lovely dog draped his wonderfully comforting head across my foot, fully encroaching into my foot space. That was all it took.

We snuggled for the rest of the flight, he and I. I realized how much I missed Ollie and Tanner while experiencing the comfort of a dog snuggle. This sweet animal became my service dog for a time without ever receiving a pat on the head. He became another angel in our travel stories, and an unexpected source of grounding meant just for me. One I didn’t realize how much I needed after a very long trip.

God does have quite the sense of humor, eh? Delivering an angel in the form of a green-eyed, Pit Bull/Aussie cross, no less. What started out as an inconvenience turned into a connection.

As it turns out, there were at least two dogs on our plane. The other was a very large lab that we never saw or heard from until we left the plane. A veteran’s service dog that made everyone smile at baggage claim.

Bottom line, grace doesn’t always look holy. Angels come in all shapes and sizes. And, sometimes, their comfort comes with furry warmth draped over the feet of a newly-70 year old woman. This is going to be the best decade ever!!!!

More tomorrow.

Our adventures in December surpassed anything we dreamed when choosing to visit a very old coffee plantation in Antigua. On a full-day tour, we hoped to see a bit of the REAL Guatemala. What that would include, we couldn’t imagine. By day’s end, we sailed away with memories of a most mysterious place.

The first four days of our cruise were sea days. Now, there are those who long for exotic ports of call. For HHH and me, the sea days are why we cruise. Hours and hours of changing seascapes and skies, while traveling about 20 miles an hour. There are those who find the thought terrifying. It could be nothing further from the truth, from mornings with fun activities to the evening when the lullaby of the crashing waves through an open balcony window soothed us to sleep. We’re “Sea Day” people.

With a stop in Puerto Vallarta for a day of sailing in the Bay of Banderas. we enjoyed one more sea day before disembarking for a land excursion. Carefully protected, we walked through trinket shops at the dock to our awaiting bus and tour guide. All eyes were on the tourists, keeping us safe from harm.

Throughout the day, volcanoes, history, and nature surrounded us. Along the way, one of the distant volcanoes began erupting. Starting with a tiny puff, there was soon an entire plume. As the tour guide continued talking, it seemed we were driving towards certain disaster. Later, we learned the volcano does this several times a day in pretty dramatic fashion.

It’s this volcanic ash that makes Antigua the perfect place to grow coffee. Upon arriving at the historic coffee farm, the cleanliness made a statement. Pristine and elegant, we soon learned about this very old plantation, filled with pride and professionals.

Coffee beans are called cherries when ripe. Our guide handed each one of us a red “cherry” and asked us to squeeze it. A clear juice came out of the tip. He then asked us to taste the juice. To my surprise, it was deliciously sweet. After breaking the bean apart, the pulp is made into jelly, while the bean is roasted for coffee. The parchment is turned into cattle feed. All of this happens in a circle of erupting volcanoes, as it has for decades.

The tour was fascinating. The tiny plantation, filled with ancient machines, is operated by men who’ve worked there for decades. It was obvious that growing coffee takes care and patience, which is true with any farming.

After a Guatemalan lunch served on a veranda that overlooked the plantation, we loaded into smaller buses for a short ride into Antigua. “Cobblestones” make up every street in the town, which are actually hunks of volcanic rock. Do Not Fall on these uneven and jagged streets. On that particular Sunday afternoon, families were enjoying time in the town square under lovely trees shading the area. Conversations and laughter replaced a noticeable lack of cellphones. So beautiful to experience that once again.

We ended the tour with a visit to a Jade factory. To our surprise, we learned that rocks containing jade rings like metal when hit with a hammer.

Before leaving, I’d bought a wallet, bamboo flute, small drum, and cobalt-blue scarf that HHH insisted I must have. Throughout our visit, the locals celebrated the Day of Bread. Vendors selling every size and shape of bread you could imagine filled the streets. Funny. A Day of Bread would be a delightful thing to celebrate here in the States.

Returning to the ship by 5, we sat on our balcony while watching the last of our shipmates race to the gangway before we sailed away.

Although I’ll probably never return to Finca Filadelfia for a stay, the beauty of that plantation will stay with me forever. Just a very old coffee plantation nestled in the rain forest under the watch of beautiful volcanoes that blow once in awhile.

More tomorrow.

During our travels, the biggest adventures of all belonged to me. Tropical bird songs and filtered sunlight replaced candles and a pink birthday cake. That day unfolded as planned months ago when I first decided to spend the day with sloths. Damp earth, rustling leaves, and the quiet of a sloth sanctuary welcomed me into my 7th decade. Never having made a real birthday wish for myself, I did this year, creating a milestone, not just a footnote.

Costa Rica must be the place God goes to relax.

In my experience, this country is one of the most beautiful places on earth. We spent my birthday morning at the Costa Rica Animal Rescue Center, dedicated to the rehabilitation and release of Costa Rica’s endangered wildlife.  The stars of the show were the baby sloths, but there were plenty of supporting actors.

One of the first things I noticed upon our arrival was that this very old place was extremely clean. Without the smells you might find at any normal zoo, the caregivers moved with calm and gentle motions. There would be NO SELFIES with the animals. Every animal there had already suffered enough at the hands of men. In their opinion, selfies only promoted the human urge to possess these creatures. NO SELFIES with the animals. Period. With that, it was clear that snuggling with the babies wouldn’t happen. Watching would be enough.

With that we met some residents. Of course, the two that melted our hearts were the babies. Electrocution is one of the biggest causes of death in sloths. The two orphans are now raised by their human Sloth Mother. Having worked with these tiny creatures for 30 years, she watched over her littles who were wrapped in blankets. Sloths don’t like to be touched. It stresses them out.

There were five adults hanging around. Sloths only defecate once a week, climbing down the tree to bury their scat. Then, it’s the slow journey back up the tree to safety.

Enclosures held monkeys rescued from the evils of man. One belonged to a cartel, where he learned to drink, smoke, and consume cocaine. A very muscular and busy animal, we were told he was the most dangerous in the compound, which escapes now and then. Another monkey spent years in chains. When she arrived, it took her six months to stop carrying a piece of chain with her, although it had been removed. Oh, the bottomless pit of evil in humans.

Watching the care giver made me think about Jesus and his care for the least among us. Those of us that have the strength, resources, and time are called upon to help the overlooked, harmed, or forgotten in ways we can.

After our tour, the hosts offered us snacks from the rainforest. Juice, pineapple, and other fruits were served under a canopy to protect us from random raindrops. Magic in the middle of the wilds of Costa Rica, just as I’d dreamed for months.

The two hours we spent wandering, looking, and listening are imprinted on my heart. I’m so grateful for seventy years of learning, loving, and becoming. Growing up on a farm taught me everything I needed to know before I struck out on my own. Returning to an animal sanctuary, I stepped into a decade guided by wonder, awe, compassion, and faith. This decade won’t be defined by speed or spectacle, but with curiosity and presence. This decade will be intentional.

More tomorrow.

A sixteen-day cruise, including three formal nights, requires strategic packing. In our case, it began a month before embarkation. The week before traveling, the suitcases were weighed many times. Three would provide plenty of space for necessities and souvenirs. With three days dedicated to laundry during our trip, laundry rotations work out just right. After all, we were taking 150 pounds of clothing and necessities. But even the best cruisers can’t outpack time.

The first laundry day was planned for the sixth day of the cruise, off the coast between Puerto Vallarta and Guatemala. By then, the two garbage bags I’d brought from home were fully separated into whites and colors. All systems were go, as I lugged the bags 1/2 of the length of the ship to the aft.

Cruise ship laundry rooms are very busy places. You just never know, after walking a football field carrying two bags of laundry, if you’ll find an open washer. It’s a crap shoot, so, I started early. Arriving promptly when open at 8 am, I found two empty washers. Score!

On our last cruise, the use of the washer, dryer, and detergent were free, a lovely situation. A bigger ship, there were 8 sets of washers and dryers. This ship was a little different. Five brand new Samsung dryers sat atop their washing partners. It was a great sign that they all worked. The token dispenser was another story. After a bit, I left two washing machines working, as the line continued to form out the door. $8 lighter, I’d be back in 27 minutes.

If you happen to be leaving on a cruise of your own, I have a suggestion. Pack the new sheets of detergent/softener. They may not work the best, but they beat the boxed powder sold by the cruise lines. I felt as if I was in a 1960’s commercial for laundry soap.

My second suggestion is this. Make NO eye contact with anyone in the laundry room. Don’t start any happy little discussions, because there will be someone there to ruin your moment of blissful domesticity. Some seasoned wench will bully the sweet 70-year-old who uses TWO machines at one time, considered a breach of laundry etiquette. (No one told me.) These people, usually women of a certain age, revel in their absolute and unspoken authority. Their word is law.

During our cruise, I’d experience the laundry room two more times. I learned that IF there is a chair when you enter this tiny little laundromat, sit in it. It won’t be there for more than a few minutes, so claim it. Sitting claims your machines, while standing invites chaos and help from strangers. It also allows time for premium people-watching and lesson-learning.

While watching, I discovered that people waste tons of time and energy by leaving their clothes in the dryer far longer than needed. After waiting 20 minutes for a dryer, the timer was down to minutes. The owner of the four items in the dryer returned. It was obvious this load had been dry for the previous 20 minutes, but no. She waited until the timer marched on to zero. DING (dong). Tip — Check your laundry partway through–they may dry earlier than the scheduled time.

Hours later, warm, clean clothes felt like a major win with a sense of accomplishment. Even after breaking the two-machine rule, everyone still smiled and wished me well as I left with my bags of fluffies.

Life on a cruise is magical in so many ways. But, laundry happens, even to the most seasoned passenger. And, just like every Friday morning, mine awaits today. Have a great weekend. I’ll be back on Monday with more stories from the high seas.

Waking before the alarm and most of the ship, we watched the sun rise over the Pacific Ocean. You read that correctly. Panama is one of a few places in the world where the sun RISES over the Pacific and sets over the Atlantic. The sky shifted from ink to blush to gold, and for a few quiet minutes, it felt as though we were the only souls awake on the water.

That illusion lasted right up until we saw the lineup of thirty-six ships, all politely waiting in a nautical pattern similar to a very well-behaved traffic jam. Apparently, nothing says good morning quite like maritime gridlock.

Gathering in the bay before the sun had fully committed to the day with engines humming, everyone inched forward with the patience of saints. This was a slow, deliberate procession toward the locks, a crawl so measured it felt like we could knit a sweater between movements. Somewhere along the way, we discovered we’d done something rare and magical in travel: we had booked correctly. Not only were we on a ship built to travel through the historic locks, but also on the correct side of the ship. Happy accidents!!!

Too excited to sleep, we climbed to Deck 18 right after sunrise over the Pacific. I’m not sure what time the other passengers assembled, but it was before us. The stairs leading to Deck 18 kept many from enjoying the best views. Every vantage point along the railing was taken, with many people bringing chairs. Everyone quietly anticipated the big show of the day. The Panama Canal.

As if all the excitement wasn’t enough, a tour guide narrated the entire day, calmly explaining every gate, cable, tug, and inch gained.

Days earlier, Room Service had contacted us to ask about breakfast preferences. At that time, it seemed crazy that the woman on the other end of the phone was asking endless questions about our preferences, down to the type of berries we’d like. Really, two omelets with sides of bacon would’ve been great. Yes, we had ordered a multi-course private breakfast, served directly to our own port-side balcony. However, we weren’t prepared when, promptly at 8 am, the waiter arrived with champagne on ice, along with at least eight courses of steamy, hot food.

There is something magical about privately sipping coffee while watching one of the world’s greatest engineering feats pass you by. Plates arrived, courses followed, and food disappeared. All while gliding forward at a pace best described as geological. Built by Americans and opened in 1913, it was later handed over for $1 by a president whose generosity exceeded his negotiating skills. These historical facts landed softly while we floated between concrete walls with only twenty-four inches to spare on either side, trusting completely in people with clipboards and teams of little trains called mules, that ran on a cogged track.

The day unfolded through three sets of locks and two lakes, each transition slow and mesmerizing. Time blurred while water levels rose and fell. We became experts in waiting. And then, just when it seemed the day could offer nothing new, we spotted movement along the shore. Frolicking animals that weren’t deer, cows, horses, goats or sheep.

It turned out to be a herd of capybaras lounging, waddling, frolicking, and living entirely unbothered lives while global commerce cruised by. They were the perfect reminder that while humans are very proud of their canals, nature remains unimpressed.

By the time the final lock released us and the ship turned toward Cartagena, the sun was setting. As the horizon shifted and open water returned, a new set of questions arose. Heading towards Columbia, would we make it through without pirates? Random bombs? Mild intrigue at minimum?

More tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Last September, counting down the days to my birthday extravaganza, we carefully chose an excursion for each port. Visiting baby sloths, monkeys, and butterflies on my birthday was a special treat, but nothing prepared us for an excursion to Monkey Island on Gatun Lake. A zoo-like, long-distance view of monkeys doing whatever they do. Instead, our experiences were up close and personal, while even witnessing a theft on another boat. Oy Vey. Let me start from the beginning.

To begin with, the boat reminded me of something we watched on Gilligan’s Island. Without Skipper or the professor, the setup was a little sketchy. Two elderly tourists took their walkers up to the boat, and then, the sweetest crew helped the frail couple aboard. Once we put on the life jackets, 18 souls were ready for the river. This was definitely less of a cruise and more of an adventure.

Once we left the dock, the captain hit us with a sudden acceleration across Gatun Lake. Along the way, we passed many huge ships making their way through the Panama Canal. Skipping across the water, our boat jumped the wakes with back-jolting hits. At least, we were too fast for mosquitoes. Chopping along at high speed, hair whipped as passengers clutched their hats.

Racing our sister boat, it was neck and neck. Each captain tried to catch fewer waves to reach the monkeys first. Quite the competition was underway. With each slap across the water, I prayed the fiberglass shell would hold. These weren’t the safest or newest boats on the water. While the race continued, tourists scanned the shoreline with cameras at the ready.

After about 20 minutes on the water, the engines slowed, and the rainforest grew as quiet as a rainforest could. The captain and guide began making strange calls, a sort of blend between clicking and whistles. Ever once in awhile, the guide would snap out a word that sounded like “Bendt” in a language foreign to me. Arriving at Monkey Island, we waited, as everyone wondered how this would work.

After trying several places along the tree-covered shoreline, the first monkey materialized from the jungle. One after another came to the shoreline by swinging through tree branches. Howlers, capuchins, and tamarins showed themselves. One Howler came aboard the other boat and quickly stole something from a tourist’s open backpack. Like a flash, it was back among the tree branches eating a candy bar, and then dropping the blue wrapper in the water below. And so, the adventure was in full swing.

The capuchins had curious faces and clever eyes. Agile and confident, they clearly ran the place. These felt friendly (except for the thief.) According to the guide, they are cute, but not safe or friendly.

Not to be left out, the howlers came to visit. Although we didn’t hear them, these monkeys have deep, booming calls that roll across the lake. These monkeys are too large to ignore, and we all looked up to watch their antics.

The Tamarins were the last to show up and the most suspicious of our boat. After our guide rubbed fruit on a hanging limb, they came down to enjoy a little snack. Two father’s carried their babies around on their backs. Squirrel-sized and extremely fast, they were hard to photograph. The fatherly love caused our collective hearts to melt.

Monkeys visited our boat. The guide handed me a leaf from one of the trees to pass off to the littlest passenger. Grabbing it, he was gone in a flash, back into the safety of the trees of the rainforest. Monkeys were hopping aboard, here, there, and everywhere. We weren’t to touch or smile in any way, as exposed teeth are a sign of aggression. The thought of a possible attack sobered up the group. Calm and still, everyone did a good job hiding teeth and excitement.

Being surrounded by wild monkeys in their own world was exhilarating. Experiencing equal parts of wonder and disbelief, this was one of those rare travel moments that can’t be recreated. Just experienced and never, ever forgotten.

Once docked, we returned to the bus. There we received water, a turkey sandwich, and coconut muffin, a delightful end to a most wonderful morning. Although photos couldn’t possibly capture the rich experience, we all took home magical memories. Truly something unforgettable.

Cruising into Cartagena felt like creeping onto the set of an adventure movie. Over the smooth bay and under a cooperative sky, the ship eased in as if nothing unpleasant had ever happened there, ever. Boarding a bus parked just feet from the ship should have been a red flag. Appearing convenient and efficient, our departure was clearly designed for passenger safety. For the day, we were property of Columbia. Yes. The Columbia presently on the news.

The bus ride took us to a barrio outside the walled city known as Getsemaní. Assuming the name had biblical roots, after about thirty seconds on the street, I was confident prayer would be a great idea. Before noticing the colors, architecture, or people, HHH pointed out raw sewage running through open gutters. Just… there. Flowing along like it had every right to be. It was the kind of thing you see once and then spend the rest of the day pretending you didn’t.

We were ushered into a restaurant where we were served fried plantains, ceviche, and a coconut milk and lime drink that worked very hard to distract us from our surroundings. After experiencing the walk to the little restaurant, the last thing I would be eating on this strange day was raw fish, no matter how it was prepared. So, twenty-five new friends sat on stools made of scrap wood and rebar, knowing inside was safer than outside.

Then came the coffee. Lots of coffee. Glorious, rich, Colombian coffee. If bravery could be brewed, this was the attempt. I drank it willingly, hoping caffeine might double as courage, and the water temperature killed any pathogens.

Back on the bus we went, heading toward the walled city, where the rich live. The buildings were undeniably historic, but I never felt safe the entire day. It was a low-grade unease that hummed quietly in the background, like bad elevator music you can’t turn off. Every step required a little extra awareness while I clutched my already secure fanny pack. Losing a passport in this place would be the worst, and it seemed many would love to take it. Thank goodness for HHH.

After enjoying a wee bit of air conditioning in an emerald museum, HHH, sensing both the moment and my state of mind, surprised me with an emerald and silver cross necklace. Putting it on immediately, it was something solid to clutch as we continued on, surrounded by pushy locals selling absolutely everything under the sun. If you could imagine it, they had it. HHH bought a t-shirt and a hat because resistance was futile.

Eventually back on the bus, we rode a short distance to the harbor, where we boarded what can only be described as a frat party on the water. Music blared at a volume that suggested long-term hearing damage was part of the experience. People enthusiastically encouraged us to drink more, more, MORE, and tried valiantly to turn a boatload of seniors into something resembling Dance Dance Revolution. It did not happen. It was never going to happen. If they could have just turned down the music, perhaps negotiations could have begun, but as it was, I’m fairly certain I left a small portion of my hearing somewhere in the Caribbean.

At the very end of the day, after being dumped off a little ways from the ship, we stumbled into what turned out to be the very best part of Colombia. A quiet indoor tourist park. Peaceful. Calm. Civilized. Inside were live flamingos, toucans, parrots, sloths, and monkeys, all just hanging out, being wonderful. Who knew? Apparently not us. We could have simply enjoyed the day there among the animals.

With coffee once again in hand, we boarded the ship for the last time. Ahead of us were three blessed sea days to process everything we had seen, heard, and survived. Aruba has replaced Colombia in future itineraries. Cartagena may have been uncomfortable, but Central America, with all its chaos and beauty, is an amazing place. Even the rough days come with stories worth telling.

More tomorrow.

Returning home from adventuring, our heads full of stories, and phones full of photos. At some point between unpacking shoes we didn’t wear and souvenirs we absolutely needed, we decided to scrapbook. HHH accepted this challenge with calm bravery normally reserved for turbulence or escargot at sea.

One day at sea, while looking for Christmas presents, I discovered a complete scrapbooking set. Not only was everything included, but this set was themed especially for Princess Cruise Lines. The Love Boat thinks of everything. Successfully hiding the 12 x 12 journal and accessories for the rest of the trip, HHH was surprised on Christmas morning!

The box of scrapbooking accessories included papers with just the right shimmer, essential stickers, and a scrapbook itself that felt important enough to deserve its own shelf. We were both confident this book, when finished, would be magnificent.

Printing began. Enter the tank printer, the unsung hero of modern memory-keeping. If you don’t have one, you should. Truly. Bottled ink allows a crafter to print with wild abandon. Big pictures. Small pictures. “Let’s just try it” pictures. No rationing or guilt, but absolute freedom. HHH looked through hundreds of pictures on his phone, picking the best of the best. A monkey here, a tanker ship there. It was surprising how many during the cruise.

Choosing photos was an adventure of its own. Some were ours, carefully framed and occasionally artistic. Kind strangers captured others on the internet with better light, angle, or steadier hands. We welcomed those photos into the family without shame. Scrapbooking is no place for pride.

As the pages filled, so did the conversation. Long, detailed conversations about things like whether a photo was taken on Day Seven or Day Eight, and whether that mattered (it did). We revisited the highlights of each of our 16 days while time slowed as glue dried. Memories of us secured a place in our brains.

Passage through the Panama Canal was covered throughout four very stubborn pages. Suddenly, my confidence wavered while the layout rebelled. This was the moment HHH came to the rescue, calmly taking over. Organizing the best pictures we had, he made sure each one was in the correct order (because that DOES matter when you’re traveling through the Panama Canal.) Together, we finished those pages. HHH, my mysterious Marine, is now a proven scrapbooker.

The finished book is full of color, laughter, and memories pressed safely onto pages. A place we can return to on quiet afternoons, just to smile and relive our beautiful trip together. Thanks, HHH. I truly couldn’t have done it without you… or at least not without significantly more frustration and a much worse attitude.

More tomorrow.

January arrived quietly, without fanfare or fireworks. Around here, there weren’t parades or parties, only an exchange of one calendar for the next. With the rest of the year all about doing, January is about imagining new plans for what could be.

After finishing the scrapbooking of our December cruise, we’ve decided to continue. First, pictures of our Alaskan adventure were glued in place. Another vacation was memorialized with glue and printed photos. But this getaway had many problems. The wind blew at 70 mph, while the seas were too fierce to battle. Over seven days of rough seas, ports, and excursions were canceled, limiting our Alaskan experience.

Thumbing through the new scrapbook, our January dreams turned back to room service and non-stop housekeeping help. The endless buffet available at any time, day or night. Activities prepared and at the ready. A full staff beauty salon and spa. Most importantly, the beauty of falling asleep on the high seas.

Memories flooded our brains, and then our eyes met. At that moment, these dreams became reality, and the next steps were obvious. Alaska 2.0 is on the books for 2026.

Not all dreaming requires a checklist or deadline. Dreams can take form while staring out the window at a dormant backyard while a steaming mug of Costa Rican coffee warms very cold hands following December holidays.

While the yard is waiting for us, we are waiting for the weather to warm up just a little before we begin the 2026 gardening season. With highs in the high 40’s, it’s still a little too cold for serious gardening.

Alaskan waters await our return. This time, we’ll enjoy our time among the glaciers and whales, while returning to our home away from home on the high seas.

January is a fine time to dream. It’s certainly a great time to remember fantastic vacations enjoyed just months ago. There’s plenty of time to plan the Gardens of 2026. With only two weeks left in January, there’s no time to waste.

Have a wonderful weekend. I’ll be back Monday.