Category Archives: Beaches

A Blissful Week Away

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The smallest of the Leeward Islands, Anguilla is a British Overseas Territory in the Caribbean Sea.  Home to 33 white sand beaches, this little island is an ideal spot for a relaxing, sun-filled getaway.  In 2019, as a passenger on a Star Clippers cruise, I spent a delightful afternoon with my family on the beach at Sandy Ground.  We settled into a row of beach chairs in front of the popular Elvis’ Beach Bar, ready to soak in the sun, and bury our feet in the luxurious sand while sipping festive drinks with nostalgic names like Love Me Tender or Blue Suede.   We all had a grand time.  Before we knew it, the tender (or navette) arrived to carry us back to our clipper ship anchored out in the bay.  After this small taste of island life on Anguilla, I did some reading about this lovely destination and now I’m eager to return some day to explore more of its history and culture along with one or two more beaches. In the meantime, I am sharing some photos from my day at the beach, which have inspired the photo essay below.

“Oh no,” Violet  Goodwine cried as she circled her arms in a wild attempt to keep  her balance.  Despite her  efforts, she splashed down into the crystal clear bay at Sandy Ground.  The cool water soothed her sunburned skin as she bobbed back up to the surface.  She swam a few strokes to retrieve her paddle floating on the calm water a few feet from the bamboo board she had rented from her beachside hotel.

Her paddle boarding instructor, Marco, offered encouraging words as she heaved herself back onto her board and rose slowly to a standing position. “You’re doing very well,” he said.  “Everyone falls sometimes. Are you sure this is your first time paddle boarding?”

Violet grinned at the stocky, middle-aged man clad in a perfectly dry tee shirt bearing the name and logo of her boutique hotel.  “Yes, most definitely,” she said, as she pushed her dripping hair out of her eyes. “Actually, I was rather glad to take the plunge.  The water is so refreshing.”

He laughed and glanced at his waterproof watch.  “Sadly, it’s time to head back in.  I have another lesson in a quarter of an hour.  Would you like to practice paddle boarding again tomorrow?”

”If only I could,” Violet sighed.  “This is my last day here.  I fly home tomorrow.”

As they steered their boards to shore, Violet took in the view of the crowded and colorful beach. Wooden lounge chairs adorned with blue and yellow striped cushions and shaded by matching sun umbrellas lined the shoreline. Up on the bluff the brilliant white stucco walls and red tiled roof of the hotel rose into the cloudless cerulean sky. A gentle sea breeze carried the burbling music of a steel drum band out across the water.  Violet thought she recognized the tune to one of favorite songs by Carly Simon.  Wishing she had her camera, Violet filed away this idyllic view in her memory, knowing it would warm her heart on cold winter days ahead at home in Maine.

Back in the cool comfort of her room, Violet took a quick shower and dressed in her favorite pair of lavender capris and an eyelet top. The sun would set at 6:12.  She had plans to meet her hotel neighbor, Sophia, at the Elvis Beach Bar.  The past two evenings, they had meandered over to the popular bar to take in the Caribbean sunset.  Violet couldn’t miss out on this charming island tradition on her last night.

Sophia, a widow from upstate New York, was staying two doors down the hallway.  Like Violet, she was a solo traveler.  The two women had struck up a friendship over coffee and croissants in the breakfast room.  As they chatted, they discovered that they had similar taste in music and books and that they were both enthusiastic seamstresses. Feeling grateful for this holiday friendship and hoping she and Sophia would stay in touch, Violet checked her reflection in the full-length mirror.  Her short auburn hair neatly framed her  sun-kissed face and her gold hoop earrings and locket added the finishing touch to her outfit.  Widening her large, sherry-colored eyes, Violet gave herself a satisfied nod, grabbed her purse from the overstuffed arm chair by the window and headed out the door.

The beach bar was humming when Violet arrived.  Piped in music filled the air as a calypso band set up on the small stage.  Violet wove her way through the tables to the bar and waved when she spotted Sophia, who was dressed in a vibrant orange sundress.  As she approached the bar, a server delivered a plate of jerk chicken strips and two glasses of wine.

Violet scooted herself onto the bar stool beside her friend.  “Wow,” she said, gesturing at the food. “This looks marvelous.  Thanks!”  She reached for a glass of rosé and took an appreciative sip.  “How was your day?” she asked.

”Excellent,” said Sophia.  “I went to the Ani Art Academy.  They have a fantastic exhibition of student work on display now.  What about you?”

Violet told her about her paddle boarding adventure and then changed the subject. “Do you often travel on your own?” she wondered.

“I do. Of course, I used to travel with my husband.” A momentary shadow of grief clouded her face.  With a small sigh, she went on, “When he passed away, I was a little nervous about traveling without him, but I couldn’t give it up. There is still so much of the world I want to see.”

Violet  nodded knowingly and both women took a sip of wine.  They fell into a comfortable silence and gazed out at the ocean where the glowing golden sun hovered on the horizon. 

After a moment, Sophia said, “Ever since my first solo trip to Portugal, I’ve realized how much I like vacationing by myself. It makes me feel so brave and independent.”

“Good for you,” Violet said, reaching for a chicken strip with her fork. “You know, we’ve had an increasing number of single women staying at my inn over the past few years.”

“Tell me more about the hotel where you work,” Sophia said. “How does it compare to our hotel here?”

Violet paused, considering.  “They are completely different, but each wonderful in its own way,” she explained.  “My hotel is a lovely old inn on the Maine coast. Originally, it was the home of one of the town founders.  A ship builder who lived there with his wife and their 9 children.” 

“It must be pretty big to fit such a large family.”

Violet nodded. “There are twelve rooms, each with its own character or personality, if you will, and all brimming with New England charm.  They’re named for different towns in Maine.”

“What a cool idea.  Do you have a favorite room?”

“Hmm . . .” Violet tapped a manicured finger against the base of her wine glass.  “Good question.  I think I’d have to say that our Brunswick Suite is the best.  It’s certainly popular with our guests. The stone fireplace and built-in book shelves make it snug and cozy,” said Violet.  

“It sounds perfect. I spent a lot of time on the Maine coast during college. I went to Colby, but it’s been years since I’ve been back,” Sophia said, checking her watch. “6:10. Almost sunset time,” she added.

Both women turned in their seats to look at the colorful western sky now streaked with violet and deep pink. The sun floated on the edge of the ocean for a dramatic moment and then disappeared.

Thinking about watching the sun set behind a grove of pine trees from the inn’s sunroom back in Maine, Violet was overtaken by a wave of homesickness. She signed, and said, “I’ve had a marvelous time this week, but I’m actually looking forward to getting back home,” she said.

“It has been a lovely week,” Sophia agreed. “I’m glad we met.” She gave Violet a hopeful smile.  “Perhaps this summer I’ll venture up to New England and book the Brunswick Suite at your inn.”

“That would be grand!” Violet’s mind was already filled with plans for the anticipated visit. “You’re welcome anytime.”

No Place Like Home

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This month, I enjoyed a three-day solo retreat to my hometown, Madison, CT. I stayed in a lovely, historic inn across the street from the library and half a block from my favorite bookstore. What an ideal location! During my stay, I had a grand time shopping, going to the cinema, visiting the library, walking on the beach and reminiscing with a lifelong friend while dining on excellent Asian cuisine. Of course, I took a lot of pictures. The selection of photos in the slideshow below have inspired my newest photo essay.

Happy Reading!

When she was a little girl, Kathryn Moore always looked forward to the family road trip to Connecticut. Instead of sending her to camp, Kat’s parents would take her to visit her grandmother in New England every summer. The drive from Delaware took hours, but Kat didn’t mind. She would stretch out in the backseat and read or play the license plate game with her father, while her mother drove their roomy station wagon. They would always stop for lunch at a clam shack on the northern tip of the Jersey shore and then walk on the beach before piling back into the car.

Upon reaching their destination, Kat’s grandmother would be waiting on the wide, shady porch of her nineteenth century house, a welcoming smile lighting up her elegant face. She lived in one of the historic homes across from the town green within walking distance of the cinema, the public library and the local bookstore. Kat would jump out of the car and run up the porch steps ready, for five weeks of fun in her Gram’s shoreline town. Mom and Dad would stay for a few days and then head back to Delaware, always returning at the end of the visit to pick her up.

Now, twenty years later, Kat lived in the top floor of the house across from the green. The old house had been turned into two condominiums, and she was lucky enough to purchase one of them when she landed a teaching job at the town’s elementary school. Her downstairs neighbor, a jolly woman named Flora, who was about ten years older than Kat, worked at the library down the street. They quickly became great friends.

On the Saturday after Labor Day, Kat, dressed in khaki capris and a pink polo shirt, relaxed barefooted in a cushioned wicker rocker on the wraparound porch with Flora, who sat cross legged on a matching couch. Panda, Flora’s tuxedo cat, perched on the wide porch railing purring in the afternoon sunshine. Two neighborhood children clattered by on their bicycles, and across the street the postman made his way along the block delivering mail.

As the two friends sipped chilled glasses of rosé and snacked on cheese and crackers, they talked about Kat’s first week of school in her new kindergarten classroom.

“I have just fifteen kids in my class, seven boys and eight girls. Believe it or not, they are all so sweet and well behaved,” Kat said. She laughed, crossing her fingers and added, “So far.”

Flora smiled and reached for a wheat cracker and slice of Brie. “Fifteen sounds like the perfect class size,” she said.

“By the way, they loved the story hour books you suggested, especially If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

“Happy to help,” Flora said, raising her cracker in a toast. “I’m glad the children are so delightful. What about your fellow teachers? Are you settling in with the faculty?”

“I think so. I’m having a bit of trouble remembering everyone’s name. The other kindergarten teacher, Ms. Hope, is great though. She wants to collaborate with me on projects our kids can do together, which is fantastic. I think she’ll be a good friend.” Kat set her wine glass down on the wicker table and clasped her hands under her chin. “And I really like the principal. She’s totally supportive.”

Flora nodded and flipped her long auburn braid over her shoulder. “Very good. Having a supportive boss is important. Our library director is wonderful. We’re both blessed to have jobs we like.”

“My Gram always said that enjoying your profession was the most important thing. I think she was right.”

“Do you think your grandmother’s spirit guided you back here?” Flora asked, her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Here you are in her hometown, living in her house and starting a new career that seems perfect for you. It must be fate.”

“Could be,” Kat said thoughtfully. She leaned back and let her gaze wander, taking in the cozy porch and friendly neighborhood. “I have so many happy memories of my summers with my grandmother. I feel like I’ve come home.”

Island Time

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Bermuda is one of my go-to vacation spots. The first time I visited was on a family trip in 1990. I honeymooned in Bermuda in 2002. Most recently, my husband and I flew to Bermuda for a long weekend in March of this year. We had a lovely, relaxing and Bermudaful vacation. On this trip, we stayed at the Fourways Inn, famous for its elegant retaurant. We spent a morning at the Bermuda Aquarium and Zoo, one of our favorite attractions in Flatts Village. We dined at various restaurants around the islands, enjoying the best meal of the trip at Coconuts at The Reefs. What made the strongest impression on us was the friendly and welcoming atmosphere in Bermuda. We felt like we were coming home.

Island Time

Gracie Goodwin took a sip of cold, crisp rosé as she drank in the ocean view. From the flower-bedecked balcony of her vacation rental, she overlooked the turquoise harbor.  Sailboats and a local ferry skimmed across the water under a cloudless sky while the rooftops and church towers of Hamilton floated on the horizon.

She and Ted had taken that ferry this morning and then walked up the hill along Queen Street to catch one of the big pink buses to Flatts Village where they spent a few delightful hours at the Bermuda Aquarium and Zoo.

Given her chosen occupation as an ornithologist, zoos, nature reserves and national parks were always at the top of Gracie’s vacation itinerary.  Listening to a nearby pair of yellow kiskadees call back and forth to each other, she picked up her phone and scrolled through the photos she took at the zoo.  Her shots of the flamingos and peacocks were fun, but a picture of a pair of Bermuda longtails swooping over the ocean in a graceful aerial ballet was the best.

“Here we go, Gracie.”

She  glanced up at the sound of Ted’s voice.  Smiling at him as he stepped through the French doors out onto the balcony, she reached for the  tray of crackers, cheese, grapes and salami he balanced in one hand.

Ted took the seat across from her and poured himself a glass of wine. He  piled a slice of cheddar atop a stone wheat cracker.  “What’s happening out here?”

“I was just looking at my pictures from this morning.  Aren’t these longtails gorgeous?  I love how they stand out against the deep blue sky.” She handed him  her phone. “Did you know that they only come to shore for nesting season? And they mate for life.”

“Nice.”  Ted scrolled through the pictures on the phone and gave it back to her with a laugh.  “I like this one of us in the Madagascar Exhibit best.”

In the photo, Gracie and Ted stood grinning goofily beside a trio of ring tail lemurs. Her round, owlish glasses glinted in the sunshine while her auburn curls blew around her face. Ted looked cool in his cargo shorts, bright orange polo and Raybans.

“Those lemurs were a riot lounging around in the sun like beach bums,” said Ted.  “They’re such awesome animals.”

Gracie stretched out her legs and lifted her face to the late afternoon sun.  “Today has been a truly splendid day.”

“I’m glad we decided to stay in tonight.  Finding that grocery store was a definite  stroke of luck.” 

On their way back from their busy morning at the zoo and then a filling lunch on the terrace of the Swizzle Inn, they decided to pop into a shop across from the bus station to pick up some evening provisions.  Together, they meandered up and down the aisles pushing a rattling cart in front of them as they searched for the makings of a typical Bermuda supper.

“This is the life,” Ted said with a contented sigh. “What can be better than French rosé, cheddar and brie and this amazing view?”

“The Bermuda fish chowder we’ll have in a bit, more wine and this view?” Gracie teased and held up her glass to clink his.  “The woman at the store assured me that the chowder is from an authentic local recipe.”

Gracie thoughtfully ate a few grapes and went on, “She was such a nice person.  So warm and genuinely friendly.  Everyone here seems to be that way.”

”And all the locals seem to know each other.  Did you hear those two gentlemen on the bus talking about their grandsons’ cricket match?  I was sorry when they got off at their stop.  I wanted to hear who ended up winning the game.”

”Imagine if this were our house.  How heavenly would it be to eat supper out on our balcony every night and fall asleep listening to the ocean? Living here would be a Bermudaful dream come true.”

“Maybe someday it will come true,” said Ted.  “You never know what the future might bring.” He grinned and held out his hand to her. “In the meantime, let’s go in and heat up that chowder.”

Seashells, Sunshine and Serendipity

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Having family in Maine provides me with several marvelous New England travel destinations. My parents and my sister and brother-in-law live in Brunswick and Harpswell. A trip to both of these towns, along with nearby Freeport or Portland, always promises scenic beach walks, fresh seafood enjoyed with waterfront views, and shopping at farmer’s markets or eclectic shops and galleries. Every August, Brunswick hosts an Outdoor Arts Festival. One summer as I wandered among the booths, I stopped to admire a small watercolor depicting two little girls standing side by side on a quiet beach watching the incoming tide. Although I was tempted to purchase the lovely painting, I left it behind. Later that year, my thoughtful mother surprised me on my birthday. She had bought the painting for me . This charming scene, along with photos I have taken in Maine have inspired this new photo essay.

The late night storm swept a garden of kelp and sea lettuce across the sandy shore. Hidden among the strands of seaweed is a treasure trove of shells, pebbles and sea glass. Now, the late morning sun shines down from the clear blue sky and the churning waves have calmed. Elizabeth Ann and her daughter walk along the water’s edge where the damp sand remains firm beneath their bare feet.

The little girl skips and dances like a sandpiper, swinging a yellow plastic bucket at her side. She pauses every few minutes to bend down and examine the glittering array of shells scattered across the beach. She picks up a perfectly formed scallop shell and calls back to her mother, “Look at this one, Mommy.”

“That’s a keeper, Eliza,” Elizabeth Ann says, admiring the pristine white shell. She holds up a heart-shaped piece of green sea glass. “What do you think of this?”

“Ooh, it’s so pretty.” As she places the treasures into her bucket, Eliza glances over her shoulder at the friendly sound of a dog barking.

A West Highland Terrier trots down the porch steps of one of the homes lining the beach. The dog runs toward them, followed by a girl who looks to be around 4 or 5 years old like Eliza. Her long dark hair is tied back in two braids and she holds a hand to her head to keep the floppy sun hat that matches her purple sundress from flying off in the ocean breeze.

“Where are you going, Callie?” the girl calls out. “Please come back right this instant.” Her voice has a distinctive British lilt, that makes Elizabeth Ann smile. Memories of her college semester abroad in London and her first love fill her mind, as she watches the girl bend down to hug her dog, who has obediently returned to her side.

“Good girl, Callie. You’re such a good dog.”

Eliza skips over to them. She sets down her pail and asks, “Is it okay if I pet your dog?”

“Of course. She’s quite friendly.” The girl smiles at Eliza and goes on, “My name is Maisie. That’s my dad.” She points to a man standing on the wide front porch of the white clapboard bungalow. “What’s your name?”

Crouching down beside the terrier, Eliza says, “I’m Eliza Grace, but you can call me just Eliza. My mom likes to call me Eliza Grace sometimes, so I’ll have two names like her. She’s Elizabeth Ann.”

“How funny.” Maisie grins up at Elizabeth Ann and gives her a little wave. She takes a tennis ball out of her pocket and hands it to Eliza. “Callie loves to play fetch.”

Eliza tosses the ball and the little girls giggle together when the dog chases after it. Elizabeth Ann watches them play, taking pictures with her cell phone. Through the phone’s video screen, she spots the man descending the stairs of his front porch. He jogs across the sand toward them and as he draws near she recalls a weekend trip to the beach in Devon on the south coast of England. His tall frame and loping stride seem awfully familiar.

“Maisie, it’s almost time for lunch. Come on home,” he calls out and Elizabeth Ann’s heart skips a beat. She knows that voice. She remembers the first time she heard it in that London pub when Sebastian introduced himself. From that moment, they had fallen into a whirlwind romance, but in June had gone their separate ways.

Elizabeth Ann studies him, her heart swelling with bittersweet emotion. She knows that Sebastian recently lost his wife to cancer and hopes that he and Maisie are coping well.

“In a moment, Dad,” Maisie says. “Callie and I are playing with our new friend, Eliza.”

“You’ve met a new friend then,” he says glancing from Maisie to Eliza and then finally Elizabeth Ann.

Standing beside her daughter, Elizabeth Ann slips her phone into her pocket. “Hello,” she says quietly.

Their eyes meet and his spark with surprised recognition. “Elizabeth Ann?” he says. “My God, it is you. It’s been a long time.”

Elizabeth Ann smiles up at him, hardly able to believe that he is standing right in front of her. There are a few lines on his face and his shaggy hair is now neatly cut, but his warm sherry colored eyes and engaging grin are the same.

“And this is your daughter?” he goes on, turning to Eliza. “Pleased to meet you,” he says with a formal bow.

The little girls giggle and Maisie says, “Dad, you’re being silly.” She waves an arm toward the gently rolling waves. “Can we go for a paddle?”

Sebastian glances at Elizabeth Ann. She nods and he says, “No going above your knees.”

The girls wander hand in hand to dip their toes in the water, Callie following at their heels.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Sebastian quips, quoting Casablanca.

Elizabeth Ann draws in a deep breath of salty air and grins at Eliza and Maisie’s shrieks of delight as they run and skip in the shallow water. She laughs and says, “I think so too.”

Sea Turtles and Sunsets

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My intrepid niece, who is an archivist for the National Park system, recently finished up a year-long assignment at Haleakalā National Park. To my great delight, I was able to visit her in Hawaii before she moved on to her next adventure. Originally, I planned to go to Maui, where she lived, but due to the wild fires, we decided to meet on the Garden Island, Kaua’i instead. We coordinated our travel plans to arrive at Lihue Airport at the same time. In fact, her plane landed immediately after mine. After a joyous reunion in the terminal, we rented a car and drove to the condo we had reserved in Koloa. All week, we had a grand time exploring the island. Every evening we would end our day by strolling from our condo to Poʻipū Beach to watch the glorious sunset. My memories of our week on Kaua’i have inspired the photo essay below.

“This is amazing,” Elizabeth Ann sighed.

Grace smiled at her daughter and agreed, “Indeed it is.”

They were standing knee-deep in the Pacific Ocean at Poʻipū Beach. The clear, warm water lapped gently against Grace’s shins. A soft breeze ruffled the edges of her new sarong cover up. On their afternoon shopping excursion in Old Koloa town, both Grace and Elizabeth Ann had gone a little wild in a fun and colorful store called Aloha from Koloa.

When they finally managed to tear themselves away from the racks of beachwear and souvenir displays, they stepped out of the shop into the bright sunshine, each with an overflowing shopping bag dangling from her wrist. Along with the floral sarong, Grace had bought a wide-brimmed straw hat, a pair of sandals and a set of hand-woven place mats.

Hands on hips, both women turned toward the horizon where the sun floated above the ocean on a bed of golden clouds. Everyone at the beach, both in the water and on the shore, had paused to face west and take in the sunset.

“It’s time,” Grace said, glancing at the waterproof watch on her slim wrist. “7:52.”

Slowly, the sun slipped through the clouds illuminating the sky in shades of lilac, tangerine and coral, before sinking silently into the sea.

“Look at all the people who are here.” Elizabeth Ann gestured back toward the lines of spectators standing on the sand and up on the bluff. “Is it always like this?”

“It’s a nightly event,” Grace explained. “Every evening, the sun sets one minute later than the day before. We’ll all be here tomorrow at 7:53.”

“Can’t wait,” Elizabeth Ann said. She bent forward to dip her hands in the ocean water and then ran her dripping fingers through her thick, dark hair, smoothing it back away from her face. “The girls would love this beach,” she said. “Angela would spend all day snorkeling and Victoria would have a blast on her boogie board.”

Grace’s sighed happily at the thought of her granddaughters. “You’re right about that. They must get their love of the water from their father. Both you and Edmund would have spent your entire summer down at Mission Beach if we had let you.”

“I loved that beach! Remember the summer Edmund and I took surfing lessons? He was a pro right from the start, naturally. I, on the other hand . . .” Elizabeth Ann let her voice trail off and then, with a bright smile, she went on, “But my favorite beach memories are from when we took that road trip up to Malibu. Remember? We had that little cottage right on the water and we could see dolphins from our front porch.”

“That was one of our best family vacations. Everything went like clockwork,” Grace said. ”I remember picnic suppers at Point Dume and our week-long miniature golf tournament. As I recall, you were the mini golf champion.” She smiled fondly at Elizabeth Ann.

“That was such a long time ago,” Elizabeth Ann remarked.

“And yet, it seems like just yesterday,” Grace said. “Spending time with Angela and Victoria always brings back so many memories of when you and Edmund were small. I hope Edmund and Joy will be able to bring them out here for Christmas. It would be so marvelous to have all of us together for the holidays.”

“Well, I’ll definitely be here. Gerald, my editor, wants me to write a series of articles about Hawaiian restaurants for my column. I’ll start doing some research on Kauai.”

“I’m glad.” Grace reached out to squeeze her daughter’s hand and then looking again at her watch, she said, “Shall we head back?”

“I’m ready.” Elizabeth Ann turned and began to wade to shore. After just a few steps, she stopped. “Look at that, Mom,” she exclaimed clutching Grace’s forearm with one hand and pointing at a shadowy creature swimming just beneath the surface of the water. “Is that a sea turtle?”

Grace nodded and explained, “The sea turtles often come up on this beach to rest. See, it’s crawling out of the water now.”

Mother and daughter waited and watched as the turtle settled comfortably into the sand a few feet from the water’s edge. Then Grace led Elizabeth Ann back onto the beach away from where the turtle had landed.

“We mustn’t disturb the turtle. This is his natural habitat after all and we’re merely his guests.”

“You are so lucky to live in such an amazing and beautiful place, Mom,” said Elizabeth Ann.

“Speaking of beautiful,” Grace replied, “tomorrow, we’ll go to the north side of the island and I’ll take you to the most stunning beach in all the Hawaiian islands at Hanalei Bay.”

Grace and Elizabeth Ann strolled arm in arm at a leisurely pace back home. As they approached the driveway leading into the condo complex, Elizabeth Ann said, “Believe it our not, I am glad you ended up moving here.”

“Why shouldn’t I believe it?”

“Because I was such a brat when you told me you wanted to move. Remember how freaked out I was? But, I have to admit, you were right. I can’t wait for the whole family to be here at Christmas.”

Grace nodded as they climbed the steps onto her front stoop. She fished in her bag for her house key and softly began to hum “Mele Kalikimaka” under her breath.

She pushed open the door and said, “I’m looking forward to making new holiday memories here in Hawaii with all of you.”

A Moment in Time

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Visiting historic homes is one of my favorite pastimes, when I travel, or when I’m in the mood for a quick day trip from home. Newport, Rhode Island, where wealthy families once built elaborate “summer cottages” during the Gilded Age is a marvelous place to step into the past.

Last summer, a like-minded friend and I took a road trip to Newport. We toured two of the famous mansions, the Breakers and the Elms. One of the rooms I always find fascinating is the kitchen. I enjoy looking at the old-fashioned appliances and equipment used to whip up delicious meals and confections. On our summer visit, we were able to take part in the Servant’s Life tour at the Elms, after traipsing through the ornate rooms upstairs. These photographs have inspired the story below. Happy reading!

Shifting from foot to foot as she stood behind her broad, wooden baker’s bench, Poppy delicately placed a ring of fondant forget-me-nots on the top of the three-tier cake.

Already, the day felt endless. She had risen before sunrise to put the finishing touches on the wedding cake and to get the three additional desserts Mrs. Crocker insisted on adding to the menu into the oven. Time was short. At noon, the daughter of the house was to be wed.

“Ooh! That looks too lovely to eat,” a flutey voice called out from the doorway. “Hello, Poppy!”

The chef looked up and smiled warmly at the bride-to-be. She was dressed in a camel hair wrap coat with a wide fur collar and sturdy walking boots. “Good morning, Miss Rose. My goodness, you’re up early. Are you going out?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” the girl explained. “I was on my way to walk on the beach, but the scent of your baking led me on this detour. What smells so heavenly?”

“Ooh, the tartes tatins!” Poppy exclaimed whirling around to don oven mitts and swiftly pull the French apple tarts from the oven. She let out a sigh of relief as she placed three trays of golden brown pastries on her bench to cool.

Rose drew closer to breathe in the apple-cinnamon aroma, letting her coat slip from her shoulders. She lifted a floury sheet of paper from the table top. It was a hand-written recipe for madeleine cakes.

“That’s the last item on the menu I have to prepare,” Poppy explained, hurrying around to pick up Rose’s coat and drape it over the back of a black bentwood rocker by the stove. “They’re your grandmother’s favorite.”

Rose nodded and smiled in thanks and observed, “Yes, Granny has always been obsessed with Marcel Proust and his madeleines. The summer I turned ten she insisted on reading the first volume of A La Recherche du Temps Perdu to me.”

She handed the recipe to Poppy and went on, “Mrs. Crocker would make a batch of these cakes every morning. This is her recipe, isn’t it? One morning, she showed me how they were made and even let me help her with the baking.” A wistful smile lit up Rose’s face. “Those madeleines tasted extra nice at tea time. Granny even commented on how good they were.”

“What a lovely memory,” Poppy said, gathering the ingredients to mix the batter for the tea cakes. “Mr. Proust would surely approve.”

“Have you read A La Recherche?” Rose asked with an admiring glance.

“Only in English,” said Poppy, “but the translation is quite good, I think.”

Rose reached for her coat, saying, “Well, I suppose I should let you get on . . .”

At the same time, Poppy said, “Would you like to help . . .”

They each stopped mid-sentence and shared a laugh.

“I don’t mean to presume,” Poppy said hurriedly. “It’s just that I think baking can be a calming pastime and I wondered if it might settle any wedding jitters.”

Rose tilted her head, considering this idea. “I do feel a bit jittery. I suppose that’s why I couldn’t sleep.”

Poppy clasped her hands in front of her, waiting.

With a decisive nod, Rose rolled up her sleeves. “I would love to help. Why shouldn’t I?”

As they got to work, Rose and Poppy continued to chat, casting aside the rules and strictures imposed by society and savoring the warmth and companionship of the moment — a moment they would each look back upon with fond nostalgia.

Holiday Friendships

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In December 2019, I sailed away on a Star Clipper cruise with my extended family. We spent a glorious week beach hopping on a number of idyllic Caribbean islands. Early in our voyage, we visited Jost van Dyke, the smallest of the British Virgin Islands. Nicknamed “the barefoot island,” Jost van Dyke is renowned for its casual beach bars including the legendary home of the original Painkiller rum drink, the Soggy Dollar Bar on White Bay.

The photo essay below captures a typical moment at this and other tropical shoreline destinations.

Star Clipper vacation photos, 2019

Clio glanced up from her paperback copy of Jamaica Inn. Her mind swirled with images of a rocky coastline, crashing waves and lonely moorlands. She blinked and Daphne du Maurier’s Gothic setting melted away.

“Clio Penrose, is that you?”

Closing her book, Clio straightened in her cushioned rattan chair and looked around the sun-drenched beach bar. A tall, dark-haired woman wearing an aquamarine sarong and jeweled flip-flops edged by a group of tanned girls who were draped languidly in a semi-circle of pastel-colored beach chairs watching the world go by from behind their oversized designer sunglasses.

“Clio Penrose,” the approaching woman repeated with a familiar smile. “It’s Lila Bellamy from Connecticut.”

“Oh my gosh, Lila! I can’t believe it.” Clio gestured toward the seat across from her. “Sit down . . . join me.”

Lila set the brimming plastic cup she had carried from the bar on the table beside Clio’s paperback and settled into her seat. “Wow! It’s so good to see you. Sophie will never believe I ran into you.”

Once upon a time, Clio and Lila’s younger sister, Sophie, had been inseparable holiday friends. From age seven to fourteen, Clio had spent her summer on the Connecticut shoreline. Each year, her parents rented the same seasonal cottage right next door to the Bellamy family.

“How is Sophie?” Clio asked. “Is she here with you?”

Lila shook her head. “I’m here with my husband and our son, Kyle. They’re out kayaking,” she explained, waving a hand toward the turquoise water where children splashed in the gentle waves and farther out sailboats dotted the horizon. “What about you? You’re not here by yourself, are you?”

“I’m staying at the Sand Castle Hotel with two college friends. They took the ferry over to Anegada this morning.”

The two women shared a companionable smile and after a moment, Lila said, “Do you remember Jack Bishop, who lived at the end of our street in the house with the apple orchard?”

“Sure. Sophie and I loved buying those apple pies for one from his family’s farm stand.” Memories of riding bikes down a sun-dappled country road with her long ago friend filled Clio’s heart with nostalgia.

“He’s my husband,” Lila said with a grin. “I bake those pies now. I’ve become the keeper of the secret family recipe.”

“Awesome. How cool is that?” Pushing her chair back, Clio looked over at the bar. “Remembering those pies makes me hungry. I’m going to order some conch fritters. Can I get you anything?”

“That’s so sweet, but I’m good,” Lila said. “Jack, Kyle and I are going to have lunch back at our hotel.”

“I’ll be right back.” Clio crossed the soft, white sand and caught the bartender’s attention. While he put in her order for the fritters and then made her a rum drink called the Painkiller, she watched a couple of sun-burned tourists trying to master the ring game.

She held her breath as the metal ring tossed by the guy clinked against the hook he was aiming for but then fell away, swinging back on its dangling cord.

“So close!” his blonde partner squealed. “This game is impossible!”

Clio tended to agree with her. “Does anyone ever win the ring game?” she asked the bartender.

He shrugged his shoulders and grinned at Clio as he grated fresh nutmeg over her drink. “If they do, they receive a free drink.”

“Ah,” she said and added, “Thanks,” as he handed her the white plastic cup imprinted with the bar’s logo.

When Clio returned to the table, she found Lila flipping through her book. “I’m a huge Daphne du Maurier fan,” she explained.

“Did you know this is my sister’s favorite book? She’d be impressed that you’re reading it.” Lila put down the book and took a sip of her drink.

“Actually, I think I did know that.” Clio recalled a letter teenage Sophie had written detailing the travails of the heroine, Mary Yellan, and complaining that Hitchcock’s film adaptation didn’t do the novel justice.

“Sophie’s a high school librarian now. She works at an all girls private school outside DC.”

“I’m not surprised. I don’t think I ever met anyone who loves books and reading more than Sophie. What a perfect career for her.”

Lila’s phone pinged and she looked briefly at the display. “Jack and Kyle are back, I’ve got to run.” She held up her phone, “Before I go, will you pose for a quick selfie? I’ll send it to Sophie. She’ll really get a kick out of it.”

“Of course.” Clio scooted her chair closer to Lila’s. She held up the paperback displaying the melodramatic cover and smiled for the camera.

Lila snapped the photo and then handed her phone to Clio. “Type in your cell number so I can send you the pic too.”

One of my favorite shots from the cruise.

A moment after the women bid each other goodbye with a warm hug, a waiter arrived with Clio’s conch fritters. She drew the plate toward her, ready to enjoy her snack, and opened the text message from Lila. She downloaded the selfie, adding it to her camera roll and then scrolled through the vacation pictures she had taken during the past week, but remembering another beach on Long Island Sound and the friend who had meant so much to her.

Connecticut shoreline, 1984

Her phone chirped and she saw that she had received another text. Thinking Lila had followed up on her first message, Clio clicked the link and to her delight, she read:

Clio! It’s me, Sophie. You’re reading Jamaica Inn? What do you think? Isn’t it just so deliciously dark and romantic?

And just as if no time at all had passed, Clio picked up the threads of their friendship and began to type.

Friendship: a lifelong gift

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Ten years ago, my husband and I traveled to San Diego for a family wedding.  We also spent a few days sightseeing.  One afternoon, we rented a tandem bicycle to ride along the waterfront.  Our memorable experience has inspired the photo essay below, which features characters from my novel Sandra Cahill’s Best Friend.

Tandem Bike

 

“Come on, Emma!  It will be a blast,” Sam insisted.

Emma looked at the silver blue bicycle and then at her three friends.  Rachel and Sarah each gripped the handle bars of a cruiser bicycle.  Sarah’s bike was sea green, while Rachel had opted for flamingo pink.  Both cruisers were equipped with a wicker basket on the front.

Emma tucked her shoulder-length dark hair behind her ears and glanced again at the bike Sam had chosen, a tandem bike.  Finally, she nodded and said, “Okay.  But I call the front seat.”

“This will be awesome,” Sam said as they wheeled the rented bicycles out to the Mission Bay bike path.

“There’s supposed to be a great seafood place a few miles down the beach,” Rachel said.  “We could ride out there and have a nice lunch.”

“Allegedly, their fish tacos are award-winning,” Sarah added.

“Allegedly?” Sam said, winking at Sarah.  “What evidence do you have to support this claim, counselor?”

Sarah, who had just opened her own law practice in La Jolla, pulled out her iPhone and tapped on the screen.  “Rachel’s cousin gave it five stars on TripAdvisor.”

“My cousin, the personal chef,” Rachel said.

“Sounds good to me,” Emma said, putting on her bicycle helmet.

“Me too,” Sam agreed.  “Lead the way.”

Emma pushed off, steering the tandem bike as Sam pedaled behind her.  The front tire wobbled but a moment later, the friends fell in sync and they coasted smoothly along the path, following Rachel and Sarah on their brightly colored bikes.

san diego1Feeling like a kid again, Emma grinned as she breathed in the salt-scented air.  She pedaled harder, enjoying the stretch of her muscles and the afternoon sun on her shoulders.  She and her friends had spent many childhood summers riding bikes together along the Connecticut shoreline.

“Hey, Sam.  I can’t believe these views,” she called.  To the left of the palm-lined roadway, the tranquil bay sparkled.  The white sails of a trio of catamarans stood out against the bright blue horizon.

“I know.  I love it here,” Sam agreed.  “I miss California.”  After college, Sam had lived in Los Angeles but then moved to Boston.

They rode happily around the scenic bay until at last they reached the small fish restaurant.  On the covered deck overlooking the beach, they settled around an acacia wood table and ordered a pitcher of sangria.

“This place is cute,” Rachel remarked, unfolding her napkin and looking around.

san diego2Hanging baskets overflowing with geraniums and impatiens swayed in the ocean breeze.  A mural depicting Andean musicians surrounded by swirls of musical notes decorated the back wall.

The waitress delivered their drinks.  Sam picked up the pitcher and poured four glasses of the fruity red wine.  Sarah lifted her glass and said, “Thank you so much for coming out to visit me this week.  I’m so happy to have all four of us together!  Just like the good old days.  Here’s to lifelong friends.”

They all clinked glasses and Emma said, “Do you remember that song we used to sing in Girl Scouts?  The round, “Make New Friends?”

Rachel started to sing softly, “Make new friends, but keep the old.  One is silver and the other gold.”

One by one, Sam, Sarah and then Emma joined in the round.  As they sang, Emma looked around the table at her oldest and dearest friends.  The memories they shared and would continue to make in the future were as valuable as gold.

 

 

 

 

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Do you remember?

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My lifelong friend, Avery, lives in Malibu, an ideal vacation destination.  I have been out to visit her several times over the years.  We always have a grand time together.  In April, I flew out to LA once again, looking forward to the different excursions we had planned.  One afternoon, she took me to Point Dume, where we walked along the cliffs overlooking the sparkling Pacific Ocean.  While we were admiring the ocean panorama, we spotted a playful whale in the water below.  We watched with delight as it cavorted in the surf.  In the piece below, my character, Grace Martini and her sister, Charlotte, have a similar experience which brings some nostalgic memories to the surface.

CIG_IMG112

 

Grace followed her sister up the steep path.  Both sides of the track were lined with yellow coreopsis.  The rampant wildflowers danced in the ocean breeze beneath a bright blue sky.

Some lines from Grace’s favorite poem popped into her mind.

… all at once I saw a crowd, / A host, of golden daffodils; / Beside the lake, beneath the trees, /  Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

William Wordsworth would certainly appreciate this view at the top of Point Dume.

Charlotte paused a few steps in front of Grace.  She shaded her eyes with one hand and gestured at the panoramic scene with the other.  “There’s Zuma Beach,” she said, taking a swig from her stainless steel water bottle.

“It looks the same.  Just as stunning as ever,” Grace observed.  She pulled her camera from the pocket of her linen capris to take a picture.  “I wish Elizabeth Ann were here.  She always loved this hike when she and Edmund were little.”

“Remember how they used to race each other up the path from the boardwalk?” Charlotte said, setting her bottle on the sand beside her.

“With Harold right behind.”  Grace smiled at the memory of her dignified husband galloping up the bluff like a kid.  Harold was spending this morning on the golf course with Charlotte’s husband, George.

Charlotte stretched her arms up in front of her.  Reaching for the sky, she pressed her palms together in a graceful mountain pose.  “This would be a perfect spot for a yoga class.”

“Why don’t you take some of your students on a field trip?” Grace joked as her sister lowered her arms and grinned.

“Maybe I will.  Let’s keep going to the overlook platform,” Charlotte said, picking up her bottle and leading the way along the edge of the cliff.

Grace snapped one more picture for her daughter and hurried to catch up with Charlotte.  When she joined her on the overlook platform, Charlotte beckoned eagerly.  “There are dolphins playing in the water.”

Scanning the deep blue expanse of ocean, Grace clapped her hands when she spotted three dolphins diving in and out of the surf a few hundred yards off shore.  One suddenly leapt into the crystal clear air,  momentarily silhouetted against the horizon before slipping neatly underwater again.  “Did you see that?”  Grace turned to Charlotte, who’s eyes were gleaming with pleasure.

“Amazing,” Charlotte murmured.

The sisters watched the frolicking dolphins for several more minutes.  They laughed and exclaimed over their antics and Grace managed to take a couple of photos.  As the dolphins moved further out to sea, she sighed.

“When the twins were about eight years old, Edmund was obsessed with dolphins and whales,” Grace reminisced.  “He convinced Elizabeth Anne that they should both become marine biologists.”

“And today, Edmund is a history professor and Elizabeth Ann is a restaurant critic,” Charlotte said.

“I know.  Apparently, childhood dreams don’t always come true.”

“I suppose not.”  Charlotte brushed her wind-blown hair back and once again led the way along the coastal hiking trail. “But I believe life usually turns out the way it is meant to.”

As they carefully descended the bluff taking the path that would bring them down to the beach, Grace decided her sister was right.  She wouldn’t trade  her own life with Harold and their two children for anything.