Buongiorno!

I never meant to travel. Never had a bucket list either. We've always stayed pretty close to home for vacations -- the beach, the beach, the beach... We were feeding four very active Amazon-sized children and they loved nothing more than to head to Laguna Beach Christian Retreat near Panama City and hang out with all their cousins and friends. It was the best of times, all of us staying in our individual cottages. Sometimes there would be 20 or so families all staying there. Our favorite cottage was on a corner inside the camp, and we'd chew the fat and drink coffee while the kids played all manner of sports and games, swimming in the pool and ocean every day. Often, we would go both May and September for two weeks at a time. I can't look back too long or I'll be in a puddle.

Travel...our Maestro (Terry Lowry, the conductor of the Carrollton Wind Ensemble) brought up the subject of Italy around two years ago. We were invited to play four concerts there, and were going to need to raise money so the band could go. Long trail, but we are headed there next week. I'm excited, scared, and a little nauseous. Planes make me nervous, much less a 10-hour flight, a 6-hour time change, and who knows about the toilet paper situation over there? I am notorious for packing at literally the last minute, but I have my things already spread out over the spare bedroom bed. This is serious. 

Ken was going to go with us. I could tell he didn't want to. He likes things that are predictable, things that he has already done a thousand times. He likes clocks, schedules, Sonic and Netflix. But he loves me and knew I thought it would be romantic to see Italy with him in tow. It wasn't until we attended a friend's wedding that things changed. His sister Melissa, rather like Ken in a woman's body, reached over and took my hand. She said, "Rose, don't make Ken go to Italy." I crack up every time I think about this. She said, "Ya'll will both be trying to make each other happy. He'll be trying to be spontaneous for your sake and you will be trying to hold back for his sake. Neither one of you will have much fun." I think she could be right, but I reserve the right to drag him back over there someday, if I think we could manage it. We have been married a very long time and I know the things he likes: warm beach trips with the family where he doesn't really ever get in the water but enjoys a good book and turning over every twenty minutes to get a nice, even tan;  breakfasts with me, every morning and preferably in a restaurant; and again, Sonic, which only happens when I am not around. That stuff is not food, but it reminds him of the place he grew up with: Fat Boy in Smyrna.  

I've never practiced the same pieces of music this many times in my entire life. If my brains were intact, I would have it all memorized. Even with that, last night at rehearsal I messed up on things that I had down cold, random notes and such. We're not even there yet and I'm nervous. For three of our concerts we will be playing in ancient cathedrals with amazing acoustics. One is connected to Puccini, one to Pavarotti and one to Vivaldi. I've been on a couple of Caribbean cruises but never flown across the ocean to places older than America. I hate flying, but I know if it's my time to go, there ain't a thing I can do about it. 

I've been practicing my Italian on an app, maybe for a year, but when I try to remember a phrase or essential word, only a few seem to surface. Buongiorno -- bagno -- ciao -- arrivederci. I brought that up at a recent family gathering and one of my well-traveled sons said: "Just use Google translate. That's what I do!" Well, just stick me on a conveyor belt, 'cause here I come.