Sixty Hours in Heaven

When D’s name appeared on my phone during a normal Monday afternoon at the office, I knew exactly why he was calling. It was just past the year mark since he and A met on the night of my birthday that past December and the question A was waiting for was actually in the works. I accompanied him to the meeting he arranged with A's favorite jeweler, Bell and Bird Custom Jewelry, just four days later. After all, I had visited the same store only a couple weeks before with the suspecting bride-to-be and was witness to all the design details. It was sure to be her dream ring, presented by her dream guy, all prelude to a dream wedding. And so it began… the journey we now know as A & D's Italian Wedding.

I wasn’t sure if I believed A when she told me I was coming with them to Positano… until I received D’s email that included our flight itinerary. My heart stopped and I had to take a deep breath; was this really happening??? It all seemed too good to be true, especially because a whole six months separated the invitation from the trip. The third week of September grew closer as I grew more excited, despite the normal routine I led. This was my first flight in three years and knowing my final destination was Italy felt so surreal. I was ready for a vacation… but little did I know what a true vacation it would become.

I had never been to Italy, nor had I done much research (shame on me). Although some might consider the Italian wine and American versions of Italian food I enjoy here at home ‘research’, I realize now that there is nothing quite like the real thing. The pasta is al dente, the vegetables and herbs are hand picked and, contrary to popular American belief, the individual portions are, dare I say, dainty. Our seven (yes, seven!) course wine dinner didn't leave me uncomfortable, rather perfectly satisfied.

From the moment we arrived at Le Sirenuse, jetlagged but ecstatic, I was truly on vacation, in every sense of the word. Thanks to D and A I didn't have to think about or plan a thing, something they know I tend to do. Nope, this was their show and they were running it. And because I was lucky enough to be their guest, what followed will live in my heart forever.

The view from the open air lobby was even more breathtaking in person than in pictures. I had been spoiling myself with the beauty of the views online during the months leading up to the trip, so when I finally saw it with my own eyes I felt as though I had been transported into a painting... but after my return home I now know it was actually some version of Heaven. With the Mediterranean Sea down below and the cliffs of the town all around us, everywhere you turned was, for lack of a more deserved description, perfect.

The hotel's impeccable team whisked us (and our luggage) away to show us to our rooms which were just as charming as the rest of the family villa-turned-hotel. Our keys were smooth hand carved metal mermaids that lived at the front desk while each guest was away; just one of their small yet significant touches that contributes the Le Sirenuse allure. I had to keep my jaw from hitting the floor as we navigated our way up and down the gorgeous M.C. Escher-style staircases and quaint hallways. Hand painted tiles lined the floors while custom photography accented the walls. Tropical plants filled lonely corners and retro-inspired furniture invited us to sit. All the while enjoying the Italian air and coastal views.

The shimmer on the water from the warm Italian sun was calling our names... a trip to the beach was in order. I found my bikini and down the steps we went, winding our way through ancient walkways crowded with gift shops and cafes. Just minutes later we found ourselves in the very salty sea where treading water is almost effortless. Sunbathing is one of my most favorite things, so when I get to partake while visiting the other side of the planet, I'm pleased to say the least. I laid on the dark sand and gazed at the (what seemed) bluer than American sky while olive skinned five year old Italian girls ran around me in just bikini bottoms. "This is it," I thought, "this is really happening".

Two hours and a few gift shop stops later it was time to prepare for the evening's festivities: Sunset cocktails and snacks at the Champagne Bar. D had reserved a lounge area just for us so we could enjoy the house DJ while sipping some of the most delicious prosecco I've ever tasted. The sky turned dark as the town's lights came on... Who knew the evening view was even better? This, of course, all before our car service would take us to our first evening's decadent dinner at half-Houstonian family-owned Dona Rosa, which happened to be a small house at the top of the mountain with an even better view. And can you believe they carry Tito's Vodka?? We were floored.

Our family-style feast was phenomenal. Everything from the generous pours of wine to the hand made ravioli... the beautifully painted platters and open kitchen that contained just two expert chefs made for a delightful three hour dining experience I'd love to have every Thursday. Except this wasn't just any Thursday... It was the night before their wedding and we were in Italy. Could it get better? Yes.

After just a few hours of sleep it was time to wake up despite the fact that my phone said it was 1:30am back home. I wasn't about to sleep any longer than necessary, afterall it was finally the day for which we had traveled here in the first place. Not to mention A had scheduled a mani/pedi that I was sure would be wonderful. I think I drifted off as the last coat was drying, writing my toast to the almost-wedded couple in my mind. A had been telling me about how this day would be filmed by Austin Cinemetographer, Joe Simon, for months, but I was beginning to feel like I left my "public" speaking skills at home. Just like in this blog, I feel my words are best conveyed when written... so the thought of trying to say exactly how special this experience was seemed a bit overwhelming. Still, I knew they would understand what I was trying to say no matter how the words came out. Even though they would, and hopefully did, I'd like to dedicate this entry, my written feelings, to the happy couple.

My suite's bathroom phone rang as I was putting on my mascara. I heard the frustration in A's voice when she told me the hairdressers were there and I wasn't. Typical me, running ten minutes behind. Up two and a half floors of horizontal stairs I went, there the bride was waiting with a smile. Not yet in her dress, we sat and enjoyed the morning view of the ocean while our Italian artists sculpted our hair into picture perfection. A was oddly calm, almost like this was a practice wedding day. I asked her how she felt and I believe she simply replied, "happy". No stress, no mess - just her favorite people in her favorite place. Pure bliss.

Town Hall in Positano is not like any place you've been. The historical architecture that somehow clings to the side of the cliff allows Italian (in this case, half American & half Canadian) couples to wed with a backdrop only seen in the movies. It was yet another moment I look back on and feel was part of a dream. As D describes it in Joe's video, "the magic of the moment didn't hit me until I saw her walking towards me". Although I was with her when she found that dress, saw her try it on more than once and even helped her into it just minutes before, she still took our breath away. We were here. It was real. Nothing seemed more important at that moment in time. I smiled away a few happy tears while a language I don't understand married my two dear friends. It only took 10 minutes for them to become Man & Wife, an endearing title they'll hold for the rest of their lives. And to be honest, they shouldn't be anything less to eachother.

Our private boat that would take us down the Amalfi Coast arrived on schedule later that afternoon. With two photographers and Joe in tow, our nautical adventure began just as the sun was setting. We headed east towards a calmer cove so A could "trash the dress". (This is just another reason D thinks she's the coolest woman on the planet.) If being photographed and filmed oceanside in an expensive dress with a glass of Veuve in your hand doesn't give you an insight to what "the life" feels like, I'm not sure what will. I can't help but daydream about it still... we took a swim, made our toasts and all 105 of the bobbypins in my hair actually kept it looking good for our seven course dinner that evening. Yet another Italian trick I need to learn.

I had barely been in the country 36 hours and Italy was beginning to feel like home. As I prepared for another fabulous meal I was reminded that I had another whole day in this amazing place, and for that I was more than thankful. That feeling continued as I walked down to the dining room on the third floor. Anyone close to me knows how much I enjoy a flawless dining experience and I knew this seven course dinner was going to be one of the best ever. We joined each other and over our first glass of wine gleefully recapped the day, A & D's Wedding Day.

We laughed about the mandolin player and how he ended his Italian serenade with a very American "YEAH!", balked at how incredible the boat ride's scenery was and inquired about their Vespa jaunt up and down the windy road. We enjoyed an impromptu, but very well done, live version of "We no speak Americano", sung by our ever-so-charming waiter and same mandolin player, just for the newlyweds. At that moment my heart felt like it might burst. All that love, happiness and beauty in one place; I was reminded of how perfect life could feel. I'm sure A and D still feel that way at least once a day... a day they get closer to the rest of their lives together. I suppose couples like them give us the phrase "lucky in love".

And for me? I'm lucky enough to relive that pure, priceless feeling of joy when I watch their wedding video. By the time P & I boarded our plane home we had been there just 60 hours... yet each and every time I hear D's voice start to describe Positano I can feel the salty breeze, smell the cappucinos and taste the limoncello. Thank you to P for being such a good travel partner; I'll let you know when we get picked for Amazing Race ;) And to A & D, thank you for an experience of a lifetime. I can't wait to share more amazing memories together.

Learning the meaning of "Spare Time"

When someone mentions what they do in their "spare time", I'm puzzled. Borderline baffled. So much so that I shake my head in amazement, raise my eyebrows while sighing and pretty much ignore the whole concept all together. Who has time for spare time, I wonder?

I don't have kids, I'm not in school anymore, I don't even have a long commute to and from work each day, so I'm pretty sure I don't have a solid excuse like other people might. But because I have officially submersed myself into what I refer to as 'adulthood' (working full time and maintaining a high standard of my home environment and personal life) over the past few years, I can't remember the last time I've had time to "spare".

Why is this, you ask? I'm what they call a "planner": By definition I am a "deviser", a "contriver". I like to plan to get things done, mostly by making lists. It's always go-go-go! Chores, itineraries, groceries, birthdays, errands, happy hours, you name it! The best part is that unlike most people that are known for making lists, I actually complete them. I've referred to my organizational therapy before by stating that "Busy is Fun!!". Although this is still true, I'm beginning to feel interested in the meaning of spare time. And because I'm not so familiar with what spare time feels like, I don't realize I have it until it's already gone... except for this past Sunday.

After making a run to TacoDeli (where I had the pleasure of experiencing the famous Mashed Potato, Egg & Cheese breakfast taco with their signature Dona sauce for the first time) it was off to the pool. Some might argue that pool time is spare time, but not in my book. My visits to the pool are a labor of love that includes squaring up to the sun in such a way that produces an even tan while browsing through one of my multiple magazines that have accumulated in my lack of spare time. Exhibit A: The stack that has been moved out of site into a basket on a shelf because I realize I can't get to them before my "clean freak" comes out and wants the counters cleared.

These magazines (and some books, as I have also noted before) make their way into my apartment and never seem to make their way out - mainly because I don't immediately read them. Even when I do get to the last page I feel obligated to keep them because of the wealth of information found on their pages... recipes and workout tips, new uses for old things, it's endless! I realize I'm beginning to sound like a hoarder, to which I will simply defend with "No". Have you ever read Real Simple Magazine? It's decidedly the best one out there. Oh, to write for them one day would be a dream...

Back to reality where the stacks of magazines await that mysterious "spare time": After the pool was going to be a Racquetball re-match, a game which I've recently learned to play and that was downright robbed from me a few nights before. I was up a whopping 13 to 4, just two points away from victory and somehow I ended up losing 16-14. I'll blame it on my lack of experience, given that I only learned to play about 6 weeks ago and T, my arch-nemesis, has been playing since he was a kid.

The sweaty walk back from the pool proved to be too much for the both of us, and as the blazing afternoon sun pushed the thermometer to yet another triple digit hell hole, we decided to stay inside. Movie time! Now, if I told you that the last time I remember actually choosing to get into bed on a Sunday afternoon and watch a movie while (gasp!) my lists beckon me from the other room was about 3 years ago, would you believe me? Yes, it's true.

At first I felt anxious, like I was making an irresponsible decision. Why would I waste my afternoon doing "nothing" while there was so much left to do? The chores started swirling in my head: you could empty the dishwasher, do a load of laundry, change the kitty litter, dust! And that's when it hit me: "Nothing" should be on my list. "Nothing" is relaxing, rejuvenating, pure repair... "nothing", I realized, transformed into "spare time" and it was all-of-the-sudden upon me. The feeling of "go-go-go" shouldn't lead to exhaustion, it should be inspiring. And for me it usually is - but thanks to T's habit of afternoon naps, I was (gently) forced to join his slow paced break from my busy world. Boo-hoo, right?

I'll admit that I didn't quite do "nothing". Afterall, I wasn't sleepy and I had already seen the movie that was playing. Nonetheless, I knew taking some time away from my normal routine would be a good thing, so I crawled into bed anyway. I settled in and an overwhelming feeling of "what do I do now?" washed over me. Then I looked to my nightstand where my TV remotes sit. Instead of on the actual table they're elevated by, you guessed it, magazines and books... just waiting to be read. They've been there for a few months now since the idea is to read them as I'm going to sleep at night; however as most of you have probably heard me say more than once, I get to bed too late as it is even without reading.

"A-ha! Real Simple is is!" The revelation that I could use this quiet time in bed to make some progress on my magazines was exciting. I smiled as I opened the first one, engaging in the beautiful photographs, clever recipes and finally reading the articles I tagged so long ago. It was like I was visiting an old friend and catching up on life. Over an hour passed by and I felt amazing. I thought to myself, "Why don't I do this more often?"

So that's where we are: I'm committing to my magazines. By doing this, I'm committing to myself. And although there is still a large stack of them in that basket I can't see, I like to think that it serves as a treasure chest of relaxation from which I can pluck some "spare time" whenever I want... I guess I better put it on my list.

"Willing" is Half the Battle

I was just 12 years old when a Blue Wave Swim Team parent first asked if I could help give their younger child some technical stroke instruction. Although hesistant to "sell" what felt like should come naturally at that age, it worked out to be a pretty nice summer gig. Never did I think I would be filling my iphone calendar with 13 lessons in one week after giving them up for over a decade.

Since my spontaneous (and probably over-caffeinated) decision to post a boastful, borderline arrogant, craigslist ad at 1:00am after writing my blog about how I missed being in and around the pool, I've been in the water at least 5 days a week. My skin smells like chlorine, my hair has split ends, my nails are chipped... and it's awesome! I feel like my stars are aligned while I didn't even know they existed before.

T gave me a book to read towards the end of May called "Cure for the Common Life" by Max Lucado. I'm ashamed to say I haven't made it past page 10, but only because I've been busy giving lessons! What I am proud to say is that it only took 10 pages for the message of the book to kick in: Get back to what you love doing. For me, it was being in the pool.


Nevermind the fact that my mother and High School swim Coaches will tell you otherwise. Just because I didn't decide to stay in the pool all these years doesn't mean I didn't keep a special place for it in my heart. I believe a lot of what we grow up doing holds special places in each of our hearts. Whether it's something as simple as going to eat at a certain neighborhood restaurant every Friday night or as extravagant as going to the beach with your family for the 4th of July, these things tend to hit home. They bring us back to that spark, that happiness... back to life.

As I interact with the 15 kids I've taught so far, I feel lucky to have been blessed with the talent of swimming. Some of them are blessed with talent, too, while the others are learning to work hard at it. Both are impressive attributes of young, determined children and it's incredibly rewarding to see them improve. Just yesterday a 6 year old boy, with whom I've had five weekly lessons, ran back out of the house to say, "Thank you for my swim lesson!" on his own free will. This is the same kid that during his second lesson told me he hated swimming. I simply smiled, said, "You're welcome" and drove home with butterflies in my tummy.

I guess this blog is another part of my "Sweet Spot". The whole reason I initiated it was because I missed writing. And lucky for yall, I get to blab on about whatever I like ;) This time it's swim lessons, next time will be the Fall Weather, I presume... given that it ever cools off again. Until then, you can find me in the pool.