Which One Comes Home With You?

A place most ladies don't particularly enjoy gave me quite a surprise one day.

A dressing room!

Let's face it. How many women actually enjoy going into a dressing room and trying on clothes?

The lighting, the mirrors, the clothes that look wonderful on the hanger but somehow look completely different once you put them on.

And sometimes you walk out without buying a single thing.

But one day in July, I walked into a dressing room at JCPenney in Florida, and something happened that I wasn't expecting.

It all started with a blue denim dress.

Roger and I had just gotten off a cruise ship, and we were walking through the store when we spotted it.

It reminded both of us of a dress I owned years ago.

I loved that dress!

I wore it when I was around 50, and I wore that thing to death. I wouldn't be surprised if it's still packed away somewhere in storage.

It was one of those dresses that I just felt good wearing.

And here I was, at almost 67, looking at something very similar.

Roger was the one encouraging me to try it on.

So I did.

I took two of the same dresses into the dressing room.

One fit comfortably, with a little extra room.

The other was more fitted.

Not too tight.

Not uncomfortable.

Just a little closer to my body.

And there I stood, looking in the mirror.

Now, here's where a little background comes into this story.

Over the last few years, my wardrobe had changed quite a bit.

Retirement, menopause, traveling, and eating our way around the world had all become part of my life.

Disney.

Asia.

Cruise ships. Lots of cruise ships!

And somewhere along the way, the clothes I chose to wear changed too.

While we were traveling in Asia, I bought more than a dozen sundresses.

They were colorful, comfortable, loose-fitting, and perfect for traveling. 

And yes it was overkill...does anyone really need a dozen dresses???

Well sometimes when you are visiting hot climates, and doing a lot of walking, you absolutely

do!

They didn't cling to my body, which was exactly what I preferred at the time.

And they were so easy to roll up and pack into a suitcase.

But back in January, I had decided to make a change.

I started intermittent fasting on January 16.

Not because I was sick or couldn't get around. I was still walking, traveling, cruising, and doing all the things I enjoyed.

I just wasn't particularly happy with where my weight had ended up.

And I knew how I'd gotten there.

By the time we walked into JCPenney in July, I'd been intermittent fasting for almost six months.

My body had already changed, but I wasn't finished.

And standing in that dressing room, trying on a dress that reminded me of one I loved years ago, I realized just how much had changed.

The first dress fit.

The second dress fit too.

Just differently.

And I liked them both!

Now what?

Which one comes home with you?

The one with a little extra room?

Or the one that fits a little closer?

I knew my body was still changing, and I was curious how that second dress might fit a few months down the road.

Roger didn't seem to have any trouble deciding.

When he saw the more fitted dress, he encouraged me to buy that one.

And that's the one I brought home!

There was another bonus to the whole shopping experience.

JCPenney was having a terrific sale, and there was an additional coupon available.

I didn't even have the coupon with me, but the cashier helped me find it in my account.

By the time all the discounts were applied, I got that dress for a ridiculously good price.

Don't ask me exactly how much.

I'm horrible with numbers! 😂

And then something funny happened.

I never wore it.

I brought it home, hung it up, and left the tag on.

In September, I decided to try it on again.

I'd lost about another six pounds since buying it.

And guess what?

It fit differently.

It had fit comfortably in July, but now I could feel the difference around my waist, belly, and hips.

Six pounds doesn't sound like very much, but sometimes the way your clothes fit tells you more than the number on the scale.

I thought about wearing it for my 67th birthday.

But I didn't.

And now here we are.

October 10.

I've celebrated my birthday.

I've reached my 30-pound weight-loss milestone.

And that dress?

The tag is STILL on it!

Meanwhile, my wardrobe has been changing right along with me.

Remember those sundresses I bought in Asia?

I have one left.

As I've been buying clothes that fit me differently, I've had to make room for them.

When there's limited space in your suitcase, there's always a trade-off.

So twelve of those loose-fitting sundresses have gone, and I've added three form-fitting dresses to my wardrobe.

Not because there was anything wrong with the sundresses.

They were exactly what I wanted when I bought them.

But what I enjoy wearing now has changed.

And that's okay too.

Now, about that blue denim dress.

For the last couple of years, Roger has taken pictures of me on boarding day, rolling my suitcase along.

I'm usually wearing my oversized shirt and denim skirt.

Comfortable traveling clothes.

Well, next Saturday we're boarding another cruise ship.

And I've got something else in mind.

The funny thing is, we'd just gotten off a ship when I bought that denim dress in July.

And now, three months later, we're getting ready to board another one.

This will be my first opportunity to wear that dress on a ship.

And I think I've finally figured out exactly where I want to wear it.

Boarding day!

I want Roger to take that same picture he always takes.

Me, rolling my suitcase onto the ship.

Only this time, I'll be wearing my blue denim dress.

At least that's the plan! 😂

It's funny how a simple afternoon of shopping can turn into a story months later.

I went into that dressing room thinking I was just trying on a dress.

I came out with a little surprise, a terrific bargain, and a reminder of how differently I was beginning to see myself.

And three months later, I'm still looking at the tag!

So which one comes home with you?

For me, it was the dress I couldn't wait to wear.

Even if it turns out I've been waiting three months to wear it!

Now I just have to take the tag off.

Whether I'm standing in a dressing room trying to decide which dress to buy or packing my suitcase for another adventure, it seems I'm always asking myself the same question. Which one comes home with me?

If I Can Do It, Anyone Can

I really mean that.

Whenever somebody says to me, "Oh my gosh, I could never do that," I always answer the same way:

"If I can do it, anyone can."

I've been saying that for as long as I can remember.

I’ve never thought of myself as especially book smart. I’ve always thought of myself as more of a common-sense person.

And maybe that’s exactly why I believe so strongly that ordinary people can figure out a lot more than they think they can.

Maybe I've been doing this longer than I realized.

This photo was taken in 2019, at Daytona Beach, when I was training to walk a half marathon. I was out walking every day, rain or shine, training in the Florida heat. 

Roger almost never takes pictures of me, but that day he did.

Looking at it now, it feels like the perfect picture for this post.

I didn’t know exactly how I was going to do something so far outside my comfort zone, the year I turned 50. I'm not an athlete and have never really wanted to be one. I just kept walking.

I didn’t know how to work in corporate law until I learned. I don’t have a paralegal degree. Somehow, I ended up working in corporate law for 15 years and wrapped up my legal career after 25 years.

I didn’t know how to retire at 60 until I figured out what I needed to do.

I didn’t know how people traveled the world without spending a fortune.

I didn’t know how pet sitting worked.

I didn’t know how hotel points could stretch into weeks of travel.

I didn’t know how casino comps worked.

I didn’t know if fasting would work for me or even fit into my real life.

I didn’t know that I could post one Amazon review and still be making commissions from it two years later.

I didn’t think I could start a YouTube channel.

I definitely didn’t think I could figure out how to make videos and edit them.

But I did.

I didn’t know if I could write a book.

Then I wrote one.

And then I wrote another one.

I didn’t even know if I could actually write a blog post.

And I did.

That’s really how a lot of this has gone for me.

I didn’t know how to do any of it when I started.

I asked questions. I paid attention. I tried things. Sometimes they worked. Sometimes they didn’t. Then I adjusted and tried again.

Maybe I’m making smarter choices now than I did when I was younger. Maybe I’m just more willing to try things. Maybe retirement gave me the time to look at life a little differently.

I don’t know.

But I do know that I didn’t need to be an expert before I started.

I didn’t need a special degree.

I didn’t need to have everything figured out.

I just had to figure out the next step.

And then the next one.

So when I say, “If I can do it, anyone can,” I’m not putting myself down.

I’m saying that if you’re sitting there thinking, “I could never do that,” maybe you could.

Maybe you just don’t know how yet.

You can learn.

You can ask questions.

You can try something and change your mind.

You can make mistakes.

You can start over.

You can start something completely new at 60, 65, 70, or whenever you happen to be reading this.

You don’t have to know how the whole thing works before you begin.

You just have to be willing to figure out the first part.

Because if I can do it, I really believe anyone can.

It Started With a Backpack and a Dream

We rented an airbnb and spent a month in the spring of 2025 in Palermo, Sicily. We knew we would return, after having fallen in love with Sicily the previous summer, on our extended family reunion 10-day roadtrip around the island. It wasn't even a question in our minds that we would plan another visit, to embrace my Sicilian ancestry and move a little slower during our month there. That included taking road trips back to Montellegro twice to spend time with family, and also to visit the little towns around Palermo. 

We rented a car for our longer adventure, or sometimes simply grabbed a bus if the location was nearby. One day we hopped on the train to travel a bit further to Cefalu, a little town along the coast that is quite well known for its beautiful Mediterranean shoreline and history. I'm always happy no matter how we travel from place to place, but this particular day, our choice for a train ride would have a very surprising outcome, more so than I could possibly have predicted. 

We arrived midmorning and walked the very busy narrow streets of the town, dodging then fruit man's truck, bicyclists, fellow tourists, and also more often than not, the locals zipping through town on their speedy mopeds. It was a gorgeous spring day and the town was buzzing in the same way many little tourist spots are sought out all over Sicily. 

We kept our eyes open in search for some local food to eat as we walked and navigated the few streets of Cefalu. Being a seaside town on a sunny day, even the beaches had folks flocking to lounge and to grab some rays on the sand. 

I recall finding some delicious sandwiches at one of the local shops and we found ourselves lining up with the workers from the neighborhood on their midday lunch break. Always get in the longest line and pay attention to where to locals eat! I had also decided that with the temps rising and the day turning out to be a bit on the warm side, some gelato was next on my agenda. After noticing someone walking by with a cooler option of granita, I settled on a mango granita instead. So many choices and so little time!

It was time to head back to the station and wait for our return train to Palermo, and that's when a chance encounter became a sweet meeting of the minds. I was carrying my Disney backpack and a woman on the platform approached me to chat. She was a local, not a tourist and had a very good grasp of the English language. She mentioned that she loved Disney and had just applied to the international exchange program and was waiting to hear back if she'd been accepted. We chatted for quite some time and before I left her, I had this very strong feeling she would be hearing from Disney soon and would be accepted into the program, and I told her I felt her dreams would come true. We decided to keep in touch and I wished Irini well. 

Fast forward a few months and I noticed she was in Florida already. I was so happy she made her dream come true, and would spend over a year at Disney in Orlando, working at Epcot in the Italian pavilion at the Tutto Italia Restaurant.

More than a year later, after we finally returned to the US after a very long 14 months of international travel, I found myself with a few days at Disney. I reached out to Irini hoping she was still working at Epcot. I actually caught up with her right before her program ended and we shared a chat as I enjoyed a nice meal at Tutto Italia. She had made the most of her time while working for Disney, and actually traveled all over the United States, and even made it as far as Alaska. 

Two random strangers meeting at just the right time, on just the right day, on the very same train platform, in a tiny town in Sicily...

There's Always a Story! 

      

 

You Had Me at KFC

My love affair with fried chicken began in the back seat of my mother's car sometime in the 1960s.

We lived in Ledyard, CT but we went to Catholic school in Norwich, about 15 minutes away. That meant my mom spent a good part of every day behind the wheel, shuttling us to school and back again. One afternoon on the way home, she pulled into a KFC. 

Anyone who knows KFC knows what the nose knows...the amazing spicy smell of it, will pull you in directly off the street.

With a family of eight, a hot fast food chicken dinner for the whole gang, was not a normal occurrence. But my mother, ever resourceful, discovered a loophole: she could buy a bucket of chicken cold, for less money, take it home, and heat it up herself. And mind you, we didn't taste those delicious buttermilk biscuits for years, we were strictly eating that yummy chicken. 

Now, you have to understand something. I grew up in an Italian family, and in our house, nothing was fried. Not a thing. Everything was baked, roasted or broiled. The only fried food I had ever tasted in my entire life, up until that point were french fries. And by the way, I was also a huge fan of when we stopped at our closest burger joint and fries were always my first choice. But I digress...

After we arrived home and that chicken came out of the oven and landed on our table, it spoke to me. Crispy, savory, completely unlike anything I'd ever eaten.

And the bucket! Red and white, with the Colonel's smiling face looking out at us. In a family that didn't eat out except on special occasions, or when we brought home a pizza, that bucket was an event. It was a treat, and a little bit of magic.

I didn't know it yet, but that was the beginning of a lifelong love of fried chicken. Wings still being my first choice always. And it all started with a cold bucket and a mother who figured out how to make it work.

Full Circle in Corbin, Kentucky

Fast forward almost 60 years later, and here I am in Kentucky.

We are housesitting here in Richmond, and while chatting with the owners, we learned that one of them grew up in Corbin. That settled it. As long as we were close enough for a nice drive, we were going to see where it all began.

What I didn't expect was that the museum and the restaurant share the same building. It's a small cafe serving KFC, and while you eat, you're surrounded by memorabilia, old photographs, and actual pieces from the Colonel's kitchen, including his dishes. Sitting there with a small serving of chicken in front of me, I couldn't help thinking about that cold bucket my mom carried home all those years ago. My childhood dream of fried chicken started with a company that began as something simple: a local neighborhood place built around good Southern home cooking.

And the chicken? Delicious. I still love it.

Here's a confession, though. Even back then, the original recipe was never really crispy. It was the Extra Crispy that won me over later in life, and I've been chasing that crunch ever since. To this day, I'll buy fried wings from Publix, bring them home, and pop some in the oven to crisp them up, which, come to think of it, is a lot like what my mom did with those cold buckets. Some things come full circle.

I took plenty of pictures at the museum, and the whole visit was a walk down memory lane. KFC will always have a special place in my heart as the place that introduced me to fried food, and to the pure deliciousness of chicken with a good crispy coating.

So thank you, Colonel, for the recipe. And thank you, Mom, for figuring out how to feed a family of eight on a budget and, without knowing it, handing me a lifelong love of fried chicken in a red and white bucket.

 TRADING SPACES: DON'T DO THE MATH

Which is bigger, a cruise cabin or a walk-in closet?

I woke up this morning and did math before I even opened my eyes, and I really don't like math.

Two weeks from today, we board Enchantment of the Seas in Tampa.

And the cabin we'll sleep in that night is smaller than the walk-in closet and bathroom I'm standing in right now.

Not a little smaller. Smaller.

The strange part is that the cabin already exists. Somebody has made the bed. Somebody has checked the lights. It's sitting on a ship somewhere, exactly the size it's going to be, waiting for us.

Meanwhile, I'm in a closet with shelves that hold more than I've owned in years, trying to lay out a cabin on the floor in my head.

Here's what life looks like right now.

We're house sitting on fifty acres. It's a third of a mile from the road to the house, so getting home is a drive. Roger rides the buggy around the property several times a day, checking on things.

We can't see a single neighbor. Our company is turkeys sharing the corn with the deer, and spiders building webs from tree to tree like they've got a construction permit.

Two and a half months under one roof. Our longest ever, in four and a half years of full-time travel.

I loved it.

Now look at where we're going.

Enchantment is 989 feet long. She would fit along one edge of this property with room to spare, and she carries over two thousand passengers.

Out here, I can't see a neighbor.

Out there, thousands of neighbors are around every corner.

No drive into town. No buggy patrol. The property will be a eleven decks of corridors, and the buffet is a walk, not a drive.

So we go from a third of a mile of driveway to hundreds of feet of hallways and stairwells.

In two weeks.

Some people think that must be a hard trade.

It isn't.

We love house sitting. We love cruising. Equally. Nobody has to pick a favorite child.

And I can't help noticing the laundry.

In late May we finished a thirty-night Princess crossing, plus two weeks of Alaska. My laundry lived in the laundromat down the hall. Thirty days of hauling a bag down that hall, hoping nobody beat me to the dryer.

Now my laundry lives inside the walk-in closet. I don't even have to leave the room.

And for the next seven cruises, all Royal and Celebrity, laundry is free and I don't have to do any of the folding.

Free. At sea. I'm still processing it.

Here's the rest of the fall: seven cruises, a break in November for a pet sit and Disney, then back to a cabin until December 20.

Fifty acres, a cabin, somebody else's pets, Disney, a cabin again. Nobody can say we don't change the scale.

Packing is easy, too. We have the car, so only what we need goes on the ship. Eight months of hauling every season of clothing taught me that lesson the hard way.

It's fall everywhere else, but Florida is still summer.

The jackets stay in the car.

Sundresses and flip flops, you're up.

So how did all this start?

I woke up and did math about a closet.

My next home is smaller than my closet.

And the laundry is free.

There's Always a Story

Quiet Times Lead to Big Measures 

When I started intermittent fasting on January 16, 2026, I wasn’t planning to write about it. I was simply trying something new and wanted to see what happened.

I didn’t want to talk about it after a few weeks or even a few months. I wanted to live it first. I wanted to know whether it would actually work for me over time and whether it could become part of my real life.

So I waited.

For roughly the previous five years, I had tried different ways of eating and had not been able to get the results I wanted. At 66 and post-menopausal, I had noticed how difficult it had become for me to make any adjustments to my weight.

So when I started fasting in January, I was hopeful, but I wasn’t expecting some guaranteed transformation.

I just kept going.

I fasted. I ate real food. I moved. I traveled. I went on cruises. I ate dessert. I lived my regular life.

And I paid attention to what worked for me.

Eight months later, on September 24, 2026, I stepped on the scale and saw 140 pounds.

Thirty pounds down from where I had started.

Never in a million years did I think I would see 140 on the scale again.

I’ve always been a firm believer in the idea of letting food be your medicine and medicine be your food. For me, that meant wanting to see what I could accomplish through the way I ate, when I ate, and the choices I made in my everyday life.

I wanted to see what my body could do with regular food and a fasting routine. I didn’t want to buy prepackaged food, use medication, or turn this into a complicated program.

I wanted to learn, experiment, pay attention to my own body, and figure out whether I could make a change myself.

I felt in my heart that I could.

That was my choice. 

For eight months, I kept this mostly to myself because I wanted to know where it would take me before I started talking about it.

Now I know.

And I think I’m finally ready to talk about it.

Maybe the Squirrel Knows Something We Don't

Sometimes I wake up in the morning with a thought that does not leave me all day. This particular thought has come back to me more than once: Why is the human species so obsessed with numbers?

Numbers become important before we are even born. How far along is the mother? 

How big is the baby? 

Is the baby growing properly? 

The belly gets measured. 

The heartbeat gets counted. 

An ultrasound measures the baby’s body and checks whether everything is the size it should be and in the right place. Before anyone knows what kind of person we will become, they know how many weeks we have been growing.

Then we are born, and the numbers are recorded: the date, the time, our weight and our length. For the next couple of years, people even measure our age in months. 

Is the baby four months old, six months old or sixteen months old? 

At some point we stop using months and start using years, but the measuring never stops.

How tall are we? What grade are we in? 

How many years of education did we complete? 

How much money do we earn? How many hours did we work?

Even the most ordinary parts of a day depend on numbers. Do we have enough apples in the refrigerator to make a pie? How many miles do we have to drive? What time do we need to leave? How many steps did we walk?

We divide time into minutes, days, months and years so we can tell where we are in life and what we think we should be doing.

That made me wonder whether other species are as obsessed with numbers as we are. My very first thought was a squirrel. I watch the squirrels outside the window gathering all the nuts that have fallen off the tree. Does a squirrel recognize when his pile is big enough?

Suppose he lives inside a hollow tree. He knows he has to gather nuts for the winter, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a quota for the day, or another squirrel keeping track of his productivity. Maybe he looks at the pile and thinks that if the nuts reach the little knot inside the tree trunk, he will have enough. It is a measurement, but it is not arithmetic. It is simply his own visible sign of enough.

Then again, maybe the squirrel keeps collecting as long as there are nuts to collect. Maybe he even steals a few from his neighbor. He is not trying to have the biggest retirement account in the forest. He is following an instinct that tells him to prepare for the long winter ahead.

Humans may not be so different. We have turned the pile into a bank balance, a house, cars, possessions and investments. The difference is that we keep moving the knot higher. We reach the place we once thought would be enough and immediately decide that we need more.

Yes I absolutely pay attention to numbers. I count money, cruise nights, points, count the days until we travel again, and all sorts of other things. The numbers help me make decisions, but I do not want them making the decisions for me.

Maybe that is what I have chosen to do differently. I base my life on what is enough for me, and I feel comfortable with that number without always seeking more.

It truly is all in the knowing. 

Knowing what matters. 

Knowing what you need. 

Knowing when something has served its purpose. 

Knowing when to keep going and when to let go.

Most of all, knowing when the pile has reached the knot in your own tree, even if the rest of the world keeps telling you to gather more nuts.