I grew up in Virginia Beach, spent most of my adult life on the New England coast, and lived the last nine years on the Gulf of Mexico, but it wasn’t until last Monday did I live through the most frightful weather. I was in our lake house in the middle of Northeast Georgia during the downgraded (really?) Tropical Storm Irma.

During National Poetry month (April), I had the amazing opportunity to attend a night of poetry and prose at a forward-thinking spa.  I say forward-thinking because The Four Pillars is an all-encompassing spa, “the place to go to learn, relax, energize and reinvent,” with goals to enhance your Mind, Body, Spirit, and Social Connections. Brilliant!

In the late eighties, my wine of choice was Sutter Home- White Zinfandel. Three bottles for $10.00!  I bet anyone who drinks wine has a “Sutter Home- White Zinfandel” time period that looks nothing like their life does now.

Helping your fourth and last child move into his first apartment after graduating college is both exciting and depressing. Thrilled that he will be paying his own bills and living independently, but sad because he will be 8 states away, which means 1,200 miles, or a 20-hour drive, or a 4-hour flight (plus the two hours you need to be at the airport prior and then the one-hour bus ride into New York City from JFK) so, actually a 7-hour flight away. (You can see I’ve given very little thought to this!)

We had just moved into our new home in a South Florida country club neighborhood when my husband got called away on business. He was gone for months and only home for a few days at a time.

The snow had finished falling earlier in the morning and the day was a crispy 32 degrees on the North Shore of Massachusetts. The tree limbs were bent from layers of ice and snow, yet it was still a Friday evening and that meant pizza and wine at my house.

I started collecting “wine signs” about 15 years ago during our annual Nantucket vacation. My first sign was ACKaholic. (ACK being the three-letter airport code for Nantucket). Over the next couple of years, I found:

When my husband, better known as The Rum Drinker, brought home a beautiful new boat, he invited a few friends and family out for our inaugural sunset boat ride.

I used to live in Massachusetts near my youngest brother and sister. My oldest sister lives in Vermont. Over the years, some of our famdamily conversations included a healthy competition between the two states; who had the coldest temperatures, the strongest winds, the most snow.

Having limited time to ponder and write due to an insanely hectic schedule this week, my three- year-old grandson had a tonsillectomy so I babysat my one-year-old-grandson over the long weekend, I am just going to share a short, but sweet episode of a day in the life of my younger sister and myself from way back when.

One spring evening, most likely a pizza and wine night at my house, my sister, sister-in-law and I were sipping and chatting at my kitchen table. My seven-year-old son excused himself into our conversation-- some of you might use the word “interrupted”—and was excited to show us his daily journal filled with stories about his dog, Rex, The King.

A few years back, my girlfriend Polly P (you are going to hear a lot about her) and I stopped for lunch on our way home from collecting guests from the airport for my 50th birthday. My older sister flew in from Vermont. My younger sister, Daughter No. 1, and one of my sisters-in-law flew in from Massachusetts. And Daughter No. 2 flew in from Texas. They were all starving.

My sister-in-law has a bar-height kitchen table as well as a large bar-height dining table, not to mention her beautiful walnut bar with swivel stools, and that’s just on the first floor. Hanging out at her home is like going to a cozy modern tavern with the most committed hostess who always has peanut m&m’s at the ready.

I have been traveling a lot the last two months, yet I really wanted to squeeze in a visit with a friend for a 5 o’clock sip and chat. She had called and, since her husband was out of town, suggested I stop by for a glass of wine so we could catch up.