Greetings from Lake Winnipesaukee

I’m spending a girls’ weekend in New England, in the town of Alton, New Hampshire, on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee. Nearby is the town of Wolfeboro which bills itself as “The Oldest Resort in America.” I have not been to this part of the country before, but it is easy to see why people have been vacationing here for 200+ years.

Lake Winnipesaukee, the largest lake in New Hampshire, is nestled in the mountains and sits 500 feet above sea level in Central New Hampshire. It is surrounded by heavily wooded hills dotted with colorful cottages and grand vacation homes. The weather is mild and pleasant. Although we’ve gotten some cool weather and clouds today, yesterday, our first day here, was picture-perfect: the sun was shining, the lake was calm and blue, and a gentle breeze stirred the satisfying 75-degree air.

We’re staying at our friend’s three-story vacation home, which is built into the side of a hill at the edge of Alton Bay. Their home is situated next to a quiet country lane on a narrow piece of land that slopes down to their dock and boathouse. It is a charming blue and white cottage with sweeping views of the lake and surrounding green hills. A deck runs along the back of the house, creating a spectacular setting for dining alfresco. Inside, the house is decorated in cheerful shades of blue, yellow and tangerine with whimsical aquatic-themed accents. A trio of glass fish hangs in a window and catches the sunlight; a miniature, gabled birdhouse decorates another spot. The fireplace mantel is studded with colored-glass stones and sparkly shells. It is to this happy and serene place that we have escaped for a few days.

We are enjoying what I think of as the quintessential summer weekend-by-the-lake in New England. We are doing essentially the same things that I imagine those well-heeled vacationers of two centuries ago must have done. We take morning walks on the winding country lane; mind you, these are not leisurely strolls: the rolling terrain challenges us as it winds up and down through the neighborhood. We go out in our friend's boat for some sight-seeing on the lake and a ride into town (how cool is that, using a boat for transportation instead of just for entertainment?). On the boat, we don our jackets and enjoy the wind in our hair as we motor about, seeing some of the lake’s many islands and glimpsing vacation homes of the rich and famous. In town, we shop in the quaint shops of Wolfeboro and stop for ice cream at a walk-up “dairy bar.” We enjoy browsing the cute gift shops, boutiques and even a wine shop, each full of unique items. Back at our friend's home, we indulge in elegant and leisurely lunches on the deck; we enjoy assorted cheeses, pate and champagne one day and fresh grilled lobster and cool chardonnay the next. In the evenings, we share cooking responsibilities and enjoy good food and great company around the dining room table.

This is a picturesque place with a lot of old-fashioned charm. Everything is updated and modern but it feels as if not much has changed since the resort area first was established. It is simple, refined and authentic. It is about a million miles away from the artificial reality that is Las Vegas.

"I feel lucky, oh oh oh, I feel lucky, yeah… Think I’ll flip a coin, I’m a winner either way. Mmmmm, I feel lucky today." (Mary Chapin Carpenter, "I Feel Lucky")

It’s 5:30 am at Las Vegas’ McMarran Airport on a Thursday morning. Outside, dawn is breaking and it seeps through the window overlooking the tarmac, casting a soft glow on a row of empty slot machines. The air is filled with the jangling electronic melody of the ubiquitous slot machines but in my head, Mary Chapin Carpenter sings “I feel lucky.” I walk to my gate, accompanied by the smell of warm cinnamon rolls thick with icing, wafting from the Cinnabon shop. In my hand I carry my boarding pass, a mocha espresso scone and a very strongly-brewed large iced tea.

I do feel lucky today. I am heading to New Hampshire for a “girls” weekend. There are five of us “girls” who leave our husbands and kids behind twice a year for a weekend of shopping, eating and most importantly, talking.

The five of us became friends way back in the -80’s when we each graduated from our respective colleges and moved to Dallas, eager to begin our professional, adult lives and on our way to becoming “yuppies.” Since then we’ve all added home ownership, marriage, motherhood and other assorted milestones to our real-life resumes. We are now scattered across the United States from the southwest to the northeast yet we remain close enough to share our hardships and joys, our laughter and our tears.

This weekend we are getting together at the vacation home of one member of our little group. We will share our latest stories, cook gourmet meals, drink fine wine, stay up too late and get up too early (especially for me since I am the only one on Pacific time). I am lucky to have these friends and these weekends.

Lest I worry that I’m leaving my family behind while I go have fun, my husband and daughter planned a father-daughter weekend in Seattle for a baseball game, a trip to the Space Needle and dinner at a restaurant called “Purple.” Knowing that they will have a great weekend leaves me free to enjoy myself. I am indeed very lucky.

Enjoy Springtime. Quickly. HURRY!

I heard it on the news Sunday morning, just as I was sitting down with the newspaper and a cup of Earl Grey tea: Triple digit weather is just around the corner!

How can that be? It doesn’t seem that long ago that I stopped going out without a sweater because it just wouldn’t warm up. Now all of a sudden, SUMMER is perched on the horizon, stoking its furnace, preparing to release its unrelenting heat on Las Vegas for the next few months.

I have to admit that May crept up on me and took me by surprise; in my mind it’s still April (I have yet to get a present for my Mom’s birthday which was on April 21st so no wonder I wish it was still April). But now I that I face reality and the May calendar, I do recall that mid-May generally is the time we see our first 100-degree-day each year. I shouldn’t be surprised by what’s coming, but I think we're all permitted to lament the passing of spring.

At our house, the first sign of spring appeared toward the end of January with the budding of the pear tree in our courtyard. In February, the plum trees fluffed out their pink blossoms.

In March, the buds on the pear tree burst into thousands of papery-white blooms which all too soon looked like yesterday's confetti on the courtyard floor.

The lilacs bloomed next, and now finally the oleander, star jasmine and gardenias are in bloom.

A couple of weekends ago, my husband decreed that it was time to take out last winter’s pansies which were beginning to languish in the then-80-degree-days. We selected some purple petunias and orange daisies as their replacements. My husband planted them, along with a few herbs that I snuck into our little red wagon at the nursery. Now our courtyard is full of color. Everything is colorful, fragrant and lush.

Since I will soon be trading my {hot} morning tea for {cold} Arnold Palmers, I want to savor some spring pleasures before they’re gone. These images are from our yard and neighborhood.

I want to be able to remember these moments in June and July, when it is 115-degrees outside, and remind myself that pleasant temperatures, delicate flowers and balmy breezes will once again return.

As is often true in life, now is the time to enjoy the present and not worry about the inevitable.

Going Green, Thanks to My Daughter

“Reduce, reuse and recycle,” our daughter recently learned in Girl Scouts. We actually have been recycling for a long time: paper, plastics, aluminum cans, and glass, including our fair share of wine bottles ;-). We fill up our recycling bins faster than they can be emptied. (We in Las Vegas are fortunate to have curbside recycling; unfortunately it is only picked up every two weeks and the bins just aren’t large enough to accommodate our family of three). We’ve also gotten some of the “new” energy saving light bulbs and are slowly phasing out our old-fashioned ones.

I’ve even tried those reusable grocery bags. I enjoy cooking and we eat at home all but two or three nights a month, so as a consequence, we accumulate a large supply of plastic grocery bags. We use the bags to line the garbage can under the sink and the shredder in the office (and for poop-scooping in the back yard after our dog goes out – sorry no photo available for that one). But we barely make a dent in our stockpile and it grows larger every week, nearly taking over its corner in the pantry. And to top it off, I recently learned we can’t put these grocery bags in with our recyclable plastics: it seems the recycling company doesn’t take them because they “take up too much room” (that’s what was reported on the local evening news, I didn’t make it up). So using reusable grocery bags makes a lot of sense. I can help out the environment, reduce my bag stockpile and actually reach the stuff in my pantry.

I logically put my reusable bags in the back of my SUV so that they would be handy when I went to the grocery store. It turns out they were not handy enough: I kept forgetting them. Each time I went shopping, I’d remember the bags, folded neatly and stored under the cargo net, just about the time I was pushing my shopping cart up to the check-out lane. Oh well, I’d tell myself, I’ll remember them next time. Yeah, right. All I had done was turn myself into sort of a bag chauffeur, squiring my lovely reusable bags all about town but never taking them out. I realized I was not the only one with this problem when I spotted a sign over the entry to Whole Foods with a drawing of an elephant and a reminder to “remember your reusable bags.”

My 9-year-old daughter came up with a brilliant solution. Hang the reusable bags on a hook by the door where I will see them as I am leaving the house! She got out a cute wooden coat hook that she’d painted for me two years ago for Mother’s Day, which was still in the pantry hiding behind the plastic bag stockpile awaiting its destiny. I got the nails and hammer; my daughter got the reusable bags from my car, and problem solved. The reusable bags now hang right by (1) the garage-door switch that I have to press to get out of the garage, and (2) the deadbolt that I lock when I leave the house. I can’t miss them.

I am proud to say that I am now actually using my reusable bags. What a concept.