Annual family holiday.
Check.
East Coast, to retreat, or bust.
Fresh air, blue skies.
Back home to my parents hilltop abode in charming, cheerful Connecticut.
And this is the view.
For just a few more, wistful days.
Running through the woods each day at top speed.
Children free to roam, explore, hunt for sparkling wilderness treasures with Grandma and Grandpa, walk through an ice cold babbling brook unplussed.
About as far from city living as one can get.
And yes, thank you, this 40 degree plus, sunny winter weather will do just fine all season.
My children, when on vacation, refuse to take of pajamas.
A sure sign of over scheduling, I dare say.
We can lure them outside, but pajamas are still intact.
At the end of the path through the woods is a wonderful playground – where they run from state to state – plotting and mapping out our next family holiday.
All, while in fuzzy pajamas.
Feet rarely touching the ground.
In pure glee.
I have three annual getaways each year.
All sacred battery recharges.
It is important to have a place to catch your breath, refocus, and begin anew, fresh as a daisy.
We cook up a storm.
This is Mike’s incredibly famous Breakfast Hash. Red Potato, Sweet Potato, Peppers, Thyme, Rosemary, Garlic, Olive Oil.
I mean who isn’t fully restored waking up to this each morn?
Or Mom’s divine Grilled Ceasar?
Followed by her three day masterpiece Cassoulet?
Paired of course with a crisp, chilled Prosecco.
Or two…
And all of this fine dining is promptly followed by a deep, relaxed state of slumber in heavenly down and warm flannel beds.
Which of course, is followed by a delicious, picture perfect repeat the next morning.
This time, kicked off with Dad’s uber tasty Smoked Chicken Purple Potato Hash.
And just you wait to see what we have planned for dinner…
