A Quiet Reunion

Our flight landed at 5:50 AM, and after picking up a rental car, we drove straight to Lolly’s house—my sister-in-law—for the first time since Bart passed. Her home was just as we remembered: familiar, warm, and gently worn with love. But the silence was different now. Without Bart bantering with Jay, trading stories and teasing remarks, the rooms felt quieter, as if holding their breath.

I’d brought a piece of bread pudding with me, and the three of us sat at her kitchen table, passing the plate between us, sipping coffee in the soft hush of morning. It was a tender reunion, stitched together with memory, presence, and the quiet ache of what’s no longer said aloud.

Home at The Yellow Rose

Arriving at The Yellow Rose of Talbot felt less like checking into an inn and more like returning to our second home. Tammy and Ken greeted us with the kind of warmth that doesn’t need words—just a smile, a hug, and the quiet knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

I couldn’t wait for the next morning—or the next few mornings—to savor Tammy’s breakfasts, which are always made with love and a dash of something extra.  From my favorite breakfast salad to the warm scones, each plate carries that quiet magic only she can conjure. The inn itself felt like a gentle exhale, a place where stories could stretch out and settle.

Lights, Laughter, and a Little Broadway

New York was a whirlwind of delight. We saw two shows that left us buzzing with emotion and admiration, one full of razzle-dazzle, the other tender and true. We attended a TV taping, where the behind-the-scenes magic unfolded in real time, and the applause felt like shared electricity. The tour of Madison Square Garden added its own pulse to the trip: it was strange seeing it empty!

Cruising into Connection

The next leg of our journey took us aboard the Island Princess for a 19-day cruise through Canada and Greenland. Each port offered its own rhythm—fog-draped harbors, bright bursts of local color, and the kind of quiet moments that sneak into your heart when you least expect them.

No souvenirs were harmed in the making of this journey! I was tempted many, many times to buy a hauntingly beautiful mask carved by a Greenlandic Inuit artisan that nearly talked its way into my suitcase. But I resisted; I reminded myself that anything I bring home eventually becomes something Jay has to dust. Instead, I collected stories, smiles, and the kind of memories that don’t need a shelf.

Almost Reunited

And though we missed seeing Elizabeth and Hughie in Newfoundland, their presence was felt in every memory, every near-crossing, every story retold. Some reunions happen in person, others in the heart.

A Tapestry of Tenderness

This trip was more than miles and meals—it was a tapestry of tenderness, humor, and human connection. I carry it with me, not just in photos, but in the quiet moments: a shared plate of bread pudding, a familiar laugh missing from the room, and the grace of being welcomed, again and again.

One Last Slice

At the airport, just before heading home, we spotted a Junior’s Cheesecake shop near our gate. No hesitation—red velvet cheesecake was acquired with the precision of seasoned travelers. It was our final indulgence, a sweet send-off to a summer stitched with Broadway, bread pudding, and the quiet joy of being exactly where we were meant to be.

What Comes Next

As we fold away the memories of this journey—bread pudding at dawn, laughter stitched into quiet mornings—we turn toward the next adventure with hearts wide open. On September 6, we’ll gather again, this time to celebrate love in its newest form: our grandson’s wedding. But for now, we’ll let the details rest like unopened envelopes, saving the joy for when it arrives.