Remember the gratitude journal trend of the 90’s? It needs to come back. I want to bring it back, now more than ever. Jotting down 5 things a day that you are grateful for creates an attitude than can change your altitude, as the saying goes. It might not be that simple at first but it becomes simple. Some days, you may write generic “gratitudes” and you can mix in complex ones, too.

What you’ll find is that it is contagious! You want to reach for your gratitude journal daily to keep the momentum going. Just like meditation, you’ll build up the ability to start thinking more positively, too. Remember your parents or mentors preaching to you to “Count your blessings.”? This is what you are basically doing. You are not only counting them but you are listing them. You are committing them to memory. And because of the latter, you are holding that happiness, gratitude, contemplativeness and reflection in your psyche all day long.

One major benefit of the gratitude journal is that you remember to be thankful for so much even despite the negative things that happen. There’s always more good that outweighs the bad. You remind yourself that when you actively keep a gratitude journal. Give the gift of a gratitude journal, too. Then, you’ll spread that positivity to others.

My Goddaughter (Christianna) once gave me a journal that had bible verses in it. On each page, a bible verse had my name inserted into the verse. That was powerful. It felt like God was talking to me! It was a good way to learn a bible verse daily, too. I used that journal as a health and fitness tracker, actually. I liked it so much, I reordered it the next year. This was a gift that kept on giving because it sent me daily inspiration.

Recently, I started creating gratitude journals (and journals in general used for many purposes). I want to bring back this trend, this lifestyle practice. I am going to store them on my bookshelves and I hope my children or future grandchildren find them and read them one day. Then, my gratitude may live on in posterity!

Travel magazines highlight indigenous tourism opportunities and this spurred me to cover vetted, recent excursions with indigenous people. Guatemala, Cuba, Dominican Republic and Peru have specific activities that are culturally immersive and very meaningful. Interacting with indigenous people supports their communities and livelihoods and it gives us an understanding of the natural resources of their land.Once you start to look up indigenous excursions, the computer cookies start appearing and I find this helpful. Pinterest is a great place to start creating a board of a destination. Adding pins to your board to save and read later is a great way to not get overwhelmed with too much information at once. What I appreciate about indigenous tourism is that it’s not “touristy”, obviously, and you truly embody the traveler spirit vs. the tourist one. Some excursions could be considered borderline touristy and you’ll learn to read through the fine print to avoid those. Coffee farm tours, chocolate making tours, etc…are often a way to sell products but you still learn a lot of information and get an opportunity to “shop local.” Weaving cooperatives in Peru exposed us to Andean wool dyeing rituals and buying textiles in a calm environment rather than a huge market.

In Ecuador, the Quilotoa Lagoon excursion included a stop at a hut of Sasquisili indigenous people. We were welcomed into their earthen dwelling, a mere hut with a thatched roof. Guinea pigs scampered on the dirt ground (which became dinner once they were grown.) We observed their environment and listened to their demonstration on potatoes (although we couldn’t understand them.) The toddler boy was excited to see our tour guide since it was a familiarity to him to have travelers come by their hut. If there was any doubt that the family members were actors or authentic, the evidence was on the face of the toddler. His cheeks were so chapped by the sun and wind at the high altitude of this Andean community. It was obvious he lived in that thatched roof shack in the highlands.

Purchasing products at their cooperatives can often guarantee you authenticity. For example, “baby alpaca” textiles are often advertised at many markets in Peru and Ecuador but they are not often really baby alpaca wool. However, tour guides can tell you which markets have these authentic items made from baby alpaca.

In Cuba, our tour company arranged for us to stay in casas particulares which are people’s homes (rather than staying at resorts). We also dined in paladars (family run restaurants). This is a way to support the local people rather than the government. You can wake up to the smells of breakfast right inside the casa kitchen. At a nearby rainforest, we came upon locals performing a Santeria ritual involving the sacrifice of chickens in order to use their blood for a cleansing tradition.

In Guatemala, we visited a Mayan womens’ cooperative where they demonstrated wedding rituals. We learned how to make coffee from seed to cup and homemade tortillas.

In Peru, the local families of the Maras community mine the salt ponds called Las Salineras. Tourists can watch this process and buy salt crystals and other products from the vendors. It was very difficult to narrow down which photos and examples I could share but this variety scratches the surface of indigenous tourism excursions of a few, particular countries. Other than the typical cooking classes or wine tours of certain countries, consider delving into these unique opportunities. Be open to the ones of happenstance, too. Although I’m a planner, I have often appreciated the serendipitous ones we stumbled upon. In Ecuador, I almost didn’t get out of the car to see San Pablo Lake on a rainy day on the way back from Otavalo. Thank goodness I changed my mind or I wouldn’t have witnessed this……indigenous Quechua women cleaning quinoa in a lake. There was so much to take in—the ritual itself, the age and energy of the elderly women, the ornate jewelry worn to do such manual labor in bare feet….but most of all the surreal sky and mysterious waters.Schedule some indigenous tourism in your visits. It can be a game changer to appreciating and enjoying a foreign destination. Venture out into the local communities to expand your global awareness.

photos by Gina Kingsley

Lodging options have expanded and made traveling more unique. What used to be hotels, motels, and resorts has now evolved into Air BnBs, boutique hotels, former palaces, and other unique ideas. One of the most unique hotel stays we’ve ever experienced is a former convent that was converted into a boutique hotel. To be honest, when I searched the internet for hotel options in Quito, Ecuador, I was focused mainly on location to the plazas in the heart of the historic areas. I didn’t realize until we pulled into the courtyard (in the midnight hour), that our hotel was so historic. The actual portal we entered intrigued me and I discovered much later how symbolic that portal was to the history of Quito! Portal del Cantuña is steeped in history and folklore.

Up the staircase, we entered into the lush and exotic lobby solarium drenched in greenery and plants. Photosynthesis galore. Nature and greenhouse effect imagery breathed life into the boutique hotel on an earthy level. Yet, the sacred chapel inside the lobby breathed the spiritual vitality into the environment. Our bedroom was rustic and demure but all that we needed. A perfect jumping off point daily to our excursions with ubers and taxis waiting outside. Daily, pedestrian walks on this Plaza de San Francisco also made this boutique hotel such an accessible lodging choice.

Retreating back to Hotel Boutique Portal de Cantuña was a cozy, daily homecoming. Once a Franciscan convent, the structure has original columns, wood-plank floors and a somber chapel inside. Colonial furniture, stained glass metalwork frame on the solar ceiling and interior greenhouse lobby exuded authentic Ecuadorian style. The hotel rooms were once nuns’ quarters and the ornate parlors beckoned us to drink tea and peruse books. Antique irons, a Victrola, and tea sets are among the relics decorating every niche of the building. 5:00 a.m. church bells reminded us of this hotel’s history and chimed authenticity. At breakfast, we were joined by a cat which jumped into our laps offering her own hospitality. Ian regaled us with Ecuadorian history and factoids each evening and Mrs. Sanchez told us of the legend of Cantuña. Legend states that Cantuña was an architect hired by the Franciscans to build the atrium of the glorious San Francisco church. His tenacious work was taking a lengthy and laborious time to accomplish. Also according to the stories, he was worried that he might go to jail if his project wasn’t completed on time. Reportedly, the Devil appeared to him with promises to finish the work overnight with the help of his demons or Cantuña would sell his soul to him.

In his anguish and despair, Cantuña agreed to this pact. Some versions of the story claim that the Virgin Mary appeared to Cantuña and told him to loosen a stone from the atrium wall and hide it. Cantuña pried loose a stone as the Virgin Mary instructed. The next day, the Franciscans were to be presented with the completed atrium, so the Devil asked Cantuña for his payment: his soul. However, Cantuña identified the missing stone proving that the atrium wasn’t complete; thus, the deal was unfulfilled. With the Devil’s plan thwarted, he retreated and Cantuña’s soul was saved. This legend made staying at Portal del Cantuña even more exceptional for us. Adding to the allure was the fact that it was also a Franciscan nunnery which represented the cultural and spiritual history of it. The memory of Mrs. Sanchez telling us a snippet of this legend is Ecuadorian magic!

According to the hotel’s website, the owners and managers of the boutique hotel are traditional Quiteños of many generations. The building was purchased from the nuns 120 years ago by the Sanchez family. Located at the end of an alley, it is situated away from the bustling Quito streets. That was the first thing I noticed when our taxi pulled into the mysterious alley at 1:00 a.m. when we arrived to Quito from the airport far away. It was tucked away from the main street of the charming Plaza de San Francisco. I always marvel at the skills of the taxi drivers in foreign countries and their finesse of maneuvering unusual roads. Also according to the website, the relics and décor of the hotel have such interesting nuances. For example, the mirrors are from Paris and the wood carved dining room is a replica of Quito’s Carondelet Palace dining room.

Across the street was Casa Gangostena, a former mansion. (Both hotels are found in travel books). For those wanting luxury, stay there and visit Portal de Cantuña for an evening cocktail or dinner. And vice-versa, for those staying at Portal de Cantuña, visit Casa Gangostena for a drink or dinner. The architecture and cathedrals of Plaza de Independencia and Plaza de San Francisco impressed us and welcomed us each day that we joined the bustling crowds. Whether watching birds swoop off rafters in their cyclonic flocks or admiring a Quinceñeara procession, each activity delighted the senses.

I highly recommend this experience. Tip: if  you pay in cash vs. credit card, the lodging fees are reduced. The location was ideal, the experience was very authentic and the hospitality was charming. The history was incredibly meaningful. Click on link. http://portaldecantunaquito.com

© Gina Michalopulos Kingsley

photos by Gina Kingsley

The gift of family includes the reflection of family memories of the all-important kid trips. You know the ones….standing in lines for theme park rides, panning for gold, ski school, waterparks, planetariums, kettle corn and more!

These milestone trips are critical to kids’ development but even more important, in my opinion, to the family’s development. What transpires during these often challenging but totally fun “kid trips” is that children watch how their parents handle details, logistics, possible stress and how they play with their kids. It’s the great equalizer. Instead of being your child’s authority figure, hero, mentor, etc….this is the time when you get on their level and join in on the fun….at their perspective.

You have the rest of your life to take the couples trips, girls trips, guys trips, tours, expeditions, service trips, mission trips, etc. You can even recreate a “study abroad” trip at any age. Yet, you have a finite period of time to do the kid trips. Cherish them. Sure, they are not about relaxation….that comes later when you’re reflecting on the trip memories WITH your adult children. You’ll discover all sorts of impressions you didn’t know that your kids had.

This article is meant for new parents since experienced parents obviously know the following info. If you are an experienced parent reading this, it might be nostalgic for you. To list a few of the kid trips we embarked on, they included: Six Flags, Great Wolf Lodge, Silver Dollar City, Big Cedar Lodge, Colorado ski trips, childrens museums, Science City in Kansas City, Schlitterbahn, Worlds of Fun, Sea World, swimming with dolphins, zip lining, whale watching, spinning in the fish pipe, so forth and so on. These trips became so meaningful to our sons that it resulted in repeat trips. Developmentally, the reason for the significance of the repetition is that children crave familiarity and rituals. While the school environment introduces new concepts weekly, vacation time allows the freedom from “reinventing the wheel” and coping mechanisms. Children often seek repetition of favorite books, video games, etc. so they feel certainty and security of what comes next. In the example of vacationing at a theme park, a child might look forward to overcoming previous fears of certain rides, roller coasters, etc. They are overcoming their own fears and experiencing their growth and progress when they tackle these challenges.

Younger children who witness their older siblings being old enough to swim with dolphins, tall enough to ride the roller coaster, zip lining untethered, skiing independently outside of ski school, etc. experience something important. They are learning that they have to wait their turn developmentally. They have to grow into the experiences; physically and figuratively. For the youngest children in the family, this experience often shapes ambitiousness in them. They strive to “outdo” their older siblings in various ways. For older siblings, they learn the feelings and experience of protecting their younger siblings or watching them grow into the ability to join them on certain adventures. It’s the birth order function at its best.

On kid trips, children might witness their parents take turns at relaxation. While Dad’s helping the kids learn how to jump into the pool over and over into his arms, Mom might steal away to read a magazine on a chaise lounge. While Mom is sitting with the napping infant, Dad might be playing a round of miniature golf. The unexpected surprise for parents who have endured and enjoyed the kid trips is that day that comes on the horizon for the utter relaxation of the eventual couples trip. The empty-nester years. While some relationships implode during the empty nester years, other relationships survive and actually thrive because of the latter. It’s getting the chance to cherish the freedom and privacy as a couple after decades of putting your all into the kid trips. It’s the ability of discovering your coupledom is dynamic and not dependent on co-parenting.

Take the kid trips. Take one at least once a year. Whether it’s a car trip a few hours away or an international flight, build the memories. Stand in the long lines, eat the theme park food, ride the roller coaster, pan for gold, watch the glass blower, etc. It’s also about quantity time; not just quality. My spouse and I were shocked to hear our kids make a particular epiphanic statement to us. After years of taking them on trips around the world, they told us their favorite family trips were to Silver Dollar City. (tied with Greece, of course.) We laughed until we almost cried. I understand why, though. While the major trips abroad provided awe, beauty, history, adventure, change…..Silver Dollar City provided proximity, innocence, joy, activity, comfort food, and familiarity….and the goal of overcoming that daunting roller coaster ride. Recently, I told our sons that we want to take them back to Great Wolf Lodge just for the nostalgia and fun of it. All three of them and my husband whole-heartedly agreed. For midlife, empty nesters, and adult sons navigating new chapters, careers and “adulting”, it’s still the familiarity and repetition that appealed to all of them. Case in point.

© Gina Michalopulos Kingsley

 Outside of Havana, our tour van took us to  Cojimar to see the elegant home of Ernest Hemingway, the famous ex-patriot and highly acclaimed author. Hemingway’s love for Cuba inspired his novels and showed us an area of Cuba that revealed and proved what that passion was all about.

We entered a lush area with a road winding up to his quintessential Cuban villa. Huge palm trees, tropical and exotic plants, vines and foliage enveloped us into a valley-like retreat. No wonder he loved to write there! Seclusion from the roads and horizon, the estate contained his home, his servants’ home, his writing studio, pool, and the pavilion which housed his boat named Pilar.

We peered inside windows as entrance into the house is not permitted. You could see everything inside the rooms. Cuban-chic furniture and décor filled the house. As a writer, I was especially impressed by the books, shelves, cameras, and typewriting props. The view of the valley below us surely inspired Hemingway’s thoughts. Next to the villa was a silo or tower which reportedly his wife had him use as his writing studio. Apparently, several cats also lived in that tower. My friends and I took turns going up the narrow staircase to see it. We waved to each other from our vantage points, as they were in the tower and I was down in the foliage.

When we regrouped, we walked down to the swimming pool. It is said that Ava Gardner once swam there in the nude. We absorbed the Hollywood-elegance and viewed his big fishing boat, the Pilar, which is stored in its own pavilion. Pilar is a stately but rustic boat which revealed to me another dimension of Hemingway’s character. It was significant to think that this vessel transported the author out onto his adventures, communing with the Cuban sea and sky and ultimately inspiring his writings, specifically, The Old Man and the Sea. Later, we were scheduled to meet the fisherman who took Hemingway fishing and had photos to show us at the restaurant. One degree of separation from Hemingway!

I studied the vine pergola near the swimming pool and all of the foliage around us. I envisioned Hemingway sipping on his beloved cocktails as he typed standing up at his typewriter. We later saw his favorite bar, La Floridita, which is called the birthplace of the daiquiri: La Cuña de Daiquiri which literally translates to the “cradle of the daiquiri.” Today, it is a standing room only bar in Old Havana. While Hemingway followed his dreams to live how he did and to express his art, I realize now while writing this, that we, too, were following our dreams by being here. Our travel dreams become reality every time we travel to a place. Every time we learn new things or take new adventures, we are also following our dreams. Every photo we take or journal we write is our way of expressing our art. Every mojito we drank together or salsa dance lesson we took —they are all one step closer to our travel dreams. 

Our driver took us to the restaurant in the town of Cojimar. Reportedly, Anthony Bourdain visited this restaurant where Hemingway’s fisherman-friend displays his photographs. This spry, older gentleman and his famous role was a quaint touch of Cuban tourism. Although we couldn’t communicate with him directly, his smiling presence and pride in his photos were enough. His relationship with the author has given him an outlet even today in this town. 

This particular restaurant featured seafood specialties, so we enjoyed seafood paella and cold beers. In classic Havana style, we had Cuban coffee afterwards and chatted about the enticing visuals of the day which was filled with history, dance, and the home of one of Cuba’s most famous residents. We ended the excursion with this charming restaurant and fisherman. The day was still young and our energy was still high, thank goodness, for what was ahead for us that day. 

©Gina Michalopulos Kingsley, Vagabonderie

Photos by Gina Kingsley

stories like this can be found in my book, Vagabonderie. Click on link.

Travelers flock to the sublime beach resorts of the Caribbean but do they really ever see the interior of these unique islands or rich cultures? If you are one of those tourists, I’ll share with you what there is when you venture off the resort grounds….FIrst, peruse the resort websites which often provide links to local tourism. Contacting the hotel/resort concierge is also a recommended way to inquire about vetted excursions.

If you book the Dominican Experience tour through your hotel website or vacation planners, you will embark on a safe ecosafari vehicle journey into tiny villages an hour or so away from the beach resort. There, you will encounter agricultural and ecological treasures. You’ll see the landscape; tropical, lush and native…..and not just the resort architecture.

Backing up, let’s look at Dominican Republic’s history. It’s located on the island of Hispaniola which it shares with Haiti. “D.R.” is the second largest Caribbean nation; Cuba is the largest. The Taino people inhabited Dominican Republic when Columbus arrived there in 1492. Reportedly, the first permanent European settlement in the Americas is Santo Domingo which has continued to be the oldest inhabited city. It is believed that there are still people who are indirectly descended from the indigenous Taino!

On our tour, we became hands-on with the sumptuous tropical fruit and foods which make up the agricultural exports and main cash crops of the island. Coffee, cacao, rice, tomatoes, veggies, bananas, tropical fruits and sorghum are part of that group.

We picked bulbs of cocoa creme out of the fruit, stirred coffee beans roasting in a kettle, sampled guava and tropical fruits from and tried chocolate tea. It was earthy, rustic and extremely relaxing to linger where horses trotted by with bags of bananas on their backs.

Visiting a one room schoolhouse was inspirational. In the isolated areas, children have limited access to education and therefore, it is not compulsory for them as it is for most elementary to middle school aged children.

Most of the Dominicans still inhabit the rural areas. Like other Caribbean nations, the influential Hispanic heritage merged with the African traditions due to the slave-plantation society during its colonial years. Although Dominican Republic shares the musical and dance stylings of salsa and merengue with other islands in the area, they have a local cocktail which is distinctly Dominican—the Mama Juana (wine, rum, honey and herbs). Its potency is said to have medicinal value as well as being rumored to be an aphrodisiac. It originated as an herbal tea of the Tainos but alcohol was added after Columbus’s arrival. Oh, those Europeans! haha…..I think it enhances a trip to know some trivia beforehand. This is my usual method, however, this time, I learned the factoids afterwards. The latter enhances my reflections on the photos taken. Now, I see these cultural nuances in the trees, in the eyes of the people, in the hills…..

“D.R.” is the oldest country of the Americas and the first stop reached by Columbus. (although I’ve heard that about that general area of the Caribbean.) It’s the second most populated country in the Caribbean and Santo Domingo is the oldest city of the Americas with reportedly the oldest cathedral. The highest peak and the lowest elevation of the Caribbean are in Dominican Republic. The national flag is the only one to have an image of the Holy Bible on it. Two endemic stones are found here–the Dominican Amber and the Larimar. The amber is considered some of the finest in the world because of the high concentration of fossils and the Larimar stone is a blue variety of the silicate mineral pectolite. I love the history of the Larimar name— It was discovered in 1974 by a man named Miguel Mendez who named the stone after his daughter. He took the first three letters of her name, “Larissa” (Lar) and the local word for “the sea” which is “Mar”. The combination of the two words makes the word “Larimar”.Buy some larimar jewelry, Dominican cigars, coffee bean and maybe even the Mama Juana liquor. Take home some of the Dominican flavor and spirit of the “early Americas.” Step off the beach and into the hills and villages. It’s the best of both worlds (relaxation and culture) on your beach vacation.

photos by Gina

for more information about this destination and others, click on the link to order my book, Vagabonderie.

https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=Vagabonderie&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8

The infamous bank robber, Jesse James, is part of American history. His life has been chronicled in movies, documentaries and stories. In Clay, Missouri, approximately 22 miles from downtown Kansas City, is the birthplace museum of this controversial figure. More specifically, this birthplace museum is in Kearney, Mo.

While touring another destination in Kansas City, we happened upon some tourism information at a tourism desk. Where there used to be numerous travel guide brochures, things have gone “touchless” due to Covid-19. We might not have noticed the information on Jesse James Birthplace/Museum if it hadn’t been for that screen. Quickly, I recorded the information on my phone and found the website in order to plan our excursion there.

Luckily, despite it being a holiday weekend (NY Eve), a snowfall and the Covid-19 restrictions everywhere, the museum and grounds were open! Our car traversed the risky roads which fortunately had not iced over.  I carefully trudged through the thick, deep snow across the grounds. Nervously, I walked heavy-footed so I wouldn’t slip or damage my camera. Rather than going on the shoveled walkway, I walked in the nearby snow. This exploration break was fortuitous because I absorbed the natural beauty of this wilderness location blanketed by PERFECT snowfall. It was the kind of snow that insulates. It shut out noise and literally nestled the grounds into a womb-like  snow globe effect.

I peeked into the windows of the home and saw authentic period furniture but the doors were locked and not part of the tour. I made a mental note to come back and view everything with my husband after our museum tour. We walked through the museum and watched a fascinating 20 minute movie. Below are my photos of the grounds and nearby roads.

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We walked out to the grounds again to experience everything up close. There was a gravesite and monument next to the rough-hewn, log cabin exposure. My husband pointed out to me a stork migration overhead in the January sky. I have never seen a flock of storks. They mimicked the spiky, bare tree branches within my viewfinder. I walked out into the field to enjoy the picturesque fences, groups of trees, leading lines of the curved trail with tufts of snow bordering the paths. It was SURREAL. Seeing the grounds like THIS made me realize what it must’ve been like for the residents to live out in remote wilderness or even small towns during the winter. Security, trust, fear, risky, spontaneity were all words that flashed through my mind as I envisioned the people rocking in their chairs by the fire as their days subsumed into darkest night. Life must’ve seemed so temporary all of the time, yet, some of Jesse’s relatives lived well into their nineties!

JESSE JAMES HISTORY (cited from the museum movie)

Here’s what we learned about the Jesse James family. Jesse’s mother, Zereleda, gave birth to him in 1847. His father preached in California during the Gold Rush. When Preacher James died, the children became heirs of the estate under the care of their uncle. Their own mother did not have rights to the estate. She remarried but her new husband, Benjamin Simms, rejected the children. When she later re-married, she had a prenup which ensured that she inherit six slaves and some land. (The slaves’ cabin was on the grounds we toured.) War erupted and the James family sided with the South. Home Guards were formed which were a form of a militia group. In 1861, Jesse’s brother Frank and his unit engaged in the Civil War. Jesse was only sixteen years old. Frank rode with Quantrill’s guerrillas while Jesse rode with Bloody Bill Anderson. The Bushwhackers hung Dr. Samuel (Jesse’s stepfather.) Zerelda the mother who was pregnant at the time was assaulted, too. Zerelda, Reuben and the children abandoned their home and settled in exile in Nebraska. At one point when Jesse was shot in the lung and injured, he convalesced in his mother’s home.

Jesse helped plan the heist of the downtown Liberty, Mo. Jesse actually published a letter in the newspaper claiming his innocence. In 1875, the James Farm tragedy happened due to the Pinkerton Raid. It was believed that a fireball was thrown into the home. Zerelda reportedly witnessed her child’s death. Jesse eventually formed a new gang and the Governor offered reward money for Jesse’s capture. In 1882, Bob Ford shot Jesse James in St. Joseph, Mo. Thousands trekked to Kearney to view Jesse’s body.

Departing the grounds, we found the Woolen Mill and Mt. Gilead one room schoolhouse venues and decided to save those for another visit since the roads were risky and the facilities did not look open for tourists. Scroll through the photos in the link below.

https://jessejamesmuseum.org/plan-your-visit/area-attractions/

photos by Gina Kingsley

My mother’s piano has lived and loved for three generations, so far. The upright Wurlitzer piano represents so much to me as the present owner. My grandfather, Papou George, bought this piano for his only child, my mother, back in the 1940’s approximately. I don’t have an exact date but figuring that my mother was old enough to take lessons, it would be around that decade. She was born in 1936 and moved to downtown Tulsa approximately 1946. I imagine a purchase like this was quite a trophy for my immigrant grandfather, a restauranteur. I envision now what it must’ve been like for him, emotionally, to provide this elaborate purchase for his little girl. How I admire him for promoting the arts like that.

Adding even more panache, he and my grandmother Irini, (who died before I was born), had hardback piano books inscribed for my mother with her name on the cover: Katherine Mary Hlepos. The covers are a patriotic red color with gold lettering and have their own book stand for the volume of eight books ranging from all genres of music. As a lover of fancy details, I cannot emphasize enough how important I thought Mom was to have customized books like this dedicated to her. It really shaped my understanding of her relationship with Papou (grandpa).

Many years after Mom learned to play on this piano, she and my father and older siblings moved back into her childhood home in Tulsa. (She lived in Bristow as well). Years later, I joined the family. The piano was the centerpiece of the living room (as it is for many family homes.) We all took piano lessons at the home of our piano teacher in downtown Tulsa and did our practices on our mother’s piano. I did not like to practice. At all. I was the dancer in the family and that was my focus but Mom lorded over my practices from afar—from the kitchen, chirping out to me, “Gina! slow down!”, “Gina, again…” and other commands to the effect of “do it better, etc.”. I painstakingly squeezed these practices in, suffering through them. I loved my piano teacher and her unique Victorian home but I did not love my piano lessons, necessarily. I loved the ambience of my teacher’s home and especially her daughter, an actual gypsy. I wrote a chapter about them in my first book, A Magic Carpet Ride, in fact. But dance and poetry were where my head was at and piano practicing just took up too much time, in my opinion. Papou must’ve sensed that this was a struggle for me and in an effort to assuage Mom’s disciplinary measures on me, he lovingly sat in the armchair beside the piano to cheer me on. He’d clap, clap, clap to the beat and praise me. How could I not LOVE this man and his support even more than I already did? I knew exactly what he was doing…he was empowering me with compliments and encouragement. More importantly, he was doing what every child craves and needs—someone to SIT with them and be in the moment. What a gift that is. Moms can get so busy with things and grandparents can swoop in and not be busy. I can feel his presence in this memory…his stillness, his humorous clapping and enthusiasm, his grandfatherliness. My Godmother and cousin recently reminded me that my big brother also comforted me during these practices. The piano was truly a gathering place for comfort and support despite my struggle, resistance, and frustration.

He must’ve cherished the generational legacy this piano was enduring as its life had now reached down into his grandchildren’s generation. After my piano teacher died, we found a new teacher…the organist from our church, a family friend. Now, my lessons were at my home on our very own piano. That was a new experience and Mom could listen in now on my lessons as well as my practices. My sister took piano lessons again through a college elective class and she began practicing piano after several years of previous lessons. Now, my grandfather and mother could hear more piano at home. My brother was very musical and had moved on to an interest in guitar. I remember his guitar lessons with our cousins. The sound of music coming from his bedroom and all of the albums he exposed me to from classical music to contemporary…he was a plethora of knowledge. I knew as an elementary school girl who Wagner (the classical composer) was and that it’s pronounced “Vagner” with a  schwa /A/. Big brothers are so cool. So are big sisters.

After mom died and we were moving into our own homes, we started to claim items that were special to us. I wanted the piano. It was ironic in a way but the piano symbolized so much to me about Mom, Papou, family. I would eventually move back into that home, anyway, so the piano was able to stay put. I wanted to take the piano to my first rental home as a newlywed. Wisely, my father and step-mom suggested it should not endure a move and should instead wait for me in the family home.

A few years later, when I was expecting our first child, I played the piano daily for my son. I read that babies in the womb who listen to music will be musical. I embraced that and snuggled my huge pregnant belly up to those piano keys and played the heck out of that piano. Muzio Clementi is my game. Sure enough, that baby (Luke) ended up having perfect pitch when his piano teacher assessed this about him at age six. All three of our sons took piano lessons and practiced on this same piano. (7 people have learned to play on this three generations piano.) My husband supported this and I admire him for that. I went to their piano lessons at their elementary school where they learned under the tutelage of the most gentlemanly, Mr. Dixon and then the dear Mrs. McCoy. It was thirty minutes of me being still and captivated for my children. There are many other times we are still for our children in their hobbies and extra-curricular activities but this was my special time with them to be still in our shared hobby. Mr. Dixon taught them how to do a proper gentlemanly bow which might’ve been even better than the lessons themselves! Bowties had an excuse to be worn at their piano recitals and I loved this fashion element. The boys eventually continued lessons at Preslar Studios on Cherry Street where they learned contemporary stylings.

Over the years, I showed our sons the various songs I remember Mom playing out of those inscribed books: Funiculi, Funicula, I Dream of Jeannie with the light brown hair (jazz). She played them with me. Mom was still. I didn’t realize that until now. There were spirituals, Christmas songs, jazz, patriotic hymns,….we perused those books, together.  Neither Mom nor I were that good at piano. We stumbled on some notes but I liked the diligence and commitment of our attitude about this art.  I showed my sons the very same songs later in our home. How do you explain to your children who their grandmother was when they’ve never met her? They are beyond blessed to know their amazing paternal grandmother and their grandmother; my amazing stepmother who have defined their entire childhoods. But the reality is, they don’t know their maternal grandmother. Every Christmas, I sat with my sons on the piano bench and we’d belt out the Christmas carols like Mom and I would do on Christmas mornings. Sometimes, I’d cry. Okay, every year I cried but I eventually coached myself to not cry on Christmas morning because I knew it was difficult and uncomfortable for our sons. I do realize that it’s alright for children to experience your emotions and vulnerability, though.

Now, one of the greatest gifts my sons give to me is when I hear them play on my mother’s piano. They take such great care of it that they remind me when it needs tuning. When they can and they are here (from college), I involve them in watching the piano be tuned. They play piano for our guests when I ask them to. (My only “stage mom” moment). They entertain guests at parties and on holidays. I beam and look at my guests, especially my maternal relatives and tell them, “They are playing on Mom’s piano, Thea Mary! or “Look, Thea Freda, Eleni (my young cousin) is playing on Mom’s piano.” These aunts were my mother’s first cousins who she grew up with in the same house along with Thea Helen. The last big party we had, two of those aunts were here and we had that emotional moment together celebrating my mother’s memory. Often, we have little talent shows where my sons and their cousin play duets on that piano. I cherish these evenings.

My sons have excelled at piano where I did not. They have the musical ear from their paternal side of the family. One of them re-taught himself how to play by watching YouTube videos. Eventually, he asked me to re-show him the notes on the scale which enhanced his playing by ear.  He, being the youngest in the family (like me), showed such perseverance in re-learning piano. It’s like he channels Cole Porter when he tickles those ivories. I don’t know which son will end up with our piano. I jokingly tell them, “Whichever one of you has a daughter named after me will inherit the piano.” Two of them play it the most so I also jokingly tell them they’ll have to split custody of it. Maybe those two who prioritize piano and instruments the most will end up with grand pianos of their own and they’ll give their middle brother the piano to inspire him to play it again. When their fingers glide over the same keys my mother, siblings and I learned to play piano on, I feel the continuity and bond of our family. Devoted piano tunings and careful cleaning touch ups to this old “family member” of ours breathes life into her. What we can’t do with people, we can do with furniture. Nostalgia.

The piano is the centerpiece of our home. It’s approximately 80 years old. It’s the last thing I see when I go upstairs to bed and one of the first things I see in the morning when I descend the stairs. I realize that one day when our sons refer to “my mother’s piano”, they’ll be talking about me.

©Gina Michalopulos Kingsley

Victorian mansions are defined and associated with their architectural grandeur.  That is the obvious feature that seems prominent. However, they might also conjure up macabre details of hauntings. Why is this so? Because human behavior and disciplinary protocols during that time were very harsh and austere. Etiquette was also very structured, detailed and enforced. It wasn’t all just crinolines, corsets and petticoats. Oh no, it was also chaperones, calling cards and social ostracism. Etiquette and architecture is what I think of when visiting a Victorian mansion.

Etiquette

Courtship required being chaperoned. Young females required constant chaperoning and if this was violated, it resulted in a ruined reputation where one fell prey to gossip and criticism. Women were encouraged to be bright and sparkly in conversation but never too intelligent. Gentlemen callers could bestow certain gifts upon their ladies but the approval list of items was very stringent. The various social ranks had strict rules upon whom you could be introduced to and who you could address.

Calling cards were an actual thing. They originated in France and made their way to Victorian society. This tradition helped secure one’s social status and how they ascended in societal ranks. The fashionable upper class announced their arrival to destinations with their calling cards. Sometimes the cards included coded messages. A lady’s carriage footman delivered the calling cards to the destination or recipient for the lady. Over the years, we continue to use the words calling card as slang.

Victorian etiquette was a very broad subject including the most specific of rules, boundaries and regulations. Where did all this social rank, etiquette and lifestyle take place? —in the foreboding Victorian homes, of course! In fact, the architecture of these home reflected the intricacies and ornamentation of their social behavior!

Architecture

Towers, turrets, dormers, and stained glass are just a few of the architectural details which were included in the beauty of a Victorian home. Ornate woodwork, 2-3 story floors, nooks, high ceilings and ornate staircases can all be found in the historic homes. Imagine turning a corner and finding a parlor nook where fainting couches elegantly allowed Victorian women to collapse and rest from the pressure of their binding corsets. Vaile Mansion

In Independence, Missouri, Vaile Mansion is a perfect example of Victorian architecture. Twenty minutes or so outside of Kansas City, you can find this unique town full of quirky architecture (modern and historic). Reportedly, there have been paranormal  investigations conducted at Vaile Mansion. (Check out their website for events.)

Road trips this year have connected us to Americana both visually and educationally as we can read up about the eras and cultural traditions which defined our country’s growth.

© Gina Michalopulos Kingsley