We've been discussing a major vacation for a while now, to commemorate my 50th birthday and our 25th anniversary as a couple. We've gone back and forth between a Europe trip (probably Paris), or one to the San Francisco-Napa-Santa Barbara area. Oddly, neither of us has been "wowed" by the ideas we've come up with so far, and have been almost complacent about an upcoming vacation. Usually I'm looking for the funkiest places to stay ("look, a guesthouse in the former garage of a deposed duke!") while Frank is buying every guide book known to man. This time around neither of us has been breaking any speed records to start some planning.....until three days ago.
In my usual way I was immersed in a book, and I thought I heard Frank say, "What about an English garden tour?" My brain reminded me that this is the man who HATES garden visits, and usually traipses along mildly grumbling as I make him climb the hundreds of stairs in an Italian garden (in July) only because I've told him there is a gelato bar at the top.
"England?" I asked. "Yes, maybe that part where they have that white garden, or that Great Dixter place." "A garden tour?" "But I think I like English gardens."
I had to choose between continuing the conversation and calling British Air before Frank realized what he had said........I don't remember the rest of the conversation........