Sardinia, Sardegna, what a wonderful two weeks!

Posted on October 9, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I’m home! Captain said it felt like I’d been gone a month.

It took me a full week to readjust.

I mostly readjusted the minute I made physical contact with my children, but it took me this long to sit down and write a blog post.

Two-hour pasta lunches with a bottomless glass of wine followed by three-hour dinners with a bottomless glass of wine is really not a sustainable lifestyle. But it was an amazing way to spend a couple weeks!

Sardinia is the second largest island in the Mediterranean just south of Corsica and west of Italy. It has a gorgeous coastline, stunning mountains, long lifespans and an ancient heritage of amazing food unique from mainland Italy.

I explored Sardinia with travel designers from Italy, Venezuela, Mexico, Argentina, Portugal, Germany, Ukraine, Russia and one from twenty minutes up the road from me.

Those countries, all in the same group, may make you pause. I did. They’re all amazing people and I was lucky to spend time with them.

I also feel lucky that I was well received. Americans are not the most beloved right now.

And I thought for sure I’d be the only Jew of the group “working” on Rosh Hashanah. I was nowhere near my temple, but I did join the virtual children’s service for a minute between meetings.

Lo and behold I was lucky enough to find out that my new friend from Venezuela is Jewish! A Jewish Venezuelan is not a combo I was expecting.

I was distracted by my news feed and our politics that lack basic human decency. It feels like everything is spiraling downwards. I kept trying to refocus: my bowl of pasta, my delicious espresso, the sexiest cooking class I’ve ever taken.

I mean that. I was looking decidedly not sexy, but our teacher, she was another story. It’s called pasta therapy:

At home I cook occasionally because we need to eat and because if I try to serve one more peanut butter and jelly sandwich there may be a mutiny.

But for me, being sexy and cooking never happen simultaneously.

As I fumbled through making fancy pasta shapes, I was definitely in the moment, so it may deserve its therapeutic claims.

Last year I traveled to Croatia for work, carry-on only. BIG MISTAKE. I left home without an ounce of room in my suitcase. I received so much free swag and people at home were waiting for things and I had NO ROOM.

I vowed not to make that mistake again. For Sardinia I checked a small bag and also had a small carry-on. Both were half empty in anticipation of lots of free goodies.

Clothing-wise I still only packed as much as I would’ve if I’d been traveling carry-on only. For two weeks I planned to rewear everything twice if not three times. As I am always happy to do.

If I can enjoy a month-and-a-half overland safari alternating between two shirts, then the amount of clothing I took for Sardinia was really overkill.

But it quickly felt inadequate. My previous travel style collided with my current travel style.

Not only were my new friends wearing new outfits everyday, they had a nice outfit for daytime touring (which I would’ve called nice enough for dinner) and then an even nicer outfit for our lovely dinners.

I was taking my daytime outfit, adding a sweater and earrings and calling it my new dinner outfit. I kept wishing I had taken a medium-sized suitcase.

After a phone call home bemoaning all my decisions, I headed to dinner wearing my favorite dress for the third time. One of the women exclaimed,

“I love your dress! Is it new?”

No! Not only is it four years old, but I’ve already worn it for two other dinners this week! Proof that no one is paying as much attention as you think they are and maybe my suitcase choice was ok after all.

I left home with an idea that I’d like to buy a new dress if at all possible. As the week went on, it started to seem like it might not be possible.

The days were relaxing in the sense that I was walking around beautiful Sardinia, eating amazing food and talking to wonderful people, but there was very little free time with which to shop.

Near the end of the first week, we checked into what would be my favorite resort of the trip. As we walked into the lobby, in the store window, there was a beachy, floor-length, pink and white dress that was calling to me.

I said “I’ll be back if I can!”

I got a free minute and I dashed into the store. I peered around. Nothing resembled that dress. I peered back out at the window and asked the shopkeeper,

“Is that dress for this store?”

“Yes! It’s our last one and it’s your size.”

How does she know my size? I give her a skeptical look. She adds,

“It’s a medium.”

Ooooh she’s good.

Next thing I know, the mannequin’s arms are on the ground and the dress is in my hands. As I began the checkout process the kind woman asks me,

“Do you have Global Blue?”

“What?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“For your tax refund?”

“Tax refund?”

She looks perplexed and I feel like an idiot.

So now I know that it’s possible to get a tax refund on purchases over a certain amount. In Italy it’s over €70. Every country has a different amount.

The shopkeeper is so incredulous she asks me,

“How come you’ve never used Global Blue before?”

“I guess I haven’t done that much shopping.”

The truth is I haven’t done much shopping at the price point required to receive refunds.

The woman shakes her head and admonishes me,

“Italy is very good for shopping.”

“Yes, I see that.”

My suitcase fit all my wonderful freebies: wine, liqueur, jewelry, reindeer-skin luggage tags, candles, chocolates, bags and I bought two stuffed flamingos for my children. Sardinia is known for its flamingos. I did not know this.

My exploration of Sardinia was followed by an intense few days of one-on-one meetings with luxury travel suppliers from all over the world. It was simultaneously exhausting and energizing. There are endless, amazing adventures to add to your list!

Now I’m home, I caught my breath, I emptied my small suitcase and I am packing it back up.

We’re off to NYC for RB’s 6th birthday!

RB’s interpretation of ready for New York City. This is a very large suitcase relative to her doll’s size, so it is safe to say her doll overpacked.

Here’s to my new favorite town

Posted on May 21, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I don’t have to move after all!

I didn’t know that I would cry tears of joy over a town election, but I did.

National politics may still be deplorable, but short of leaving the country, we’re not going anywhere.

We’re so committed to staying that we bought a new sactional for my home office. I do not think it’s deductible.

For Mother’s Day I received this note from five-year-old RB:

I’ll address this in chronological order:

There are people in my family with blue eyes; I am not one of them.

I do not love to eat chicken. My family loves to eat chicken, so here we are.

One of my favorite drinks may be wine… just wondering why the daily coffee didn’t make the cut.

A box of instant mac ‘n cheese is one of my specialties.

I do dearly love to exercise.

I’m not sure what games she’s referring to, but piggy-back ride up to bed is a favorite of mine.

Snuggles are the best.

And snuggles on my new sactional are great too.

I don’t know who has put together a Lovesac sactional before, BUT it made me question all of my life choices.

I’m surprised there was no offer of white-glove service. Not that we would have paid extra for that. I know a guy. But still.

I ended up carrying in all fifteen boxes by myself, including six that weighed fifty-three pounds.

The boxes arrived at 1pm when Captain was at the office and I had dreams of having my coffee (2nd favorite drink) on my new sactional the next morning.

After blood, sweat, so much sweat, no tears, we hit 11:30pm and Captain pondered the pillows. He said,

“I’m wondering if that pillow should be switched with this one.”

I could not have finished the couch in nine hours without Captain, but I also couldn’t find any level of caring about the pillows.

They’re lucky to be stuffed into their cases and they may now go wherever they want.

“I have to go to bed.”

We are less than a week into our 60-day trial period with free returns, but it’s safe to say, she’s not going anywhere.

In part because she’s very comfortable, but also because I CAN’T IMAGINE BOXING THIS WHOLE THING UP.

As I struggled for hours to stuff cushions into washable covers. I said multiple times,

“I’m never washing this couch.”

Lies. All lies. Three days into the new couch, RB vomited all over it. Into the wash it went.

It came out perfect and putting one cushion back into its case is really not bad compared to upholstering twenty-seven different parts of the couch.

Come on over, have a seat, have a glass of wine, some chicken and mac ‘n cheese and some snuggles. I’m here.

On town election night I was at the Boston Ballet with a dear friend and the bathroom stall had this sign on the door. I don’t remember this from before, but maybe that’s because I’m always in a mad rush. It’s definitely worth holding onto your hopes and dreams. Overrides do happen.

Marital love. Measured in gefilte fish

Posted on May 7, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

Another Passover is in the books. It was awhile ago now, but I started writing this awhile ago.

Thank you to PJ library for their kid friendly Haggadah. Every year we’re able to read a little bit more. And if it weren’t for the illustrations, I don’t know that we’d be able to read at all.

BB was a full-on participant this year, which felt extra special and RB was a full-on nuisance despite eating a not-kosher-for-Passover bowl of Frosted Flakes two minutes before the start of the seder.

RB was willing to pause her complaining to ask the Four Questions and bargain for money for the afikomen.

BB declared,

“Twenty dollars!”

I said,

“One dollar.”

“Fifteen dollars!”

“Two dollars.”

“Ten dollars!”

“Three dollars.”

At which point, without BB’s approval, RB shouted,

“DEAL!”

I paid ten dollars, but still felt proud of my bargaining skills.

This is the year I realized the love Captain and I have can be measured in gefilte fish.

I adore gefilte fish. I have adored gefilte fish from the minute I could eat solid food. I also adore Captain. The two of them side by side is an easy pairing for me.

Captain only met gefilte fish when he met me. Turns out he was not as enamored with the fish, but I never would’ve known.

Wikipedia says:

Gefilte fish (/ɡəˈfɪltə fɪʃ/; from Yiddish: געפֿילטע פֿיש, German: Gefüllter Fisch / Gefüllte Fische, lit. “stuffed fish”) is a dish made from a poached mixture of ground deboned fish, such as carp, whitefish, or pike. It is traditionally served as an appetizer by Ashkenazi Jewish households. Popular on Shabbat and Jewish holidays such as Passover, it may be consumed throughout the year.

Historically, gefilte fish was a stuffed whole fish consisting of minced-fish forcemeat stuffed inside the intact fish skin. By the 16th century, cooks had started omitting the labor-intensive stuffing step, and the seasoned fish was most commonly formed into patties similar to quenelles or fish balls.^[1]

Ten years ago, at our first seder together, Captain ate the whole gefilte fish topped with horseradish. One of my favorite combos!

I don’t remember his exact words, but something along the lines of,

“Not bad!”

Each year Captain continued to eat the whole gefilte fish. Then about five years ago, when we were no longer in the stage of ripping each other’s clothes off, Captain ate about half of his gefilte fish.

A few more years went by and he continued to eat at least half of his gefilte fish.

Then this year.

I was so busy slurping up every last bit of my ground-up fish that I wasn’t paying Captain the least bit of attention.

I glanced over. He had taken the smallest, most imperceptible, almost microscopic taste of his gefilte fish.

I looked at him,

“You really don’t like it.”

“No I don’t.”

In that moment all I cared about was being very happy to eat his gefilte fish.

Then days later it dawned on me, we have now reached a place in our marriage where there is ZERO need for him to prove his love for me by how much ground-up, mushed-back-together fish he is capable of eating.

For better or for worse, until death or the end of Passover, he’s sticking to matzo ball soup.