just the three of us.

a song to set the scene // boo’s going home by randy newman

We started planning immediately after we left.

See, that’s what you do when you leave the happiest place on earth. To ward off the post-Disney depression, you simply have to start organizing the next visit.

It’s just what you do.

The next trip though… required some meticulous planning.

We had decided to celebrate our brother’s 30th birthday by taking him to Disneyland.

He hadn’t been in two decades, and honestly that’s just criminal.

He deserved to be spoiled, treated, and exposed to the wonder and magic of Disney.

So for two years, we organized and mapped out a trip.

(and made the hotel, plane, and dining reservations which were luckily way easier to do since the last time I went post-rona)

Then, on his 30th birthday, we surprised him with a LEGO castle with the three of us LEGO siblings all wearing shirts that read: We’re going to Disney!

And just like that, time slipped through the Aladdin hourglass, and we were on a plane headed to Anaheim.

No parents, no significant others, just the three of us.

It was likely the one and only time the three of us had ever taken a trip like that before. So it was special, from the start.

There we were, three adult kids from Alaska, passing through the gates of the park, experiencing something so nostalgic from our childhood that we all shared together.

It was more than magnificent. It was magical.

And we had one whole week to enjoy it.

I can still hear my brother’s joyous laughter whenever he got splashed on Grizzly River, see his teary-eyed face when he seeing the Millennium Falcon for the first time.

I can still picture my sister being our fearless leader at the front of the pack, feel her death grip on my arm whenever we dropped from the sky in Guardians of the Galaxy: Mission Breakout.

I can still feel the tears on my face as we roared down Big Thunder Mountain, smile at the memory of seeing Star for the first time when watching the movie Wish.

They all say Disney is “the happiest place on earth.” And for me, that remains true.

But it’s not the park itself that makes me happy. It’s the memories the park elicits. It’s the experiences there with the people I love that make it the happiest place on earth.

And what makes it magical is the fact that when I leave, when I wave goodbye at Walt’s statue holding Mickey’s hand, those memories get to come with me, wherever I go.

And they inspire me to book the next trip.

Which of course I’m already doing.

tale as old as time.

a song to set the scene // beauty and the beast by roxane genot, jan pouska

It was a moment I’ll remember forever.

Even as I sit here: weeks later, jet-lagged, recovering from both pink eye and the flu, bags unpacked, trip to Italy completed.

The song plays, even now, the harmonious and familiar tune of Beauty and the Beast and I am instantly transported to the historic city of Florence.

I remember what I was wearing, where I was, and of course who I was with.

My gem and I had just gotten off the train. After the stressful journey of hand pulling our suitcases through the crowds on the cobblestone streets, we arrived at our home for the next week.

After piling into the too small elevator, we got out on the second floor and walked into the most incredible apartment.

Immaculately decorated in the typical Florentine Renaissance style, the building was dated from the 14th century, having existed even before the famous Brunelleschi domes were completed.

I was awestruck. It was… spectacular.

The art, the furniture, the brass, the cast iron heaters a la Tiffany, the views.

It also had an espresso machine, which we promptly took advantage of.

After bidding our host arrivederci, my gem and I took our two freshly made macchiatos, opened up the shutters, and sat down at the window.

Still awestruck, dumbfounded, and a little bewildered that this young couple from Alaska was currently seated in perfect viewing of THE DUOMO, a street artist began playing his violin.

And that’s when the sweet melodies of Beauty and the Beast came floating up through our open window.

The song plays, and even now, I can close my eyes and be seated in that savonarola styled chair, feel the Florentine wind on my face, the magic of that moment frozen in time.

“Are you having a moment?” my gem sweetly asked.

I nodded, a smile spreading upon my face as tender tears tumbled their way down my cheeks.

They say Florence is the birthplace of the Italian Renaissance, a period in time in which the arts and culture flourished.

That happened, without a doubt, as history can attest.

But I think a city so rooted in the birth of such a movement remains so, even all these years later.

The city is still flourishing, still inspiring, still awing those that pass through its streets and listen to the music that plays.

History doesn’t need to repeat itself here because in Florence, it never left.

It’s a tale as old as time.

And there I am, back in that chair, in the magnificent magical city of Florence.