Until I was 11 and we moved to the faraway land of Arizona, I lived in a little town called Portsmouth, Rhode Island, 20 minutes from the very famous Newport, home to the Gilded Age mansions. There wasn't a lot to do in Portsmouth. The big excitement on a long summer day was walking to Ferreira's corner store, buying candy cigarettes and walking back.
When I went back for a wedding this summer, I took Andy to see the house I grew up in. Have you ever done that? It just so happened that the house is being completely gutted and we were able to sneak in! I got to show him my old room. Everything felt so small and it's incredible how many memories come flooding back. It was the first time I had actually been in the house in almost 20 years.
Here's the view from the house.
And here's the actual house being renovated-this little hill definitely felt more like a mountain when I was 5.
The wedding was at a gorgeous Newport grande dame, Castle Hill, which I mentioned here. I realized I never shared my photos as I was prepping for going back to Rhode Island today for Thanksgiving. It was everything I remembered. I loved the white adirondack chairs on the lawn, the best view of the Newport Bridge with water that looks like this only in New England, a common area that is a total throwback to the early 1900s without feeling musty, and classic rooms.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!