During these days when we must stay at home, I have spent a lot of time thinking about the trips I have been fortunate enough to take.

I first went abroad in 1972 when I visited my Uncle Bob in Amsterdam, Netherlands. What a time I had! I had just finished my sophomore year at SUNY Albany in mid-May, and Dad drove me down to the city where Auntie Lil and Auntie Grey picked me up and got me out to JFK to the KLM terminal.

There was no security back then, so I remember Auntie Grey going right up to the gate with me. This was my first time on an airplane, and I was absolutely fearless. Next thing I knew we had landed in Amsterdam and Bob and his family were there to bring me to their apartment.

I had planned to stay for four weeks, but I kept extending my visit. Hey, I was having a great time! Bob was always an entertaining host, and there was a whole new world right outside my door! Dad finally put his foot down, and I reluctantly flew home.

My next airline trip was on my honeymoon with John. We flew to Bermuda and stayed at the Southampton Princess. I got terribly sunburned, which was par for the course back then, but I persevered. We even went into Hamilton and met Peter and Kathy (née Slausenburg) Phillips, who were living there at the time. And we saw performances by Cab Calloway and Frankie Avalon.

I didn't fly again until Mom and Dad bought a condo in Hilton Head, South Carolina. Mom wanted to go down to see how the decorating was going, and my kids and I went down with her. Liz and Mike were small enough that they both fit in one seat, and I don't think we paid for Mike, as I recall. Those were the days when the kids could wander up to the cockpit and say hi to the pilots.

Hilton Head was wonderful. Great beaches, yummy seafood, and of course acres and acres of golf courses. Our family went down often, though usually by car, with two small beings locked in sibling conflict most of the way there. We would leave in the middle of the night and drive straight through. That was a true endurance test for us all.

I didn't make it back to Europe until 2003, when my daughter Liz and I flew over in August. This was the year of the Paris heat wave that killed 15,000 people. We spent lots of time in our tiny hotel room with the AC pumped up and watched European MTV. We found out all about lyrical gangsters. It was brutal.

Those early trips were wonderful, expanding the horizons of this small-town girl. And the best was yet to come.