Oh gosh, to pick just one favorite restaurant? That’s like asking me to choose my favorite pair of shoes—it just ain’t fair. But if I had to choose, I’m going with Frankie’s on Roswell Road in Marietta. Hands down. No hesitation. That place owns a big ol’ piece of my carb-loving heart.
I LOVE authentic Italian food—the kind that tastes like it came straight outta Nonna’s kitchen in Naples. And let me tell you, Frankie’s is the real deal. We’re talkin’ house-made pastas, sauces that simmer like they’ve got secrets, and bread that makes you want to pull up a chair and stay a while. It’s cozy, it’s charming, and it smells like heaven the second you walk in.
Frankie’s always. If you haven’t been—what are you even doing with your life?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m suddenly craving gnocchi.
What are 5 everyday things that bring you happiness?
— In No Particular Order, Y’all —
1. That First Sip of French Roast Coffee
There’s just something about that first sip. It’s warm, bold, and feels like the world might just be okay after all. French roast is my love language. And let’s be honest—until I’ve had that mug in hand, I’m really not ready to interact with anyone, including myself. Espresso for extra points!
2. My Fur-Babies: Cash, Shelby & Bean
My morning crew includes two floppy-eared Basset Hounds and one independent, slightly judgy feline. They follow me around like I’m the queen of snacks, and in return, they offer unconditional love (and lots of hair on everything I own). They are my peaceful chaos and my favorite therapy team.
3. Porch Sittin’ with Coffee & Critters
This is my happy place. Coffee in one hand, two sleepy Bassets at my feet, and the rocking chair doing its slow Southern back & forth. The world is quiet, the sun’s just coming up, and I’m soaking in that sweet little pocket of peace before the day begins.
4. Early Mornings Before the World Starts Yellin’
Truly, I’ve always been a morning person—but these days? I crave it …with that coffee! Those calm, quiet minutes before the emails, calls, and general chaos take over… they’re gold. There’s power in waking up early on purpose and actually enjoying the silence.
5. Morning Reiki, Prayer & Meditation
This has become my sacred routine. A few minutes of healing energy through Reiki, a quiet prayer of gratitude, and a little meditation to pull it all together. It grounds me, calms my mind, and reminds me to breathe—before the whirlwind of life kicks in.
In Closing…
Happiness doesn’t have to be loud or expensive.
It’s not always a grand adventure.
Sometimes, it’s just a quiet porch, a strong cup of coffee, and a two Bassets snoring at your feet.
Life gets busy—but these small, soulful moments? They’re the ones I cherish the most.
XOXO, Jani
P.S. Want a peek into my porch life? Stay tuned for a snapshot series I like to call “Coffee, Critters & Calm.” It’s nothing fancy… but it’s everything I need.
If high school taught me anything, it wasn’t from a textbook. It didn’t come from the periodic table or diagramming sentences in English class. Nope. What I learned came in one of those hard, jarring, buckle-up-buttercup kind of ways:
Life turns on a dime.
When I was 14, my dad went to prison.
Not county jail. Not a weekend stint. Prison. And not for a year or two—he served 28 years. That alone should give you a pretty big clue about the kind of turn I’m talking about.
Before that moment, we were that family. The one people saw and probably whispered things like “must be nice.”
Big beautiful home? Yep. With a pool.
Farm? Yep.
Mercedes and Jaguar in the driveway? Naturally. My dad’s shiny new truck was the cherry on top.
We had a condo at the beach every summer, and money? Well, it flowed. Until it didn’t.
When the gavel dropped, it was like someone snapped their fingers and said, “New life. Figure it out.”
We didn’t lose everything, but enough to feel like the rug had been yanked right out from under us. We went from “Oh wow, the Aylsworths” to “Oh… those Aylsworths.”
I moved in with my maternal grandparents, which kept me on a somewhat steady course. Now—let’s be clear—“relatively normal” still meant my dad was in prison, my mother was a whole trainwreck, and my stepmother could’ve given Nurse Ratched a run for her money. But I survived. My little sister stayed with her mom (that’s a whole other messy novel I’ll save for later).
But back to high school—while other kids were worrying about prom dates or their GPA, I was learning that nothing, and I mean nothing, is guaranteed. One day, you’re just some teenage girl with the world at her feet (or so it seems), and the next… someone shakes the snow globe and you’re stuck watching the flakes fall in a completely different direction.
So yeah—life turns on a dime. And that lesson? It stuck.
Stay tuned—there’s more to this story. There’s always more.
When your kids are little, loving them more than anything just comes naturally. You hold their sticky hands, wipe their tears, pray over them every night, and hope you’re doing it halfway right. And of course, sometimes you aren’t. But even in the fumbles, they learn—grit, grace, and a good sense of humor.
My two boys, Jake and Jarrett, were 12 and 14 when life shifted. It wasn’t always easy, but we figured things out together. We grew. We got stronger. And somewhere between the chaos of school mornings, teenage moods, and late-night heart-to-hearts, I blinked—and they were grown.
Now here I am, watching these men I raised navigate life and fatherhood, and let me tell you—I genuinely like who they are. Not just because I’m their momma, but because they’ve grown into kind, capable, funny-as-hell humans. People I love being around.
Me w/ Jarrett and Jake
Blended, Blessed, and Beautifully Ours
Years later, I married Greg. By then, all our kids were already grown, but blending our families still felt like coming home. Mitch—Greg’s son and my bonus boy—was raised by Greg with a little help from his amazing parents. And even though I didn’t raise him myself, he’s very much mine now, too.
Three boys. Three very different paths. One big, blended family that just works.
Me and GregMitch w/ me and Kenzie
Jake: The Chef with a Margarita Welcome
Jake, my oldest, is a phenomenal cook. I’m not talking “spaghetti in a pinch” here—I’m talking full-on restaurant-worthy, pour-you-a-margarita-when-you-walk-in-the-door kind of hospitality. He’s warm, welcoming, and thoughtful to his core. He is the one that people are drawn to and the one who will always have your back. Solid! And he’s got my heart and my appetite wrapped around his finger. Did I mention my grans, AJ and Harvey!?
Jake w/ Harvey and AJ
Mitch: The Calm in the Middle
Mitch, our middle son, lives close by. He drops in for dinner, chats on the porch, and heads off fishing with Greg like it’s just another Tuesday. He’s steady, loyal, and effortlessly kind—the kind of person who makes everything feel a little more relaxed just by being around. Plus, my grand-boys, Wyatt and Wilson add a little more sweetness.
Mitch w/ Wyatt
Jarrett: My Forever Sidekick
Jarrett, the youngest, is my movie date. About once a month, we grab popcorn and lose ourselves in whatever’s playing—his treat. We laugh, we cry, we occasionally whisper, “What in the world did we just watch?” did y’all even see Cocaine Bear? He’s got a soft heart and a cold streak that reminds of how much like me he is. He keeps us entertained and grounded all at once. Jarrett blessed me with Swayze, Urban, Liberty and Seger. Yes! Four! He’s the one who is smart but at times, I have questioned the military entrusting us to him. LOL.
Jarret w/ Libby
Watching Them Raise Their Own
All three of these boys are now raising families of their own. They’re doing the whole parenting thing with heart, humor, and a whole lot more patience than I probably had. And the best part? They like me. As an adult. As a friend. As someone they call up just to chat—or to share a margarita and a moment.
Three Good Men. One Lucky Momma
I loved them when they were little. I adored them through every awkward, angsty stage. But now? Now I get to see them in their full glory—grown, grounded, and good.
Three boys.
One beautifully blended family.
And a momma who wouldn’t trade this chapter for the world.
Describe one positive change you have made in your life.
If you had asked me ten years ago what I’d be doing now, I would’ve said something like, “Probably still up to my elbows in fur, vaccinations, and explaining (for the 843rd time) that no, your dog cannot take human ibuprofen.”
Veterinary Medicine was my thing. My heartbeat. My calling. I adored my furry clients, loved their humans (mostly), and prided myself on being that fierce advocate for those who couldn’t speak for themselves. But somewhere along the way, that love started to fray at the edges. It wasn’t the animals — it was the weight of the job. The 24/7 responsibility. The emotional toll. The burnout that silently crept in and made itself right at home.
Did you know that Veterinary Medicine has one of the highest suicide rates of any profession?
Let that sit with you for a second. I mean, it seems like it should be all puppies and kittens, but the reality is a lot heavier than that. I was still “me” — but a version of me that felt stretched too thin, worn down, and barely hanging on some days.
And then, one day, I just… stopped.
I took a leap.
After a six months sabbatical of sorts, my dear friend Tammy called and asked, “Why don’t you come work for me? It won’t pay what you were making, but I think you’d love it.”
And just like that, I traded in the chaos for calm (mostly), exhaustion for excitement, and needles for… passports?
I started part-time at Take Time To Travel, just answering phones, pitching in here and there. It was honestly refreshing not to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. And slowly — so slowly — something started to bloom again.
Me.
I began learning the travel business, planning trips for people, and even took my first cruise (to Alaska, no less — go big or go home, y’all). Three years later, I feel like I’ve hit the joy jackpot. Not the make-a-bazillion-dollars jackpot — let’s not get crazy — but the wake-up-smiling, love-your-job, soul-deep-joy kind.
I work with a group of women who are family. Our office feels more like a sitcom than a workplace most days — in the best way. We laugh, we fuss, we support the hell out of each other. Our fearless leader is like a mom, keeping her wild daughters in line (and trust me, that’s no easy task).
I get to help people dream big, then turn those dreams into boarding passes.
I get to explore this beautiful world.
I get to keep learning every single day in a business that is always evolving.
And most of all?
I got me back.
So yeah, describing one positive change I’ve made in my life?
Hands down — changing careers midstream.
And if you’re out there wondering if it’s too late, too hard, too risky to chase joy — honey, it’s not. You just have to believe you’re worth the change.
This morning I sat down with my coffee, still shaking off the sleep, and flipped on the Today Show. I didn’t expect to get pulled into something so real, but when Michelle Obama starts talking, you just listen. And this morning, she brought it.
She spoke openly—candidly—about her marriage, about politics, and about all the tabloid nonsense that’s been swirling around lately. People have been speculating that she and President Obama are getting divorced just because she chose not to attend the inauguration this year or President Jimmy Carter’s funeral. Her response? “I’m simply doing what I feel I need to do for me.”
That hit me. Hard.
In a world where everyone expects you to show up a certain way, especially as a former First Lady, she’s choosing peace. Rest. Space. And maybe even boundaries. Imagine that. A woman, choosing herself without apology. I respect the hell out of that.
But what really got me was her honesty about marriage. She admitted that there were times she literally could not stand Barack—especially when their daughters were young. And let me tell you, if Michelle Obama can’t stand her husband sometimes, the rest of us don’t stand a chance of floating through marriage like it’s a damn rom-com.
It made me stop and really think: maybe that is one of the big problems in marriage today. We swing too far in either direction—we’re either blasting every miserable moment on social media or we’re painting some Pinterest-perfect picture that isn’t real. But marriage? Real marriage? It lives somewhere in between.
There are seasons—sometimes days, sometimes months—where it’s just plain hard. Where you look at the person you married and think, “Who are you and why are you chewing so loud?” And honestly? That doesn’t mean you’re headed for divorce court. It means you’re human. It means you’re married.
And sometimes, the struggle has nothing to do with the marriage at all. Life throws weird curveballs. Sometimes you’re both in a funky place at the same time, and neither of you knows how to say it out loud. And it’s in those moments that we need more patience, more grace, and more love—not more pressure to perform or more fear that something’s broken.
What I loved most this morning was the clip they showed of President Obama himself. He said he realized that he was in a rough patch in his marriage because he wasn’t doing anything fun—everything was serious, political, and exhausting. And it made him pause. It made him want to do better.
And that’s the takeaway, isn’t it? Just try. Try to love each other through the weirdness. Through the quiet spells. Through the loud arguments and the eye rolls. Sometimes you need counseling. Sometimes you need space. Sometimes you just need to laugh again.
Look, this isn’t about politics. I don’t care which side of the aisle you’re on. I’ve always liked the Obamas—not necessarily as politicians, but as people. I admire their grit, their loyalty, their willingness to admit when things get tough. I admire that they keep showing up—for each other and for their kids.
So today, I’m just reminded that love isn’t always pretty. It’s not always easy. But if two people are willing to try, there’s beauty in the mess.
There are a few things in life that are just good for the soul. A warm hug, a perfectly timed playlist, and—for me—Taco Tuesday with my girls.
Almost every Tuesday (okay, at least three times a month if the stars align), I gather with my ride-or-die taco tribe: Brenda and Mary. Sometimes it’s just the three of us, sometimes others drop in, but it doesn’t matter if we’re a trio or a table-full—the vibe is always just right. There’s something special about the ritual: a margarita (or two… who’s counting?), a table full of tacos, and some solid girlfriend comradery.
We’ve made it our mission to taste-test tacos across Cartersville and beyond. El Charro, El Charitto, Los Arcos, El Dorado, Tarascos, Los Palmas, Santana, La Patrona… and I know I’m forgetting a couple. Each spot has its own flavor, its own flair, and believe me—we’re equal opportunity taco lovers.
Tonight’s pick? El Dorado. Their skinny margaritas have a way of making the stress of the day melt faster than you can say “Boom Boom tacos,” and yes, those tacos made me smile all the way through my margarita!
Now, I’ll admit something here: I’ve got a soft spot for El Charro. Maybe it’s the cheese dip, maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s just the way the chips hit the table right when you need ‘em most—but isn’t that the way with your favorite spot? Sometimes it’s not even about the food (though let’s be real, the tacos are solid). It’s about the memories made there. The laughter that’s echoed off the walls. The stories shared over guac and salt-rimmed glasses.
Taco Tuesday isn’t just a meal—it’s a moment. A little slice of joy in the middle of the week. A chance to catch up, let go, and be reminded that life is delicious, especially when shared with good people and great tacos.
So if you’re ever wondering where I am on a Tuesday night… just follow the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. We’ll save you a seat.
I wrote this days ago …the part in RED stayed in my drafts until I had time to clean it up a bit. But today, an 8-year-old girl in Lubbock, Texas, has died from measles, marking the second child lost to this preventable disease in the state recently.
The outbreak in Texas has now reached 481 confirmed cases since late January, with 56 hospitalizations. Neighboring states like New Mexico and Oklahoma are also reporting cases linked to this surge.
In response, Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who has previously expressed skepticism about vaccines, visited the affected area and is now advocating for the MMR vaccine to curb the outbreak.
This tragic loss underscores the critical importance of vaccinations. Measles isn’t just a rash and a fever; it can lead to severe complications and, as we’ve seen, can be fatal. The MMR vaccine is a safe and effective way to protect our children and communities from such outcomes. Let’s honor the memories of those we’ve lost by taking action to prevent further tragedies.
I wasn’t planning on pulling up a soapbox today, but here we are. There’s a new outbreak of measles making headlines across the U.S., and it’s got my travel advisor brain and momma heart on high alert. I’ve got grandbabies, clients crossing borders daily, and a whole lotta love for common sense.
So let’s talk—kindly but directly—about this mess and the role vaccines play in keeping us safe.
Wait, Measles? Didn’t We Handle That?
Yes. We did. Or at least we thought we had. Measles was declared eliminated in the U.S. back in 2000. That meant it wasn’t spreading within our communities anymore, thanks to widespread vaccination. But lately? It’s popping up again—coast to coast. Airports, schools, even tourist destinations.
And here’s the kicker: it’s not that the measles virus got stronger. It’s that our immunity got weaker. Too many people are unvaccinated, and measles is one of the most contagious viruses on the planet. You don’t have to be elbow-to-elbow with someone to catch it—just breathing the same air an infected person did up to two hours earlier can do the trick. Yikes.
Why This Matters (Especially If You Love to Travel)
As a travel advisor, I see folks jetting off to amazing places every day—Europe, Africa, the Caribbean, you name it. But many of those destinations still struggle with measles outbreaks.
Even one unvaccinated traveler can bring it home.
It’s not just a health issue—it can throw a big ol’ wrench into travel plans, too. Some countries even require proof of vaccination or won’t let you in at all if there’s an outbreak. Imagine planning your dream trip, only to be turned away at the border. No thank you.
Vaccines Work. Period.
Now, before anyone gets riled up—yes, I know vaccines have stirred up controversy. I know people have questions, fears, and stories. I’m not here to bully anyone or pretend this is a black-and-white issue for every single person. But I am here to say this:
The overwhelming body of science supports vaccines as safe, effective, and vital to public health.
I’m also old enough to remember when kids got measles, mumps, and rubella—and it wasn’t a rite of passage. It was dangerous. Some never fully recovered. Some didn’t make it. We created vaccines so families wouldn’t have to go through that heartbreak anymore.
Let’s Be Smart, Not Scared
We live in a time where misinformation spreads faster than a virus, but so does knowledge—if we’re open to it. Talk to your doctor. Ask questions. Get answers from credible sources, not Facebook fear spirals. And if your child can be safely vaccinated? Please, do it. You’re not just protecting your family—you’re protecting babies, elders, cancer patients, and others who can’t get vaccinated.
Final Word
Listen, I don’t care if you breastfed, bottle-fed, co-slept, or Ferberized. I don’t care if you use essential oils, wear crystals, or swear by Tylenol. What I do care about is community, safety, and compassion. And right now, choosing vaccines when you can is one way we show up for each other.
Let’s keep the world open—for travel, for connection, for the next generation. And let’s keep measles where it belongs: in the history books.
Stay safe. Stay curious. And don’t forget to pack your vaccine card, y’all.
Let’s talk about a kind of poverty that doesn’t show up in bank statements or pantry shelves. I’m not talking about needing bread, rent money, or a new pair of jeans. I’m talkin’ about the kind of hunger that sneaks in quiet—like humidity on a Georgia summer night. You don’t notice it at first, but before you know it, it’s clingin’ to your skin and wearin’ you slap out.
Mother Teresa once said, “Sometimes people can hunger for more than bread… That, too, is poverty.”
And let me tell you something, y’all—ain’t that the truth?
We look around our homes and see full bellies, clean laundry, and a roof over our heads, and we think, “Whew, thank God we’re blessed.” And we are. But sometimes we forget to check the emotional pantry. You know—the one where love, connection, and attention are supposed to be stocked up.
You ever been in a room full of people and still felt completely alone? That’s not just “having a rough day.” That’s a deep, aching kind of poverty. And honey, it can hit anybody—your child, your husband, your best friend… even you.
We rush around doing All The Things—working, cooking, planning trips (hi, it’s me), juggling babies and bills—and sometimes forget to look the people we love square in the eyes and say, “Hey, you good? Like, for real?”
Now, I’m not saying go full-blown therapy session at the dinner table (unless you want to, of course), but I am saying let’s stop mistaking being “taken care of” with being seen. We need affection. We need warmth. We need to feel like we matter—beyond the chores we do or the roles we play.
So maybe tonight, instead of checking your email or folding one more towel, you sit down beside your child, your spouse, or even your own reflection in the mirror and just be. Hug tighter. Listen longer. Let folks feel felt. Because emotional poverty is real, and the cure is simpler than we think: presence, affection, love.
For the last couple of years, I truly thought I had crossed over to the dark side. That I had suddenly become an introvert. I mean, I found myself turning down plans. Preferring a cozy night in with my dogs and a good book over going out. Actually enjoying the silence. Who even was I?
But then it hit me, clear as day:
I’m not an introvert. I just love being at peace.
And I’m still wildly extroverted around the people who bring me that peace.
Give me a room full of folks who feel like sunshine on a hard day, and suddenly I’m the same loud, laughing, storytelling, joke-cracking, dance-floor-dominating me. But stick me in a crowd full of chaos, small talk, or fake energy? I’ll be clinging to the nearest exit faster than you can say “nope.”
See, I used to think solitude meant something was wrong with me. That needing alone time meant I had changed. But peace? Peace isn’t loneliness. It’s a soul exhale. It’s choosing quality over quantity. It’s recognizing who and what drains you—and who and what fills your cup until it’s overflowing.
I’ve learned to stop labeling myself. I’m not introvert or extrovert. I’m just someone who has finally learned how sacred peace is—and how damn good it feels to protect it.
So if you see me out, and I’m quiet, don’t assume I’ve changed.
And if you see me lighting up like a firework around certain people, know this:
Journeys With Jani 