A Weekend to Recombobulate

This weekend, we escaped to Milwaukee to meet up with dear friends—a trip that had been on the calendar long before life turned upside down. Back then, it was just a fun getaway to look forward to. Now, it felt like something more: a lifeline. A chance to breathe.

I’m beyond grateful Mike felt well enough to go. The trip was lower key than we originally imagined, but that ended up being a blessing. Slower walks. Long conversations. No rush to be anywhere except right where we were. Watching him out and about—smiling, soaking up something normal—was everything.

And let me tell you, his appetite came back swinging. We ate our way through the city like true Midwestern tourists: brats, beer, schnitzel, and every cheese curd within a 10-mile radius. The Milwaukee Public Market in the Third Ward tempted us with every sweet imaginable, and we even discovered an incredible little Italian spot—so good we went back the next night.

We managed a visit to the Harley-Davidson Museum (because, of course), wandered through the Milwaukee Mitchell Domes, and cruised the river for a history tour—complete with an impromptu airshow over Lake Michigan courtesy of some A-10s (I don’t know what that really means, but Mike and Fraser enthusiastically and in great detail tried their best to educate me). Each afternoon, while Mike rested (deservedly so), Kathy and I snuck off to the French festival that happened to be in town for sparkling brut and much-needed girl talk.

Oh, and the Blue Angels were also in town, so we got a front-row seat to the airshow all weekend. Cool at first… by day four, I was over the neck craning and sonic booms, but hey—bucket list item checked.

Eventually, all good trips end. As we walked through the Milwaukee airport, I noticed a sign that made me smile: “Recombobulation Area.” A designated spot past security to get your belongings—and yourself—back in order after the chaos of TSA.

And honestly? That’s what this weekend was for us. A recombobulation of sorts. A pause between the nightmare of the last few months and whatever “new normal” is waiting for us. A chance to gather ourselves, breathe, and remember that life can still feel good—brats, Blue Angels, and all.

Here’s to more recombobulation moments. Lord knows, we all need them.