Page 44 November 2015 By Kaley Kalil Fifteen years ago, longtime Arcadians Donna and Steve Noel were introduced to a lovely English couple while they toured Arizona on motorcycle. The Brits, as nicknamed by the Noels, ended up living in the Noels’ guesthouse for two months and made many trips back to Arizona in the following years. The couples became good friends. “It was a lucky introduction for us, because this couple was Royal Security Personnel assigned to the royal family,” Donna said. “Because of their positions, they have traveled all over the world, make wonderful tour guides and also have some great stories.” The Noels recently flew to London’s Heathrow Airport to rendezvous with their English friends on their own turf. Upon arrival, they were whisked away for a magical weekend stay at a royal family estate near Chippenham, North Wiltshire. There, they stayed in a 300-year old house on the estate named Square House. “Thankfully, the house has been remodeled and has modern bathrooms and kitchen, but it definitely has retained a lot of charm,” Donna said. The couples enjoyed nightly walks through sheep and cow-filled pastures into the rustic village of Lacock for dinner at The George Inn (which dates back to the 14th century). A National Trust protected site, Lacock is located about halfway between Bath and Stonehenge in the south of England. This beautiful village with monastic roots served as the filming location for the movie Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and the popular television show, Downton Abbey . From there, the couples set off for a whimsical driving tour through England’s lush estates, green grasslands and Shakespearean towns. They made their way north to the market town of Stratford-upon- Avon, where they enjoyed a boat trip down the River Avon. They continued north to the mountainous Lake District to explore England’s largest lake, Windermere Lake, before venturing by train into Scotland’s capital city, Edinburgh. “Edinburgh is a vibrant city with streets full of people and bag pipes in the air. Striking architecture, wonderfully massive stone buildings darkened with coal soot and grim from years past…” Donna said. The couples opted to hop on a bus tour through the capital’s medieval Old Town and mid- to late-18th century New Town. “Lots of young men wear kilts in Edinburgh, especially if they are out on the town. And, we saw several young women with large tartan [plaid] scarves across their shoulders – a sure sign of Scottish pride,” Donna said. A stop in the popular hiking village of Ballater in the Cairngorm National Park permitted the couples the unique opportunity to tour the Birkhall Gardens. “Birkhall is [Charles] the Prince of Wales’ summer home,” Donna said. “The gardens are not open to the public and we were not allowed to take photos. It was a great honor to be permitted on the grounds.” A day trip to the Old Course at St. Andrews, one of the oldest golf courses in the world, resulted in a close call for the Noels. “[We] dodged a bad slice. The golf ball had to be kicked off the porch back onto the course. Steve loved talking to all the spectators…lots of good stories from some old golfers, many who had played at St. Andrews for 40-60 years,” Donna said. The Noels credit their magnificent storybook adventure to their great friends, the Brits. Arcadia couple enjoys storybook vacation in the UK Steve and Donna Noel visited the Square House on a royal family estate near Chippenham, North Wiltshire, in England (left). They also visited the Old Course at St. Andrews in Scotland. WHERE’S THE NEIGHBOR?

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N. 48 th St. N. 52 nd St. 202 101 202 51 10 WINDSOR Choose from five floor plans, from 2,068 – 3,084 square feet Maintain physical wellness at nearby Arizona Canal Trail Enjoy excursions at Phoenix Zoo or delight in dining at area resorts Gather with friends at sporting events or cultural venues Page 45 November 2015 By Kindra Hall One of my favorite things about November is our annual trip to Coronado to visit my in-laws. With summer a distant memory, the beaches are relatively empty and the air is uniquely crisp. Every morning we throw the kids in a stroller and set off for Starbucks for coffee (for the adults), then Clayton’s breakfast window for donuts with pink frosting and sprinkles (for the kids) and a burrito (for Michael… and even though I always say I don’t want any, I eat at least half of it). With sufficient supplies, we continue our walk that circles the island and spans several hours. And while nearly every trip around the island is breathtaking, there is one walk I’ll never forget… It was actually pre-children and the morning after Thanksgiving. Michael and I were in the middle of our Coronado morning routine—we had our coffee, we ate our food, we had already passed the Del, and we were walking the sidewalk that framed the famous beach. Despite a chill in the air, the sun was out and winter vacationers from all over the world were out on the sidewalk—young couples, old couples, couples with children, joggers, walkers, dog people. It was a little crowded, but festive and cheerful. As we maneuvered our way down the sidewalk, two children stood out. They were a young sister and brother who had obviously been told to wait by the lamppost while their parents rummaged around in the minivan parked next to them. To entertain themselves the children were playing a game they had just created, a game I assumed was called, “This is My Pile of Sand.” They took turns standing on the tiny piles of sand that had accumulated on either side of the lamppost. The sister would yell, “This is MY pile of sand,” and the brother would run to her side, stick his foot in the pile and yell, “No! This is MY pile of sand!” The sister would then run to the other side of the lamppost, stand in the tiny pile on that side and yell, “This is MY pile of sand.” I watched these barefooted children battle each other as we walked. It was all out war. They fought hard and loudly just to wiggle their tiny toes in “piles of sand” not much bigger than ant hills. Nothing could break their focus, not even their mother yelling to play nicely. As we passed the children, I couldn’t help but look to my left…. There, filling the two hundred yards between the sidewalk and the sea, sprawling miles down the waterscape in sheets of winter cold-glistening white, were limitless tons of classic California sand. Some was spotted with footprints from tourists, some lay smooth, and still more lay in waves— textured by the wind; all just a few feet from where the children played. Soaring piles of sand to satisfy their every sand-filled dream. Piles the children never even noticed because they were too busy fighting over the tiny accumulations around the base of the lamppost where they stood. They never even looked up. The thought never even occurred to them that more sand could be waiting just moments away on the other side of the concrete path. Now, to their credit, they were children— children who were no doubt told by their parents not to so much as look in the direction of the beach. They were children who had no choice but to keep themselves busy while waiting for their parents to take them by the hand and lead them to their next adventure. They did the best they could with what they had without being tempted by what was around them. They were children. But on that post-Thanksgiving, chilly Coronado walk… I couldn’t help but ask myself: What’s my excuse? On more than one occasion I have found myself entirely wrapped up, fighting and frustrated, stomping around barefoot trying to stake my claim on a tiny, insignificant pile of sand—the sand of relationships, the sand of social status, the sand of a career… whatever. I have been deeply consumed in games of King of the Mini Mound that leave me oblivious to the beautiful beaches around me. Beaches with unlimited sand, possibility, and happiness. We’ve all been there. Investing our energy in small things while the big ones lay untouched on the other side of the sidewalk. As Michael and I walked past the children, I lost myself in these thoughts. Startled by my silence (an unusual occurrence), he asked what was on my mind and I told him about the dueling brother and sister and their tiny piles of sand and about how ashamed I was that I am sometimes one of them. He nodded. He was too. Shortly after passing the children, the sidewalk became a little too crowded and we strayed from the shoreline. We began weaving our way back through the Coronado grid. As we wandered, passing block after block of gorgeous houses built by dreams realized, we talked about the beaches of sand waiting for us, beaches we might not have noticed, beaches it was time to explore. And we talked about the tiny piles of lamppost sand it was time to leave behind. It’s been a while since our Coronado mornings have been that leisurely (and buying an extra donut with sprinkles barely makes up for it), however, every time we pass that spot on the sidewalk, and over the dull roar of my own children, I look to the sand and try to remind myself of the vast beaches ahead. Sibling sand war leads to thanks for life’s finer things GIRL NEXT DOOR