(Tracy E. Hopkins) I was thirteen when I took my first vacation alone with my Mom. We spent a week having fun in the sun in Freeport, Bahamas. On our way to dinner, I remember the fast moving cab ride along a winding road and the cabby blasting Jeffrey Osborne’s “Stay With Me Tonight.” Tucked away in my jewelry box, I still have a souvenir key chain with a beaming photo of us snapped that night. My Dad is a homebody content to recline with remote control in hand watching Westerns, tinkering in the garden, and cooking and baking in the kitchen (his pumpkin breads and pound cakes are out of this world). So after our Baha ma Mama fling, me and Ma became frequent flyer buddies, often accompanied by my Aunt -- passing the poi at a luau in Honolulu; breaking a sweat on Bourbon Street in hot and hazy summertime New Orleans; celebrity spotting in Hollywood; sharing rum raisin ice cream and taste buds burning ginger beer in Bermuda; shopping for flea market finds at the Plaka in Ath