Travel Archives - Page 20 of 37 - Enjoying the Small Things

Love in New York

May 13, 2014 By Kelle

I spent the weekend in NYC to celebrate the wedding of my friends, Meg and Alex. Their day was hazy yet warm, their celebration simple yet elegant and intimate. I inhale wedding photography much like my sourpatch kid/movie popcorn combo (can’t. stop. eating.), so I will spare you any fluff and get right to the heart here–some photos of these people I love on their beautiful day. I took the liberty and Photoshop’d some gorgeous model heads on everyone’s bodies. Oh wait, I didn’t. That’s really them.
Here’s the clincher: they’re purty on the inside too.

Meg happens to double as my literary agent. But it seems no coincidence that we’re the same age and met each other during a tough year for both of us. She helped me tell my story, I watched her write hers. And watching someone you love find love and write happiness is pretty special. Hope to watch it again and again and again for many others in my life.

In the midst of celebrating all this love, there was a three-day city trip with my best friend, tulips everywhere, walks in Central Park, drinks with friends and, like, 7 celebrity sightings–which I’ve learned in New York City means, don’t make an ass of yourself. So help me God, your eye even twitches toward Alec Baldwin, and you done gone gave it away that you’re a big fat tourist. Keep walking. Be cool.

Noted in these pics…I look up a lot in New York.

We ran to Washington Square Park again just minutes before our ride to the airport arrived. Bumped into Roxanne, the bubble lady. How fun would it be to go down to a big park on a Sunday afternoon and just make people happy? Disperse bubbles into the air over and over and watch kids laugh and chase them?
Pretty sure Roxanne’s a unicorn.

There will always be a part of me that is drawn to New York and entranced by its force. But then I come home to my loves, my family, and–as my dad said today–“The best lesson in belonging is learned in leaving and returning.” Hearts belong with people, and my heart might beat in many places but most prominently in the bodies I hugged last night upon my return. Feels good to be home. I’ll return to this city again with more of my family, direct their eyes up, collide more worlds, expand more perspectives. But for now, we stretch our roots and celebrate love…in the many forms it takes, in the many places it blooms.

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I can’t wait to share with you Wednesday about another place where love is needed and the story you’ll get to be a part of to see it happen….(hint hint–I applied for my passport).

Finding Your Voice: Write Doe Bay

April 17, 2014 By Kelle

“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”
— Anais Nin

Well, hell. I guess it’s time to write a post.

There’re 3,400 miles between where I’m sitting right now and where I spent the bulk of last week. That’s a lot of space, and I’m swimming in it—treading water somewhere between a living room on Orcas Island where I shared an incredible experience with 36 people, and the living room of my own home where two kids are currently being pushed in a laundry basket, their laughter a different kind of music than what accompanied us last week.

Write Doe Bay was an experience. I don’t think anyone really knew what to expect walking in, even though we wrote our intentions on that first day—intentions like “find my voice” and “remove my creative block”—but I do know I personally didn’t expect to be so stirred by the weekend and the people who shared it with us.

Photo Credit: Jesse Michener

I’ve tried to put my finger on what it was exactly that has left so many of us in this “Wow” haze. I mean, I dropped Nella off at preschool yesterday, noticed Dash was asleep in the back seat, and I drove. For an hour. To nowhere in particular–north four miles, east three more–listening to music, honoring the space of peaceful thought in my head.

Of all the memorable elements of Doe Bay—the landscape, the vulnerability, the stories, the meals, the music, the deep discussions on art and sharing and the creative process, the notebooks that opened blank and closed full of stories—I keep coming back to connection. We want to connect. We want to see and be seen.

Detached from the noise of the outside world, surrounded by cliffs and ocean, bonded by music and shared meals, confined to cabin space that held both hilarious stories and secret insecurities, we connected last week. And that felt really good. When we missed our kids, when we questioned what we wore, when we evaluated what we write and why we write it, when we took a different look at the life we left at home to travel far, when we scanned the room and searched for shreds of “you’re just like me”, when we asked questions, searching for answers that would line up our differences, when we felt out of place and uncomfortable, those connections we made felt good. Assuring, forgiving, uplifting, honest, relatable, insightful, hopeful–all of the things I want my writing to be.

Photo Credit: Jesse Michener

Connection is where writing begins. Maybe not writing, but story-telling. Anyone can write—study great sentence structure, learn about perspective and tense and details, say something interesting—but story-telling begins with connection and telling one’s truth. If we can do that in our writing—connect to a person, an experience, an emotion, a new perspective— we possess the ability to affect someone else’s story. Writing connects people.

We shared stories last week.
Words and music.
Pain and mundane.
Sorrow and celebration.
All of it was important.

Photo Credit: Jesse Michener

Thank you so much to my friends at Blue Q who stand by this whole “what I really want to say…” bit. They sent socks for every Write Doe Bay participant, so that whenever we feel creatively blocked, our feet can speak for us.

More on Daniel Blue tomorrow. I learned so much from this artist and song writer.

Realizing I was hanging on to some memories from the weekend that heightened this idea of our experience as “another world”, I remembered my skydiving experience from my twenties today. Surprisingly, I was one of the only dive rookies on the plane, surrounded by die-hard free fallers.

Sky diving was their life—waking up every morning, checking the weather, calling friends to confirm that flights were still a go, packing chutes for the two hundred forty-seventh time. They lived to dive and dived to live. Some of them even worked the food stand outside the skydive center in exchange for free flights. The thing is, they found something in that experience—something they didn’t find in real life—or at least not to the extreme they felt while skydiving. Combined—the sense of family created between friends, the thrill of overcoming fear, the freedom of sky and space and a limitless view of the world beneath them, the clarity that came in those clouds, the wind prevailing over all the confusing noise of the world—it was so good, they decided this is what they wanted to do in life. Dive out of planes every day to feel brave and free and aware of their place in the world. After my dive—the one I was terrified to make in the first place—it all made sense. The freedom I felt was addicting, and for a split second I thought that maybe I too could take a year off and work the food stand. Become friends with Ace and T.J. and all the other dive guys who ditched their real names when they traded a career and family for the repeated experience of free fall every day.

I felt that a little bit coming home. I wanted to dive again. Head back to Doe Bay with my family. Return to the security of those walls, that island, that space–the perfect subculture of vulnerability and exhilaration, freedom and friendship. But real life is here, and everything we experienced fully concentrated and at our finger tips on Doe Bay can also be found right where we are. We just have to be willing to see it. So we bring our truth, our voice, our vulnerability and our trust to the people around us. I’m looking forward to weaving everything I learned last week into new experiences right here.

Photo Credit: Jesse Michener

Fifteen minutes before our plane landed back in Naples (after a red-eye, 8-hour, 2-flight experience), I told Heidi, “We never wrote intentions for how we’re going to go home–what we learned. Quick–get a piece of paper.” Grabbing pencils, we both dug through our purses for paper scraps. On the back of my boarding pass, I wrote the following intentions:

I intend to be more present with my family and make conscious efforts to say “no” to noise.

I intend to confidently stand by my work, my beliefs and who I am.

I intend to stretch beyond my stereotypes of others, who I think they are and work hard to understand their underlining story. I intend to recognize that when I perceive people are very different from me, it’s often based on my own insecurities.

I intend to make more time for my own free writing. No excuses: “Bitches get shit done,” as a lovely participant put it.

I intend to find more ways to implement what I love to do–the specific gifts and talents God gave me–into my life and work.

I intend to create more opportunities to quietly and attentively focus on my own needs for creative space.

I intend to fully accept myself and my own story; when we truly do that, the less we need love and the more we can efficiently give love.

What does this have to do with writing and creating? For me, everything.

Of course, I give myself room to be human. But it felt good to write them down.

Hats off to every story-teller who showed up to Doe Bay last week. You traveled far, you showed up, you listened, you shared, you trusted, you each brought something different, something needed to the experience. I’m still unwrapping the gifts your stories brought–your serious, your funny, your kindness, your strength, your questions, your quiet–you’ve all left your mark. Every one of you.

Photo Credit: Jesse Michener

We write, we create, we tell stories to leave a mark.
What will your mark be?

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Last week’s contributions about leaving my kids for this trip:

Quieting the Things to Do List over at BabyZone

…and…

Leaving Kids Without Guilt over at eHow

Michigan: Double Rainbow

June 23, 2013 By Kelle

It’s a sort of summer rite of passage now–a quiet drive through hidden back roads of northern Michigan. Last year, I drove it alone; this year, with three sleeping babies in the back seat. I had forgotten the cord to connect my phone to the car radio, so instead I frustratingly dialed through too many stations of static to find one that finally came through–the strangest hodge podge of tunes appealing to a range of music tastes. Willy Nelson. Lionel Ritchie. Celine Dion.

I made three attempts to conquer the one measly bar of service on my phone, dialing Brett over and over until finally, the call went through.

“The kids are all sleeping, I’m driving and it’s gorgeous. Blue skies, winding roads, tall trees and not a car in sight,” I shared. Because sharing is what I do when good flows like river currents. I want to take pictures of it, describe it, store it, scoop it up in community cups and pass them along to anyone else who might like a sip.

The sky is blue. Blue, I tell you. Beautiful freaking blue. Drink it up.

Here’s what I’m learning: If I offer a cup of Holy Beautiful Sky to someone and they smile and turn it down? Be thou not shocked and offended. It’s okay. You’re good. They’re good.

Oh Metaphor, how I love thee.

I will stop now before I spin uncontrollably down a rabbit hole of confusing metaphor. For the record, it was going to involve color blindness, the beauty of gray walls and something about that big stack of paint chips Sherwin Williams sometimes lets you borrow. But it was pushing Double Rainbow. See, that’s the danger for us color-loving sharin’ folks. Sometimes, we just sound crazy. Or maybe we are. If so, I’ll take crazy for $500, Alex.

If you’re still reading, what’s not crazy is planning a visit to the Great Lakes State whose true gems lie outside of the Motor City. Go North. Find a lake–you’ll have no trouble. Gather family.

*****

The Last of our Michigan Summer Adventure:

My brother helped Lainey find two large Petoskey stones hidden along the edge of the lake. We had looked for them several times on last year’s trip and resorted to buying a few polished ones from a Traverse City rock shop. So this year, imagine my double rainbow excitement when we scoured two ourselves–a true Michigan treasure.

Thus began the rock adventures, my brother and Lainey side by side, rifling through heaps of worthless pebbles in search of the rare Petoskey. She told me Petoskeys were her favorite rock “in the whole wide world” and was determined to find more which never happened, making our two even more special.

Apparently a heat wave has swept into Michigan this week, but while we were there, it was mild and cool and a nice change from our current humid swelter. We wore everything from bathing suits and flip-flops during hot slivers of warm afternoons to thick sweatshirts and crocheted hats on chilly morning walks outside.

I flipped my kayak one night getting in. Went neck deep in cold mosquito-covered water but chose to climb back in and paddle out, ignoring my shivers because the sky was so pretty, the moon just right and I didn’t want to miss that perfect window of time when the sun and the moon changed shift. Out on the water, it was still and magical. Later I returned to a warm shower and our evening bonfire ritual. Stories. Laughing. S’mores.

Another night, we took our bonfire stories to the middle of the dirt road where we laid all lined up, looking up at the sky, scanning for shooting stars. Someone suggested we’d see them clearer out by the lake, so we walked down to the dock, lining up again along the skinny wood platform, holding hands for security and sshhh-ing each other lest we disturb the other cottages. Lake, sky, stars, cousins. It felt like summer camp right down to the ghost stories and the giggling and the worrying that we’d get in trouble.

We gradually said good-bye to uncle and aunts, cousins and second cousins until it was just me and the kids and my dad ready to make the three hour drive from the cottage back to his home. With plans to follow him, I packed up the suitcases, buckled the kids in the car and waited while he did the final run-through and locked things up.

“You ready?” he finally asked.

“I guess.” I hesitated. I hate when good things come to an end.

I could tell he was on the verge of tears–we are Crydermans after all–and so I hurried along the closure we were avoiding. “Let’s go. Kids are happy. Don’t know how long that will last. It’s been real.”

We pulled away with two honks, and I returned to the hodge podge music station to find Billy Joel. Followed by Mariah Carey.

At the halfway point, we had dinner at Cracker Barrel. Because a vacation without Cracker Barrel just isn’t right.

*****

Our last day Michigan adventures included Rochester and Romeo, Michigan–the Paint Creek Trail and downtown Main Street in Rochester (along with their public library–amazing!) and Blake Farms and antique shopping in Romeo.

I knew I wanted the girls to do some sort of Michigan picking while we were there–peas, blueberries, strawberries, trash in the I-75 median. I kid.

The strawberry fields at Blake Farms had just opened for U-Pick a few days prior–perfect timing–and the girls loved the low easy access rows of plants, a bit different from the oranges that hang higher in our Florida groves.

Nella maneuvered through plant rows like a professional, bending over and brushing broad leaves aside to find whatever berries revealed themselves. She wasted no time to transfer them to our cardboard flat but rather directed them straight to her mouth.

Lainey found a ladybug which–if I recall–happened last time we were at this same farm four years ago.

I loved the cool weather and didn’t mind at all the fact that my thighs were aching from squatting to pluck berries or that the wood soles of my clogs were stained with red juice. I was sidetracked by a summer bucketlist being fulfilled.

Fifteen quarts of strawberries later, we left the farm and ended the evening downtown Romeo where we found a complete gem of an antique mall in an old bank. Three stories high and so generously stocked with such an array of treasures, I could have spent days perusing the goods. All tucked away and displayed in various rooms and hidden hallways were linens, dishes, furniture, books, jewelry, records, postcards, clothes, hats–so many hats! Pillbox, cloche, fancy floppy hats with flowers and feathers and bows. After searching several other shops for the perfect gift for her friend Aleena, Lainey decided she wanted to bring her home some dress-up gloves and a fancy hat.

She settled on powder blue with a veil for herself and a pillbox hat with red silk roses for her friend. The sweet grandmas who rang up our purchase made big over the hats as we left. “Oh honey!” they excaimed to Lainey, “you’re going to be the talk of the town!”

On the last day of our trip, Lainey asked, “You mean you used to live here before you lived in Florida?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Before you were born. Before I even met Daddy.”

“Why did you move to Florida?” she continued.

Hmmm–an opportunity to instill adventure, fearlessness, determination, I thought, even though “because I was depressed and had no other options” was more likely the answer. Instead, I came back with an impressive “because I wanted to be a teacher and I found a job in Florida. And I thought it would be a fun adventure living by the beach and meeting new people and learning new things.”

Lainey took only a moment of processing that before she sweetly offered, “Mom, if you never moved to Florida, you could have just waited for us to come to you.”

And that, my friends, is what I like to call a Double Rainbow.
Booyah.

Four days now back in Florida, it is hot, it is humid, and it is our home. I am steadfast on searching out some more wonder this summer for fear that Michigan was so good, I might have used up some reserves for the rest of this season.

There is more fun to be had, more people to enjoy. I am sure of it. Sometimes, rainbows come in twos.

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…and a little Michigan phone dump favorites before I finally, reluctantly, move on.

Monday. Clean Slate. Summer Bucketlist ready.