We recently found ourselves back on the road to New Orleans – a long weekend trip was just what two burned-out adults and one six-year-old, who couldn’t believe school was still going on, needed. Five hours in the car passed a little quicker with good conversation, great podcasts and our favorite tunes. And just like that, we were back in the Big Easy.
I tend to associate “beach people” with sand. They love the feeling of it between their toes, the wildness (or calm, depending on the day) of the sea or ocean waves. They’re drawn to that return-to-nature element of the beach trip. There’s a childlike wonder to it all; a nostalgia for our younger selves, maybe even for another time entirely, when people lived by the water, on the water, because of the water – that ancient, instinctive pull of the sea and waterways that shaped civilization as we know it.
One of the best parts of any trip, for me, is reading. Honestly, I think reading is one of the greatest joys of life; but there’s something especially magical about a book by the water. It’s one of those top-tier experiences.
When I was growing up, my family didn’t do Spring Break. We didn’t travel or go anywhere special. My parents worked, and if anything, Spring Break was more of a hassle. It meant finding me a babysitter, or as I got older, making sure I stayed out of trouble – though I wasn’t much for that. While other families were heading to Florida, South Padre Island, Myrtle Beach or Los Angeles, I was at home, reading a book or hanging out with neighbor kids whose families didn’t go anywhere, either. Those years without Spring Break shaped my desire as an adult to go on adventures as if my life depended on it.
We’ve stumbled into a tradition, quite by accident. It wasn’t planned or carefully thought out; instead, we jostled, bumped into and tripped over it. For the past two years, we’ve gone to Florida during the holidays, and I’m pretty sure this will become a regular thing.
With the holidays upon us, I find myself reflecting on the small, almost unnoticeable things that somehow bring the most joy into our lives. Many of these are food-related, as much of life’s pleasure often is. But beyond food, there are tiny comforts, miniature luxuries that hold unique significance.
Some years ago, I traveled to the French Riviera and explored about as much as possible – it was February, so not much was open. Many of the locals relocate to warmer climes, especially in the villages that mainly cater to tourism in the sunny summertime.
Texas is a big place. It’s still difficult for my Michigan brain to fully comprehend the vastness of the state.
During our trip to the French Riviera, we knew that we were very close to northern Italy. On arrival, however, we were very surprised to discover just how close.
This summer, three days after saying our “I dos”, my husband and I (with my six-year old son) embarked on our honeymoon.
In Houston, TX, summer is the season of storms. Unexpected rain, the sky grows dark in moments and in the distance, the sudden sound of thunder. And then, lightning lights up the sky like a jagged scar. The wind is ever present in Houston and angry – unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in Michigan or anywhere else. And then, the rain stops, the sky grows light again and if the ground wasn’t still wet from the recent downpour, one would almost think they had imagined it.
