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18 Things Highly Creative People Do Differently

This post is an excerpt from an article on The Huffington Post which I saw on one of my favorite blogs:  The Lettered Cottage on 3/8/14

As scientists now understand it, creativity is far more complex than the right-left brain distinction would have us think (the theory being that left brain = rational and analytical, right brain = creative and emotional).  In fact, creativity is thought to involve a number of cognitive processes, neural pathways, and emotions, and we still don’t have the full picture of how the imaginative mind works. And psychologically speaking, creative personality types are difficult to pin down, largely because they’re complex, paradoxical and tend to avoid habit or routine.  And it’s not just a stereotype of the tortured artist – artists really may be more complicated people.

They daydream.

 Creative types know, despite what their third-grade teachers may have said, that daydreaming is anything but a waste of time.

They observe everything.

 They see possibilities everywhere….that becomes fodder for creative expression.

They work the hours that work for them.

 …individuals with high creative output will often figure out what time it is that their minds start firing up, and structure their days accordingly.

They take time for solitude.

 …this links back to daydreaming – we need to give ourselves the time alone to simply allow our minds to wander.

They turn life’s obstacles around.

 Many of the most iconic stories and songs… have been inspired by gut-wrenching pain and heartbreak – and the silver lining of these challenges is that they may have been the catalyst to create great art.

They seek out new experiences.

 …intellectual curiosity, thrill seeking, openness to your emotions, openness to fantasy.  The thing that brings them all together is a drive for cognitive and behavioral exploration of the world, your inner world and your outer world.

They  fail up.

 Resilience is practically a prerequisite for creative success. Doing creative work is often described as a process of failing repeatedly until you find something that sticks.

They ask the big questions.

 Creative people are insatiably curious – they generally opt to live the examined life and even as they get older, maintain a sense of curiosity about life.  Whether through intense conversation or solitary mind-wandering, creatives look at the world around them and want to know why, and how, it is the way it is.

They people-watch.

 They’re keen observers of human behavior.

They take risks.

 Creativity is the act of making something from nothing.  It requires making public those bets first placed by imagination.  This is not a job for the timid.

They view all of life as an opportunity for self-expression.

 Creativity is nothing more than an individual expression of your needs, desires and uniqueness.

They follow their true passions.

 They’re motivated to act from some internal desire, rather than a desire for external reward or recognition.

They get out of their own heads.

 …inducing psychological distance -- that is, taking another person’s perspective or thinking about a question as if it was unreal or unfamiliar -- can boost creative thinking.  

They lose track of time.

 Flow is a mental state when an individual transcends conscious thought to reach a heightened state of effortless concentration and calmness.

They surround themselves with beauty.

 A study recently published…showed that musicians – including orchestra musicians, music teachers, and soloists – exhibit a high sensitivity and responsiveness to artistic beauty.

They connect the dots.

 If there is one thing that distinguishes highly creative people from others, it’s the ability to see possibilities where others don’t – or, in other words, vision.

They constantly shake things up.

 Diversity of experience, more than anything else, is critical to creativity.

They make time for mindfulness.

 Creative types understand the value of a clear and focused mind – because their work depends on it.  Many artists, entrepreneurs, writers and other creative workers have turned to meditation as a tool for tapping into their most creative mind.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/04/creativity-habits_n_4859769.html

Written by Carolyn Gregoire

Photo:  cover shoot Kid's Gotta Do CD titled Parade (Matt Kalicky & Dave Lyden)

Four Hangers and a Radio

My dear friend’s parents were moved into assisted living.  In the course of a short month, or to them the longest month of their lives, my friend’s Mom died and her Dad didn't want to go on without her.  Her Dad is a stable, loyal, hardworking, sturdy and steadfast Mainer in his eighties. For this man to be reduced to such sadness was difficult to accept and witness.  

Their home up north sits on a hill overlooking potato farms, fields, and an occasional long road.  It sits empty.  A lifetime, their life, haunting those walls and mounds of snow in the front yard. 

There was basketball and skiing.  There were seemingly endless mornings, days of work and school and college. Days of winter, days of summer, heat, cold, sun, rain.  There was love and laughter, tears and frustrations, meals and Christmases and birthdays, and wonderful whoppie pies – a recipe that can’t be shared because it’s a family secret. 

My friend’s Dad was an avid reader.  He loved history and to learn.  Now, his eyesight is nearly gone.  Of course, it’s to be expected that what you use the most would get used up in eighty-odd years, but it is the cruelest of hoaxes, isn’t it?  To lose what you covet the most, what brings you the most pleasure, to have your pleasure taken from you, your eyesight, your physique, the love of your life.  You once thought her the most beautiful girl in the world and over years and years, you watch her age and wither and fail. 

As my friend, her sister and brother emotionally left their home for the assisted living facility that day, they watched their father carry four hangers and a radio.  Some furniture would be brought to their apartment once they got through the waiting list and their apartment became available; the kids carried his suitcase of clothes.  Her brother watched his Dad settle into the passenger seat of their car, deflated, defeated, sad. 

“What’s the point?” her brother asked of her… or maybe just to himself. 

“You work and try and push hard your whole life and this is what it comes down to?  Four hangers and a radio?” 

The entire family shifted that day…the day they walked their parents away from home and into assisted living.  

Photo:  Mount Washington, NH 

The Last Day

So, the night before we flew to Savannah, Georgia, to bring my second son to college, I made one of his favorite meals – shrimp scampi, garlic toast, blueberry pie.  

I spent the entire day with him – shipping the bike with some unexpected set-backs that were OK since we had the whole day.  We packed the 52-pound suitcase – otto, gotta shave 2 pounds out of there.  We packed it business-like, no emotion for either of us as I suggested the electronics, the nice pants and tie “just in case,” the chargers, photos of friends…and what about the photo of the four of us? 

And then he wanted the graduation scrapbook, just like his older brother had when he left for college.  But there was no way that was going to fit.  

Some things needed to be left behind….. 

I suggested he call his grandparents for five or ten minutes to let them know we were off.   And when that didn’t pan out due to our own errands and then spending a couple hours with his friend before leaving, I suggested he email the incredible mask drawing he just completed on his tablet.  I said his grandparents (and I) would love to have it.  It was a gorgeous drawing. 

Although I think sometimes Facebook makes me sad and feel inadequate and addicted, the comments from “friends” about Ben’s leaving really bolstered my spirits and my courage.  All can be good.  My “friends” reminded me of that.  

All their enthusiasm for where Ben is going and what Ben is doing…and how right it is for him….got me in the right (needed) frame of mind to close the suitcase, get on the plane with him, breathe deeply, and take this next leg of the journey, one baby step at a time.

Photo:  waiting....Portland International Airport

Drunk on Love....Is How I Want to Live

(This article was also posted on MariaShriver.com Valentines Day)

A little background -- in 2014, I’ll be married 28 years to a man I dated for 11 years prior.  We met at the age of 13; we are turning 52 this year. 

He is still my confidante and best friend.  No one will love me more deeply than he has – not even my own mother. 

I don’t know why the universe presented this man for me, first time out of the gate.  I don’t know where we found the fortitude to understand what “relationship” meant so young, but we both intuitively knew.  We knew the work it took, every single day – the patience, the kindness, the loyalty.  And we’ve both worked at it for thirty-nine years. 

 Now the story -- I love the country band Little Big Town. 

On an early morning run in January, 18 degrees (balmy in Maine after a winter of negative temperatures), I listened to their new song, Sober, oh, maybe twelve times in a row.  The entire two miles.  I tend to do that when something gets in my head. 

While listening and running on that gray winter morning, I laughed, smiled, sang out loud (badly) and thrashed my arms.  

This is what came to mind as I listened:

When we got married, Frank wanted our wedding dance to be This is The End by the Doors.  You can imagine my smirking face at that one.  I didn’t think so.    

Second choice – Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones.  The romantic in me loved that he suggested that.  Mick sings “wild horses couldn't drag me away….”  Wow.  Is that what he was thinking?

But nada.  I couldn’t, at the tender age of 24, have The Rolling Stones sing our wedding song.  It just didn’t fit, I thought. 

And yet, for 28 years, I’ve remembered that, and you know what….it does fit.  It should have been our song….because it was what HE was thinking.  And that he was thinking that was just beautiful. 

Silly me.

Now, Little Big Town in 2014 sings this song, Sober, that I run to and, for me, this is our wedding song at our 28 year anniversary.  All pretenses have fallen away and now it’s just real.  Our love is not a dream or a hope; it’s our reality.

“Sober”

I want to walk that line a little crooked

And live my life a little on the rocks

Laugh at every time I fell

Not afraid to make a fool of myself

And keep on dancing when the music stops

Cause I love being in love

It’s the best kind of drug

Drunk on the high leaning on your shoulder

Sweet like wine as it gets older

When I die, I don’t want to go sober

Oh, when I die, I don’t want to go sober

You’re like drinking from a never ending bottle

When I think it’s gone, there’s always a little more left

Lay back with you, and close my eyes

Let the big old world just spin on by

And saying your name with my last breath

I love being in love

It’s the best kind of drug

Drunk on the high leaning on your shoulder

Sweet like wine as it gets older

When I die, I don’t want to go sober

Oh, when I die, I don’t want to go sober*

What I know for sure at this age is what John Lennon told us so many years ago – all you need is love.  Love has opened the space that allowed me to become the person I’m meant to be.

Loving someone isn’t necessarily easy; it isn’t always romantic….but I’d rather be drunk on love than anything else because it fills me up.  I can let down my defenses, be silly, sloppy, sad.  I can laugh, stumble, and know someone is there to pick me up if I need it.

If I can die inebriated with the passion we’ve shared, the commitment, the effort, the ups & downs weathered as a team – what more could I want? 

Love may not be rational or on the straight and narrow….but that’s the beauty of it.  Drunk on love, as messy as it may get, is how I want to live. 

At 52, when I hear Little Big Town sing it, I get it.   

*Little Big Town. "Sober." By Liz Rose, Hillary Lindsey, Lori McKenna.

Tornado. Capital Records Nashville, 2012. CD.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7gWngdrevM

Photos:  Paris and Chartres, France

Wintertime

 

I've always loved the snow.  

The changing of the seasons is so suited to my personality.  I used to think the seasons of renewal, heat and lethargy, dying and decay, and then solitude/darkness, were suited to all humans' personalities just like the change from night into day back into night.  

However, as I've aged, I've become more open minded, and in the process learned that not every one thinks like I do or feels like I do...which is a good thing.  That's what makes our world and our relationships with one another workable and pleasurable.  How boring it would be if we were all the same. 

For me, winter is one of my better seasons.  

As someone who craves solitude and works creatively, pulling inward is invigorating, not lonely or depressing.  What I've seen, experienced and felt all summer, I stew on, chew on, reflect and remember, and visualize during the winter months.  Summer is when I live it; winter is when I ponder it.

In summer, I feel compelled to be outside whenever the sun is out.  Our bad weather in Maine is the majority of the year, so I cannot miss a moment of the warmth and the sun of summer days.  I wouldn't take, what I consider, the luxury of working quietly and creatively inside, on a summer day. 

So...

...when winter arrives, I'm ready for it and know it has its place in my psyche and my day-to-day activities.  

For me, winter holds a valuable and treasured space.    

Photos:  Marginal Way, Perkins Cove, Ogunquit, Maine

"Personal Buoyancy"

Having just read the most captivating article in the January 2014 issue of Maine magazine about Dr. Edison Liu, President and CEO of Jackson Laboratory in Bar Harbor, I have latched onto and borrowed his term for his unique theory on “doing good”  --  personal buoyancy.

Now picture a lobster pot bobbing on the frigid winter waves or a large red metal buoy in Casco Bay that the island ferries navigate around.  Their buoyancy allows them to be fluid, going up and down with the tides, not rigidly cemented.  They go up, they go down, again and again. 

Dr. Liu says in the article:  “What’s best for you in your life?  Being three feet under water or thirty feet?  We each swim best when we’re buoyant.  To find your personal buoyancy you have to know what your composition is and what equipment you have that allows you to swim.”

At middle age, I’ve become too rigid.  Past experiences have begun to weigh me down, and I’m carrying them as though they were the truth.  When I was young, I was more the sponge – taking it all in, trying to determine the truth.  I was learning and growing.  After so many years, I’ve come to some conclusions…..when I think perhaps I shouldn’t have.  I know now they’re not necessarily true.

I should remain the sponge.  I should let some of the weight of these beliefs go and try to return to the innocence of the novice.  The novice bobbed along the waves – fluid, with an ability to bounce back quickly, forgive, change course.  The novice had a demeanor of buoyancy….and hope, optimism.

My 2014 resolution has morphed.  I now seek buoyancy – knowing what I’m composed of and what my equipment is so that I can float…and ultimately, fly.

Photo:  Perkins Cove, Ogunquit, Maine

Who You Love

Each year end, I have dutifully cleaned out and stored away my paper files to prepare for a new year.  But now, at this age, I throw away more than I save – de-cluttering, freeing myself, letting go of baggage.  Over Christmas break, I found a note I wrote to my husband from January 1998 and our answers – papers I’m so glad I saved.  

What might you learn about your partner if you were to ask this?

“Hi –

With no explanation, I’d like to play a sort of game with you.  At first, I thought we could do it face to face so you could give your quick answers – you know, a word association type of thing.  As I came up with the questions, I decided it would be better for each of us to answer on paper, giving this some thought, separately.  Then we can talk about our answers together afterward…maybe over a nice dinner and definitely alone!  It’s a way of getting to know one another….again.” 

Our sons were 7 and 3 at that time, a time I likely felt getting re-acquainted was needed.  Perhaps now that they’re 22 and 18, it’s time for us again for 2014…

1. What’s your favorite sound?
2. What sound do you hate?
3. If you could be anything, what would you be?
4. If you could spend an evening with anyone (famous, historical, deceased), who would it be and why?
5. What is your favorite smell?
6. What smell do you loathe?
7. If you could give your children one thing, what would it be?
8. What do you like to do most?
9. What do you hate to do?
10. What is your pet peeve?
11. If you could solve one of the world’s problems, what would you tackle?
12. What is “God” to you?
13. What relaxes you?
14. What’s your all time favorite movie?
15. Book?
16. What is your guiding force or principle?
17. If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
18. What is a good marriage to you?
19. What is your largest worry?
20. What is your greatest fear?
21. What past experience brought you the most joy?
22. What was your dream when you were sixteen?
23. What is your dream now?
24. What is your favorite color?
25. Your least favorite?
26. What traits would your ideal partner possess?
27. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
28. What do you like most about yourself?
29. What do you think is the most admirable quality a person could possess?
30. What is the characteristic you despise most in others?
31. What is missing in your life?
32. What are you thankful for?

Here’s to loving the ones we love, to resolutions, to starting anew each January 1.

Photo:  Spring Point Light and Little Diamond Island by Frank Kalicky

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I have the privilege of being a volunteer at The Telling Room, a writing center for children ages 6-18.  The people involved with this organization are special – every single one.  I am inspired to be in their presence whether I’m teaching a 4^th grade visiting class, walking the streets of Portland with a summer camp group, or giving my corporate HR insights to the Board for the organization itself.

On Friday, 9:00 a.m., 10 degrees in Portland, I walked down Commercial Street to my committee meeting for Glitterati, The Telling Room’s annual auction/fund raising event coming up in March.  I had to leave the sidewalk for the street due to the staging three men had built on it.  Their mission – to put up more of the gorgeous half circle blue, green and white light artwork that sparkle on all the buildings along our brick façade waterfront.  Two men were on the sidewalk, looking upward and monitoring the ropes dangling down from the staging. 

I blew on my gloved hands as I passed; they were freezing cold.

All of a sudden, the third man, high up on the staging at the top of the building belted out in song:

It’s the most wonderful time of the year……

Laughing playfully down at his compadres on the sidewalk, he sang loud and proud.  I laughed out loud.  Early morning, freezing cold, men making our city look beautiful, being funny & playful.  

What a nice Friday morning…..

Photos:  Commercial Street, Portland, Maine

Standard Baking Company

All five senses came alive the moment I entered the tiny, warm bakery on a rainy day-before-Thanksgiving. I was truly like a kid in a candy store. For me, fresh rustic bread is more alluring than candy any day!

I come to Standard bakery at least once a week.  Loving all things French, I bought into the bread is the stuff of life mantra and began buying bakery bread many years ago.  When first married, I actually told Frank I thought I’d bake all our bread….he was laughing at me before I even finished the sentence!  I’ve been on many diets, but will never buy into the no-carb one.  Have you not read French Women Don’t Get Fat?

Standard Baking Company makes divine bread.  Both of my sons have become bread connoisseurs and would no more eat Wonder Bread than tripe.  From when Ben was 8 or 9, if I asked if he wanted toast with his breakfast, he would say, “Is it good toast?” meaning the real thing baked yesterday or this morning, not months ago with preservatives, packaged in plastic, and cut in sickly thin slices. 

Baguettes, large and small, Pain au Levain, croissants, brioche, focaccia, rustica – Standard has so much to choose from, their wooden shelves and thick brown baskets chock full.  The bread is not packaged, it stands free in the open air so purveyors can see so clearly what they’ll buy. 

The atmosphere inside the bakery is as enticing as the bread.  It’s the tiniest store in the cellar of Fore Street restaurant, its door off Commercial Street at the back of a busy parking lot.  The door opens onto their patio with tiny tables, a trellis overhead, and pots of flowers in summer.  The wooden floors inside are ancient and creak; the ceiling is low and beamed.  You can watch the bakers in the back rolling out dough.  It’s cozy and quaint. 

I’m all about aesthetics and my surroundings have the ability to transport me to my happy place.  I go to Standard bakery for the bread, but also for the pleasure of being in their space. 

On the day before Thanksgiving, their stock was twice as much as usual and wet customers wormed their way in a line around the tiny space, laughing with each other as they prepared for family and the next day’s feast.  The atmosphere was as warm as their pastry -- jovial, communal.  The lighting was dim.  I felt transported to another time….maybe to the French countryside. 

We came for soft yeast and anadama dinner rolls, but left with a pear frangipane tart and six croissants as well.  When turkey becomes unappealing, I’ll melt black forest ham and swiss with a maple champagne mustard on them for our lunches.

“You know,” I said to Frank as we exited, hoods on in the pouring rain, “even if we don’t need bread, we should always come here the day before Thanksgiving just for the pleasure that just was!!!”  Big smiles on both of us…

https://www.facebook.com/standardbakingco?rf=108131349229016

Top photo taken from Facebook page of Standard Baking Company

Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!

October 20.  9:22 a.m.  52 degrees in Maine….and I have already brought out the cushions for the deck set from their storage spot in the garage and am sipping coffee overlooking our glorious back yard, so grateful I’ve come outside.

The morning sun forces me to squeeze my eyes shut when the sun umbrella floats upward in the wind and the morning sun hits my face – it is so bright.  

Blinding. 

It must have rained earlier this morning; everything is wet and glistening in the sun.  The breeze rustles the colored leaves that remain on trees, hanging on for maybe only a matter of a few days more….but I’ve captured right here, right now.  I didn’t let this fantastic scene slip away unnoticed. 

“Leaves don’t drop, they just let go….”  the line from Carrie Newcomber’s song plays in my mind….no forcing, no pushing, no doing anything.  Just letting go. 

Maine in fall is breath taking.  Yesterday, we walked Evergreen Cemetery on Stevens Avenue, one of my favorite places…in the world.  Truly.  The ancient, giant trees in there are awe-inspiring.  The dirt roads curve and meander through the quiet; the chapel is locked tightly; the colors and smell of fall inspiring.

 

My backyard this morning smells fresh.  The early morning light sparkles.  I feel the heat of the sun’s rays on my bare legs and cheeks.  The autumn colors are vivid green grass, deep earthy brown in the garden where my husband pulls weeds for season’s end, leaves of gold, auburn, geranium red, yellow.  Birds flit and chase one another to and from my husband’s feeders.

Art, Julia Cameron says, is born out of paying attention.  Being present and a part of nature causes me to sigh, feel genuinely grateful, and calm.

A million things to do – iron, begin making my sauce for dinner, run, make the bed… blah blah is all I hear.  

Nothing to do is ok….and oftentimes, even better.  

Photo:  a home en route to Fort Williams Park, Cape Elizabeth

Gone to Carolina in my Mind

When I set out to write Away at a Camp in Maine, my goal was to write a book that made me (and thereby my reader) feel like a James Taylor song.

I wanted to capture the feeling – the quiet, the calm, the beauty, the nature, the essence, the real-ness, the sweet.  

When I hear the first string of his guitar in any James Taylor song, I feel the rhythm of my heart slow down just a beat.  I smile.  I am instantly transported to another time, a time in the 1970’s when I was a teenager full of so much hope and promise – when all the world was good, when anything was possible. 

It’s my “Carolina.”  It transports me to my happy place.    

As a writer, words are my elixir.  They pirouette around my mind, dropping like falling leaves, gently floating around in my head, twisting, bending.  When they’re best, they’re quiet, calm, beautiful, natural…… 

"Can't you see the sunshine

Can't you just feel the moonshine"

Words are what create the pictures for me.  

Words calm me and allow me to make sense, or at least accept, what I see around me -- people, others’ conversations, the world.  They uplift me as I walk alone and choose just the right word for what I’m seeing, smelling, hearing.

Some people likely see pictures, in Technicolor.  Or they revel in music.  But me, I can close my eyes and it’s the words in my mind that create the pictures that can bring me to my “Carolina,” that can transport me to anywhere in the universe.  

I have a rich world between my ears and whenever I wish, I just pull inward and transport.   

“Carolina In My Mind,” James Taylor:  Greatest Hits.  Warner Bros Records, Inc. © 1976 

Parenting

Parenting younger children was easier to me than parenting young adults and then partnering with adult children.  

My husband’s and my principals and values in raising toddlers were in sync with each other.  We both saw the importance of structure and routine, being that type naturally ourselves.  We walked the walk of a healthy lifestyle with daily outdoor play/exercise, healthy meals and snacks (albeit with sweets daily!), a bedtime routine, and the same time to bed each night.  

He and I, and thereby our children, rose early and retired early after a full day.  We live in moderation – we don’t spend too much, eat too much, talk too much, play too much, or work too much.   We were cautious and (overly?) attentive parents.  We set the tone for our household based on who we were and expected a mutual respect, civility, kindness, and calm. 

We are free thinkers and allowed our children always to talk and debate their ideas.  Our children have labeled us “authoritative” parents, something they learned in high school psychology class which means we:

• listen to our children
• encourage independence
• place limits, consequences and expectations on our children’s behavior
• express warmth and nurturance
• allow children to express opinions

As introverts, we all understood the need for time alone so there was always that space as they grew up.  That space fostered their discovery of their creative selves.  Creativity is as human as breathing in my opinion.  It’s just that some open the space to see and feel it, and others keep themselves too caught up in busyness to let it shine through them. 

Neither child was a follower….just like their parents.  I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.

But then they became teenagers and the expectations, vocally shared by high schools and adult friends, increased.  We felt the strain of pushing our kids into the right sports and activities, to get into good colleges, into the right courses and the right levels.  There are lots of opinions from other parents circulating – he needs this sort of school or this sort of major to be successful and find a job; he needs a city; he needs a small college; he needs a large college; the state university for financial reasons; a private college for the potential of getting more money in aid; an ivy league school. 

I got the impression that we parents were wrong if we let the students pick the majors and colleges that jazzed them, if we let them chase dreams (the one time in their lives when maybe they can), and for letting them fall in love and follow girlfriends.  We’re wrong if we let them choose based on their art.  We’re wrong if we let them transfer home if they hate college.  We’re wrong to let them think and decide for themselves.

And somehow, that wrongness just doesn’t work for me.  The majority tells me this…so can the majority be wrong?  My gut tells me to stay the course.  Each of us comes to the parenting table with so many different experiences that create our mindset – how we were raised, what we felt worked, what we felt didn’t, what we want to replicate, and what we want to avoid at all costs.

We’ve raised our children according to our principals and beliefs.  Should we succumb to peer pressure now the way we’ve told them not to?  Are we no longer walking our own walk?

There’s no one right answer.  This is why I say it gets more difficult when the stakes are higher and the kids are older.  

Keeping children from playing in the street is pretty clear cut.  Forcing the lifeblood out of a young soul just beginning his foray into adulthood isn’t as clear.  Am I hurting him for not pushing him into a business degree which will allow him (possibly) to find a job, albeit one he’ll hate? 

I guess all we can do is continue to follow our own instincts, what we believe in, and how deeply we understand our children now that they’re adults.  

I wish I could offer advice…but the truth is, no one knows.

Falling Waters

In February, with his birthday money still saved from December, my husband began searching the internet for a weekend getaway spot for our anniversary in May.  (I am SO fortunate that that is what he chooses to do with his own gifts or football winnings.) 

Bar Harbor, one of our favorite places, seemed a good choice.  We talk about possibly retiring to Bar Harbor – him a park ranger at Acadia, me, the owner of an adorable café/bookshop where “the author is on the premises.”  Sherman’s could use a little facelift like adding window boxes bursting with colorful flowers and deep green ivy, best sellers and Maine-authored books in their extensive sidewalk window space, earth tone colors, upscale furniture, and a whimsical sign maybe. 

The winters Downeast are long…..Bar Harbor or Seal Harbor are rather far away…..not sure if those dreams will ever be realized, but going for weekends and “dreaming” is half the fun.  Ahead of our weekend, I bought Frank “Mr. Rockefeller’s Roads” from Downeast Books to teach us and make us appreciate the Acadia carriage roads even more. 

The upcoming ten-odd days heading into Memorial Day weekend rained.  My planters on the deck risked being washed out and I hated to think I threw $150 to purchase those flowers down the drain, so to speak.  Frank is a routine kind of guy and checking each day the 14-day forecast heading into our weekend really weighed him down.  

“No worries,” I smiled.  “We’ll be fine.  We cannot control the weather.  Let’s let it go.”

And you know what, Plan B is sometimes a welcome and enlightening avenue.  If it was sunny, we’d have sat beside the pool at Harborside Resort all Saturday afternoon.  

Instead, with map in hand, we drove around the entire island (in the pouring rain).  We’ve never done that on our travels there and we saw so much!  “The Bubbles” makes me laugh every time I say it.  How can anyone not want to go to Bubble Pond?  Seal Harbor and Northeast Harbor are definitely our favorites.  The views – breathtaking, quintessential Maine. 

Instead of biking the carriage trails on Saturday, we got a couples massage in the spa, something Frank has never done….and he was actually nervous!  What fun.  We laughed, sipped ice water with cucumber (which made Frank make a face), and ran through puddles in our flip flops across the courtyard back to our hotel, with wood fireplace blazing…..at the kick off weekend of summer, not dead of winter, end of May.  That's Maine!

We snuggled close walking under a shared umbrella along the shore path in front of the Bar Harbor Hotel.  At 51, we wore sensible shoes and 3 layers of jackets – which happens to make all the difference.  The weather isn’t bad when you dress for it. 

We sat in our hot tub on the deck, looking at Bar Island…and sometimes the fog.  We had an afternoon cocktail from the picnic basket I packed ahead, ate delicious food at local restaurants, and relaxed.  It was a welcome break in our routine.  

Frank and I, for being together so very long, are completely in sync with our travel – we like the same type of restaurants and food; the same sorts of hotels; and trips that comprise nature and exercise first and foremost.  There’s quiet and conversation, rest and exercise, and lots of photos. 

An anniversary in the rain and forty-eight degrees….nearly in June….in beautiful Maine on the coast – you know what…..it doesn’t get better.