Category Archives: Ogunquit

Along the Marginal Way, the breeze is biting but the sun is warm. We walk along this well-traversed stretch of shoreline, pausing to admire the rocky coastline, waiting to absorb the beauty of the day. A couple of seagulls fly overhead, while other water birds float in the distance. On the sea, shards of sunlight bounce off the tips of waves – the effect is of some sparkling blanket, undulating in the darkest of blues.

There is a sense of grounding whenever I find myself on the crux of land and ocean, and upon planting my feet and feeling the power of the place, I look up into the sky and beam at the soaring of the gulls.

In the midst of our annual fall trip here, our Marginal Way walk, en route to lunch in Perkins Cove, is a calm highlight in a long weekend of calming moments. If you stand there for a while, listening to the waves lull with their lullaby-like dirge, you will feel the spell the sea casts on all who pause to hear it. It’s a spell that the land echoes, with its rocky soil that affords only the hardiest of roses a foothold to unfurl their rugged beauty. Even at this late stage of the season, a few Rosa rugosa blooms manage to perfume the salty air.

By the time we round the juniper-shaded corner to Perkins Cove, my stomach is ready for a warm bowl of chowder, and maybe a fish fry. The cove is quiet today, the water relatively still, mirroring the sky and begging for a haiku.

Indigo ocean

beneath playful sky hosting

non-threatening clouds.

The quick, photo-heavy posts of our latest jaunt to Ogunquit begin here, with some lovely shots of one of my favorite stores in that fair town: Spoiled Rotten. It’s one of those neat retail establishments that comprise almost an entire house, where tiny rooms open onto others, creating a jewel-box-like enchantment that is matched only by the exquisiteness of the gifts on display. The entry way opens immediately to a stair-case that leads to rooms filled with candles and kitchen accoutrements, artistic works in glass and ceramic, stationary, potpourri, colorful quilted bags, and all sorts of gorgeous wreckage that collectively casts a most pleasant spell.

For someone’s who’s done his retail time, the mere thought of doing an inventory in such a packed place both exhausts and impresses me. Godspeed, good people. In the meantime, the rest of us will reap beautiful enjoyment from the sights, scents, and sounds on the scene.

The locality plays a major role in the items and merchandise on display, and much of it ties into Ogunquit or Maine, or the sultry seasonal fare of New England. To that end, something is always changing and evolving in the store, and every time we visit there are new delights to be discovered.

Echoes of the sea, refractions of the light, and every conceivable charm of the season find expression here.

From the outside porch that spills over with gourds and squash and fall amusement, to the innermost room that hides the most gorgeous velvet pumpkin, Spoiled Rotten glimmers with the whimsical rustic charm that marks the best of Ogunquit.

Our time in Maine had come to a close, but with it I was holding the calm and restorative peace the town always produced close to my heart. As the unofficial start to the summer season, Memorial Day weekend could not have been more perfect – weather-wise, food-wise, and soul-wise. We arrived to a lovely gift from our fellow Ogunquit-lover Eileen – a gorgeous piece of pottery and a heartwarming note of welcome. Along with the scent and pleasant visage of lilacs everywhere, it felt like the whole town was once again open for merriment.

Newly-planted flowers were already bursting with blooms, while returning perennials finally felt warm enough to begin their show too.

One of the most important things for this Dadbod in the making was the food, and this trip provided a number of delicious meals, including the one picture here from Five-O. it began with the most amazing octopus dish – fresh, tender, and perfectly grilled, it sat on a bed of fiddle-head ferns and was so good it turned Andy into a new octopus fan. The chicken that followed, on a creamy bed of mushroom risotto, was nothing short of miraculous. Don’t even get me started on the olive oil and orange cake that I splurged on for dessert. My pants still have not forgiven me.

Along with the food, there was no shortage of entertainment on hand, starting with a phenomenal set (and personal lap dance) by Hedda Lettuce at Maine Street. My thighs are still tingling.

There was also the magic of the Ogunquit Playhouse, where ‘Sister Act’ was raising the roof with a glorious production.

It’s there through June 21, so get your tickets and book your room at the Ogunquit Beach Inn now.

The weather was so perfect, the weekend flew by too quickly, but even when it rains that’s the way it goes. Ogunquit is magical in that respect. Maine is a state of mind. Maine is the way life should be.

Until we meet again…

Spiders usually scare the shit out of me. Almost as much as house centipedes (truly the ghastliest of all creatures put on this great good earth.) Yet every once in a while, when a spider is cute and small enough to not pose a threat, I’ll think of ‘Charlotte’s Web’ and not scream like a baby when I see one. That was the case when this ghostly little arachnid surprised me as I was taking photos of a ruffled pansy. I didn’t see it at first, so intent was my gaze upon the colorful petals, but just as I was leaning further in to snap the shot, I saw it walk forward a bit.

Startled more than scared, I took another photo and watched as it did a little dance. Backlit by the sun, it was an almost translucent white – hopefully no one identifies as some poisonous thing that could have killed me with a fang-transmitted dose of venom. And if you do, please don’t tell me. The best part of a spider is everything I don’t know.

Sometimes the perfect blog post title can be found on a tag in an antique store. Such is the case here, where a mannequin posed with the titular phrase. A bit of punctuation tweaking and suddenly things took on a deeper meaning. Blacksmith’s Antiques is filled with such hidden art, and some startlingly spooky items as well. Dolls like these are creepy on so many levels, I don’t understand how our children aren’t more disturbed. There is an eerie beauty to their dilapidated state, though, and a sadness that hints of neglect and age and the passing of time and innocence.

We all suffer similar effects, even if they’re mostly internal. I don’t know anyone who could stand to face a Dorian Gray-like portrait that told a physical tale of what they were thinking throughout their life. Let it be writ on the fading visage of these dolls rather than anything else.

Here is where we discover whatever happened to Baby Jane. Here we see who was afraid of Virginia Wolff. Here is the embodiment of soiled dreams and dingy nightmares, the stuff of hourglass sand and every thing that ever had a price tag attached to it.

The past can be a sad and scary place, and even happy moments can’t last forever. Time conquers and takes all, including the most trifling memento.

Time devours the present and prepares its great gaping mouth for the future. Emotionless, it swallows us up, and the only thing to do is give in to its relentless march, easing into its unyielding formation.

When you make your peace with time, all else falls into place.

It is the land that flows by the river, and the world that spins by your ear, as a pair of dancing mice sings a sweet song of youth.

Certain drag queens are institutions. Indelibly intertwined with an image and a name, in person they can feel like some Hollywood superstar come to life. Some are known by a single name – and some by a single verdant color. Hedda Lettuce unfurls her leafy brand of sass this weekend at Maine Street in Ogunquit, and there’s nothing more entertaining than seeing a queen at the top of her game.

She first came to most of our attention with a scene-stealing turn on ‘Sex and the City’ and an epic Madonna-intro at the MTV Music Awards. More exciting to me was the time she once graciously posed for a photo while hawking tickets for her show on a rare sultry day in Provincetown. She was witty and fun and completely professional, and one got the sense that this was serious business for her. Such dedication to a role and a craft was admirable.

All of that was but a flirty prelude for my encounter with the green goddess last night, in which she dedicated a song to me, ‘Fuck Me Baby’ (based on my crossed-arms stance) and topped it off with a dirty grind in the form of a lap-dance. As thrilling as that was, it was the content and seamless flow of the evening that most impressed.

A self-described “old-school” drag queen, her Bette Davis references were caught by some of us, while those who have been woefully untouched by Ms. Davis could appreciate the modern-day no-holds-barred raunchiness of other topical moments. The recent happy events in Ireland made a timely backdrop to a marriage-equality anthem, and though she professed to be in ragged voice due to the allergies of New England, she sounded in fine form. The drag queen who can actually sing seems to be a rare and dying breed, and those who do it are all the more astounding for it.

She pokes fun at herself good-naturedly throughout the evening, claiming she’s made it this far on her cheekbones and lighting alone, but no one who has lasted this long and can still command an entire room for an hour lacks of talent in any way. Finishing with a rousing ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’ she closes out her first night of a triumphant return to Ogunquit in rollicking fashion.

There comes a window of time on every last day of vacation when I find myself alone in contemplation. If we are in Ogunquit, that’s usually a quick spa along the start of the Marginal Way. This fall trip proved no exception, even if it began disastrously, and stayed that way right up until the very end.

On our last morning in town, my back just starting to feel a bit better, and my stomach resting from a marathon of somersaults, I walked back to the Marginal Way to take in the sun, drink in the salt air, and seek wisps of Rosa rugosa on the wind. I looked out upon the Atlantic, feeling that familiar terror of being so small on the edge of something so vast.

I made a wish and a prayer. It was promise and a pact to return again, to walk The Way when the spring was upon us. It was the hope of making it through the winter relatively unscathed. There were stones that had lasted far more than a season here, and they provided the only inspiration I needed.

I walked back along the path where the flowers that had so entranced me stood in their unconcerned glory. ‘Serves him right,’ they might be snickering. ‘That’ll teach him to take unauthorized photos on our less-than-flattering days,’ they may have whispered. Undeterred, I snapped again. I will always take a chance on taking the beauty with me. I smiled ruefully at their nodding heads, and shook my own at my folly. You win, Nature, you always win… but I’m going to show the world something, and I’m going to do my best to do right by you.