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.