Wicked Moon

A pretty thing, that moon. Catching on the caps of the waves, hanging over the liquid horizon, glowing as if lit by a thousand candles – it’s a beautiful sight. But such beauty comes at a cost, the magnificence in exchange for a little happiness. You have to give something to get something. In the past, to bask in the moonlight was to invite bad luck, to change the make-up of a person, transforming their body, their mind, their blood into something different, something dangerous.

There is a reason for the term ‘lunatic’ (from ‘luna’ meaning moon), and something to the pull of that satellite that turns normally sane and reasonable couples into antagonistic adversaries. The last time we had a super moon, Andy and I ended up getting in a huge fight. The same thing happened this time around. After a pleasant dinner and an after-dinner drink, we got into it (though I will not get into it here – that’s another story for another day). It is sometimes said that every couple has the same fight, over and over again, and unless one or both of the people involved really changes, the fight will continue. Maybe that’s what was happening. After thirteen years, there were character traits and personality quirks that still hadn’t quite reconciled themselves. In some ways you learn to live with it, but sometimes you still fight back.

I stormed off into the evening. Alone. It was nearly midnight. Only the moon would guide me…

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Anniversary Dinner & Champagne

On our anniversary, as it had done those thirteen years ago, it rained for most of the day. And like July 23, 2000, it also cleared by the time evening arrived. A lovely dinner at our favorite restaurant, Five-O, came with two flutes of celebratory champagne. They were good enough to save our favorite table for us, and the meal was lush and romantic. In fact, it was almost too perfect, and had it ended right there, it would have gone down as one of the all-time best. But #13 would not prove as lucky for us, thanks perhaps in part to the number, but mostly, I’m guessing, to the moon…

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Beauty & the Beach

Lulled by the steady crashing of the waves, called by the cries of the gulls, and cradled by the warmth of the sand, Andy and I made our way to Ogunquit Beach. Though the water was almost 70 degrees (very high for Maine, thanks to a few days of 90 degree heat), it still stung at my feet, and I would not be going in. (Andy would brave it a couple of days later.) Protected by sunscreen and a straw hat, I also brought a towel and a book, and that’s all I’ve ever needed to have a good time.

The beach never fails to enchant, and those unfortunate folks who aren’t beach people, who can’t access its magic and calm, will always be suspect in my mind.

There is beauty all around, but sometimes you have to look for it, and sometimes you have to patiently wait for it to reveal itself. When one is accustomed to the cheap thrills of online entertainment or televised madness, the shore may not initially astound. But for those of us who have retained that wonder, who still have the ability to appreciate the simple and the still, it will hold us rapt.

Little gems can be found, hidden among the mounds of seaweed, speckled with sand, adorned with the fallen feathers of sea birds.

Like some wild necklace, strands of sea plants lie in brittle, dry swirls ~ the discarded jewelry of a mythical siren ~ sadly beautiful and gorgeously tortured.

It can be so deceptively seductive, ever-ready to turn in a few moments. A squall will blow in from seemingly nowhere, some maelstrom of dangerous circular activity, the warning fluttering of fish on the surface before a rising leviathan. The peace of the sea may never last, but it will always return. Sometimes, on sunny days, it’s easy to lose yourself to all the oceanic glamour, to willingly give up the sanity of shore to the freedom of those rolling waves. “Drawn by the undertow, my life is out of control, If I hadn’t seen such riches I could live with being poor…” The song drones dimly in my head, compounded by the pounding water, at once at odds, at once in unison, and all of it dazzling in the light sparkling off the sea.

Bits of wreckage and bulbous seaweed pods, the trapped finery of a lost feather, and the mangled limbs of a multitude of tiny crabs – all get swirled together, then dropped upon the sand, left for dead beneath the unrelenting elements: a fiery sun, a sand-stinging wind, the very ocean itself.

It has a way of bending time. Like the warped, once-malleable sea life, time too gets distorted here where land meets water meets sky. It’s tricky business, meddling with such elemental forces, and there is always the possibility of ruin, but it’s a beautiful ruin.

We depart in a daze.

Does the ship see?

Are they looking back too?

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Danger: Moon

On the rise… and about to wreak havoc…

Tale to be told…

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Ogunquit Sustenance

About the only time excessive garnish is tolerable is in something like sangria. Here, we have a red wine version of the sweet elixir, accented by some citrus, mint, and those bodacious Maine blueberries. This one was from Inicio, a tapas restaurant that overlooks the main drag in Ogunquit. On our first night in town, without reservations, we settled in for a casual supper. A lobster wrap was the ideal welcome back.

Though I’ve been trying to eat a little healthier of late, that sort of good behavior gets suspended during times of vacation. Based on that, there were these fried whole clams from Bob’s Clam Hut. Absolutely no regrets.

That also explains this delectable Amore Benedict from Amore Breakfast – a sausage/tomato twist on a traditional Eggs Benedict.

And at the end of the journey, still more fried clams. Too much of a good thing is even better.

 

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High Summer Flowers in Ogunquit

Being that we usually go to Ogunquit in May and October, we don’t get to see the flowers of high summer. On this visit, we did, and they were as lush and vibrant as expected. Our return to the Beautiful Place By the Sea was heralded by this explosion of color and form, and there’s no better way to begin the Ogunquit portion of our vacation than with a selection of those floral fireworks.

 

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Dinner, Again, in Portland

After the wedding, we hopped back in Andy’s new car (after he had promptly dented the bumper after hitting the curb – TWICE in as many hours). If I’d made such a move I’d never hear the end of it, so I’m simply returning the favor. We headed back into Portland for another dinner in their fine dining scene. The heat-wave had broken, the sky was resplendent as the sun started to go down, and the town was in a gorgeous state.

Even the graffiti in Portland is an artistic work of color and faded glory.

We settled on an Italian restaurant, The Corner Room, where I settled for a trout ragu special with their homemade pasta. Andy played it safe and tried their Chicken Parmesan, which he claimed was one of the best he’d had in years. The meal left us full and contented – a perfect ending to a perfect wedding day.

Our time in Portland was coming to an all-too-soon close, but we vowed to return. It looks like the perfect place to spend a fall weekend.

Portland’s version of France.

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The Wedding of Eric & Lonnie

A friendship that starts on FaceBook is not usually something that goes beyond a few ‘Likes’ or ‘Comments’, but since Eric and Lonnie live near Ogunquit, we took a chance and took them up on their offer to meet up at an opening night cast party for a production at the Ogunquit Playhouse. It was an instant friendship, as Andy took to them as quickly as I did – and we hung out whenever we could in Ogunquit.

It was a joy to hear that they were getting legally married at long last (after fighting the good fight for marriage equality in Maine), and it was an honor to make it onto their coveted invite list. Their wedding was the impetus for this vacation in fact, and the reason for our journey to Portland, onto which we piggy-backed our anniversary celebration in Ogunquit.

Their home is an exquisite respite in Gray, ME – a gorgeous combination of old and new, and the perfect conjoining of two complementary personalities who have served as an inspiration to any couple looking to make it last.

As often happens to me at weddings, I found myself incredibly moved ~ even more-so when talk turned to the trials and travails of what it took to reach such a moment in history. if you’ve never been denied the right to marry the person you love, you can’t know the joyous appreciation of when it finally happens.

The ceremony was simple and casual, but somehow more meaningful for it. Both Eric and Lonnie spoke from the heart, in vows that brought us all to tears, and it was a brush with grace to be in the presence of such love. It’s something that emboldens all of us as human beings ~ the universal good-will felt towards two people who love one another, and who have lived a life together and made the promise to keep going. It never fails to affect me.

On the beautiful grounds of their home, the guests gathered and surrounded the happy couple. It was an idyllic moment ~ the heat-wave subsided as a cool breeze arrived, the storms stayed away, and the company of well-wishers – and the wonderfully fun friends and family of Lonnie and Eric – made for an unforgettable day.

A fun side-note: I have always wanted to attend a party or event where a harpist played, and it finally happened at this wedding. I followed this charming young woman around as she plucked her strings and brought such heavenly music to the surroundings. I asked if I could take her picture, explaining how it had always been a dream of mine to have a harpist at a party. She was gracious and happily posed for my exuberant picture-taking. I think she thought I was a little touched. She was very intuitive that way. 

The gardens were at their bountiful peak, spilling forth dahlias and daylilies, as grand urns overflowed with colorful petunias and begonias. It was as if the entire landscape had conspired to decorate itself for the wedding.

Some things are just meant to be.

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A Trio of Cocktails & One Hot Dinner

For one of the first times in my life, I did not plan much for our stay in Portland. No restaurant reservations, no mapped-out plan of attack, no regimented schedule of activities. We went where the wind took us, stopping as we wished, and seeking out any place that had an open table. A friend had recommended the Armory Lounge at the Regency hotel as a place to find a classic cocktail, so that’s what we sought out as a starting point.

After sitting somewhat foolishly near the midst of what looked to be a growing wedding party, our server went out of her way and politely asked us if we wouldn’t prefer to move to a quieter area of the bar to be more comfortable and able to talk. She showed us to a table for two out of the way of raging bridesmaids and took our order. Given the heat of the day, I wondered if a mint julep would be the best way to cool down. I asked the server if the bartender was decent, and she gave me her assurance.

It arrived with the whiff of a refreshing mint breeze, more beautiful than the poor lighting of this photo could ever convey. Andy settled in with his traditional gin and tonic, and we enjoyed the first moments of our vacation.

We asked the server for some local recommendations on dinner places, and she came back with a list of possibilities. We walked around a bit, perusing a few stores along the way,and watching the moon hang in the early evening sky. Shop windows glowed from within, and reflected light from outside – that slightly-surreal switch that happens when day turns to night.

The Grill Room had a short wait, so we sidled up to the bar and I asked the bartender to make something with a grapefruit slant. When on vacation, I prefer to leave the libations up to the recommendations of others, and he did not disappoint, conjuring this variation on the Last Word – and I didn’t even have to request it.

The wisdom of selecting a restaurant with an open grill on one of the hotter days of the year is questionable at best (and to be honest, there clearly wasn’t much wisdom in it at all), but the food was amazing, and a glass of white wine closed off a perfect evening in Portland. (I have judiciously left off the ice cream photos, lest you think me ruinously gluttonous.)

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The Chronicles of Maine: Portland

We began our Maine adventure in Portland. As had been foretold by friends, Portland is a place for foodies, with ample restaurants and award-winning chefs on every quaint cobblestone-street. It’s also a port town rife with the charm of the coast, the tranquil proximity to the sea, and a host of charming shops. Despite the sweltering heat (we arrived at the tail-end of that heat-wave), we rallied forth and took a sweaty turn around the area.

Great Food. Good Fun. All at Andy’s. (Cool inside.)

Portland enchanted and enthralled us, beckoning with its welcoming establishments and uncommonly-friendly people, bathed in glorious afternoon light. Sun-drenched brick always looks striking against sky and sea.

Like many New England towns, this one is gorgeously imbued with years of history, and a few cobblestone streets remain charmingly intact.

But more important than history, at least to my hungry stomach, was the food scene… coming up next.

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The Last Moments in Maine: At Stonewall Kitchen

Let’s begin at the end. After a week spent in Maine, the only way to properly finish things was a stop at the Stonewall Kitchen flagship store in York. It is traditionally our last stop on any Maine visit, right before we hit the highway back to New York, and it offers one last chance at the beauty and peace that the area affords. Mostly, I go to see the gardens and pick up their amazing hand-soap. (Though last time I did indulge in their impossibly decadent lobster BLT.) This time around I stuck to viewing the flowers, including these gorgeously-hued gems.

There are certain stores that sell a way of life, certain brands that exemplify a finer way of approaching things. Stonewall Kitchen is one of these. Along the veins of Martha Stewart and the Beekman Boys, the wares at Stonewall involve the serious art of cookery, done with a rustic elegance and refined presentation. Visiting their store in York, one is transported to a simpler, more beautiful time and place, when gardens and kitchens formed the focus of most happy homes. Cooking and baking are art forms, ones which I am slowly and deliberately trying to learn – just to make a dent in the kitchen. (Andy might say I’ve made more than dents…)

The best part of visiting this store is the inspiration it provides. For a superficial, shallow person like myself, presentation is everything – and everything about the Stonewall Kitchen presents well. From the winding path lined with perfectly-pampered plants, and a wisteria-lined arbor that gently shades the walk, to the seasonally-themed entrance of flower baskets or autumn gourds, the experience of this store encompasses all of the senses. As befitting its name, the main focus is on food, and there are endless products that tease and tantalize the taste buds ~ jars of countless salsas, jams, and chutneys, baking mixes for cakes and muffins and cookies, and tons of kitchen tools, utensils, and serving objects. Taken together with the helpful and efficient staff (even when the check-out line seems long, it moves at a rapid pace), any time spent at Stonewall is a balm on the hectic pace of life. It is our favorite way to end our time in Maine, and the kick-off to this series of vacation posts.

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A Fragrance for Bedtime

In addition to all the Tom Ford excitement on the olfactory front, I’ve also found a summer bridge fragrance from Hermes. This is ‘Un Jardin apres la Mousson‘ which I’m told translates to “the garden after the monsoon”. It falls somewhere between a traditional cologne and a traditional perfume, managing the welcome feat of being both masculine and feminine (though it errs on the lady side of things, which is something I like for the summer months). A few of the fragrances in the Jardin line are quite nice, but I’ve found all except this one to be slightly too sweet and cloying for more than a passing sample.

While reading up on recent cologne reviews, I noticed that some people mentioned wearing certain fragrances to bed to get the most enjoyment out of them. At first it seemed like a silly thing. Why waste all that expensive sillage on a place where, at least in this house, only one other person will get to smell it? Then I realized that it was the perfect moment and place for it, and marveled at my life-long dismissal of such a decadent, self-luxuriating indulgence.

I started with this offering from Hermes, which is light enough so as not to be too stimulating or distracting, and soft enough to nestle perfectly into the folds of a silk robe or the brittle pages of a favorite book. As if I needed another moment of self-indulgence… but I’ve found that those we think are the most self-serving during the day tend to forget themselves at night.

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