I’m not even going to attempt to christen myself ‘Hunk of the Day‘ until I can get back into some sort of fighting shape. That said, some of the weight I’ve been gaining has fortuitously gone straight to my ass, offering something for the booty and the mind, at the same time.
Let this make amends for my misleading ‘hairy woodpecker‘ post earlier. (Even though I delivered exactly what I said…)
Were you really expecting something else? You need to look into that.
“The main reason for the tremendous popularity of football in America may be our subconscious fascination over the fact that each play starts with the quarterback squatting between the center’s legs in the classic pose of sodomy.” ~ Norman Mailer
Former New York Jets player Scotty McKnight is our pin-up guy for Sunday Football Shenanigans. I’m still learning about the game, so sometimes a player’s cuteness will supersede whether or not the player still plays.
Sadly, with his recent case of painful gout, my Dad couldn’t make it to Ogunquit on this trip. Mom made the journey though, and was our companion (and dinner ticket) for all the Autumn splendor. Dad was here in spirit – in the corned beef hash at breakfast, the duck at dinner, and the sparkling water of Perkins Cove. Gram was here too, not just in the open resting place of the ocean, but in the appearance of a Boston terrier and a long-haired dachshund. No matter where I end up, Ogunquit will always be filled with memories of ghosts living and dead, and will forever offer comfort in that realm.
Andy collected some sand from the beach to bring back his Mother’s gravesite, thereby connecting her to this special place as well. We all feel completely at home at only a few places in the world ~ this is one of them for me. Boston is another. Upstate New York, where I was born and raised, strangely holds a distant third. I don’t know why it should be so, but sometimes we don’t choose these things – they’re chosen for us. I’ve never tried to fight that, never tried to force things differently. I’ve just accepted that this is how it’s meant to work out. The only time people have problems is when they fight the universe.
On this trip we had the privilege of having lunch with two friends we met last time we were in town – Eric and Lonnie. They were kind enough to include my Mom as well, and we met up at MC Perkins after our leisurely stroll along the Marginal Way. There are some people whom you feel you’ve known far longer than you have, those who instantly insinuate themselves into the fabric of friendship as if they’ve been there all along ~ the friends who become extended family when you’re away from home. Eric and Lonnie are certainly those friends.
We enjoyed a delicious and gregarious lunch, and can’t wait to return the favor when we come back next Spring. The more time we spend in Ogunquit, the more wonderful people we meet. It makes visiting a joy, and leaving such a sorrow.
One of the perks of being a visitor in Ogunquit is that we sometimes see things that others miss (including things that we’ve missed in our dozen years frequenting the area). Case in point: the Dorothea Grant Common at the Ogunquit Heritage Museum. The museum was closed for the season, but the small stretch of grounds around the little building beckoned us to explore its leaf-strewn path, so we made a slow amble beneath the trees, walking the grounds as the sun peeked through the pines and oaks. Faded gardens, about to go to bed for another year, were still discernible beneath the blanket of wet leaves.
It’s always a thrill to discover a hidden garden. It makes the flowers that dare to remain so much more special and, in their late-hour way, more spectacular. On this particular perfectly-Fall day, more leaves had fallen in the windy night, and a hidden band of marauding squirrels threw acorns down at all trespassers. It was, in a word, idyllic ~ at least for this Hawthorne-loving Fall-o-phile. We walked around the path, hearing the occasional chirp of a chipmunk and inspecting the once-glorious gardens, now lost in their seasonal death spiral.
Andy always greets the annual slumber of a garden with sadness and despondency, but it offers a sort of welcome relief for me. When you’re the one hoisting cow manure and chopping up unruly clumps of Miscanthus, Fall can offer a gratifying perspective. (And since Andy mows the lawn, a bit of this relief is most certainly shared.)
Upon entry into Ogunquit for our annual Columbus Day weekend visit, I promptly fell victim to a cold. That and the iffy stance of the weather would be enough to try the happiest of souls. This being Ogunquit, however, no matter how sick and no matter how dreary, it was impossible not to enjoy our time in this ‘Beautiful Place by the Sea’. Spring and Summer have their own sunny pull, but Fall is magical in an entirely different way.
Ensconced in the cozy environs of the Naughty Pine Room at the Ogunquit Beach Inn, and hosted by our favorite Inn-keepers Greg & Mike, we felt instantly at home. Venturing into that first day’s gray and misty surroundings, we met up with my Mom for a introductory lunch at the Cornerstone Restaurant – the new artisanal pizza place that functioned as a warm and welcoming port in the passing storm. With its old-fashioned incandescent light bulbs, dark vaulted wooden beam ceiling, and an open oven view, it was the ideal spot for an autumnal break.
Pumpkins, squash, and other gourds spilled abundantly across most of the entrances, while bales of hay and cornstalks added to the seasonal feel of many doorways. Fall in New England is unmatched anywhere else. We know the weather that is to come, and we hold onto Fall and celebrate that it’s still with us using every fiery trick we can muster.
The grasses have gone to seed, waving their feathery grain fronds in the cutting wind. The sun, though weakened, slants through the afternoon, eliciting a bit of warmth where it manages to take hold. For now the battle between wind and sun is evenly matched, but soon the temperature will side with the moving air – soon the sun won’t summon the heat.
That slumber has not quite begun, but we are at its doorstep, dancing the final days of Fall away with a fatalistic flourish. Nature burns itself in beauty.
Having just returned from Ogunquit, I am not quite ready to face the day at work. I was out for an entire week – the first time I’ve taken off a full week since I started working for the state almost a dozen years ago. That’s right, take it all in: I’ve never taken a whole week off from my job until now. Call me what you like, I’ve been reliably  consistent, but for Andy’s pre-birthday surprise in Ogunquit, it was worth it. Give me a chance to catch my breath (and pack for Boston) and I’ll recount some of our vacation adventures.
My favorite place to be in the early afternoon is our bedroom in Boston, when the sun is slanting through the blinds and filling the room with light. Granted, I am not there as often as I’d like, and perhaps that is the reason for its pull. This weekend, my heart will heed that call.
The deep roar of the ocean.
The break of waves on farther shores that thought can find.
The silent thunders of the deep.
And from among it, voices calling, and yet not voices, humming trillings, wordlings, and half-articulated songs of thought.
Greetings, waves of greetings, sliding back down into the inarticulate, words breaking together.
A crash of sorrow on the shores of Earth.
Waves of joy on–where? A world indescribably found, indescribably arrived at, indescribably wet, a song of water.
A fugue of voices now, clamoring explanations, of a disaster unavertable, a world to be destroyed, a surge of helplessness, a spasm of despair, a dying fall, again the break of words.
And then the fling of hope, the finding of a shadow Earth in the implications of enfolded time, submerged dimensions, the pull of parallels, the deep pull, the spin of will, the hurl and split of it, the fight. A new Earth pulled into replacement, the dolphins gone.
Then stunningly a single voice, quite clear.
“This bowl was brought to you by the Campaign to Save the Humans. We bid you farewell.”
And then the sound of long, heavy, perfectly gray bodies rolling away into an unknown fathomless deep, quietly giggling.
~ Douglas Adams, ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’
“Doesn’t it seem to you,” asked Madame Bovary, “that the mind moves more freely in the presence of that boundless expanse, that the sight of it elevates the soul and gives rise to thoughts of the infinite and the ideal?â€
~ Gustave Flaubert, ‘Madame Bovary’
“Hark, now hear the sailors cry,
Smell the sea, and feel the sky
Let your soul & spirit fly, into the mystic…â€
~ Van Morrison
“There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody’s expense but his own.â€
~ Herman Melville, ‘Moby-Dick’
