He slammed his hands over the keyboard just as I got done typing the title, which inadvertantly published just the title, and thus he was thwarted despite his own efforts at hiding his true nature. Good has once again conquored over evil. And you all have another small insight into just what I deal with, on a minute-by-minute basis, in being married to him.

The man can be a supreme pest. Cute, but a pest. With all the post-nap energy.

Back to work tomorrow, which thrills me about -->this<-- much. Back to being on the computer every day - I actually managed to stay off-line for three whole days during my vacation. Back to taking my vitamins, working out, eating right, drinking water, trying to get at least ten minutes or so of sunlight a day, hauling out the lotion since it's bone dry in the state now that the cool weather has finally hit. Back to taking conscious care of myself, instead of just lounging about in my PJ's and convincing myself that this much rest is healthy, really.

It could be worse. I only have, like, three weeks until my next vacation. More than two weeks off with that one. Still, I can find it in myself to whine just a little bit that it's back to the grind tomorrow.

Labels: Calvin, journal, vacation, work

Posted by Laura at 7:45 PM | Permalink | Comments

I woke up at 7:30 this morning, which is only a half-hour later than the usual 7:00 wake up time that I have on normal work days. Why I can't sleep on my vacation is beyond me, but there it is. It's not so bad, really, sitting here with Zoe perched directly behind my head on the back of the couch, Oz eyeing her from the floor, coffee at my side, laptop at hand. It would be peaceful and serene if it weren't for all the flipping barking dogs in the neighborhood. At this moment in time I can count five distinct barks. None of them are our dogs, who if not smart, are at least polite. I could close the windows and door to block the sound, but I rather like having it finally cool enough to wear my robe.

A FANTASTIC dream about me and McDreamy (apparently I can hold my breath underwater for a long time in my dreams) was interrupted by my walnut-sized bladder (hmm, come to think of it, that's probably why I was dreaming of water), and from there the brain kicked in with thoughts of all the things I need to get done today. None of the tasks on my list were inflicted on me by Calvin in a fit of protest over my time off, though that's what I fully expected to happen. No, he was going to allow me my week of sloth, but I have discovered that I need to live a purpose-filled life. Thus I compiled a self-directed honey-do list.

First thing's first, though, so I have to write an entry about it. ("Wrote a song about it. Like to hear it? Here it goes.")

Ozzy's nose is out of joint because he just jumped up on the couch to discover that Zoe had moved to nestle against my hip. My lap is occupied by my computer, which means there is no snuggle space for him. He just raced off to climb up three separate doorframes and the column of the half-wall in the living room. Now he's trying to figure out other ways to get my attention and is playing Captain Explorer behind the television. With all the wires. A sure way to get hollered at. Any attention is good attention, I guess.

We're selling my motorcycle. I hardly ever ride it (I actually find that I prefer the bitch seat behind Calvin, because I'm a big ol' chicken in Arizona traffic), we could use the money, and I'd actually prefer owning one of these. I placed the ad last night and am grimly awaiting the round of telephone calls to begin. I hate that part about selling crap, but what are you gonna do.

Now Oz is trying to get into the cabinet underneath the snake's vivarium. That cat thinks that everyone in the household should operate under his schedule and won't settle down until I feed him. Bastard.

Okay, they're fed. Now maybe they'll leave me alone. CRAP. I forgot to grab the camera while I was up. Dammit.

OKAY. And now, for some pictures. Hover over them for comments.















Man, I'm REALLY putting off getting started on my list.

• Grocery shopping
  
• Go to the bank
  
• Sweep, vacuum, mop, dust
  
• Clean the kitchen & bathroom
  
• Laundry
  
• Litter boxes
  
• Adjust the sprinklers
  
• Take the movies back
  
• Dig up the motorcycle title
  
• Empty and clean the hot tub
  
• Work out
  

Alright, I'm outta here.


_{Momentary Thought: There's a massive amount of birds cheeping away in the backyard. I miss chickadees and whippoorwills, though.
High: It's actually chilly this morning.
Low: I have a craptastic amount of stuff to do today.
Obsession: I'm doing new pie recipes for Thanksgiving this year. I need to make them enough in advance that if they turn out like crap I can still run to CostCo and buy a couple.
Grin: The dream I had last night.
Playing: Birdsong and barking dogs.
Location: Living room.}

Labels: home, journal, listy goodness, motorcycle, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 7:56 AM | Permalink | Comments

I want to move this site to Moveable Type. Blogger has been a royal pain in the ass lately. But because I FTP my entries and store them on Dreamhost instead of using Blogger as my domain, I can't just import my entries to Moveable Type. Anybody have any suggestions, advice, recommendations? I want to use this domain URL instead of changing locations yet *again* (I'm sure you all have had enough of that nonsense, and I'm spread out enough over the internet with four different locations). I really like the features that MT has to offer. Sigh. The conundrums of a webmistress.

I left work today at 11:30, came home and ate lunch while watching "Private Practice", then got gas, got the truck washed, picked up some goodies at BevMo, and went to Pets Inc. to get critters for the critters. Then I took a nap, woke up in time to greet Calvin, and now we're sitting on the couch watching nature take its course in the form of the Discovery Channel, and Kali making short work of the rat we dropped in her vivarium (I won't feed the rat to her, so it was languishing in its box until Calvin could perform the necessary). He's got a 2 Below and I've got a Snakebite.

Not a bad way to start my vacation.

Jen is rather put out that I have abandoned her to work alone next week (all two days, and one TC day for her, so she should just hush I think), so I need to ensure that I'm on Google IM and updating on this site often enough to keep her entertained. Since she's one of the only things allowing me to keep my sanity at work, it would be well of me to keep her happy. (She took my picture today. I suspect things.)

Instead of having our own Thanksgiving at home this year, we are going to the Grandparents for dinner. So my Massive Menu From Hell is reduced to two pies and a batch of four bean salad. Easy peasy. I still intend to cook new dinner dishes and dessert dishes throughout the week; I am perhaps more interested in cooking now that I have less to do.

Tonight is Friday, though, so that means fast food. Time enough to get ambitious tomorrow.


_{Momentary Thought: I poured my Snakebite incorrectly. For the next glass I will pour the Guinness first and then the Strongbow.
High: I'm on vacation until the 26th, and the first day back to work is my telecommute day.
Low: I'm not skinny. See also, "Momentary Thought".
Obsession: The last two discs of season two of "Bones" that's waiting for me from Netflix in the mailbox.
Grin: See "High".
Playing: The Discovery Channel.
Location: Living room.}

Labels: blogkeeping, home, misc, vacation

Posted by Laura at 4:34 PM | Permalink | Comments

It seems that as I get older I don't want to get up early for NUTHIN. Back when I was a child I couldn't sleep the night before a trip, so excited was I. Now? The alarm goes off and I could be going for a month-long all expenses paid trip to HAWAII, and I wouldn't want to have to get up to make a 7:15 a.m. flight.

But make the 7:15 flight (to Oregon, not Hawaii), we did. Calvin and I have been doing a LOT of traveling this year, and the whole check in and security dance is getting quite old. However, we were duly entertained by angst first thing in the morning, as we waited our turn at the automated check-in station of Alaska Air. The lines were suggestions at most, and a lady ended up cutting in line. Which righteously offended this guy, waiting his turn. So angered was he that he approached the woman, told her off in a VERY LOUD VOICE for being rude, then stood behind the woman, read her name off of the check-in station, and said, "This is JULIE, everyone! JULIE is the rude woman who can't wait her turn! Let's hear it for JULIE!" Thereby succeeding in drawing everyone's eyes, originally staring at Julie, to stare instead at him.

So, that was fun.

Calvin and I sat to a very nice elderly lady (who was reading a naughty romance novel, which cracked me up) on the plane. She very helpfully filled us in on details of our destination, in between short naps and munching on a very strange "breakfast cookie" provided by the airline in place of actual, you know, food. We landed in Portland at about 10:00, wrestled with the luggage, waited for what seemed like an ETERNITY in the line for the rental car, and then waited for another ETERNITY to pull the car out of the parking garage as the people at the gate in front of us made the lady checking the paperwork trot back and forth to the rental desk.

That was an awesome run-on sentence.

The hotel let us check in early, and after dropping off our luggage we set off on foot to find sustenance and beverage. Nosh, if you will. Thing is? Portland Oregon is MUCH bigger than Portland Maine, a fact which I suppose I twigged intellectually, but not consciously. So, not knowing our way around at all, I'm sure we picked exactly the WRONG direction in which to strike out on our quest for food. BUT! We finally came across a Rock Bottom, which while not the quaint native hole-in-the-wall we were looking for, afforded us with an opportunity to hoover and guzzle and generally be hungry piggies. We ordered a beer sampler, were rather chagrined at the sheer amount of sample glasses plunked down in front of us, then found the consumption of said samples to be easier accomplished than originally thought (really, one gulp each x 8 or 9 samples = about a full beer for each of us).

(I do hope my judgmental anonymous reader comments again. I shall have more than enough fodder for him/her by the end of this entry.)

Okay! From there we decided to wander down to the Beer Festival (more beer! Beer is good!). There were no lines to speak of, Thursday being opening day, and most of the Good People of Oregon were still working. We bought our plastic mugs...



...then started down one side and up the other, stopping at whichever station had the funnest name. There was Sweaty Betty Blonde, Donner Party Porter, Bitch Creek ESB, Pliny the Elder, Whoop Pass Double IPA, and Noggin Grog, to name just a few. I'm a big fan of IPA's, so I think my favorite there was the Alaskan IPA brewed by Alaskan Brewing Co.

Along with our mugs we bought twenty tokens for twenty dollars. I kept 10 and gave Calvin 10. One token for a "taster" (about 1/4 mug), four tokens for a full mug. We pretty much stuck to just tasters, to sample the most amount of beers without having to buy more tokens. The weather was absolutely BEAUTIFUL - mid 70's and sunny, with a light breeze going. At one point we took our samples and sat in the (SOFT!) grass under the trees.



We must have sat there for over an hour, just enjoying the weather and people-watching.

After departing the festival, we went back up to our hotel room for a (ahem) nap. The beds were incredibly comfortable - the kind you sort of fall into and get consumed by. We were up on the fourteenth floor of the building (the Marriott on the corner of Washington and Broadway, for those Oregonians following along at home), where we could look across at the busily dedicated workers pounding away at their computers in the offices of the building across the street. (This one girl in particular in the corner office of the top floor was there late every day and even all day Saturday. The weather was so beautiful and I was tempted to go over there and drag her away from her work.)

We departed the hotel again at about 8:30 pm, marveling at how light it still was outside. I don't think the sun went fully down until about 10:00. We had dinner at Jake's Grill...



... then just wandered up and down the streets. There were these funky lunch carts EVERYWHERE, advertising food from every known nationality to man (plus CREPES!) that, alas, we never got a chance to eat at... and I also didn't take any pictures of them, which is weird, for me. We stopped at Tugboat's, a VERY hole-in-the-wall (nearly literally) bar, and then another place whose name escapes me at the moment but which I will probably recall before I am done writing this entry.



The next morning Calvin and I got up reasonably early, and I went off in search of Peets coffee (a shop was adjacent to our hotel - BOMB almond croissants, by the way) while Calvin showered. This is the routine when we are traveling together - I get up first and get showered and ready, then wake him up to get him going, and go off in search of coffee. By the time I get back to the room he's usually showered and dressed. A properly caffeinated husband is a happy husband. A happy husband is a happy Laura.

We claimed the car from the valet (hello, $26 a day! yeesh) and drove west on route 26 toward Cannon Beach. Along the way we hit a rest stop that, upon exploration, revealed a connection to Rock Creek and a little hiking trail.







There's something about being outdoors that makes Calvin want to take pictures of my nekkid butt ("Here I am, mooning the great outdoors..."), so we did that, but I'm not going to show you. Use your vivid imaginations. Just... be flattering, okay? Heh.

Since a croissant doesn't go very far toward keeping OUR appetites happy, we stopped at Camp 18 for some KILLER burgers (and beer, natch).



We received some very helpful suggestions and directions from our waitress, and made it to Canon Beach without a problem. I was completely geeked to catch glimpses of the ocean and Haystack Rock (GOONIES!!! Remember the scene where they line up the rock formation with the medallion?) from the road, and was totally in love with the place by the time we (finally) maneuvered the traffic and pedestrians of the town, found a parking spot, and made it down to the beach.







After wandering around the village at Cannon Beach for a while, we got back on the road and headed toward Astoria. The only thing lacking from our drive among the cliff-side houses was Cyndi Lauper singing that "Goonies are Good Enough". It was totally surreal; I kept expecting Mikey and the boys to come racing out to let the air out of Brandon's tires.

We gaped at how BIG the mouth of the Columbia River is, and (after a couple of wrong turns where we were all, "We're over HERE and we want to be over THERE,") drove across the bridge over to Washington.







Back over on the Oregon side, we stopped at the "Ship's Inn", a restaurant recommended by our waitress at Camp 18, who's perfect and LITERAL directions ("...the road right before the Burger King in Astoria...") dropped us right there. Calvin had a crab cocktail, I got some short neck clams.

And beer.





By the time we finished up at Ship's Inn, it was nearly 5:00 and time to head back toward Portland. Calvin and I really enjoyed the entire road along 26. Lots of trees, rolling green fields and farm stands sporting cherries and fresh berries. We fail to realize just now NOT green Arizona is until we go to somewhere as green as Oregon. As long as we were there, the contrast never stopped startling us.

The next day (Saturday) we spent the entire day pretty much just walking around the city. We bought some more comfortable shoes at Columbia Sports, our feet having suffered from our poor packing choice of footwear. We had breakfast at Mother's, then went down to the open air market they hold every Saturday. We encountered a homeless man in a flowered dress and straw hat brightly decorated with fluorescent fake flowers, literally IN the dumpster we parked near, who had a very cheerful hello for us. We also were nonplussed to be confronted by a homeless man getting a BJ from a prostitute under some bushes literally two feet from the HIGHLY TRAFFICKED (by families with children, even) sidewalk.

They were too busy to say hello.

We only stayed for a few minutes in the market before leaving again - I think we were traumatized or something. So we drove around for a little bit, then took the car back to the hotel and hit a couple of restaurants and a brewery. We had dinner on the sidewalk (where most places had their outdoor seating area) at Jake's Crawfish and watched the comings and goings of the very fancy men at the gay bar across the street.



After dinner we walked around some more, and found ourselves back at that bar whose name I can't remember. SIXSHOOTERS! That's it. We sat outside (on the sidewalk again) and chatted with a couple of young men who were in Portland on an internship with Walgreens. While sitting there we deflected more requests for "compassion" from several more homeless men (and we would be more compassionate if they weren't buying BJ's and booze with their donated money - and I'm probably going to catch hell from someone for that comment). We also encountered two very fabulous ladies on their way to a party at Escape, who were kind enough to pose for a picture:



Sunday was our last day in Oregon, so after the wake up/coffee/checkout/valet routine, we drove up to Cameo's Cafe for a terrific breakfast (best bacon EVER), and got a parking ticket in the process. We spent the rest of the misty morning traversing the paths of the Rose Test Garden and the Japanese Garden in Washington Park.













Okay, so Portland? Is hard to get around if you're not familiar with the place. After we left Washington Park we went back down to the city proper to find this floating restaurant/bar that Calvin recalled from a trip he took back in the 90's. We could see it from the road but had a heck of a time figuring out which turn to take that would get us down to the riverfront. We finally figured it out, but we were cracking ourselves up with the sheer amount of wrong turns we took.

First stop was the Marina Fish House, the aforementioned floating restaurant. We sat outside on the dock and watched the ducks and geese competing for the french fries a posse of little boys were tossing to them. The movement of the dock was a little disconcerting at first. We enjoyed an hour of river watching while sipping some brews - my new favorite is now the Bridgeport IPA.



(Sometimes I just can't believe how handsome Calvin is.)



We walked up the riverside walk to the park end and made ourselves comfortable in the rocking chairs on the porch of Three Degrees. We could have stayed there all day long, rocking and sipping and nibbling on a cheese platter. Entertainment was provided by a huge flock of geese that was completely unperturbed by the multiple attempts made by small children to get them to scatter. As soon as we saw them we immediately thought of Marie, who as a little girl (and probably still now) would have made just such an attempt.





We still had a couple of hours to kill before we needed to leave for the airport, so we wandered back down the walk and stopped at McCormick & Schmick's for some lunch... and more beer.







Winding down to the end, now... we made it to the airport with time to spare... and then discovered that we had even MORE time to spare than originally thought - our 7:15 pm flight was delayed until after 9:00. So we hung out in one of the restaurants in the airport, looked at all of the pictures on the digital camera, had some munchies, and braved a nuclear neon drink.



So, our opinion of Oregon is that we wouldn't mind living there, but definitely wouldn't live in Portland city proper. It's not small town enough for us. The countryside is beautiful, though, with a branch of AcronymCo that's located right in the middle of some farmlands. So transferring is an option, though not in the immediate future. All in all, we liked Oregon, though it wasn't exactly what we were expecting.

Labels: booze, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 2:15 PM | Permalink | Comments

Pictures are up from our Oregon trip. No text or descriptions on them yet - that will come over the course of this week. As will the full journal entry of our trip and associated adventures (and there were many). But Jen has been pestering me for pictures, and that's the fastest way to get me to do something!

Labels: photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 3:35 PM | Permalink | Comments

(Guess which song is playing on my iPod right now.)

Calvin and I are off to Oregon tomorrow morning. Very, very early tomorrow morning. So that we may arrive in Oregon comparitively early and commence with all of the drinking.

What does it say about us that we are fashioning a mini-vacation around the purpose of drinking? No, don't answer that. Just picture us, whenever you think of us tomorrow (if you think of us... but of course you will, you loyal readers!), sitting in 75-degree weather, sipping a microbrew on the banks of the Willamette River.

Many pictures to come, I assure you.

(I'm hot, and I don't care who knows it... I've got a job to do.)

Labels: booze, vacation

Posted by Laura at 2:34 PM | Permalink | Comments

The thing I couldn't recall about Wednesday of our vacation day is taking a stroll with Calvin along the Eastern Promenade in Portland, after doing laundry but before pub crawling.


Thursday (5/10 for those of you following along at home):

Thursday we spent the entire day driving up (and then down, natch) the coast of Maine, following Route One (murder during tourist season, but we were early by a few weeks). First we hit Waldo's ("Hey, I found him!"), a convenience store/gas station/ice cream shop/hair salon/small engine repair (I kid - but there are actually a lot of combo places of bidness like that in Maine) in Falmouth, to stock up on road-trip munchies and beverages ("All Dressed" Humpty Dumpty potato chips are THE BOMB). "Up the road a piece", we stopped at the Muddy Rudder in Yarmouth for brunch (MORE SEAFOOD, PLEASE), getting there a few minutes before they opened but not having to cool our heels long at all.

Our waiter was very, very swishy.

From there we drove north (and then south - peninsulas are weird that way) to Boothbay Harbor. Now this is definitely a town that's only awake during tourist season - nearly every place we checked was closed until the next week. We wandered into a gift shop (hello walnut sized bladder), where Calvin picked out a really pretty little starfish necklace for me. I love it when he does that. We bought a couple of little souvenirs and wandered around looking at the ketch that can only be found in these little hole in the wall places in Maine.

We discovered that McSeagull's was open, and we stopped for a couple of beers and tuna tartar.




We listened to the conversation of a trio of chimney workers just back from their morning stint over on Squirrel Island (man, you can find ANYTHING on Wikipedia). We conversed with them a little as we all enjoyed our beers out on the patio - that was one thing Calvin was exclaiming over during the trip, how friendly the people are and how often they just want to gab.

That's where I get it from.

Upon leaving McSeagull's we wandered around a little more, but not much was open. I got some ice cream (black raspberry! yes!), Calvin got a couple of cigars, and we got back on the road heading south. We detoured at around the Bath area to ooh and ahh at the destroyers in the shipyard at Bath Iron Works, where my uncle used to work. You can see the HUMONGOUS cranes stationed there from miles away; certainly a major fixture in my childhood memories.

We then went down along another one of the "fingers" protruding along the coast, to check out the town of Phippsburg and Fort Popham. I'd directed Calvin and the kids to Popham Beach back in '99 when the four of us were in Maine, but we never made it to the fort.

Our attention was immediately caught by the pod of seals just off-shore. They and the loons were having a merry old time fishing; there must have been a large school of fish in the area to keep them there as long as they were. We took picture after picture (after picture - 19 made it through Photoshop and onto Flickr, but there were many more), getting our feet and pants wet in the process as we failed to notice the incoming ("INCOMING!") tide.


We then wandered around the fort, taking another bazillion-and-three pictures (36 made the cut). I think the best one is this one, with Calvin peering into the pitch-black cell ("I am NOT going in there...") and me lighting it up with the flash behind him.







We drove back to Portland with the top down, adding to our wicked scalp sunburns. When taking a road trip in Maine, I highly recommend picking up one of these. Not only does it show every single nook and cranny of Maine's craggy coast (plus the rest of the state, of course), it has a ton of information on recreation and activities.

Upon our return to our room, we got cleaned up and then went right back out again for another meal at J's Oysters. Calvin got a double order of crab legs - MAN were we moo-ing that night.

Friday:

We slept in a bit on Friday morning, and I once again ordered us a bit of room service so I wouldn't have to stumble down to the Map Room for their complimentary coffee. We left at around noon to head back to New Gloucester to visit with my uncle, and also my old neighbors the Marshalls (Brad's parents). My uncle and his girlfriend hosted us to a "little lunch" - fresh shrimp cocktail, baked asparagus spears wrapped in filo pastry, softball-sized steaks, and baked potatoes.

Moo. Again. Seems I was stuffed to bursting for the entire vacation.

It was so nice to be home, in the house that I grew up in. Absolutely nothing has changed, other than a little paint and updated decorating ala my uncle's girlfriend. The years just peeled away from me as Calvin and I walked up the Marshall's driveway, the way I used to so often, so long ago. We sat in their kitchen and talked for about an hour. They're such good people, and I got to see Brad's sister Christine for the first time in years, too. And a bunny! And their black lab, who is a clone of Brandy.

And they still have the swing in the barn.

It is such a relief to know that nothing changes about home. I can go home whenever I have the opportunity, and other than a few new houses and a few new stores (and a few closed businesses - the Burger King I used to work at when I was first married to X(m) is closed, and good riddance), everything stays the same. Thank God for that.

We stopped back at my uncle's (it's weird to say it's his place now, rather than Grandma's) for a few more minutes, and I went through some of my old belongings to weed out what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to throw away. Calvin was cracking up at my old school papers (a two-foot tall stack of them dating from kindergarten all the way through high school), and I pointed out to him the multiple A's and 100's. I laughed at my old high school yearbook and some attempts at artwork (I was never artistically inclined), and my uncle and I discussed how best to ship my mother's sterling silver flatware.

Though maybe he should hold onto it, in case we end up moving to Maine in the near future.

We intended that night to meet my sister and her husband in the Old Port for one final pub crawl on our last night there, but she never returned my multiple voicemail messages. Nor has she returned the messages I have left since my return to Arizona. I'm kind of pissed off at my sister right now.

I was feeling kind of crappy come Friday night anyway, coming down with the cold that is still lingering as I type this, two weeks later. Calvin and I went to back to Gritty's and back to 51 Wharf, but I was wilting fast, so we called it a night at around 10:30.

Saturday:

More room service, and I packed us up fairly quickly. We took one last stroll through the Old Port to secure a couple more souvenirs - including T-shirts for Calvin, Michael, and Marie's boyfriend that feature a black dog in what I will call the "pooping pose" emblazoned on the back. It's that Maine humor.

We ate lunch at Mim's (decent, but not thrilling - here is one person's take on it), then checked our car out of valet for the last time. Back on I-295/95, we drove south and detoured over to Kennebunkport to check out the sights. We had some time to kill before we had to make our 5:30 flight out of Manchester, so we drove slowly through the back roads checking out the village and the million-dollar houses.

In Wells we stopped at the House of Pizza for some wicked good three-way (a three-item pizza, for you flatlandahs).

Another hour on the road saw us at the Manchester airport. By this time my cold had really set in and I was miserable. To make matters worse, by the time we finally meandered to our gate (after killing a couple of hours in the airport bar and gift shop), we discovered that our plane was delayed due to bad weather in Philadelphia (our connection).

Thus began the terrible saga of our journey home.

Calvin was in fine fettle, as you can imagine, by the time we finally boarded our flight to Philly, nearly two hours late. We arrived at around 9:00, a half-hour late for our connecting flight to Arizona. Mayhem ensued as we tried to find a US Airways rep to get us booked for the next flight out.

The following morning.

10 hours spent overnight in an airport terminal. Because weather delays are not the airline's fault, and no reimbursement would be given for hotel or airfare.

Did I mention I was sick?

Calvin and I got some truly mediocre pizza at the two-minutes-to-closing S'Barro's. Yeee-uck. Then we found our terminal and moved two blocks of chairs together, because they all had arms so we couldn't stretch out without combining two sets and lying down the middle. It was freezing, blazingly bright with the nearby TV at full volume, and I was miserable. I bundled into all the clothes I had - a hoodie AND a sweatshirt which Calvin described as my "baglady look". A couple of airport employees stopped by to give us scratchy airline pillows and paper-thin "blankets", and we huddled in a miserable pile from 11:00 at night until 5:00 in the morning.

GOD what a suck night that was.

Sunday (12 hours after we should have been home already):

The plane from Philly to Arizona left at 7:30, and Calvin and I had the very back, non-reclining row. Of course. We leaned, layed, and scrunched (fortunately, no one else had the third seat), and slept the best we could.

We waited for EVER for our luggage (which fortunately made it on the same flight we were on), then grabbed the first ride out of the airport that we could. We were finally home by about 11:00 in the morning.

I'll tell you what, I am NEVER flying US Air again, and I am NEVER taking a connection through Philly. The airport was in chaos, with terminals that could only be accessed between one another via shuttle bus. ONE shuttle bus, with fifteen other perfectly functional shuttle buses just sitting idle on the tarmac. US Air employees are indifferent at best, rude at worst, and remarkably disinterested in being helpful or kind or polite AT ALL. Fuckers.

So, it was a homecoming suitable to our mood, since we were huffed that vacation was over and we didn't at all miss Arizona one minute, not one little bit.

Labels: best things, Calvin, food, journal, Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 3:41 PM | Permalink | Comments

Wednesday:

Let's see. Just a week since we've been home and things are already starting to get fuzzy in my memory. Wednesday morning I ordered us some fruit, pastry, and coffee from room service and spent the morning reading, photoshopping, and relaxing while Calvin did the same with the paper and the TV. Around noon we took the car to get some gas, then drove to Dimillo's (a short walk from our hotel but we didn't want to put the car in valet again) to have lunch with my uncle, his girlfriend, my cousin and her husband. We were there for over two hours, enjoying fillet (Calvin) and baked stuffed haddock (me), drinks, and conversation.

My uncle presented me with my mother's class ring, which had been lost at one point and then rediscovered and kept for me. I got caught up with my cousin, whom I hadn't seen since my Grandmother passed away. I don't know why, but it continues to startle me how well I get along with my uncle, when I was so fearful of him (out of respect and the threat of his righteous anger to get me to behave) when I was little. My sister doesn't get along with him at all - she has a different history with him than I do. But more on all of that in a different entry.

Anyway, we all parted company at a little after 3:00, and secured an invitation for lunch at my uncle's (my Grandmother's, where I grew up) on Friday.

Calvin was out of clean jeans, so we looked up the nearest laundromat and spent an hour or so futzing around with the more mundane aspects of living out of a suitcase. We may or may not have taken a nap after getting back to the hotel, I don't really recall.

What I DO recall is the BEST evening spent with my favorite person (that'd be Calvin), doing a pub crawl all over the Old Port. We went back to Bull Feeney's for a quick beer, then wandered down toward the wharf so I could show Calvin the spot that I took pictures from Sunday evening, while he was napping.


After rave recommendations from my uncle, we had dinner at J's Oyster Bar (the link is to another blogger who reviewed the place and took the pictures of the outside that I did not). The place is, like, three square feet and when I say it's an Old Port "institution", I mean that in the truest and most respectful sense. We went there more than once in our short stay. They had the best crab legs Calvin and I have ever experienced. Plus I got my much-craved steamed clams (and my yearly recommended allowance of sand). It's dim and crowded and shabby and fantastic. Real food with real people running the place, and the most unpretentious sort of clientele.


God, we loved that place.

Breathing deeply of the crisp night air, we set out with no particular destination in mind, and no plans other than to crawl our way through some pubs. We hit Gritty's and sampled some of their great house brew. I just have to say that I love the bars in the Old Port - all housed in old, old buildings with exposed brickwork and wooden beams, funny crannies and architecture that screams "converted".

Next stop was a bar on Wharf Street called "Cake" (can't find a link to it). It's newly opened and the bar tender (and part owner?) was eager to please. We sat on the whiskey bar side - the dance club side was empty in early evening awaiting clientele. We grabbed a couple of beers and ordered steak tartar and some crackers with cheese and caviar (very fancy schmancy are we on vacation!).


From Cake we crossed Wharf Street and went to 51 Wharf, a contemporary bar that was offering salsa classes that night, of all things. We declined the lessons and had a couple of Jamesons at the bar (after he tried to serve us SOCO. Yeesh.). The bartender was fantastically inattentive but we're low maintenance customers so after we got our drinks straightened around it wasn't much of a problem.


By the time we stumbled out of 51 Wharf it was quite late, and I honestly don't remember us getting back to the hotel room. Which means we had a GOOD night.

Labels: best things, booze, Calvin, food, journal, Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 6:08 PM | Permalink | Comments

Monday:

We couldn't have asked for better weather for just about the entire week we were in Maine - a fact that the "natives" were more than happy to inform us on a number of occasions. After having the Patriot's Day Storm just a couple of weeks before our arrival, the nice weather we experienced was considered to be "freak".

Calvin and I went to Eggspectations for breakfast on Monday morning. This was the place that I took Marie and her friend a few times when we were in Maine during my Sabbatical in '03. I believe they were more enamored of the waiters than the food. Suffice to say, the food was acceptable but no more. A strange occurrence when you consider the RHAPSODIES we generally had over our meals during vacation. Ih, what can you expect from a chain restaurant. The ONLY chain establishment we ate at the entire vacation, by the way.

After breakfast we drove through Portland's West End, which is occupied by many stately manors and old Victorian and Colonial architecture. We had to stop at the State Street Church for about a thousand pictures (okay, ten that I posted, but a bunch more that didn't make the cut).


Driving on we took the Casco Bay Bridge over to Cape Elizabeth for the traditional and required visit to the Portland Head Light and Fort Williams (here is an interesting article on the Forts of Maine). We lingered for several hours at the light, exploring the tidal pools among the rocks below. I just sat and breathed for a long, long time. It felt so good to be there, and when it came time to leave I kept stopping and looking around to try to infuse my spirit and mind with the peace I felt there. The whole trip was filled with moments like this, as I tried to take away as much of Maine as I could, not knowing the next time I would be able to be there again.


We spend a couple of hours after leaving the light, exploring around Cape Elizabeth and gawking at the OH MY GOD houses there. Multi-million dollar properties perched along the rocky cliffs, owned by old money and old people who probably have rat bastard children who don't deserve to inherit the properties.

Hmm. Moving on.

Our next stop was The Lobster Shack, situated on the edge of Two Lights Park in Cape Elizabeth. Some adjectives: "cozy", "quaint", "teeny", "delicious"... and very, very typical of a Mom and Pop establishment in Maine. Complete with attack seagulls that whisk away your popcorn shrimp if you so much as glance in another direction, if you happen to be sitting outside on the picnic tables. Which we did not, but were vastly amused by a shrieking woman who did. Damn flatlandah didn't know bettah.


Leaving Cape Elizabeth, we headed back to Portland for a drive around Bayside and Back Bay/Back Cove, then north a bit to Falmouth Foreside for some more gawking at some more houses that we would never in our lifetime be able to afford. I guess any homes right on the ocean are going to be like that, no matter where they are.

We had a lot of fun with our little Audi A4 (and Calvin was devastated to learn how far outside of our financial reach its big brother the R8 is). We both got some pretty wicked sunburns on the top of our heads from buzzing around with the top down. Who remembers to put sunblock on their HEAD, for godsakes? But the weather was glorious, the roads beautiful with the trees just starting to bud their leaves, the ocean everywhere you looked, and the smell of the crisp salt air tinged with green, growing things. The best smell on the planet.

We went back to the hotel in the early evening for a shower, dinner, and then bed at a reasonable hour for us old folks.

Tuesday:

Tuesday was another early starter for us - who wants to sleep when they're on vacation? Except for the times when that is the point exactly. Anyway, we again grabbed breakfast at 20 Milk Street before driving south a little ways to Old Orchard Beach. We were early enough (in the day and in the season, come to find out), that very few shops and restaurants were open. We were okay with that, though, as we were mainly there to walk along the sandy beach. I love the fact that Maine has rocky coastlines to explore and sandy beaches to walk along. I took my shoes off to stroll barefoot in the FUCKING COLD sand dampened by the FUCKING COLD ocean. And there were actually people SWIMMING. Or, well, running in, shrieking, running out, then running back in again. Whatever, weirdos. Our stay was fairly brief (I had to GO, SO BAD, and no restrooms were around and/or open), and Calvin and I were suddenly struck with weariness, so we decided to go back to the hotel for a nap.



A couple of hours later we were awakened by the hotel front desk. Apparently there was a leak (we didn't do it, SWEAR) in the room below us, and in order to get to it they had to go in from above the leak, and would we mind terribly moving to a different room for the rest of our stay? Well, since it meant a free upgrade to a suite (we were in a standard king room), we said "Hell, yeah," and packed in record time. We left for a hour or so for lunch at Sebago Brewing Company, and when we returned they had moved all of our belongings to our new room. We ooh'ed at the flat panel TV and the skylight in the bathroom and the general increased roomyness, then unpacked and made ourselves at home again.

Departing the hotel once again (and the valet guys made a killing off us that week, I swear), we set off to see if I could remember the location of "that really old cemetery off of Stevens Avenue". I must say that Calvin gave me some rather strange looks when I told him where we were going. I believe his exact words were, "You're going to take pictures? Of graves??? That's just creepy, Laura. Why the hell would anybody think to go to a cemetery for FUN??? Oh, wait, this is YOU we're talking about..."

Huff.

I've always liked the Evergreen Cemetery - it's enormous and just seems to keep on going and going. And it's way old, with graves from the late 1600's and early 1700's, all the way up through present day. I find it very interesting to read the inscriptions and look for family associations - mother to child, sisters, brothers, husbands lauded with fancy inscriptions while their wives get just a name and "wife of...". Lots of babies dying in their first year, lots of mothers dying in childbirth, many people in general dying at an age we would consider to be young today. Evergreen also contains a lot of monuments to historic people - Samuel Wilde, Henry Goddard Thomas, and the Wadsworth Longfellow's are some of the more commonly known.


The inscription portion of the photo contest still has yet to be won, by the way.

We left the cemetery after taking fifty million pictures (34 of which made the cut) and drove north to my old stomping grounds of Gray/New Gloucester. We had some time to kill and stopped at Cole Farms to satisfy another one of my, "When I'm in Maine I have to eat HERE," cravings. My mother worked at Cole's up until she passed away, and I spent a lot of time there when I was little. Plus it was a popular employer of the local high school students, and one of the few restaurants close enough to where I lived to warrant a mid-week visit if the craving struck. Calvin got himself a burger, and I ordered fried clams with french fries and a side of their house dressing. Dipping fries in this dressing (when I was little I called it "doodle sauce") is something I used to get cravings for when I lived there. Calvin ordered dessert just because he knew I wanted a slice of their chocolate cream pie (to. die. for.) but was going to deny myself because I was, once again and perpetually during this trip, full.

We moo'ed our way back to the car and drove "out Poland way" to visit my sister and her husband and four kids. Their driveway was inaccessible without a four-wheel-drive vehicle (which we DEFINITELY weren't driving), so we agreed to meet them all at her neighbor's, who kindly opened up the use of his garage (heh, a Maine thing) for us to congregate, drink, and be merry. It's a distinctly Maine trait to fix up one's garage/barn/shop before "finishing" the actual home.

Propane tank behind the garage - left side's ladies room, right side's mens.

Calvin and I took turns taking all of my sister's kids out for rides in the convertible, and I got to have a little bonding time with my niece, who is 14 and taller than I am. My sister is fond of accusing her of being, "just like your AUNT LAURA." As if that could possibly be a bad thing. She is a lot like me, though - same sense of humor, same sarcastic mouth, same inability to NOT make little zinging comments about everything in general. I love the hell out of her.

We hung out for a few hours just gabbing, reintroducing my sister and her husband to tequila, greeting my sister's friends who have known me since I was born (she used to drag me to her parties if she was stuck babysitting me), and gawking at the stars (which are SUPREMELY visible in Maine and nonexistent in Arizona). It being a Tuesday, though, we didn't want to keep everyone up when they all had to work the next day, so we excused ourselves at around 10:30 and made plans with my sister to go partying in the Old Port on Friday night.


Okay! Next part will be up sometime this weekend. And I have a TON more I could have written about this trip so far.

Labels: best things, Calvin, food, journal, Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 11:55 AM | Permalink | Comments

I didn't provide too much detail during the week Calvin and I were in Maine, because, well, I wanted to be OUT DOING instead of IN WRITING. So you got your little drabs and your BIG amounts of pictures, which I hope helped to tide you over. That is, if you needed tiding. Perhaps you were completely and entirely disinterested. Who knows what goes on it that brain of yours, anyway?

Moving on.

The problem with going home is that at least two days out of every vacation are fully occupied with travelling. We left Arizona at 7:30 in the morning Arizona time on Saturday, and got to our hotel in Maine at 7:30 in the evening Maine time. That's flights, layovers, and the drive from Manchester NH to Portland ME. Coast to coast travel is a bitch, people.

Saturday, The Remainder:

The hotel (The Portland Regency, and I doubt we'll ever stay anywhere else, the place was AWESOME) was a MUCH WELCOME sight when we finally rolled in, even though we only paused long enough to shower up and change clothes, then we were out prowling the Old Port.


We stopped in the Armory Lounge, the hotel's bar, for some alcohol soaking food (Chicken Gorgonzola for Calvin, lobster salad on a croissant for me), and then went down the street and around the corner to Bull Feeney's, an Irish Pub that was packed and happenin' (and did YOU know that lobsters love Guinness? I didn't.).

I already mentioned the oddity that is Cinco de Mayo in Maine, with the Irish drinking songs and the VERY WHITE GUYS sporting very black fake moustaches and sombreros. There was "Fred", who loved everybody, and told everybody that fact repeatedly. There were these two guys that were wasted and standing, weaving, calling catcalls and encouragements to the live entertainment, and trying with little success to sing along. Calvin and I enjoyed ourselves hugely, drank tequila (which is per our standard, but the folks in the bar thought that was Very Authentic of us), got hugged by Fred about twelve times (who, it turned out, was just back from Iraq), and finally stumbled our way back to our hotel a little after 1:00 a.m.

Sunday:

Tequila = ow.

I already described how I woke up ridiculously early and how Calvin was forced to get out of bed against his will. How he could sleep through the constant calls of the seagulls was beyond me - they woke us up pretty much every morning. If I lived there I'd probably get sick of it, but at week's end it was still novel to me. The hotel is one street up from the harbor, and with all of the fishing boats coming and going, there was a lot of seagull conversating going on.

"Mine? Mine? Mine?"

We ate breakfast at Twenty Milk Street, the restaurant in the hotel. They had a very fancy-schmancy Sunday Brunch going on, but we ordered more standard fare. Calvin had corned beef hash made with actual corned beef (not those weird little Dinty Moore cubes) and poached eggs Benedict, and I had eggs over medium with bacon and toast. Good LORD people, can I just rhapsody a moment over the bacon? I don't know what they do to the pigs in Maine, but whatever it is makes the bacon taste like meaty strips of heaven.


You do know that this entry is going to be primarily about food, don't you? Maine is very VERY big on producing and selling locally grown produce, dairy, meats, and of course seafood. Very little (if any) of the food we ate was from "away". Except for the tequila (and some guy randomly told us in Bull Feeney's that there's a tequila manufacturer in Maine. I'm not sure I believe him. A cactus would never survive the Maine winters, even indoors.).

Anyway. We took the car out (valet parking at ten bucks a day plus a fiver tip every time you take it out) and drove "out New Gloucester way", taking the drive I used to commute every day to and from work (and whoever thought I ever would have wanted to do that for fun??). From there we drove the back roads to Freeport, stopped briefly at LL Bean for the required souvenier gifts for the gang back home, then wandered back toward the Old Port. Lunchtime rolled around and, utilizing the directions we got from the bartender at The Armory the night before, we went to the Amato's on India Street for my Mecca Moment. I tell you what, we had to wait for over a half an hour for those darned sandwiches - the folks behind the counter couldn't get their acts together and misplaced our VERY SIMPLE ORDER (one large regular, one small roast beef, guess which one was mine), like, three times. But we finally made it back to the hotel room with the Italians and the Humpty Dumpty salt-n-vinegar chips (an institution, and what an awesome website MaineGoodies.com is!!!), and the Sam Adams.

I think I ate that entire foot-long sandwich in three bites. Oh, the pickles! Ohhh, the bread. Ohhhhhh, the fact that I'm three thousand miles and God knows how many months away from having another one...

Ahem.

After lunch we went looking for a sports bar with a TV that would sport the Suns game ("The who? What game are you looking for?" ("Basket. Ball.") "Uhhh... the Red Sox are playing...") We walked into one place and turned around and went back out almost immediately, having assessed their TV-less-ness. A (rather drunk) guy standing just outside the door looked at us funny and said, "What'd you do that for?" Calvin bristled, still operating on Arizona Standard Defense mode, and said, "What do you mean?" So the guy slurred, "Why would you wanna walk into a bar, then walk right out again? Oh, you have a camera. You're trying to (hic) capture something..." I just laughed and pulled Calvin away, reminding him that in Maine, any questionable circumstance would most likely turn out to be well meaning but weird, instead of violent and confrontational.

We finally settled in the Old Port Tavern. There was absolutely nobody there (it being Sunday afternoon), and the more beer I drank, the sleepier I got.


Calvin got a little annoyed that I would want to take a nap (don't worry, the irony kicks in later). After about an hour of fighting it, I finally gave in and we went back to the hotel. I crashed in the room for ONE HOUR AND TWENTY MINUTES, that's it. He hung out in The Armory to watch the game (and have two more beers, and a PORT, of all things). He came back up to the room at about 5:20, at which point I woke up and got up to get myself ready for another evening of prowling around the Old Port. As I was in the process of dressing and grooming my hot self, he FELL ASLEEP. Fully clothed. Watching the game.

So. I figured, okay. I'll let him rest. I needed a nap too, after all. I grabbed the camera and went down toward the wharf to take a bunch of pictures.


I was gone for probably an hour or so, taking my time and enjoying the evening and the weather and the light. I wandered back up to the room at about 6:30. Tried to wake Calvin up. Got a grunt and a snore. So I sat at the computer and photoshopped the pictures. Tried to wake Calvin up once every half an hour or so. Finally gave up at 8:30 and let Calvin sleep. For the rest of the night.

Ahem.

I went down to The Armory with my book (The Dreamhunter by Sherrilyn Kenyon, and I have to say I didn't particularly like the book), grabbed a burger and gabbed with the bar guys while they ROARED over The Family Guy. I don't get that show At. All. There was a random 10-minute sequence where the dad on the show battled it out 007-style with a man-sized chicken. For no apparent reason. And then just stopped. Again, for no apparent reason. Something was lost in translation for me, that's for sure.

When I was done eating I went to the Map Room (which I never actually took a picture of, but it's a lovely sitting room with leather and mahogany furniture and model ships and maps everywhere) and read for about an hour. Then I went back up to the room, didn't take too much particular care to not disturb Calvin (not that it would have made a difference because I would have needed a marching band AND an earthquake), and went to sleep.

Aaaaand obviously I can't "summarize" to save my life, so I'm going to post this stuff in chunks. More tomorrow! I'm sure your riveted.

Labels: best things, booze, Calvin, food, journal, Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 3:16 PM | Permalink | Comments

During one of our days in Maine I took Calvin to see the Evergreen Cemetery in Portland. It kind of creeped him out that I would want to a) go to a cemetery for *fun*, and b) take pictures of other people's graves and tombs. I find this stuff fascinating, though, and eventually he did too. While Evergreen Cemetery is one of the oldest non-private cemetery in Maine, it is by no means THE oldest. The majority of graves were from the 17- and 1800's, but there are plenty of cemeteries all over Maine that have graves dating to the 1600's.

Anyway, while there I discovered a tomb whose inscription I couldn't fully decipher, and I thought it would be fun to make a little contest out of it for my readers. So, the first person to respond with the completed inscription wins a prize! Just send me an e-mail.


"A heritage of life
Beyond this guarded gloom
A kingdom - not a grave
A Heaven - not a tomb
Shall come to thee Our souls deep dreams
Our young affections have not (?) in (?)
Soon in (?) We shall (?) the (?) streams
And with the past be sorrow death and pain"

We also kept seeing these plants all over the place, does anybody know what it is?

Labels: Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 11:10 AM | Permalink | Comments

More pics start here, or start at the beginning of the vacation set here.

Tuesday - an early drive to Old Orchard beach for a stroll along the ocean; a nap; poking around Evergreen Cemetary and taking pics of tombs and graves to freak Calvin out; fried clams, french fries with house dressing and chocolate cream pie at Cole Farms; then hanging out with my sister and her family.

Wednesday - a hangover; lunch at D'Millos with my Uncle, his girlfriend, my cousin, and her husband; laundry; a pub crawl of the Old Port that included Gritty's, Cake, J's Oyster Bar (with the best crab legs EVER), and 51 Wharf.

Today - a drive up the coast via Route 1; lunch at The Muddy Rudder, beers and tuna tartar at McSeagull's in Boothbay Harbor, a drive over to Fort Popham, and now we're back at our room about to head out to J's Oyster Bar again. Pics of today (with seals!) are forthcoming.

Labels: best things, Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 3:47 PM | Permalink | Comments

Yesterday the weather was just lovely - high 60's/low 70's, sunny, breezy. We got up early-ish (early for US! 8:30 or so...) and went for breakfast at "Eggspectations" (hi, Marie!). After breakfast we decided to just drive around and enjoy the weather. We drove along the West End and enjoyed looking at all the OLD colonial architecture, and stopped to take about a hundred pictures of the State Street Church.



Then we crossed the Casco Bay Bridge into Cape Elizabeth for the required visit to Fort Williams and the Portland Head Light.



We drove all around Cape Elizabeth and came across Two Lights State Park and the local much-lauded institution, the Lobster Shack. We crammed into the tiny place and enjoyed our lobster roll (me) and shrimp plate (Calvin), then wandered around taking a few more pictures and enjoying the antics of the seagulls terrorizing a woman eating her food outdoors. After THAT we decided to head back North toward Portland, and drove around Bayside and Back Bay before heading to Falmouth Foreside, home of the OLD money and FABULOUS houses that we could never afford. Then it was back to the hotel for a shower and dinner before crashing again in our room.

More pictures start here, click the right arrow to see the rest of yesterday's pictures. Or start from the beginning of the set here.

Labels: best things, Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 4:51 AM | Permalink | Comments

The rest of today's pictures are here.

Labels: best things, crack, food, Maine, vacation

Posted by Laura at 3:50 PM | Permalink | Comments

You have never experienced Cinco de Mayo until you have experienced it in Maine. The guys we saw at the bar last night would have gotten beaten up in Arizona, is all I'm saying. I bet the vast majority of the population here have never met a person from Mexico. And yet, they were celebrating their independence very enthusiastically. With Irish drinking songs. And sombreros.

I woke up this morning at 6:30 a.m., still a little bit buzzed, I think. I tried to convince myself to go back to sleep, but my internal clock didn't care that it was 3:30 in the morning according to Arizona. I just could NOT go back to sleep. It's 8:15 now, and I've showered, dressed, hair/make-upped, unpacked, got the wireless Internet access working (hi), found coffee, and am now typing this entry. Calvin, who only had trouble staying asleep this morning because I was making noise, is grumbling and in the shower as I type this.

The flight over here was hellish, of course. Calvin promptly fell asleep and stayed that way for almost all of the Phoenix to Philadelphia leg of our trip. I finished my book about 3/4 of the way through the flight, couldn't sleep, couldn't get comfy, and so sat dwelling on the fact that in a few short hours I would be HOME.

There was a scene on the plane before take-off in Philly - a church group of 28 members were missing five of their compatriots, whose seats were given away to standby after waiting for almost a half hour for them to show up. One woman wanted to stage a walk-out and get the other 22 members to get off the plane - "We all go or none of us go, are you with me?!?" I felt bad for the poor flight attendant, who was trying to get folks to sit down and shut up. Finally one of the church group members volunteered to get off the plane and stay behind to arrange another flight for their missing friends. You'll be glad to know that by the time we landed in New Hamster, it had been established that they caught a later flight and all was well.

I was darn worried, too.

I cried a little bit on the car ride from Manchester to Portland, my head and my heart singing "HOME HOME HOME". Calvin thinks I'm a little bit nuts. I think I might be, too. We do have a WAY fun little car that we're driving - An Audi something or other, zippy with a convertible top. That was a pleasantly unexpected upgrade.

The hotel is very elegant indeed. Lots of leather and dark wood. I keep finding pictures that I want to take and shall probably embarrass myself playing tourist with the camera always stuck to my face. There are so many angles, great arches and brick work, lots of old buildings and fantastic light. I hope I can do justice with this new camera.

Okay, I'm going to go ply Calvin with coffee and futz around and take some pictures. Innernet access on vacation is way kewl.

Labels: Maine, vacation

Posted by Laura at 5:09 AM | Permalink | Comments

A post about what's goin' on.

Calvin and I decided to make our Maine trip a total vacation trip, instead of spending half of it in a seminar. We've had some major stress over the past couple of weeks, with health concerns going on with both of us, plus work, plus the kids, plus plus plus...

The upshot is that we just really need a decompression break. A week during which there will be no thinking about serious shit - something that we have been doing waaaay too much of over the past couple of weeks. So there will be more time for walking on the beach, visiting the lighthouses, prowling around the Old Port, and hanging with the family. The seminar can wait when our mental well-being is much more important.

I talked to my girlfriend AB last Sunday night, and she (and her daughter) were so shocked that I called that I felt like a complete choad. If your friends are shocked when you call, that means that you don't call enough. I shall try to be a better friend from this point forward.

Speaking of which, I called my sister three different times and left messages, and she hasn't called me back. So now I think she kind of sucks and she's going to have to work to get back into my good graces. Buying me an italian sandwich and having a bonfire at her house comes to mind.

Whenever I "hear" Lucy's voice in my head, she "sounds" like Ivana Trump. Cheeto "sounds" like Bill Murray (ala Garfield). Gadget "sounds" like Hammy from Over the Hedge (Steve Carell). Gypsy "sounds" like Caroline Rhea. And Oz sounds like Stewie from Family Guy (Seth MacFarlane). My imagination is a very strange place.

Cheeto and Lucy have been thrashing around in their tank all morning long - chasing from perch to perch, Cheeto bobbing and Lucy waving, both of them traipsing through their veggies and creating general mayhem. Just a few moments ago Lucy crawled back under one of the logs where she's spent most of her time for the past few months. Bearded dragons brumate (a semi-hibernation) for part of the year - usually the winter months. Her clock must be off, though, because it's in the (fucking) 90's and sunny 90% of the time. I think maybe their tank is too small and she's sleeping a lot because she's depressed. That's what I do when I'm depressed, anyway - crawl under a log (or the covers) and sleep it off. I think we'll get them a rabbit cage to set out in the sun on the lawn for them to hang out in on nice afternoons.

Michael bought Calvin's sport bike off of him, and now he's (Michael) constantly pestering him (Calvin) to go for a ride. The boy is hyper. And today is his 24th birthday. Lilly called and put the boys on with their birthday wishes - Calvin got to talk to them, too. As it was, like, 6:30 in the morning, I was still unconscious. X(f) (Michael and Marie's mom, for those of you who haven't plowed through all of the journal archives) is taking Michael to a baseball game tonight. Marie was not invited. That kind of ticks me off. It has been several years, now, since Marie and X(f) have spoken. But X(f) speaks to Michael quite often. I don't get that woman.

I have been tanning, a couple of times a week, at this place that is exactly two minutes away from my house. At first I was totally claustrophobic in the TANNING COFFIN OF DOOM, but I got used to it after the first few visits. I started at six minutes, worked my way up to eight, and now I'm a total pro at ten minutes. I'm a hussy and I tan nekkid - I thought I'd give you that mental image as a bonus, just for being such good readers. I kind of like the process over laying out in the sun, since it's so much quicker and I don't have to expose anyone to seeing me in a bathing suit. The only problem is that you get weird negative areas in your tan, like under your arms and on your tailbone. I don't think I'll keep up with it for very much longer - my purchased month of "all you can tan!" is over on the first, and I doubt I'll go beyond that. It was just one of those whims I got one day when I looked at myself in the mirror and said, "Damn, girl, you are one pasty looking bee-otch!"

I got an MRI on Monday, looking for issues beyond the pancreatitis. THAT was an interesting experience. It was cold, noisy, sensory-depriving, and much less horrid than the CT-scan I got a couple of weeks ago (no IV! no needles! no problem!). I wore elastic waisted jogging pants and a t-shirt with no bra (woo-woo!), so I didn't have to further demean myself by wearing the svelte little gowns they give you. The scanner-man was very nice and encouraged me all along the way, asking frequently through the monitor if I was okay. I wore headphones that channelled 98.7 The Peak FM, which cut out every time he spoke to me. It seemed weird to call my "Yep, okay in here," into the air, but the MRI Tunnel O' Love had a microphone through which he could hear me. Then it was 35 minutes of "Deep breath in, blow your breath out, deep breath in, and hoooold your breath..." At least he told me how long I was going to have to hold it (16 seconds, 28 seconds, 22 seconds...), so I could do a mental countdown. During two scans - one eight minutes long and one five minutes long - I just had to lay still and breathe normally. All I had to do was listen to the "EEEEEHHHHHHHH... CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK... EEEEEEHHHHHHHH", which pretty much drowned out the music. Despite the noise I almost fell asleep, then had to rouse myself for some more "... and hoooold your breath." After every breath holding session, the scanner-man would be all like, "That was very good!" Uh, thanks? I've been practicing.

I got a message yesterday afternoon from the doc's, and the scan came back normal. I still want to look at it, though, and check out what my innards look like. I bet there's kittens and posies and sparkly things all up in there.

Labels: headspace, journal, Maine, vacation

Posted by Laura at 11:03 AM | Permalink | Comments

Occasionally Calvin has a romantical fit and suggests activites (not those activities... well, yes, those activities, but other activities as well...) for us to do together which aid in the whole relationship-foundation-cementy thing (and the get-away-from-home-and-have-hotel-sex thing). Such as his suggestion to go to Sedona on Friday afternoon. Long time readers will recall that this was the location of our wedding, so Sedona holds a place near to and dear to and slightly to the left of our hearts.

Anyway, we made the decision to leave at 1:00, and by 2:30 had made hotel reservations, packed, loaded up the truck, and was pulling out of the driveway. Calvin wanted to ride the motorcycle up, so I followed behind him in the truck. My iPod got a lot of use on the way up and on the way back, since I had no one to converse with and nothing to do but drive and stare at Calvin's backside for two and a half hours (not a bad passtime, that). I have an iPod transmitter that would allow me to listen to my iPod through the stereo speakers... if it worked well. But it doesn't. It's all crackly and the sound is distorted. It's a curiously isolated feeling to drive with noise-cancelling headphones on. For the first twenty minutes I was paranoid that I wouldn't hear a cop or a fire truck screaming up behind me, and I checked my rear-view mirror obsessively. I got over that in short order, though, and broke the speed limit with nary a twinge of guilt.

The drive up to Sedona (well, and back from, too) is lovely, if one can ignore the FUCKING TRAFFIC that you have to deal with until you get out of Phoenix. I-17 from the I-10 interchange until the city limits is one bastard of a drive. It astonishes me how many people prefer to drive with their thumbs up their asses. You'd think that would get uncomfortable, but it seems to be popular among Arizona drivers. I've never had the urge to try, myself.

We stopped at a rest stop about halfway there to pee and hydrate and wash the bugs off of Calvin's helmet. Continuing on, we arrived at about 5:30 and was greeted by lovely 75-degree weather. Since the Valley is already up into the 90's (hello, harbinger of summer), it was heaven to roll down all the windows and actually enjoy the 30-MPH traffic crawl from the freeway exit into Sedona proper. After a bit of confusion and wrong turns, we found our hotel. Calvin and I got separated looking for the place - I found it first, then lurked around out front watching for Calvin to direct him into the place. People in traffic kept stopping for me, thinking I wanted to cross the street. Funny how manners come back when you're away from the city.

Our room was a cute little thing, with a fireplace and mini fridge and wet bar and microwave. Our first order of business was to get cleaned up and then search out the restaurant that was generating the incredible steak smell we experienced as we checked in. We figured we'd go to the Cowboy Club - another favorite of ours - and grab a street-side patio table. None were available, but the hostess took us on a trek through the restaurant, out the back alley (quoth the hostess, "Don't worry, there's really a restaurant back here!"), and across an empty lot to their sister restaurant, Redstone Cabin.

I immediately kicked myself for not bringing my camera, because the outdoor seating was lovely. We were seated right next to a little waterfall, under the open sky, with a fire pot nearby. We were served complimentary appetizers, and chose a beer and a whiskey to go with our meal. Calvin had the fillet, and I had the roasted duck. They did something to their vegetables (summer squash and zucchini and baby carrots) that even had Calvin raving about them. I mean, Calvin. Vegetables. Seriously. We lingered over dinner, the warm-fuzzy lovey-dovey feelings mounting by the minute, for a solid two hours.

We staggered (and moo-ed) over to a nearby convenience store for a laying-in of beer, back to our room briefly to stash our loot, and then back out to find some trouble to get into. Sedona doesn't believe in Trouble, though. The entire town closes down at night - Uptown Sedona was nearly deserted (at 8:00!), but we managed to find a place that wasn't closed. We sat at the bar at The Orchards Bar & Grill, yet another favorite of ours. Vernon the bartender regaled us with stories of life in Sedona, and discourteous neighbors, and corporate outsiders who buy out local institutions and then are thwarted by the proximety of a new church. We toasted the triumph of the little guy, chatted a bit with a couple up from Vegas, and then were run out when the place closed at nine. Calvin and I, a bit giggly by this point, plopped down on a bench along the main street to watch what little of the world was going by. I couldn't begin to tell you what we talked about or why it was so damn funny, but by the time we got back to our room our sides were aching. I guess you had to be there.

Back at the hotel, we did a little sumthin' sumthin' that's none of your heighty-doo, and a good time was had by all.

The next morning we rolled out of bed at a respectable 7:45, got showered and dressed and checked out (we tried for another night, but they were booked - much to our disappointment and desire to delay our return to reality by another day). We hit a little cafe across the street with the World's Most Annoying Waitress and the winner of the Scariest Penciled-In Eyebrows Award, and indulged in corned beef hash and eggs.

We left the truck parked at the hotel and took the motorcycle to gas up. Then we headed down through Sedona and along Highway 89-A, the scenic route between Sedona and Flagstaff, and easily the prettiest drive in the state. We've gone along this way more than a dozen times, but never together on the back of a motorcycle. It's really lovely to be able to see all around without being enclosed in a vehicle. We made a quick stop at a convenience store along the way for some fortification in the form of Jack, and I did the tourist thing with the camera.







Our turn-around point was Oak Creek Canyon Viewpoint, where we stopped for a potty break, some pictures, and conversation with other visitors. As Calvin paused to take my picture, a gent from Tennessee came up and asked if we wanted our picture taken together. He and his family were in Arizona on vacation, and headed toward the Grand Canyon, and then Scottsdale later in the week. We chatted for a few minutes about the best places to go and what to do and see, and then we continued on our way along the walk.

Calvin lined me up for another picture, and this time a little old m