So. What a trip!? Revelations are funny—how they come so that you don’t even realize you’re experiencing revel, even when you’re right in the middle of it. I am a closet vintage-junkie and particularly when it comes to anything John Watersy Baldamore hon value worthy (think Killer Trash circa old Eastern Ave)--so when we happened on a tumbled into discovery of a shop our first night in a small town on the Southern coastal tip of Maine called York where there was a vintagey photo/poster shop galore, budget or not I had to at least get something. I love it. 
Later that night, after checking out the rest of town and me also getting a beaute of a sundress for practically nothing in another little shop, we checked in to the last available cabin at Birchwood Cottages on Rt. 1 in Cape Neddick. Only nite we used the credit card, too, go us.
Later that night (after an early dinner of Lobstah rolls at the first joint we could find the moment we got to York--and of course the proprietor had been to Chestertown) we found a take-out sushi place w rolls for like $4 a piece. Spicy tuna and salmon yummm. We walked York's beach at dark, bought some ice cream and Bran some beer and some cards cuz we forgot ours, then took our sushi back to our cottage, above. Next morning, on suggestion from Lannie Parks at our local bookstore in town we checked out world famous Flo's HotDogs, also in Cape Neddick on Rt. 1.
Check out Gale and her little red shop by the side of the road. She now owns Flo's after taking it over from her mom-in-law (of the famous namesake.) The 61-year-old hotdog stand will be on Samantha Brown on the Travel Channel on July 24 at 10:30 pm. Thanks Lannie. Before hitting Flo's, as an apetizer if you will, we had a pork rib each from the Cat & Nine Tails also on One in Cape Neddick, just because it was already almost 11 am and we were so hungry from our early morning chillychilled swim in the Maine Atlantic and we couldn't wait another second to get to Flo's! Seriously, Maine has rib joints all over the sides of the road. And this little convenient store's goods were SOOOOO good all the same...Next we headed on up 95 to Acadia for a day or so...on the way on Rt. 30 outside Belfast we stopped at the Liberty Trading post to use a port-o-john that you had to "Close your eyes, drop your drawers and back out of" according to Brandon. However, they had the best fresh out of the oven chocolate chip cookies and for love like that I am such a feign. Ended up a little later at Blackwoods campground where a very happy Brandon discovered us a big ol pile of wood just waiting for a fire... 
So, how's this for cool? Over in Bass Harbor, on the far side of Mt.Desert Island, ME, there is this old lighthouse that ran, with a living, flaming light and someone there to tend it the wheel of the day/night around and around for 106 years, non-stop. Keepers changed from every six to ten years or so. Holy hell. That's from 1858 to 1974. Wowowow. So this got me to thinking, and it was probably that night that the revelations slowly began (I'm always always better at this spiritual/self-discovery stuff in retrospect...) to impart themselves like a fog settling, but also breaking at the same time. And I realized this relationship that I have with a friend in Philly had been on my mind all day long, and there, on the edge of the sea, the foghorn blasting and clearly a big storm setting almost in...I couldn't help but realize what a lighthouse does. It guides shipwreck-fearing sailors home from the sea. And there are people out there who tend to that light, day after day, night after night, even when they themselves can't even see the sailors for all the fog or for the huge swallowing sea. So like the Waifs said, Sometimes we need a Lighthouse for our own...And I got this image of a lighthouse there in my emotional shipwreck sea of a heart and soul that's been drowning me on and off for a year or more, and I realize I've got this track of poetry that's sort of been my charting maps through the haze of all this stuff. And this friend of mine who's been like my torch-holding port cuz for some reaason when all this lost stuff started happening so did poems to him, and to all the friends I sort of know through him. Which are more poems to me, the lost me in all of us. It made me, for the first time in months, realize, and have faith again, in my own anchor. The fog started parting. It did me good...going to the Lighthouse, see?
The storm came with the the night and the salty air from the sea and we only got to use about two hours worth of that wood and it was okay, cuz we needed a good long snooze. The next day was the fourth, we were due up to Sorrento that night for Levi's wedding, and had some hiking and swimming first to do. Started out in Southwest Harbor at Cafe 2 with split dishes of Juevos Rancheros and Blueberry Pancakes. Then on to the Farmer's Market, which happens in Southwest Harbor on Mt. Desert Island on Friday as from 9 to 1pm, next to the community center. It was small, but for 8 bucks we got some killer artisan pesto bread, fresh made chipolte goat cheese and a big bag of organic arugula, which fed us snack-style intermittently for the next two and a half days. Hiked Acadia Mountain Trail, swam and snacked at Echo Lake then busted on to Rt. 3 for a stop at a Lobster Pound(these places rip you off as far as I'm concerned, we never did find the "right" one and maybe the right ones don't exist like they did when we travelled in 04. Maybe the whole market for seafood is too commercialized now. Who knows? Maybe back then we just got hella lucky) before heading onward a half hour or so to Three Pines, our Bed & Breakfast in Hancock, ME.
It was about this time that I set down The Vanishing Point, a novel by Mary Sharratt, in favor of my heart's pulling me towards Paulo Coelho's The Witch of Portobello. The poetry, incidentally, had been just pouringpouring out of me. Coelho's book was, as revelations are always meant to be, the right way to go..... As would be the wedding, and most of all, the visits w family and friends to come....the details of which are on their way in a day or two...
Later that night, after checking out the rest of town and me also getting a beaute of a sundress for practically nothing in another little shop, we checked in to the last available cabin at Birchwood Cottages on Rt. 1 in Cape Neddick. Only nite we used the credit card, too, go us.
Later that night (after an early dinner of Lobstah rolls at the first joint we could find the moment we got to York--and of course the proprietor had been to Chestertown) we found a take-out sushi place w rolls for like $4 a piece. Spicy tuna and salmon yummm. We walked York's beach at dark, bought some ice cream and Bran some beer and some cards cuz we forgot ours, then took our sushi back to our cottage, above. Next morning, on suggestion from Lannie Parks at our local bookstore in town we checked out world famous Flo's HotDogs, also in Cape Neddick on Rt. 1.
Check out Gale and her little red shop by the side of the road. She now owns Flo's after taking it over from her mom-in-law (of the famous namesake.) The 61-year-old hotdog stand will be on Samantha Brown on the Travel Channel on July 24 at 10:30 pm. Thanks Lannie. Before hitting Flo's, as an apetizer if you will, we had a pork rib each from the Cat & Nine Tails also on One in Cape Neddick, just because it was already almost 11 am and we were so hungry from our early morning chillychilled swim in the Maine Atlantic and we couldn't wait another second to get to Flo's! Seriously, Maine has rib joints all over the sides of the road. And this little convenient store's goods were SOOOOO good all the same...Next we headed on up 95 to Acadia for a day or so...on the way on Rt. 30 outside Belfast we stopped at the Liberty Trading post to use a port-o-john that you had to "Close your eyes, drop your drawers and back out of" according to Brandon. However, they had the best fresh out of the oven chocolate chip cookies and for love like that I am such a feign. Ended up a little later at Blackwoods campground where a very happy Brandon discovered us a big ol pile of wood just waiting for a fire... 
So, how's this for cool? Over in Bass Harbor, on the far side of Mt.Desert Island, ME, there is this old lighthouse that ran, with a living, flaming light and someone there to tend it the wheel of the day/night around and around for 106 years, non-stop. Keepers changed from every six to ten years or so. Holy hell. That's from 1858 to 1974. Wowowow. So this got me to thinking, and it was probably that night that the revelations slowly began (I'm always always better at this spiritual/self-discovery stuff in retrospect...) to impart themselves like a fog settling, but also breaking at the same time. And I realized this relationship that I have with a friend in Philly had been on my mind all day long, and there, on the edge of the sea, the foghorn blasting and clearly a big storm setting almost in...I couldn't help but realize what a lighthouse does. It guides shipwreck-fearing sailors home from the sea. And there are people out there who tend to that light, day after day, night after night, even when they themselves can't even see the sailors for all the fog or for the huge swallowing sea. So like the Waifs said, Sometimes we need a Lighthouse for our own...And I got this image of a lighthouse there in my emotional shipwreck sea of a heart and soul that's been drowning me on and off for a year or more, and I realize I've got this track of poetry that's sort of been my charting maps through the haze of all this stuff. And this friend of mine who's been like my torch-holding port cuz for some reaason when all this lost stuff started happening so did poems to him, and to all the friends I sort of know through him. Which are more poems to me, the lost me in all of us. It made me, for the first time in months, realize, and have faith again, in my own anchor. The fog started parting. It did me good...going to the Lighthouse, see?
The storm came with the the night and the salty air from the sea and we only got to use about two hours worth of that wood and it was okay, cuz we needed a good long snooze. The next day was the fourth, we were due up to Sorrento that night for Levi's wedding, and had some hiking and swimming first to do. Started out in Southwest Harbor at Cafe 2 with split dishes of Juevos Rancheros and Blueberry Pancakes. Then on to the Farmer's Market, which happens in Southwest Harbor on Mt. Desert Island on Friday as from 9 to 1pm, next to the community center. It was small, but for 8 bucks we got some killer artisan pesto bread, fresh made chipolte goat cheese and a big bag of organic arugula, which fed us snack-style intermittently for the next two and a half days. Hiked Acadia Mountain Trail, swam and snacked at Echo Lake then busted on to Rt. 3 for a stop at a Lobster Pound(these places rip you off as far as I'm concerned, we never did find the "right" one and maybe the right ones don't exist like they did when we travelled in 04. Maybe the whole market for seafood is too commercialized now. Who knows? Maybe back then we just got hella lucky) before heading onward a half hour or so to Three Pines, our Bed & Breakfast in Hancock, ME.
It was about this time that I set down The Vanishing Point, a novel by Mary Sharratt, in favor of my heart's pulling me towards Paulo Coelho's The Witch of Portobello. The poetry, incidentally, had been just pouringpouring out of me. Coelho's book was, as revelations are always meant to be, the right way to go..... As would be the wedding, and most of all, the visits w family and friends to come....the details of which are on their way in a day or two...
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