Monday, September 03, 2007


11) After visiting the deliriously beautiful Marshall Point Lighthouse in Port Clyde, I jumped behind Barbie's wheel and drove us to Montpelier, the General Henry Knox Museum in Thomaston, Maine. We made it just in time to join a tour that was underway.

12) After the museum, RR and I (and by "RR and I," I actually mean "RR." By this time, I'd resumed my role of trusty navigator) drove in search of The Olson House, which was the subject of many paintings by Andrew Wyeth--one of the best known artists of the 20th century. Christina's World--a favorite of both mine and RR's--is, undoubtedly, his most famous work, so there was no way we were leaving Maine without having seen the house that figures so prominently in the painting. We found it. It was lovely albeit somewhat creepy from the inside. Across the road from the house is the Olson family plot, set among trees adjacent to water. That parcel of land was among the most peaceful I've ever seen.

13) I channeled Wyeth as I photographed RR channeling Christina outside the Olson house.

14) RR and I dreamt about bidding farewell to our lives down south and enrolling in the College of the Atlantic, which was right across the way from our hotel and where we could pursue degrees in Human Ecology, while watching ridiculously fit and shirtless blondes emerge from a campus garden like Adam. Sigh.

15) In an effort to prove ourselves as adventurous foodies, RR and I had lobster ice cream. We ate enough of the ice cream (and by "enough," I mean not very much at all) to conclude that we're not very good at playing adventurous foodies.

16) The final day of our vacation was grossly misspent on an agonizingly boring trip to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. Was Yarmouth worth the six hours of brain numbing misery--that's three hours each way, folks--we experienced on The Cat? No. Now as beautiful as the rest of Nova Scotia might be--and I have no doubt it is--Yarmouth was the pits. Our "Ultimate Nova Scotia" bus tour was awful. Our loquacious tour guide drove past the local McDonald's (or, as the locals like to call it, the American Embassy! Har, har, har) and WalMart and her doctor's office. I was quickly losing consciousness by the time she stopped outside her opthamologist's house. Like we gave a hoot, right?
Even seeing the spout of an ocassional whale or dolphin on the way out to Nova Scotia didn't make the trip any less wretched. The highlight of the awful Yarmouth trip ended up being the two hours we spent watching Music and Lyrics on the ride back home (and by "home," I mean "Bar Harbor," of course).

17) Lobster dishes I had in Maine: lobster roll, lobster sandwich, lobster ice cream, lobster salad, and a lobster strudel.

18) On the flight home, I ended up sitting next to a gregarious teacher from Chicago, who, after I'd told him that I was an awfully nervous flier, did a fine job distracting me with conversation. We talked about books, injuries, hiking, religion, war, politics, his fear that he'd miss his connecting flight home from JFK. He was such a lovely person, that I gave him my copy of Brian Hall's I Should Be Extremely Happy in Your Company. When, shortly after landing, the pilot announced that our same flight would be going to Chicago, the gentleman declared that I must be a lucky charm! I've never had a pleasanter flight in my life!


Aunty Helpful Dictator said...

eeuuuuwww.... lobster ice cream!!

Anonymous said...

Beta. Why are you telling the world about your vacations with boys? Any potential husband reading this while getting important biodata will surly say that you cannot be a good wife.

What kind of wife goes on vacations of boys, eats icecreams all without parental supervision.

Thum Shaadi karo jaldhee.

Anonymous said...

enough of this maine shit. let's get the madlibber/the parasailer/the sk-slayer back!

Aunty Helpful Dictator said...

I agree with anon - you should never eat ice-cream without parental supervision!