In this strange notebook, it is not quite clear where one should begin writing. The last page looks exactly the same as the first, and what’s in between is so empty, so vast, it is daunting at best and prohibitive at worst. Such emptiness can instill a fright so absolute that it has felled many more talented than me – and quite frankly that just means I have stupid, foolhardy, careless and crazy resilience. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. On this day, it has broken the blank page, as I sit in a piano bar in Ogunquit.

My writing, a somewhat anti-social activity that I will eventually put down in favor of conversation with a few new friends, is accompanied by the singing of a growing group of gentlemen and a few ladies, who gather around the piano and regale each other with Broadway classics and standard chestnuts that withstand the test of time. They sing of love and romance, of loss and grief, of times long gone and times yet to come.

I write in this simple notebook, and it suddenly strikes me as old-fashioned – because no one seems to write by hand anymore. People don’t even use full words, much less full sentences. It’s all acronyms and abbreviations, but I pine for the completeness of a phrase and a sentence, or the simple glory of a complete word, spelled out in its entirety, sprawling across the page, unfettered by character-limits or miniscule text screens.

My lament is interrupted by the growing crowd. In a few minutes, the spaced has filled up, and suddenly every table is full. People angle and vie for the next available spot in jovial spurts of polite anticipation. I put this notebook away and engage with those around me. There are too many ways of distancing ourselves from each other. Usually it’s on a smart phone, hunched over, head down, and oblivious to the world. I don’t like that. I want to lift my head to the lilacs, inhale the richness of the spring around us, or simply say hello to a friendly stranger.

Here, in Ogunquit, I tend to put the phone down. I return to pen and paper, or I simply take it all in. There is too much to experience – the sights, the sounds, the food – and every sense should be poised to take it all in.

Too often I find myself dulling my appreciation of these things by scrolling through my FaceBook feed or Tweeting out some nonsense while the world spins so gorgeously around me. In Maine, I get back to the real world, and its accompanying simplicity and joy.

As I walk back to the guest house, I take my time and examine all the flowers along the way. In the past, I used plants as guideposts, recalling where I needed to turn with a sweet stretch of honeysuckle or the fading leaves of a daffodil patch.

Lining the path to our home-away-from-home is a hedge of lilacs. They make a fine marker, their fragrance written in the sky.

It’s one of the few places on earth where I don’t feel any pressure to dress to impress.

That doesn’t mean I don’t get dolled up for a fancy dinner now and then, but it does mean I don’t often feel the need.

Unless you dress like I do, you can’t know what a relief that is.

One of the best parts of this year’s trip to Ogunquit was the opportunity to see friends from all around the world. This weekend we were lucky enough to have Eileen and Raf (from Toronto) and Eric and Lonnie as our dinner companions. Though we cherish our time alone (and it sometimes seems that Ogunquit is one of the only places that affords such intimacy) Andy and I most certainly enjoy the friends we’ve made in that Beautiful Place By the Sea, and sometimes only those who love Ogunquit as much as we do understand what that’s like.

It’s wonderful when such a happy place is inhabited by such great people ~ people who have become like family from a far-away home.

The first thing that greeted us was the scent of lilacs. It marked a gorgeous beginning to our Memorial Day weekend in Ogunquit. The later arrival of spring, coupled with cooler temps, allowed for the lilacs to be at the height of their bloom period. Some years just work out that way.

It wasn’t just the lilacs that were in bloom – as evidenced here – but they were the most fragrant of the bunch, and they stole most of the glory.

For this initial OGT entry, I’ll cut the words short and allow the flowers to tell their story.

After visiting Ogunquit for fourteen years, I still find new things to love about the town, and this Memorial Day weekend there were a few more jewels to uncover. Before writing those posts, however, I need a moment to collect myself and get over the post-vacation blues. There’s no better way to do that than to indulge in a few backward glances.

While sun and warmth is sometimes elusive this early in the season, when you’ve experienced it once, you never forget it.

Ogunquit is a place of beauty, a place of peace, and a place of love – no matter what the season.

Sometimes, things get cheeky there, yes, totally starkers, and sometimes not so much. Butt… sometimes…

The whole world, in the drop of an ocean.

Spring is probably my favorite, but summer comes close, and fall, well, fall is just as magical as spring.

There are secrets here, wonderful secrets, some that are only revealed with time, some that are never revealed at all.

There are surprises too.

It is a place for family – one of the first beaches I remember, in fact, from a family vacation.

It is a place for friends.

Food, glorious food.

There is a lighthouse nearby, and even in the rain things are beautiful.

Always, there is the water. There are the memories… and there will be more.