Category Archives: Ogunquit

Certain drag queens are institutions. Indelibly intertwined with an image and a name, in person they can feel like some Hollywood superstar come to life. Some are known by a single name – and some by a single verdant color. Hedda Lettuce unfurls her leafy brand of sass this weekend at Maine Street in Ogunquit, and there’s nothing more entertaining than seeing a queen at the top of her game.

She first came to most of our attention with a scene-stealing turn on ‘Sex and the City’ and an epic Madonna-intro at the MTV Music Awards. More exciting to me was the time she once graciously posed for a photo while hawking tickets for her show on a rare sultry day in Provincetown. She was witty and fun and completely professional, and one got the sense that this was serious business for her. Such dedication to a role and a craft was admirable.

All of that was but a flirty prelude for my encounter with the green goddess last night, in which she dedicated a song to me, ‘Fuck Me Baby’ (based on my crossed-arms stance) and topped it off with a dirty grind in the form of a lap-dance. As thrilling as that was, it was the content and seamless flow of the evening that most impressed.

A self-described “old-school” drag queen, her Bette Davis references were caught by some of us, while those who have been woefully untouched by Ms. Davis could appreciate the modern-day no-holds-barred raunchiness of other topical moments. The recent happy events in Ireland made a timely backdrop to a marriage-equality anthem, and though she professed to be in ragged voice due to the allergies of New England, she sounded in fine form. The drag queen who can actually sing seems to be a rare and dying breed, and those who do it are all the more astounding for it.

She pokes fun at herself good-naturedly throughout the evening, claiming she’s made it this far on her cheekbones and lighting alone, but no one who has lasted this long and can still command an entire room for an hour lacks of talent in any way. Finishing with a rousing ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’ she closes out her first night of a triumphant return to Ogunquit in rollicking fashion.

There comes a window of time on every last day of vacation when I find myself alone in contemplation. If we are in Ogunquit, that’s usually a quick spa along the start of the Marginal Way. This fall trip proved no exception, even if it began disastrously, and stayed that way right up until the very end.

On our last morning in town, my back just starting to feel a bit better, and my stomach resting from a marathon of somersaults, I walked back to the Marginal Way to take in the sun, drink in the salt air, and seek wisps of Rosa rugosa on the wind. I looked out upon the Atlantic, feeling that familiar terror of being so small on the edge of something so vast.

I made a wish and a prayer. It was promise and a pact to return again, to walk The Way when the spring was upon us. It was the hope of making it through the winter relatively unscathed. There were stones that had lasted far more than a season here, and they provided the only inspiration I needed.

I walked back along the path where the flowers that had so entranced me stood in their unconcerned glory. ‘Serves him right,’ they might be snickering. ‘That’ll teach him to take unauthorized photos on our less-than-flattering days,’ they may have whispered. Undeterred, I snapped again. I will always take a chance on taking the beauty with me. I smiled ruefully at their nodding heads, and shook my own at my folly. You win, Nature, you always win… but I’m going to show the world something, and I’m going to do my best to do right by you.

Our annual Columbus Day weekend in Ogunquit gets short shrift this year, as you will see soon enough. For now, though, a tease of two posts ~ this first one taken in one of my favorite secret spaces of the town. Enjoy these photos, as I didn’t get to take many more…

While spring has more obvious charms, and the aspect of a hopeful season to come, fall comes with its own set of enchantments. Falling leaves, slanting sunlight, and the cozy scent of burning wood wafting on the wind.

A perfect time to pause on a bench. It’s hard to hang onto the sun and the warmth at this time of the year, but there are pockets of both. If you’re lucky enough to find them, stop and take it all in. Nothing gold can stay.

And if you’re one of my favorite people who actually enjoys seeing me in photos, take these in now, because they’re the last of my appearance in that fair town this fall…

But that’s a story for tomorrow… for today, a few more of that time before it all went askew.

It started off overcast and gray, spitting a bit of rain, and blowing a rather cruel wind through my flimsy spring shirt. The season was late in coming to Ogunquit too, but rain or shine it was impossible not to let the town work its magic. Sometimes it worked faster than others, such as the morning we walked the Marginal Way.

On days of gray, there is a different kind of beauty at work, one in which texture and shadow become key, where the subtle palette of moss and lichens reveals its myriad complexities. The gradations, while softer, are just as richly varied if one takes the time to adjust and fine-tune our perception.

It’s a matter of perspective, of shifting the way you expect things to be. This is not an altogether unwelcome task, as it encourages a new way of appreciating the world.

So much joy is based upon that, and we should always be open to the opportunity for more joy.

While crested waves cap an undulating body of somber aquamarine, under-saturated in color but infinitely interesting in form and shape, the eye roams over what would often be lost or thrown away as a less-than-perfect day. When visiting, however, there can be no such things as a wasted day, and so we walked on, the promise of an early lunch in Perkins Cove leading us forward and around the final bend.

For some reason, we never spend much time in Perkins Cove. We pause there at the end of the Marginal Way, we cross through to get to the Ogunquit Museum, or we have an early lunch in lieu of a late breakfast – but in and of itself the Cove has never been a designated destination.

Sometimes, as on this day, we take it in and inhabit the moment, as I devour a plate of oysters and a trio of fish tacos at MC Perkins.

As we ingested our meal, the entire day transformed itself. The clouds had blown far off-shore, the sun had come out, and the skies were revealed in their truest, bluest form.

The ocean lit up as if from within – every imaginable shade of blue and green and absolutely everything in-between. Against the shore, the lime green freshness of the first flush of spring foliage – tender and shiny and new – was the brightest it would be all year.

It was a fleeting moment, a special time. Most of us don’t realize that as it’s happening. We don’t think of the fact that this is the only time of the year that it will be like this. In a way, every day and every moment could be seen as such. It wasn’t something I thought about much, and outside of occasionally contemplative moments like this, I still don’t. Not enough as I should, anyway.

The way back along the Marginal Way always seems shorter and quicker to traverse. In the sun, it also seems more vibrant and alive. The difference is profound, and the time for subtle quietude is broken by the pounding surf of the incoming tide.

Only a few tiny flowers, sheltered in a shaded nook and protected from the wind, convey the soft way the morning began. These flowers are so little they go unnoticed by most passers-by, and I have kept their location secret so that they remain so.

Amid the shouts of excited children and reprimanding adults, in the sharp gusts of wind and the sparkling flickers of sun on the sea, only pockets of peace exist now. We walk through it all, slowing at the end, which is really the beginning, where it is warm and spring-like at last.

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.

O Beautiful Place By The Sea… How my heart longs to be with thee… Clearly I’ve read too many Shakespeare sonnets of late, but the sentiment is true: I wish to return to Ogunquit. Our annual spring trip is a couple of months away still, so I’ll have to pine for a few more weeks, but that glorious shore is within mental sight, and I can almost taste the lobster on my tongue, the salty sea spray in the air. Cries of seagulls echo in my head, and the clanging of a flagpole in the gusty shore breeze sounds happy memories.

This will mark our 14th year of visiting the gorgeous Maine shoreline, where we have always found a sense of peace and calm. I used to think it was just the fact of being on vacation and out of work, with no schedule and an open few days of freedom and unstructured casual living, that caused such a euphoric state, but after all this time it’s clear that something else is at work. If it were only that, we’d find such joy every weekend, and the simple fact is that no other place in the world conjures what Ogunquit can.