My Wife loves to travel. Since we were married in 2003, we've taken many amazing trips, including...
New Orleans (twice)
Atlanta
Unexpectedly posh B&B in Alabama
Outer Banks of North Carolina
Ohio to visit my Nanna
Montreal (jazz, Olympic Stadium, and the hippest B&B I've ever seen)
Washington D.C. and Rohobeth Beach, DE
Puerto Rico, including an amazing stay on the island of Vieques
Many (but not enough) trips to visit C. & J. in Wallingford, PA
Sailing in Maine (twice), Cape Cod and the Islands (twice), Croatia, and Nova Scotia
Denver
Ft. Lauderdale with My Wife's family
She's been responsible for planning most of these. Yes, TripAdvisor.com is certainly bookmarked on her computer! She has a knack for finding unique B&Bs and restaurants. That's one of the great things about traveling with her: I always eat well and sleep comfortably.
-- Post From My iPhone
Friday, July 31, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
The County
My Wife loves warm sun and sandy beaches. Maine, in February, does not have these things. So what do we do? Go snowmobiling.
My Wife absolutely amazed me when, during a dinner out with the principal of my school, she became excited about the possibility of going to northern Maine and snowmobiling during our February break. I kept glancing at her, trying to let her know she didn't need to fake excitement about it just because my boss was suggesting it.
We did it. Drove hundreds of miles, wrapped ourselves up in layer upon layer of clothes, and scrunched onto a one-person sled together for two days. We hung out with people twenty-five years older than we are and slept on a bed that must have been comfortable about fifty years ago.
I can't say My Wife had a great time. The drive was long, the weather was--surprise!--cold, our accommodations were rather rustic, and the food choices were limited. (Full disclosure: we drank Budweiser, so the situation was clearly desperate.) Plus, snowmobiles are noisy and smelly, which doesn't endear them to her.
Still, the point was to experience something (and someplace) new. An adventurer at heart, My Wife embraced the trip as a unique experience, one more step in learning about this strange and exotic place called Maine. She welcomes these experiences with a smile. It's a smile I find beautiful.
My Wife absolutely amazed me when, during a dinner out with the principal of my school, she became excited about the possibility of going to northern Maine and snowmobiling during our February break. I kept glancing at her, trying to let her know she didn't need to fake excitement about it just because my boss was suggesting it.
We did it. Drove hundreds of miles, wrapped ourselves up in layer upon layer of clothes, and scrunched onto a one-person sled together for two days. We hung out with people twenty-five years older than we are and slept on a bed that must have been comfortable about fifty years ago.
I can't say My Wife had a great time. The drive was long, the weather was--surprise!--cold, our accommodations were rather rustic, and the food choices were limited. (Full disclosure: we drank Budweiser, so the situation was clearly desperate.) Plus, snowmobiles are noisy and smelly, which doesn't endear them to her.
Still, the point was to experience something (and someplace) new. An adventurer at heart, My Wife embraced the trip as a unique experience, one more step in learning about this strange and exotic place called Maine. She welcomes these experiences with a smile. It's a smile I find beautiful.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Running on Full
In a strange twist of fate, I've somehow become a runner. Nobody--myself included--would have likely predicted that. But, odd as it may be, I enjoy running and feel pretty good at it. I'm also in need of clear goals to maintain enthusiasm about most things, so I regularly run local road races to keep myself going.
My Wife does not consider herself a runner, but she, too, is goal-oriented. Running, for her, has become a way to push herself physically and raise her fitness level. This has had a significant impact on me, since My Wife now has her eyes on road races, too.
At her suggestion, we've got our sights on a 10-miler in February, which I ran on my own last year. As part of the training for that, we ran a cute little 5K in small-town Lovell yesterday. What a delightful race, with less than 100 participants and almost everyone knowing everyone else. In windy, sub-freezing conditions, My Wife ran a wonderful race, finishing 3rd in her age division. Her enthusiasm also motivated me, and I had a good race by my standards. We hung out in the American Legion Hall afterward, watching the awards ceremony, eating home-made refreshments, and chatting up the locals.
We didn't win one of the Thanksgiving turkeys that they raffled off, but we walked away winners by every other measure.
My Wife does not consider herself a runner, but she, too, is goal-oriented. Running, for her, has become a way to push herself physically and raise her fitness level. This has had a significant impact on me, since My Wife now has her eyes on road races, too.
At her suggestion, we've got our sights on a 10-miler in February, which I ran on my own last year. As part of the training for that, we ran a cute little 5K in small-town Lovell yesterday. What a delightful race, with less than 100 participants and almost everyone knowing everyone else. In windy, sub-freezing conditions, My Wife ran a wonderful race, finishing 3rd in her age division. Her enthusiasm also motivated me, and I had a good race by my standards. We hung out in the American Legion Hall afterward, watching the awards ceremony, eating home-made refreshments, and chatting up the locals.
We didn't win one of the Thanksgiving turkeys that they raffled off, but we walked away winners by every other measure.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Presidential
I just need to acknowledge that My Wife was in on the Obama movement before it was even a movement. She was calling for him to run for president during his speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention.
Thank goodness he listened to her...
Thank goodness he listened to her...
Showtime
My Wife loves to go to the theater. I'm certainly a fan of live productions, as well, but I sometimes take a bit of nudging to get motivated to go. She's always ready to nudge. Actually, it's not even just theater, since she loves alternative films at art movie-houses just as much. As much as we both love the movies, we don't actually go out to see them that often. However, when we do go out, it's often just as much about where the movie is playing as it is about what the movie is.
As a side note, she even had a role in a community production of The Crucible, for which she learned how to knit. That's some serious method acting.
At any rate, we've just come off of three shows in four days, all initiated by My Wife. On Saturday we thoroughly enjoyed Jesus Christ Superstar, performed by the Poland Community Players at Poland High School. We saw another production of JCS at the Maine State Music Theater last spring, and I loved it. (All part of my goal of becoming a Jesus scholar.) The Poland show had students in all of the main leads, which was fantastic, and we were both impressed by the quality of the show.
The next night we zipped down to Portland to see Wait Until Dark at the Portland Stage Company. My Wife loves the Portland Stage Company, and I can see it's only a matter of time before we're season ticket holders. I agree it will be a worthwhile investment, although I'm looking to also leverage season tickets to the Portland Sea Dogs AA baseball team out of the deal...
On Monday (with Tuesday off for Veteran's Day) we returned to Portland, ate huge amounts of sushi, and then took in Rachel Getting Married, at Portland's best alternative movie theater, The Movies on Exchange. (Among others, we went there to see Fahrenheit 911 on opening day, and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.) I believe My Wife wanted to see this flick -- despite my lobbying for Kevin Smith's Zack & Miri Make a Porno instead -- in large part because it was directed by Jonathan Demme. We have our own Demme story because of her.
A few years ago, she ushered us off to another quirky theater, The Magic Lantern, without telling me what we were seeing. Turns out we saw Demme's remake of The Manchurian Candidate. The reason it was cool was that My Wife had under-the-table information that the director, himself, was going to be there to speak after the film. He's got a lake house nearby. Who knew? Sure enough, after the movie, Jonathan Demme popped up and stood in the aisle for twenty minutes commenting on his films and answering questions. Talk about your personalized Director's Commentary. It was the sort of thing I just LOVE, and we even won cool Manchurian Candidate sweatshirts. (Which, ironically enough, I found myself accidentally wearing on election day this year.)
This is the kind of thing My Wife makes happen.
As a side note, she even had a role in a community production of The Crucible, for which she learned how to knit. That's some serious method acting.
At any rate, we've just come off of three shows in four days, all initiated by My Wife. On Saturday we thoroughly enjoyed Jesus Christ Superstar, performed by the Poland Community Players at Poland High School. We saw another production of JCS at the Maine State Music Theater last spring, and I loved it. (All part of my goal of becoming a Jesus scholar.) The Poland show had students in all of the main leads, which was fantastic, and we were both impressed by the quality of the show.
The next night we zipped down to Portland to see Wait Until Dark at the Portland Stage Company. My Wife loves the Portland Stage Company, and I can see it's only a matter of time before we're season ticket holders. I agree it will be a worthwhile investment, although I'm looking to also leverage season tickets to the Portland Sea Dogs AA baseball team out of the deal...
On Monday (with Tuesday off for Veteran's Day) we returned to Portland, ate huge amounts of sushi, and then took in Rachel Getting Married, at Portland's best alternative movie theater, The Movies on Exchange. (Among others, we went there to see Fahrenheit 911 on opening day, and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.) I believe My Wife wanted to see this flick -- despite my lobbying for Kevin Smith's Zack & Miri Make a Porno instead -- in large part because it was directed by Jonathan Demme. We have our own Demme story because of her.
A few years ago, she ushered us off to another quirky theater, The Magic Lantern, without telling me what we were seeing. Turns out we saw Demme's remake of The Manchurian Candidate. The reason it was cool was that My Wife had under-the-table information that the director, himself, was going to be there to speak after the film. He's got a lake house nearby. Who knew? Sure enough, after the movie, Jonathan Demme popped up and stood in the aisle for twenty minutes commenting on his films and answering questions. Talk about your personalized Director's Commentary. It was the sort of thing I just LOVE, and we even won cool Manchurian Candidate sweatshirts. (Which, ironically enough, I found myself accidentally wearing on election day this year.)
This is the kind of thing My Wife makes happen.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Making Sausage
One of the great things about living in a place like Maine is that you get opportunities people in more populous places don't dream of. Back in February, for example, when My Wife and I went to our town fire station to take part in the Democratic Presidential Caucus, I walked out as an Obama delegate to the state convention and My Wife was an alternate. How did that happen? After the voting, the guy running the thing said, "Who wants to be a delagate?" and we raised our hands. Pretty cool.
Flash forward to May 30. We arrived, along with a traffic-jam of others, at the Augusta Civic Center for the big event. My Wife, as an alternate, was told to report to the Cumberland County meeting area so that she could be upgraded to delegate status if some delegates didn't arrive. Cool. Indeed, she was quite keen on becoming an official delegate and casting her vote in what Jon Stewart, on the Daily Show, has deemed "The long-running Bataan Death March to the White House."
Since Cumberland County is Maine's largest county--and since the ol' Augusta Civic Center ain't exactly the most state-of-the-art and spacious facility--it turned out that the alternate meeting area was actually a set of bleachers way up in the third level of the arena. The bleachers had their advantages. Namely, that we could watch the speakers and events happening on the convention floor as My Wife waited to get 'upgraded.'
They also had their disadvantages. Namely, that by the time the amplified sound ricocheted itself around inside the building a few times and got to us, it was pretty much impossible to understand what any of those speakers were saying. It was like we had all suddenly become Charlie Brown trying to figure out what the heck the adults were talking about. Oh yeah, and another disadvantage was that we were sitting on BLEACHERS! Not so good for the back.
So, we made small talk with all the other alternates, and chuckled at the guys who were trying to get signatures on the medical marijuanna referendum. These guys had somehow wandered up into the nosebleed section, and I'm not sure that the thin air was helping out the coherence of their sales pitch.
At any rate, for about five hours--let me repeat this fact and assure all readers that it is not an exaggeration: for about five hours--we were repeatedly told that in about "five or ten minutes" the list of delegates would be finalized and the necessary number of alternates could be upgraded. And we had to pay for coffee. Suddenly the democratic process (or, to be fair, I should say the Democratic process, since surely the Republicans were kickin' back with free Starbucks at their event) didn't seem so awe-inspiring.
But, My Wife acted the whole time as if everything were great. No complaints, no resignation, just good old grassroots political enthusiasm. Which paid off. Finally, sometime around 3:30, she was officially, somewhat magically, turned into an honest-to-goodness delegate. Two hours later--having moved to the convention floor where we could understand the people talking and actually had backs on our chairs--we cast our primary votes for Obama, helping him to officially win the Maine delegate race by a 2:1 margin. Whoo-hoo!
Of course, My Wife's enthusiasm and dedication to the process shouldn't really be a surprise, since she picked out Obama's potential long before I even knew who he was. She said he could be a legitimate contender long before he entered the race, and she stuck by his side back when I was saying that nobody could defeat the Clinton Machine. As so often happens, My Wife was right, I was wrong. Nonetheless, both of our votes counted at the Convention.
Just as they will in November, when we finally get this country back on the right track.
Flash forward to May 30. We arrived, along with a traffic-jam of others, at the Augusta Civic Center for the big event. My Wife, as an alternate, was told to report to the Cumberland County meeting area so that she could be upgraded to delegate status if some delegates didn't arrive. Cool. Indeed, she was quite keen on becoming an official delegate and casting her vote in what Jon Stewart, on the Daily Show, has deemed "The long-running Bataan Death March to the White House."
Since Cumberland County is Maine's largest county--and since the ol' Augusta Civic Center ain't exactly the most state-of-the-art and spacious facility--it turned out that the alternate meeting area was actually a set of bleachers way up in the third level of the arena. The bleachers had their advantages. Namely, that we could watch the speakers and events happening on the convention floor as My Wife waited to get 'upgraded.'
They also had their disadvantages. Namely, that by the time the amplified sound ricocheted itself around inside the building a few times and got to us, it was pretty much impossible to understand what any of those speakers were saying. It was like we had all suddenly become Charlie Brown trying to figure out what the heck the adults were talking about. Oh yeah, and another disadvantage was that we were sitting on BLEACHERS! Not so good for the back.
So, we made small talk with all the other alternates, and chuckled at the guys who were trying to get signatures on the medical marijuanna referendum. These guys had somehow wandered up into the nosebleed section, and I'm not sure that the thin air was helping out the coherence of their sales pitch.
At any rate, for about five hours--let me repeat this fact and assure all readers that it is not an exaggeration: for about five hours--we were repeatedly told that in about "five or ten minutes" the list of delegates would be finalized and the necessary number of alternates could be upgraded. And we had to pay for coffee. Suddenly the democratic process (or, to be fair, I should say the Democratic process, since surely the Republicans were kickin' back with free Starbucks at their event) didn't seem so awe-inspiring.
But, My Wife acted the whole time as if everything were great. No complaints, no resignation, just good old grassroots political enthusiasm. Which paid off. Finally, sometime around 3:30, she was officially, somewhat magically, turned into an honest-to-goodness delegate. Two hours later--having moved to the convention floor where we could understand the people talking and actually had backs on our chairs--we cast our primary votes for Obama, helping him to officially win the Maine delegate race by a 2:1 margin. Whoo-hoo!
Of course, My Wife's enthusiasm and dedication to the process shouldn't really be a surprise, since she picked out Obama's potential long before I even knew who he was. She said he could be a legitimate contender long before he entered the race, and she stuck by his side back when I was saying that nobody could defeat the Clinton Machine. As so often happens, My Wife was right, I was wrong. Nonetheless, both of our votes counted at the Convention.
Just as they will in November, when we finally get this country back on the right track.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Spaghetti
One of My Wife's students organized a fund-raiser for a local food pantry. A spaghetti supper. Problem is, nobody bothered to tell the world that this was happening, so the event was in danger of coming and going without anyone showing up.
Now, keep in mind that My Wife does not seek out chances to speak to strangers.
"Let's go over to the ball fields and see if we can get some people," she said, and we were off to drum up some business. She walked up to people left and right.
"Not sure if you're interested, but there's a spaghetti supper over at the high school to raise money for the food pantry,"she said over and over. One man was so impressed he pulled out his wallet, apologized for not being able to attend, and handed her $40 for the cause.
Anything for the cause. That's my lady!
Now, keep in mind that My Wife does not seek out chances to speak to strangers.
"Let's go over to the ball fields and see if we can get some people," she said, and we were off to drum up some business. She walked up to people left and right.
"Not sure if you're interested, but there's a spaghetti supper over at the high school to raise money for the food pantry,"she said over and over. One man was so impressed he pulled out his wallet, apologized for not being able to attend, and handed her $40 for the cause.
Anything for the cause. That's my lady!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)