Another Rosemarie Getaway

The last time I went to the state of Maine, a seagull shit on my head. And today, after over twenty years, I'm headed back to the topmost New England state with my mom for a short weekend away from the madness of work and stifling heat of Manhattan.  Ever since I moved back to the East Coast, I've been able to take what seems to be countless trips back to the Bay State. It's, no matter how difficult the move might have been, the one thing that makes leaving California worth it.

I can't really remember how old I was when I first drove up to Ogunquit, all I can recall, however, was I was with my friend Anthony, who happens to turn the same age as me today. Were we even out then? Even that I can't seem to pinpoint as fact. All I do remember is the sound of that bird overhead and the mess that streamed down my head. It's just one of many crazy memories of growing up on the east, and this weekend, I'm sure it will be just as comical traveling once again with my mother. The last time we went away together was London, which seems an eternity ago already. She was quite seasoned by that time, having been dragged all over Paris and Italy by me a few years earlier. All those trips have combined to be very special memories - from dodging pigeons in St. Mark's square to climbing out of the cavernous Paris subways - each trip seemed to out do the one before it.

This weekend, I've no doubt the adventures will pile up, one being the fact that I haven't really driven a car since I moved. It's like riding a bicycle yes? But then again, I haven't been on one of those since I got my drivers license.

With all the modes of transportation available, there really is nothing like sitting on a train and watching the scenery pass before you. Though I wouldn't say the view is as breathtaking as watching the Eiffel Tower come into view or the hills of Tuscany stretch out as you land - it's more lush, vibrant, and a far cry from the dry brown hillsides of Los Angeles. Of course, being on the train always reminds me of the time my mother made us take it all the way to Florida because she was afraid to fly. Two and half days on the tracks when all you want to do is see Mickey Mouse was not pleasant. How ironic that so many years later she'd be flying across the Atlantic more times that she could have imagined. Being able to take her so many places has been one of the sheer joys of life.

I've told her to be packed and ready to go. There's no security line to maneuver, she can bring as big a bottle of her Elizabeth Taylor beauty products as she wants and the only thing I have to worry about are the sounds she might make as the traffic rushes by. And, oh yes, those birds.

But this time, in case they decide to welcome me back - I'm prepared. I'm going to wear my hat.