Bloom in St.Michael’s

We’ll, it’s certainly not Santa Monica, but a few days on the Eastern Shore of Maryland is still a nice little get away.  Some vacations seem so effortless. This one was like a comedy of errors. I suppose that’s just life with a two-year-old.

After a rather unrelaxing arrival day, we were determined to make our second day feel like vacation.

In the morning, we stopped at the fantastic Rise Up Coffee stand in the parking lot of a nearby shopping center, and headed to the Inn at Perry Cabin, where apparently a scene from Wedding Crashers was filmed.

In that spirit, we pretended we were guests at the hotel, and brought our lattes and breakfast sweets onto the lawn to enjoy the beautiful view.

As we were getting situated, Justin grabbed the bag with the pastries, and his beloved blueberry scone fell on the ground. Five second rule? (I hope you said yes, because we ate it.)

As we sat on the huge white wooden chairs, looking at the water, the sailboats, the trees – it  finally felt like we were on vacation. A picture perfect moment. And, a moment it was because the landscaping crew came vrrmming by on their big noisy mowers, forcing us to relocate.

Later that afternoon, we went to a supermarket called Graul’s – a name that just doesn’t roll of the tongue. (Apologies if this is your family name. You can get back at me by calling me Issadork, or Issahoe.)

So, my husband is in the checkout line trying to pay, while holding Justin, who is on the brink of a breakdown.  The cashier just keeps examining his ID like she’s a bouncer at some trendy club in New York. She even had a little flashlight.

True, his license looks like its been in the wash. (I swear I didn’t do it). But, you can still see the photo, and read the DOB – which incidentally is well past (like 20 years) the required minimum drinking age.

They still won’t sell him the bottle. We’re talking chardonnay here, not Mad Dog. How much damage could we do?

We had our hearts set on sitting on the porch, and drinking a glass of wine that evening. So, I ventured out later in search of wine.

Not too be snobby, but why on earth would a tourist town close at 7pm the week before Labor Day? It was like a ghost town. Even the ice cream shops were closed already. Only the Acme was opened. (Yes they still exist.) And let me tell you, the ambiance and wine selection leave something to be desired.  It may as well have been 2am. Just a handful of sun-burned tourists, and some creepy locals.

The next evening, we discovered a lovely little restaurant. Our waitress was very patient with our son, so I must have asked if she had kids of her own. “Four,” she responded, then went on to explain about the ex, the new boyfriend, and all the rest. It seems I unintentionally invited a floodgate of sharing.

Next thing we know, she’s telling us how her ex husband bought the seven year old daughter a training bra. TMI, right?! I’m not sure what this had to do with the special of the night, or the fresh squeezed lime margarita that I so desperately needed.

I expected this conversation to the the way of – Aren’t girls maturing so quickly these days! Is it pop-culture? Hormones in the milk?

But it did not. She just kept babbling about the training bra -who needs them, who doesn’t. She herself seemed barely old enough for them. I bet she can’t buy wine at that Graul’s Market either.

Needless to say, those margaritas were actually worth the wait.

On the walk back to our rental cottage, we laughed as we recapped our vacation so far.  That’s the beauty of getting away – it’s much easier to turn the day-to-day frustrations into memories and stories to laugh about later.