Saint Michaels, My Saving Grace

This weekend Ron and I celebrated our three year wedding anniversary.

Three years.

That sounds so cute.

We chose to spend a few days at the beach (oops sorry, the “eastern seashore”).

Ernesto decided to come too.

When we arrived in St. Michaels at 8pm, we couldn’t see anything. Ernesto had knocked out a transformer and the entire town was without power. We finally found the Inn. We also found out that this wasn’t any old Inn – much to the amusement of the bellman, parts of The Wedding Crashers was filmed there.

We walked around the creaking, historic building with candles saying, “Hey, it’s like we live in the olden days!” We sipped red wine at the restaurant where the chef was offering a “limited and creative” menu based on the fact that he was mostly using a grill. We snuggled under the blankets in our attic bedroom listening to the wind and the rain as we drifted off to sleep. The lights exploded on at 4am.

For the next couple days, we enjoyed a drizzly, lazy, weekend full of fresh pumpkin bread from the Farmers’ Market, old t.v. movies, back massages, and an extra peppery Bloody Mary as we watched sailboats meander around the peninsula (the sun finally peaked out).

One afternoon at high tea . . .

Time Out: I feel compelled to clarify that (a) Ron had a beer the day we watched boats (not a Bloody Mary like me); and (b) I had to BEG him to take me to high tea.

Anyway, the day at tea, another couple announced they were celebrating their wedding anniversary too. They were staying in the neighboring room and put us to shame with their headboard banging . . . five times in less than 24-hours . . . but I digress. What I’m trying to say is that I had a wonderful weekend in Maryland.

Can you believe those words just fell out of my mouth and onto the page?

To fill in a few details – my husband and I moved to Maryland at the beginning of the summer. I was a wee bit wishy-washy about uprooting and moving across country to say the least. But I love Ron, he wanted this new job, and California is an expensive place for a freelance writer’s budget, so I said I’d give the east coast a try.

As soon as we crossed the border I hated it.

Blue crabs made me cringe (I barfed my guts out after eating a spiny lobster on our honeymoon and haven’t touched crustaceans since).

I couldn’t stand the summer humidity.

I didn’t even like the name of our street (I found this very profound. I mean, shouldn’t saying the name of your street make you feel happy?)

But after this past weekend, a part of me – let me interject here to clarify that the phrase “part of me” means an itty bitty, teeny tiny, teensy, weensy part of me – fell in love with Maryland.

This “part of me” is so small I can’t even see it.
But I can feel it.

Nine more months until I’ve crossed the threshold and lived here one year. A lot can happen in nine months. I think maybe a new life was conceived this weekend at St. Michaels . . . and I’m not referring to the potential activity in the womb of the woman next door.