A Trip to Rockport...

A “trip to Rockport” for us, becomes a many-houred meander.  We drive by instinct, letting the winding, bucking back roads; the endless road signs warning us of citizen, and yes!, natural disasters ahead.  Ton-Ton does not care.  He is a careless driver, yet, among the “Massholes”, seems studious and kind-hearted in comparison.  I just try and relax, although with my head whipping back and forth across each road, trying to see every detail of every house, I gotta’ admit, I’m exhausted at the end of our days of touring!  

Each fucking town is SO precious, SO quaint, SO exhaustively beautiful, I told TC that I’m almost sick with the addiction of seeing EVERYTHING.  We stopped at the Lobster Pool for my first and long-awaited lobstuh roll.  The joint was recommended to us by one of the local info guys as being “real, no frills,” and that’s what I wanted – nothing but lobstuh and roll.  TC got the fried clam gigantor with fries, and I also ordered some onion rings – way, way too much stuff.  Unfortunately, we agree that it was just OK.  The place itself was fantastic, and sits on a rocky beach looking over the water to a point.  Really great, and crowded.

As we continued on, through Rocky Neck and Lanesville and Annisquam and Breezy Point, each mile more beautiful than the last; the water shining and full of boats, all heading to Gloucester for the boat parade through the cut tonight, and the fireworks on the boardwalk.  We saw mansions, churches for sale, darling shops for ice cream and beads and art.  Drivers always behind us, pushing, right on the bumper - we pulled over a lot.

We ended up at the Gloucester boardwalk packed with cars waiting for the bridge to close.  We parked and walked the boardwalk, checking out the schooners in sail, and not, in the harbor.  Little boats everywhere.  

 Went to the famous mariners statue and took shots of ourselves – love the self shot on my Galaxy pad.  Read through all those Gloucestermen who were lost at sea, listed from 1716.  Whole families gone, year after year.  

Then…there was a humongo white limo…and a wedding party getting their pics taken at the statue.  Enormous bride, everyone yelling in…..Italian? Portuguese?  It was great!  The photographer an old guy with a lot of experience, but quite old fashioned, cracking jokes with all these young people…their eyes rolling, semi disgusted.  But I bet the shots look great. 

Bought some “tart” lemonade from a little boy for a buck, who couldn’t tell us what he was saving his money for.  Used the stinky shitter and watched the waves come in.  Walked back to the bridge to watch the boats come through, fast!  I talked with the bridge tender for a bit, then Ton-Ton did, about the mechanics of course.  Lots of boats coming through, everyone tan and waving, saluting the tender.  Sweet.

I’m achy again, tired.  Head home for a nap, I’m thinking.  “Isn’t it just a perfect, sweet day?” I say.  TC agrees.  On the way home a bell is going off consistently and intermittently from the Sebring, so I ask Tony, “What is that?  Your door?”  “What’s what?” he says.  That ringing, the bell,” I say, “is that your door?”  “It doesn’t say door,” he says, “I do hear it.”  “Good,” I say, “it’s too perfect of a day to be crazy.” 

Made some pre-nap fresh guacamole with HPF baby tomatoes, I’ll let it stew in the fridge for awhile, awaiting the cooking of tacquitos from Trader Joe’s.  Let the Roku out, reluctantly on my part.  But the traffic is slower and he sits and watches the grass from the picnic table until he spots a mouse and gets it!  Tony releases the mouse which runs back under the grass, brings kitty-boy inside, we praise him.  He lets him out a few minutes later, he heads for the exact spot where he was forced to give up the mighty mouse…and the mouse is still there, gets caught again.  I say, “Darwin at work.”

Took a ton of pics with my Galaxy, and can't find them now.  Poo.

Also, I love my daughter Alex.  She's making great strides with the maturity factor.  Good go, Alex B.!