Where Brandi writes of love and children and home and, most importantly, mullets
Posting today is Brandi of Mommy Undressed. With a blog with a name like that, well, none of you should be surprised that I find Brandi in the “must read” category. The thing is, even after I figured out that Brandi didn’t share pictures of herself sans-clothing with the world at MU, I still found myself coming back for every post. Brandi has a dry sense of humor, writes well & truthfully, and is a total babe (you can tell this from her Instagram feed.
And that doesn’t even get to the fact that her last name points to the fact that she’s Greek, and I like to pretend that I speak Greek (in truth, I understand more spoken Greek than I let on, but I’m absolutely useless when trying to communicate in the language).
I’m super-excited to wrap up my vacation with one of my all-time favorite bloggers. Thank you, Brandi, for stopping by & letting us see a bit of your roots. As an editorial note, my grandfather, up until I was 7 or 8, owned a cabin in Bar Harbor. My only memories are of very, very long drives from our home in New Jersey, a secluded cabin, random hikes about Acadia, and eating too much lobster…now, I’m tempted to head back . . . despite my shaved head, something tells me that I’d feel quite “at home” where Brandi calls home.
I can’t believe I’m guest blogging for one of my most favorite bloggers ever. I was so excited to write something over here I came down with writers block for over a week. A part of me wanted to go running through Daddy Runs A Lot’s blog and slide across the floor in my underwear like that Tom guy in that movie I’m not sure I should name. However, I figured the underwear in my Twitter avi is enough. Then I was thinking of writing something in the style of Daddy Runs A Lot “Where I suddenly find myself petrified of writing on this blog due to the fear of John not liking what I wrote.” Then I remembered how once upon a time John ran across my blog and got undressed with my readers. So I figured, in the spirit of summer and John’s posts of reflections, I would reflect on where I come from. For this blog and my home town make me smile every time I visit them.
The town where I come from isn’t for everyone. It’s the coast of Maine but its not the little vacation town you might think of. The houses aren’t little cottages nestled in the trees along the water and the beaches sandy.
It’s here where the roads are quiet and rush hour consists of 10 pickup trucks headed to the old gas station on their way home from a day on the water.
The locals look nothing like anyone you’ve seen in a Hollywood movie. Here the boy I had a crush on in junior high is still wearing the same basketball t-shirt he wore under is gown at the high school graduation.
The mullet is alive and well in these parts. All forms of it. It peaks out from the backs of salty ball caps and gets combed into a perfect quaf for those hot dates down at the lobster pound.
It’s here where the women don’t care how much money the men make, all they care about is how loud the pickup truck is as it comes down the road. It’s prefered the engine be a diesel so as to produce the perfect rumble of a mating call.
Bottle redemption centers run by men with like Cupcake and Spiderman nestle up against local art galleries run by women with names like Kat and Misty. And the tourists flock here for these very reasons. They want their taste of redneck as they file into town one by one in their SUV’s and minivans.
Come July Chancey and Tancy from Connecticut are digging in the sand with “That bastard’s” son and “Man Hand’s” daughter. And like many summer people around here, Chancey ends up marrying “Man Hand’s” daughter and a whole new wave locals and tourists washes ashore.
My days as a kid were spent watching these little silver spooned children fall in love with the mullet clad locals. I hoped and prayed I too would fall in love with some kid from away and share in the glory of the confused families. Alas, that was not my fate in my home town. My path lead me to become one of the summer people instead. I now travel with my little mixed family from Connecticut all the way to Maine every summer and watch as my urbanized minions interact with the son of the local garage own and the daughter of the lady who drives the heating oil truck, and it makes me smile.
I may now call an entirely different state home now, but I still get to enjoy the uniqueness of the summertime interactions here in Maine. I don’t know if I myself will ever move back to the area but there is always hope my kids will one day fall in love with a local and find themselves raising a family here much like my parents did with me.