Cheeseheads

When I lived in Minnesota, a state--and let's be frank here--that isn't known for awesome vacation potential, very few people clamored to visit me. I was lucky enough to get Amy to visit twice, but that had more to do with her eternal love for me and less to do with her thinking the state would make a swell vacation spot. So, Amy visited and so did my parents, but that was for my thesis reading and, again, not because they thought, Gee, Minnesota in spring is so lovely and not at all still bitter cold!

But now that I live in Maine--a state whose nickname is Vacationland, a state whose slogan is Maine: The Way Life Should Be--people are clamoring to come visit. They want to see the ocean, some lighthouses, some lobster boats. They want to eat seafood until they throw up. They want to find a moose. They want to stare at bakery cases filled with Whoopie Pies. And I'm more than happy to oblige.

This week I'm being visited by everyone's favorite Cheeseheads.

Rachel and Dan have arrived. This pleases me to no end. And for the next few days, we will make ourselves whirling dervishes spinning out toward the coast, toward the salty smell of the ocean, toward the lines of lobster boats slicing their way through waves.

I'll start telling stories from Mexico once they are safely on their way to Connecticut to visit another group of their East Coast friends.