REHOBOTH, Delaware

Woke up at 6:30 am on the first day of our cat-sitting vacation - a Saturday - and said, "Let's drive over to Rehoboth for breakfast." Parking was free and plentiful before 10am and all but one breakfast place was boarded up until 8 giving us half an hour to scout for grub and scan for first impressions.

The bakery on Penny Lane looked promising, with crepes on the griddle at one window and croissants beckoning at the other but the line forming at Royal Treat tempted us to follow the crowd. Rather than wait in line we tripped along the boardwalk where bikers, walkers and joggers trickled along the promenade and wound our way back to Penny Lane.



By 9am the beach umbrellas began to unfurl and we realized this early morning jaunt was the best decision of our trip, showing us we could free up a planned day for sunning ourselves on the shores of Rehoboth. A little too crowded for our beach-going pleasure.



We did, however, return to Rehoboth for the food! Rea, the gal who cuts my hair, had suggested Dogfish Head, a place she'd wanted to visit for the music and homemade ales. She'd never made it down there so we went just so I could bring something back for her. As usual, my altruistic effort had an unexpected payoff: best meal of our trip! Second favorite: Chincoteague oysters at happy hour at Fins Fish House and Raw Bar. And we did make it back to that arcade for a few games of skeeball!


The Delaware shore area is saturated with marshland, inlets and canals breeding mosquitos and the stench of stagnant mushy water-bottoms forcing wimps like us to enjoy the beauty from the sterility of the indoors. At Serendipity in Milsboro on the Indian River the riverfront dining area, though lovely, sat empty as we enjoyed our crabcakes in the safety of the upside-down umbrella laden ceiling.

PRINCETON, New Jersey

I lived in Princeton for 15 years. It's a place steeped in revolutionary and colonial history where change comes so slowly it seems like never. My favorite part of Princeton is my old route from my house on Moran Avenue through the University campus to the dinky train station en route to NYC. I retraced a section of it on this Sunday holiday morning and halted several times to ensconce myself in its stunning silence.





Palmer Square is the central meeting place in Princeton, and the setting for Shelaine's best teenage years. When I make my infrequent visits I notice change. Construction of new condominiums where the fabulous Writer's Block Garden was on display in 2004; the actual completion of the new arts council, now named the Paul Robeson Center and designed by local architect extraordinaire Michael Graves that managed to maneuver through at least a decade of bureaucratic wrangling; and the most devastating: Micawber Books now replaced by a lifeless fluorescent-filled shell (still a bookstore, but not the kind worth stepping into for an afternoon of mind-expansive discovery).



Bill has been tempting me for a visit with the promise of a new restaurant with a fabulous brunch. I love destination dining so hoped this would be the occasion. Alas, closed for the holiday weekend. So we settled in at Mediterra, just off Palmer Square, for an al fresco bite.

The reason for this particular foray was to see my other friend Bill tend bar in a new musical at the Hopewell Dessert Theater. At this day's matinee the theater far-surpassed the dessert. And who knew that when Bill shed his bartender garb he'd be dressed like my twin! Such are the delights and surprises of a day on the old home front.

HUDSON RIVER FIREWORKS, New York

Fireworks always remind me of driving to Okmulgee with my grandparents and brother to watch the 4th of July splendor. In my mind this is what we did every summer - a way I suppose of imagining sameness in my scattered tradition-less childhood. I love the 25 minute or so miracle in the sky that quiets chatter and commands awe. Okmulgee's a little far now so I only get to fireworks when they're near and hassle-free. 2009 was our year! With the fireworks staged on the Hudson in honor of the 400th year since its discovery by Henry Hudson, we were impelled to make the three-block trek.
With a little pluck, we managed to score a spot right on the riverfront. A posse of police informed us our little oasis would be under lockdown - no entry/no exit - and we gladly plopped down and began to nosh on our picnic snacks and await the night sky.



The first sign of festivity was ushered in with a water display by the fireboats against the backdrop of the sun setting over New Jersey. Then the Macy's barges came marching in: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. All evenly spread before us.

At the stroke of 9:20 the lights came up: red, white, blue with touches of green, yellow and orange. "U.S.A." was shouted by the vodka-primed spectators behind us, patriotically punctuating the ooooh/ahhhhh spectacle of the sextet of synchronized dancing sparkles.

SARASOTA, Florida

Sarasota was not on my list of "places to go." But I didn't want to miss Joan's (my Africa trip mate) 70th Birthday Bash so I booked without reservation. Our first day greeted us with cloud-cover so we headed inland to check out Myakka State Park (Florida's largest state park) about 15 minutes East of Sarasota where we hopped aboard the Myakka Maiden for an airboat tour of Upper Myakka Lake.
The draw of the airboat are alligator sightings but when the sun isn't out they loll about underwater. So rather than see hundreds of alligators sunning themselves on the shoreline we saw about five as they bobbed up for air. The bird sightings were a little more aplenty and by far the highlight was the bald eagle that swooped in for a moment to show off her regality.

Closer to the park entrance we ventured into the rainforest-like wilderness on route to the canopy walk, one of only a handful in North America. Though short, there was a moment of swing mid-way. I think the point is to be able to experience the canopy close up and I did enjoy a closer view of the spooky moss-like trailings dripping from the treetops.


While climbing the second 70-foot tower to glimpse a 360-degree view of treetops the skies opened and we hovered under two-by-four slats to shield ourselves from the downpour. It was a typical several minute shower, followed by intermittent drizzle. Thinking the worst was over we hurried back along the half-mile trail to the car only to be caught again for a royal drenching! But then the sun came out and alligators began to appear. I hiked under a bridge to get closer to this one and realize now my proximity to the shoreline may have been a little too close for safety. (Elliott, do as Glamma says, not as she does!)
Safe from the alligators, we headed back to Sarasota in search of Vibe Cuisine which serves only organic and raw foods. My no-bean burrito, wrapped in cabbage leaves rather than a tortilla, tasty gritty and raw and while very good, the strip-mall locale accompanied by a table-side domestic dispute detracted from the feel-good healthy-food vibe. Our next stop was Buddha Belly Donuts where we hoped to supplement our next mornings hotel fare with something a little more tasty. They'd already sold the dozen vegan donuts whipped up for the day but at least this little foray gave us a glimpse of vintage downtown.
Next stop, Siesta Key Beach where the sand was soft and pasty like plaster powder. I buried my feet just to savor the smooth, silky feel while watching a host of gray-day beach fun from sand-castle building to surfboarding.

Saturday was a perfect beach day so we drove to the more secluded Turtle Beach and trekked about a mile south to an uninhabited stretch where the sand was rocky and shelly. Not smart! Invisible flies munched on my ivory skin and seemed to relish my application of anti-bug lotion. Benedicta distracted me with sand-crab sightings so I spent the rest of our beach time stalking a crab as he dodged in and out while excavating his tunnel.


Whew! It was time for lunch so my beach-quota was up. Thankfully we had Joan's sister's house as a bayside retreat complete with pool and kayak. And since Joan was the birthday-girl I honored her request to take an early Sunday morning row. Hope I'm still kayaking at 70!