1. PWM. End of story.

Reasons to Love Maine:

1. Smiling Hill Farm

2. Apricot-Almond bread (and it�s more important by-product, French toast)

3. Sleeping in

4. Not having to wear a coat

5. My best friend resides in the state

6. Bean suppers

7. Maple syrup

8. Mandolins and banjos and guitars and basses

9. It�s warmer that home

Oh, so you want details, do you? Well, settle in.

I visited Maine, Bowdoinham to be specific, because The Model lives there. Why does a model live in the wilds of Maine, you ask? Because she can. Anyway, I flew there and am going to sing the praises of the �Express� mode of travel. No pesky cattle conditions on a jet; just me, my magazine, and 44 other like-minded passengers who enjoy their silence. I tell you, it�s *the* way to travel, and it�s worth the extra money. I had a flight that was 2 hours start to finish, gate to gate. The same flight time was 5 hours when coupled with an �economy� leg of the journey�I won�t make that mistake again. I was only staying the long weekend, so I just had a carryon and my purse; however, I had a feeling as I approached the airport that this time, I�d be searched. You know�you see those poor souls baring all to prove they�re flight-worthy. Yours truly found herself at the receiving end of 2 searches by the time she boarded the plane (ugh) and had high hopes that Fate was appeased and the return trip would be uneventful. Of course not.

After rushing frantically to get to the Portland International Jetport on time (and you know what that means), I watched a delayed (direct) flight leave for home and asked if there was room. I mean, I was right there and quite willing to cut Boston right out of the picture. No good�so I then proceeded to watch my flight start to board, and felt my jaw drop as 4 out of 5 passengers were thoroughly searched. On a flight of 45, that�s quite a few of us. Apparently, if you look funny at your boarding pass, it turns on you and claims you�re sketchy�and there�s nothing Security likes more than sketchy people.

~~And did you know that some tickets are pre-coded and you know ahead of time you�ll be probed, swiped, wanded and patted? It�s true: Security told me.~~

The poor few who passed muster were huddled in the bus to ferry us all out to the commuter plane while the rest of us watched our bags become thoroughly disheveled. I think lots of ::ahem:: suspicious people must come thru Portland since these Security people were trained by ex-military thugs who instilled an unhealthy distrust of all people.

They�re suspicious of greeting cards and toiletries, but they�re extremely vigilant with cardigans while ignoring the maple syrup jugs. I just don�t get it�and then they must have decided that the plane itself looked pretty iffy (it had just come from Boston, y�know) and they had to check it out. After standing on the bus (making the CTA look comfy), we boarded to find out there was a �discrepancy�. What? There�s an external lightbulb issue and now, after talking with Dallas HQ, we�re going to fly with �deferred maintenance papers�?? IN FOG?

How much worse can it get?

Why do I even ask these things� at this point, I�m flirting with the idea of becoming �that� passenger. You know, the one I was raised to never be. The one who sighs audibly at every delay, announcement, or perceived inefficiency. The one who glares balefully at the ticket lady who tells them to stand in the full-security-check line. The one who brusquely acknowledges the "sorry for the inconvenience, have a good flight" platitudes and huffs down the walkway. The one who radiates annoyance and people avoid. The one who�s obviously not in the mood for small-talk and chit-chat. The one who constantly (and loudly) compares this experience with other airports which are better, smarter, faster, and nicer.

You know that passenger.

Well, it was touch-n-go there as I sat on the tarmac at Portland with Whitney Houston�s repeating �Hits on The Plane To Hell� disc as the inflight music and the clock showed us still in Portland 10 minutes after our original arrival time in Boston, but then we powered up and raced down the runway, swaying a bit in the wind and yet straining up and up and we�re pushed into our seats like the Gravitron and we�re flying and cutting thru the clouds and my anger and anxiety dissipates with the clearing cotton because

I�m flying.

But don�t ask about Boston, or the next security check. Suffice it to say, Boston�s not much different, but the airport�s bigger and so�s the hair.

~~~

The trip wasn�t overshadowed by this misadventure; let me tell you about why I love Maine.

1. Smiling Hill Farm has the happiest cows I�ve ever had the pleasure to buy from. They�re so happy, in fact, that they create strawberry, blueberry, chocolate, coffee, and orange-cream milk. It�s all good, all the time. Big glass pint bottles, thick whole milk that you can�t stop drinking, and a smiling cow on the front. Sheer heaven.

2. Along these same lines, I found heaven in a nondescript loaf of bread that hid entire almonds and apricots, sneaking up on your mouth and exploding with flavor. It�s the kind of bread you rip hunks off of and wonder if it�s healthy to eat an entire loaf of bread in 3 hours. Good thing we saved some for French toast... because there�s nothing like real maple syrup (not that crazy watered-down crap) soaking into every nook and cranny. Who needs to move after a meal of this genius? Not I...not even to spear the last piece on the platter. Instead, it was lazily thrown to me across the floor and it tasted even better for it.

3. What can I say? The self-employed have the right idea. Sleep until you wake up, and then start your day.

4. Maine, the land of snow, fog, and cold, was sunny, upper-50s, and green. It was more like spring than fall, and winter was nowhere to be seen. I took a coat, but it was mostly unnecessary when a big �ole hat and scarf were used. No coat�such joy. Such fun. It made walking outside more fun as well when you don�t freeze in .3 seconds.

5. What can I say? When The Model doesn�t travel enough and visit often, one must buy a ticket, fly out there, and do some visiting themselves. I did. It made the entire state a wonderful place because she�s in it. I love Maine.

6. �Eat a bean, build a house� was the wrong slogan. The fire house�s bean supper (more like a potluck) wasn�t for a burned-down house, it was for a kid. Henceforth the event was referred to as �eat a bean, save a baby�. We saved lots of babies that night... there�s nothing like a potluck to teach you everything you need to know about a community. What kind of foods, what kind of people, but most importantly: what kinds of pie. Those ladies know how to make a mean piecrust...but I had 3 pieces to make sure it wasn't a fluke.

7. Maple syrup. It�s tasty on everything. Just avoid the leaf-shaped bottles and you�ll be fine.

8. The Model has a very talented boy who happens to play guitar with other highly-talented musicians, and I now have an appreciation for songs about miners and poor people and dead people. (It�s a theme. Can�t argue.) In his spare time, he makes great French toast (see #2), gives great hugs, and drives (properly) above the speed limit. He's a wonderful guy.

9. See #4 for why it�s better than home, where I arrived to mid-30s and that pre-sleet crap that we�re famous for.

So there you have it. The whys and wherefores of why MM loves Maine. Maybe someday I�ll tell you what I did when I was in that fair state.