K'Port 2010 - Linda's Birthday Celebration Weekend

“This is going to be like the 25^th Reunion,” muttered Bill, “except that I’ll get to bed earlier.”  He noted this on the way downstairs at the Colony in Kennebunkport, to collect the kids, after the Johnnie Walker Blue Label, which came after the lobster-and-prime-rib-and-mile-of-dessert buffet with some divine red wine called The Chocolate Box, which came after the exquisite cheese and raw bar, which came with the 1950 (1950!) Dom Perignon toast, which came after the 1999 Cristal, which, we are told, is what rappers drink. 

This was done in service of celebrating our friend Linda’s 50^th birthday, and it is safe to say that her adoring husband’s tasteful extravagance has set the bar very high for future 50^th birthday celebrations.  Note to self:  be sure to hire Andy Ory as your party planner.

The Colony is an old-style New England resort, which has managed to preserve its essential gentility while moving gracefully into the 21^st c.   Doesn’t the name rather sum it up?  The Colony:  a haven for PLUs (People Like Us), a sort of preppy commune from days gone by.  But never fear, we have WI-FI everywhere! says the bewildered-looking man at reception.  It’s all a bit Mad Men, although of course it really predates even that.  Put another way, at the Colony they are used to large parties with lots to drink and lots of kids and basically lots of people roaming the grounds into the wee hours.  But no running in the lobby! 

Anyone who knows Isabel knows that she likes a good swimming pool.  The Colony has a very nice saltwater pool that overlooks a beach-y harbor, and distant vista of coastline and low hills.  As usual, Izzy’s goal for the entire trip was to get into that pool.  Fortunately for her, Paul took a group of kids down for a nighttime swim while the growns were finishing the aforementioned wine-soaked dinner.  Paul says that there really is nothing like a dip in a saltwater pool at night to really sober you right up.

Another way that you know you are at a certain kind of resort like the Colony is when the first item on the bountiful breakfast buffet is little bowls of stewed prunes.  The next morning, while the growns nursed gentle hangovers, and meandered through eggs and bacon and sausage and blueberry (natch) pancakes and pastries and the rest, Andy briefed us on the day.  Our marching orders were basically to make sure to be on the trolley on time.  That was all one really had to know for the whole day.  If you got to the trolley, you were sure to end up somewhere fun.  Our trolley driver was named Jack and stuck with us through thick and thin, cruise and beach, party and party, into the night. 

First stop:  five minutes away to the dock for a three-hour-tour, er, sail.  Fortunately, our our captain, Christo, and his mate Holly inspired rather more confidence than Gilligan and The Skipper, but the goofy jokes about who got to be Ginger and where were Mr. Howell and Lovey were completely lost on anyone younger than about 40.  We had a lovely sail on the Pineapple Ketch, with a gentle breeze, the highlights of which included tossing a plastic pineapple and a plastic lobster back and forth with our sister ship, the schooner Eleanor.  The lobster went in the drink, but was retrieved by the Eleanor to a mighty roar of approval.  In retrospect, it probably would have been a good idea for Isabel to have worn a life jacket.  But she survived fine if mad as hell that I wouldn’t let her take her shoes off.

Maine has a beautiful coastline, but its reputation is one of rocks and pine trees and rocks and screamingly cold water and rocks.  One does not expect perfect crescents of powdery sand with long shallows and dare I say almost warm water.  But this is just what you will find at Goose Rocks Beach, our next stop.  Thanks to Jack and his trolley, we collected our beach stuff after the sail, and were dropped off at the beach to find a little compound of umbrellas, chairs, toys, sandwiches, drinks, and a huge bag of candy which thrilled the kids. 

Have I mentioned how completely spectacular the weather was this weekend?  Even Andy Ory, with his extraordinary organizational skills and business finesse, could not have managed this on his own.  It was a gift, certainly, and we all took full advantage.   Isabel thinks the entire state of Maine is just one big fancy hotel house party.  At some point during the afternoon she announced with delight, “It is so much fun in Maine!” 

On our return to the Colony from the beach, we passed Walker’s Point, summer home to 41 (as he’s known in these parts) and Bar.  41 has come to K’port for 84 of his 86 years, and is much beloved here.  He has a great peninsula quite near our hotel, which his family has owned for about 100 years.  Who wouldn’t hold on to real estate like that?  We saw him docking his embarrassingly large powerboat, complete with three enormous engines on the back.  You know it is 41 because there is always a chase boat not far behind, with the security detail.  Apparently the chase boat sometimes has a hard time keeping up with 41’s vessel, as the former does not have three enormous engines.

Prominently displayed downtown is the Kennebunkport Democratic Headquarters sign.  And while 41 may be the local hero, 43 gets about zero traction here, not so surprising being a Texas man.  Crawford v. K’port?  Pretty clear which town wins that contest.  I would not be surprised if Bar even belonged to the local Smith Club.

Final note on the Colony.  While waiting to depart for Saturday evening’s event, we enjoyed the spectacle of be-costumed guests leaving the hotel for a fancy-dress party at a yacht club nearby.  Here goes (a rather pale) Paul Pierce, and a Celtics Dancer.  There is Howard Stern, and following is that Angelina Jolie-video game character with the black unitard and knife strapped to her thigh.  Here comes a stately elderly couple replete with bright prints and saddle shoes, looking like they walked off the set of “A Summer Place.”  Oh wait, here they come back out with their cocktails to watch the scene.  They are just guests, I guess.  That’s the kind of folk who frequent the Colony.

Dinner at Big Fish in Kennebunk (which is right across the Kennebunk river from Kennebunkport) was great fun, once Patty had bribed the older kids to keep the peace.  They did, and she paid up the next morning.  Good job all around. 

And of course, this being the gala celebration dinner, there was an ongoing slide show of photos of the birthday gal from birth onward (beautiful from the get-go), and plentiful toasts and a great cake.  Here’s some background:  Linda was actually born in Japan (next stop:  Duluth!), and moved many times, attending ten schools while she was growing up.  Dad was in the Air Force, and spent a certain amount of time terrifying himself and his family by flying reconnaissance missions over North Vietnam.  According to Linda’s mom (a true steel magnolia and I mean that in the best sense), their unit motto was “UNARMED AND UNAFRAID” but in fact what they really thought they were was “UNARMED AND SCARED TO DEATH.”  Anyway, this peripatetic lifestyle made things like birthday celebrations for three kids a real challenge, so a famous story about Linda is that when she turned 11 she celebrated with an RC Cola and Moon Pie with a candle stuck in it.  This is all by way of saying that Andy apparently tried to have the baker recreate said moon pie for the cake, but they don’t know from moon pies so much in these parts, so they just made a really delicious cake with some chocolate ganache and buttercream and so on. 

To complete the story about our honorand, I’m told that when her dad got out of the Air Force he symbolically and literally grounded himself by buying a car dealership in Milledgeville, Georgia, from whence Linda came to Harvard and met Bill and many other nice people, and the story goes on from there.  I suspect that Linda was as gracious and lovely about that early moon pie as she is about just about everything.

Have I mentioned that there was more good wine at this dinner?  Afterwards, the hardiest souls repaired back to Andy’s parents’ house for a bonfire on the beach under the Milky Way, as the moon rose.  Peter was pretty much melted from exhaustion at that point, and while Izzy claimed to be game to carry on, she opted out at the last minute, so we three returned to the Colony for some much-needed shut-eye while Bill partied on.

Sunday dawned bee-yoo-ti-ful again, ho hum, another crappy day in paradise.  We made our way to Linda and Andy’s actual house, where another delicious (but mercifully alcohol-free) meal awaited for brunch.  Their property is on a small inlet, which drains completely at low tide, stranding their Whaler on mudflats.  But it fills twice a day with the tide, so there is about a five hour window during which one can take the boat out.  Need to know those tides wherever and whenever?  There’s an app for that.

After a visit to possibly the loveliest Episcopal church ever, St. Anne’s, situated on a picture-perfect promontory, we headed south back to Cambridge and our workaday world.  “Maine is TOO much fun” moaned Peter that morning.  But I don’t think he bears any ill-will toward Andy Ory for inviting us on this magical weekend, and I expect would go back in a flash.  I know Isabel would.  She may already be planning her own no. 6 to take place at the Colony.  Fortunately, we wouldn’t have to spring for the champagne.