Forever Plaid

There is nothing more comfy and comforting than crawling between soft flannel sheets at the end of a long day. Or changing out of your stuffy work clothes and pulling on a worn flannel shirt with leggings. It’s the same feeling that I get when I step off the plane at PWM after a brief but typically stressful flight from my (current) home in New York City – the air smells, tastes, feels different. Like home. 

That is what flannel (especially of the plaid variety) means to me.

Bliss, is that you?

Anyone you knows anything about me knows that I am a Mainer, a Maineiac, a native of the north – and am darn proud of it. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have grown up there, between the mountains and the sea, and I find almost any excuse to bring it up in conversation. That’s easier to do here in New York than you might think; I am constantly running into people who summer in Maine or went to summer camp there as kids, and for those people Maine holds a very special place in their hearts.

As for the others, those who haven’t been so fortunate as to experience the Pine Tree State? Not so much. I get a lot of “Wow, you’re a long way from home” (not true – it may be psychologically worlds away, but in actuality is only a 50-minute flight up the coast). Or, more often than not, a blank look followed by: “What’s up there, exactly?”

As my opening quote says, "what's up there" is no secret if you’ve ever lived there. But if you haven’t, I hope that this blog will give you a glimpse into the wonderful world of ME…and me.