Main Street is a narrow, one-way road that runs through historic downtown Annapolis. At the top of this brick-paved thoroughfare sits St. Anne's Episcopal Church. While the current structure dates to the 1850s, a church of that name has stood here since 1704. Along with specialty shops purveying all manner of Navy-themed kitsch, bars and eateries line both sides of the road.
One of these is Red Red Wine Bar, and it's usually one of our first stops. We'll order one of their frequently rotated wine flights and contemplate the afternoon in front of us. Unless you're a politician going to the State House a few blocks over, you don't come to Annapolis with a hard-set agenda. When we roll into "'Nap' Town", we have a very Zen, "We'll see what we see," attitude.
Several art galleries intersperse themselves on Main, and Main Street Gallery, near the head of the street, periodically features the works of Kevin Fitzgerald, a local artist. Known for the subdued color palette of his massive landscapes, he's become one of Andrea's favorites. However, the artist's rising popularity in recent years pretty much ensures his work is out of our price range. This hasn't fully deterred Andrea and me. We've unofficially annexed this gallery and now consider it an extension of our living room. We'll drop in every so often and visit his latest works in the Annapolis wing of Casa Capuyan.
With St. Anne's behind you, Main Street is a gentle downhill grade, terminating in a roundabout with spokes that will fling you off in half a dozen directions. Here, you're within a stone's throw of the harbor. You can always find sailboats berthed in the various slips, gently rocking in the water and tugging at their lines.
Recently we were strolling by the waterfront when a street performer was belting out a decent rendition of "Brick House" by the Commodores. Andrea was on my arm and as we approached, he smiled at me and seamlessly worked "You've got yourself a brick house" into the song lyrics. I gave an acknowledging wink and nod and flashed the "rock-on" sign.
There's a small park at the water's edge and every trip into town will usually bring us to this point. Andrea and I have shivered out here in the cold viewing the "Parade of Boats" over the Christmas holidays, oohed and ahhed at fireworks displays over the water, and people watched as charter boats carried tourists on water tours of the Academy and other sights on the Severn River.
For me, this town is rife with nostalgia. Dad was stationed in Annapolis in the early '70s, and one of our apartments overlooked the Academy. Mom pointed out the building on one of her visits up. It was a curious sensation as Andrea and I walked through town with her to realize Mom took similar strolls with 3-year-old me. There's also a palpable connection here with Dad, and I find comfort being in close proximity to the same waters he and I fished together some 50 years ago.
Annapolis is where I go for solitude. Every March 12th will usually find me as close as I can get to the water's edge. The smell of brine on the breeze and the calls of gulls as they turn aerial cartwheels are perfect backdrops for personal reveries. In my mind, today's song plays out on an internal soundtrack. I'll watch as a beautiful daysailer enters the channel and raises sails. As if on queue, the wind picks up and her canvas pops loudly as they're filled with the stiff breeze. She takes a gentle leeward lean, and I watch as she slowly makes her way upriver. I can't help but smile.
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