South of the Mason-Dixon line

The U.S.S.Olympia in all its glory at the Independence Seaport Museum in Philadelphia

My son, Anthony, stands ready at one of the U.S.S. Olympia's big guns.

The U.S.S. Becuna straddles the Olympia in Philadelphia.

My wife, Terri, takes a break in Philadelphia.

I am standing in a small cemetery at the Christ Church in Alexandria.

Terri enjoys a moment in Alexandria, Va.

The Carlyle House where PBS's "Mercy Street" is based on during the Civil War.

The three of us stand on the porch of Carlyle House in Alexandria.

Standing on the boardwalk along the Potomac River in Alexandria.

Above and below, some scenes of Washington  D.C.

Scenes of the Smithsonian's Air and Space Museum.

D.C.'s famed Metro in action.

The Belle Plantation in Middletown, Va.

Above, reenactors camp out against the backdrop of the Shenandoah Mountains in Middleton, Va. Below, reenactors return to camp after a battle.

“A vacation is having nothing to do and all day to do it in.” 

                                                                                                                          — Robert Orben

AUBURN, Maine — Pardon me, but my thoughts are somewhere between the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania and the Poconos of New York.

We completed a 1,700-mile roundtrip through 10 states and Washington, D.C. in five days. 

I am still shaking off White Line Fever and have avoided getting behind the wheel of a vehicle the past several days.

The Christ Church in Alexandria. 

I have a new appreciation for cross-country truck drivers who stare endlessly down long roads filled with distracted drivers — who see texting is an opportunity to cause a 25-car pileup on the New Jersey Turnpike.

What started out as a destination to Cedar Creek Battlefield in Middletown, Va., ended up becoming whirlwind tour of Philadelphia, D.C., and Alexandria and Shenandoah Mountains in Stephens City.

It was a hit-and-run effort to see everything possible within five days, which was no easy task for us, especially in the heat.

My son is a Civil War reenactor with the Third Maine. They were up against the Confederates again in the Shenandoah Mountain range at location called Belle Grove Plantation in Middletown.

By the way, the North won. I put all my money on the Blue Bellies.

Along the way, we traveled through Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New work, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, Delaware and the District of Columbia.

We weaved our way around and through four stunning mountain ranges: the Shenandoah Valley, Blue Ridge, Alleghenies and the Poconos.

We crossed the mighty Susquehanna, Potomac and Hudson rivers twice and held our breath when we traversed the George Washington Bridge, where confused New York drivers think they are racing at the Brickyard.

The Blasi family sped through the Baltimore Tunnel, crossed the Betsy Ross Bridge into Philadelphia, snaked along the Hudson River Parkway and boarded the fabled Metro system in Washington D.C.

We had the opportunity to the Mason-Dixon line as we raced back to New England. 

The Confederates ran us out of town — those damn Rebs.

It was a spectacular journey that featured numerous national landmarks and people who continually surprised us with their kindness.

There is a lot to be said about southern hospitality — and most of it is true.

My son was my Columbus and Anthony did impeccable job navigating our routes with his GPS and several maps from the backseat of our rented car.

We spent two days in Philly, two in Arlington, Va., and two days in Middletown, Va.

Starting out

It is a seven-hour ride by car to Philadelphia. Making time was impossible thanks to traffic and construction. An endless supply of distracted drivers made us shake our heads most of the way.

We headed down I-95 South through Maine and New Hampshire and cut across Massachusetts and Connecticut to reach New York City. I nearly took out a guy on a motorcycle in the Bay State. He was in a blind spot. After  being peppered with vulgarities, he pulled along side of me and calmed down. I apologized for cutting him off and both parties left on affable terms.

We wanted to take Tappan Zee Bridge to avoid the George Washington Bridge, but we heard radio reports that a large crane tipped over and stopped traffic in both directions. Tappan Zee ended up being closed.

My son’s GPS steered us through the Hudson River Parkway to avoid the Bronx, and we picked up the lower deck of the GW. We headed for the dreaded Jersey Turnpike —which features nine-lanes of insanity. I followed that for 71 miles and eventually entered Philadelphia via the Betsy Ross Bridge.

City of Brotherly Love

We stopped in Philly for the night to meet the curator at the Independence Seaport Museum. My son donated a historic commemorative plate of the U.S.S. Olympia to the museum. We also wanted to see Philly again after our 2013 stay.

Anthony and I decided to board the Olympia again and take more pictures of Dewey’s flagship, which squared off against the Spanish. The old tub is one of Anthony’s favorite naval vessels, and believe me, he knows them all.

Our brief stay included meeting a pair of cabbies who got us to our destinations. Cabbies know what is going in the heart of any U.S. city, and they are the go-to guys for information.

Virginia is for tourists, too

After our a two-day visit in the City of Brotherly Love, we got back in our rented SUV and drove 145 miles toward Arlington, Va., where a room with an air conditioner was waiting for us at the Radisson. 

We made our down Interstate 95 into Delaware, where we were nearly killed by driver who almost triggered a 10-car pileup. The out-of-control car hit the side of a dump truck and neither driver stopped to exchange information. I skidded toward the calamity, and as I looked in the rearview mirror, other cars were sliding into us. I thought my family was about to become a casualty of another distracted driver. We escaped unharmed. I was enraged and chased the car up I-95, but he was traveling about 100 miles per hour, and I gave up the pursuit. I wanted the plate number to phone it in to the state police.

The entire country has been under a heat dome, and let me tell you, the South was hot as hell and the humidity made us feel all like a soggy dish towel.

We chose Arlington for its location for two reasons: Washington D.C. and Alexandria, particularly Old Town.

Alexandria could be considered a giant museum with its history encased in all its beautiful brownstones. Besides the city’s excellent food and endless shops, there are historic landmarks and a boardwalk offering stunning views of the Potomac River and cool sea breezes

I could live in Alexandria, but Virginia’s heat and murderous traffic can wear on you.

Terri insisted on visiting the Carlyle House where PBS’s “Mercy Street” is based on the Civil War. The restored home is another one of Alexandria’s time capsules left untouched by modern technology. 

We sat in George Washington’s pew where he worshiped at the Christ Church in Alexandria. We received a detailed lecture about the pew and the church from a woman named Dell. It is a stunning place of worship and its the architecture is stunning. We saw Gen. Robert E. Lee’s boyhood home, numerous brownstones and elegant gardens.

Our stroll led us to a great pub and restaurant — King Street Blues.  It may be comfort food, but it was prepared well in this old-world town. The chicken and mashed potatoes were sumptuous.

Two evenings were spent listening to an opera singer serenading fans in Old Town. Her voice was angelic and I had no trouble reaching into my wallet to tip her.

Sitting on the boardwalk and watching the boats come and go on he Potomac makes for a wonderful summer evening.

The Nation's Capitol

Washington D.C. is worth a visit, but it takes a week to see everything, and we didn’t have that kind of time. No matter what you think about your nation’s leaders, visiting the Smithsonian, the Mall or Capitol Hill are several reasons why a tour of D.C. instills confidence in our young country.

Walking the D.C. Mall, with the Capitol and the Washington Monument looming tall at each end, is a sight that makes all Americans. Tributes to Martin Luther King, Lincoln and Jefferson remind us that we can all make positive contributions to a nation that is not perfect.

Take a ride on the Metro and you meet good people willing to get you on your way. I met a man name Kamilli (I am not sure of the spelling), who is an attendant. He was patient with us as he explained how to use this great system of transportation. My advice: Use the Metro and avoid driving around in D.C. — unless you can put your car in our back pocket

The heat was unbearable. We remained in the shade of the cherry trees along on the Mall as we trudged toward the Washington Monument.

We saw the Pentagon and spent hours touring the Smithsonian’s Space and Air Museum. Getting a bird’s-eye view of Charles Lindberg’s “Spirit of St. Louise,” and Hitler’s terror weapon — the V-2 rocket — is eye-opening. We stood outside Capitol Hill and marveled at its architecture.

But the heat got to us and we took refuge in the National Archives for air conditioning and an opportunity to check out the exhibits. 

We never made it to the Washington Monument. Five hours in the searing heat forced us back to the Metro and we took the 15-minute ride back to Crystal City in Arlington. 

We will be back, though.

The Yanks are coming

We were 81 miles north of Middletown, Va. — the shortest part of trip. Along the way, we saw signs for Antietam and Manassas. The fighting was fierce in this part of our nation during the Civil War.

Cedar Creek was the last major Civil War campaign in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley. The bloodshed took place at Belle Grove Plantation, which features a home that was owned by the John Hite family.

It is magnificent house. It could have been used in the filming of “Gone with the Wind.” Scars from musket balls are visible on the towering pillars of the home. Cannon fire also dented the walls.

The tour is worth the price of admission. If the home’s walls could talk, they would whisper about Union generals Philip Sheridan and George Armstrong Custer and the bloody battle that took place in front of the home. Reenactors were encamped where hundreds of dead Union and Confederate soldiers were killed 152 years ago. Imagine standing in a room where Custer once stood comforting a dying Union officer.

There is an old wagon trail in front of the home that settlers used to travel on as they made there way into the country.

The re-enactors camped in front of the plantation. It was hot as hell and those men were wearing wool uniforms. My son agreed to participate in one battle that evening. There was supporting cannon fire in the background. You have to keep your distance from the artillery. The blast from these 10- and 15-pounders will shatter your organs. I could feel the shockwaves hit my car on a road just outside the battlefield.

My son uses a real .53 caliber musket, which is like lugging around your own personal six-pound cannon. It stands about five feet and fires a ball.

We dropped him off at camp and toured the Belle home. I returned that evening to watch the battle off in the distance. The Third Maine participated in the skirmish as opposing cannons lit up the hot evening.

The two sides fought it out against the backdrop of the Shenandoah and Blue Ridge mountains. I can see why nature’s towering summits have a hold on the people who live in the valley. I told them I was from Maine, and one guy turned and said, “I ate many of your lobsters.”

I smiled.

I met many Virginians who were polite and proudly spoke about their home town. We spent the night at the Holiday Inn in Stephens City, where the front-desk personnel were wonderful and directed us to an Italian restaurant. I was skeptical. I wasn’t behaving like a prude or an erudite from the Boston area.

The restaurant is called “Romas,” and it certainly satisfied my appetite. I ate seafood soup and manicotti, and the food was a delight. The sauce, well, it is just like mama makes.

And that is quite a compliment for any Italian restaurant.

Stephens City has the look and feel of a Mayberry R.F.D. I drove through the town expecting to meet Andy or Barney Fife in their Ford Galaxy squad car. People are proud of their community and it shows on every street corner. 

Before we stopped in Stephens City, we pulled over in Plains, Va. A woman made us burgers and some southern chicken. Yum!

The Yanks are going

We decided to head north through West Virginia and cut Pennsylvania in two to avoid taking Interstate 95 through Arlington, Baltimore, D.C., Philadelphia and New York City.

No thanks. Been there, done that!

For at least four hours, the Blasis were prisoners of Pennsylvania as we raced through the Alleghenies. It was an up-and-down ride. Our ears would get blocked up and pop open on the way down from down from each summit.

We finally picked up 84 East in New York and sped through the Poconos and eventually into Connecticut.

We inched our way to Maine, and after hours of driving, I needed to be relieved at the wheel. My reaction time was slowing and I began to get drowsy. 

Interstate 84 runs in 291 North, which splits Connecticut in two and leads directly to the Massachusetts turnpike.

My wife took the wheel and brought us to New Hampshire.

The hourlong rest did a body good and I was back behind the wheel on the Maine Turnpike.

Civil War veteran and a former Supreme Court justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, who was Boston bred, once wrote: “Where we love is home, home where our feet may leave, but never our hearts.”

That is absolutely true. 

But we are fortunate to have the opportunity — and the money — to vacate our home, at least for a week, and visit other regions of the country and embrace its denizens.

A Christmas walk by the sea and donating historic artifact to the Independence Seaport Museum in Philly

PORTLAND — The three of us walked along on the beach at the Eastern Promenade thanks to bare ground and a warm sun that made the waters of the Atlantic sparkle with Christmas cheer.

I called it our Christmas walk on a cold Sunday afternoon. Runners and speed walkers passed us with a smile and a hello. Playful dogs and their owners roamed the sand. A vintage narrow-gauge train raced by, blasting its ear-splitting steam whistle that was heard clear across the empty bay. We waved to the conductor and marveled at a machine that was nearly a century old.

Was this the beginning of a new Christmas tradition?

I doubt it because Old Man Winter, who appears to have gone West for the holidays, has way of getting back at all of us the next season. This guy knows how to hold a grudge.

But for the moment, the old geezer has concerned himself with creating havoc on the West Coast, and that is just fine with me. The residents on the other side of the country need the water and I could do without the white powder. 

After last year, a warm December has been a real treat for many of us in Maine this holiday season, but whatever you do, don’t share your enthusiasm over the lack of cold temperatures and snow with skiers.

You might get a punch in the nose or be ignored the rest of winter. Whenever I mention this spring-like weather, I get dirty looks from my son — a ski patroller who lives for the white stuff.

I could give a damn about a White Christmas. 

Sorry Bing! 

I am perfectly content standing on cold, clear bare ground. Santa will just have use a helicopter to make his appointed rounds on Christmas Eve. Rudolph and his buddies can take the day off.

The walk in the crisp, cold Canadian air cleared my head and made me appreciate the fact that I can go for a two-mile walk with my wife and son and not get winded. The sea has always been my open-air cathedral where I go to sort out life’s problems.

Traditions fade and new holiday customs suddenly emerge with the passing of time and loved ones whose absence at Christmas dinner is always a heart breaker. Those who have passed on are now a part of Christmas past and a time that seemed so much simpler.

The holidays and depression often go hand and hand, and the absence of a mom and dad makes me acutely aware that all those wonderful people who celebrated the yuletide are gone forever.

But staring out across the chilly waters of East End Beach in a warm, winter sun preempted the deepest feelings of desperation. I was grateful my son was home from the University of Maine at Farmington. His presence makes the holidays that much more meaningful. While we were at work, he decorated the entire house with holiday spirit.

And so a new holiday tradition is born — the homecoming of my son.

By the way, depression and anxiety can find another mind to haunt — mine is occupied with positive thoughts. I miss my parents and all those who were so important to me during the holidays, but if I allow melancholy and the past to pester me, I miss what is going on the present — and that is not going to happen to me.

The gift that keeps on giving

Several days before Christmas, my son did something remarkable — at least in his parents’ eyes. He donated a historic artifact to a world-class museum in Philadelphia, Penn.

My son, a history major and honor student, had spoken with his archeology teacher about owning pieces of American history. The archeologist told him when people have private pieces of the past in their hands, other can’t see and enjoy a relic from the past.

My son took his conversation to heart and decided to donate an 1899 commemorative plate of the USS Olympia that was produced by Macy’s to honor Admiral Dewey’s fighting vessel, which fought in the Battle of Manila Bay during the Spanish-American War.

On Friday, we spent $60 to carefully pack and send the plate to the Independence Seaport Museum in Philly. We visited this maritime museum in 2013. If you like maritime history, this is to place to tour and learn. The Olympia is moored next to the museum and it is still in fighting shape. We photographed every inch of the naval warship during our last visit.

I am looking forward to seeing my son’s name next to the historic plate the next time we cross the Delaware River and visit the Cradle of Liberty.

My son continues to pleasantly surprise us, but that’s what children do when you love them.

My year in review

"Maybe when you go back, Martin, you'll find that there are merry-go-rounds and band concerts where you are. Maybe you haven't been looking in the right place. You've been looking behind you, Martin. Try looking ahead."

                       — Dialogue from the Twilight Zone episode  "Walking Distance"

AUBURN, Maine — I discovered a worn Christmas card at the bottom of a box used for storing our treasure trove of holiday ornaments.

The thoughtful card was from my dad who is engaged in a cruel battle with Alzheimer's — a disease of the brain that dissolves memories and renders all human beings stricken with it helpless.

I opened the card and read the inscription: "Have a great holiday. We love all of you."

I know it wasn't his handwriting because he can no longer hold a pen, but it was something he would say to all of us each Christmas. He has always been a man of few words, but his loyalty and integrity is beyond reproach.

Of course, reading the card stirred all those memories of my mom and dad. My parents are no longer together. My mom passed three years ago, leaving us all with an emptiness that never goes away. Big Al still has home-run moments of lucidity, but there are other instances when it is impossible for him to speak in complete sentences.

I admire people who take down the Christmas tree and pack all those ornaments away the day after the holiday and move on to the next year without batting an eye. I look forward to the future, but I often find myself looking over my shoulder for the past.

The week between Christmas and New Year's Day is like purgatory for me. I am relieved the holiday has passed, but bundling up all that holiday cheer in plastic tubs and placing them on the cold cellar floor leaves me melancholic. I know another year has past that was filled with great moments in our lives. These memories have been recorded in photographs or on video clips.

I have been lucky to experience these moments that come so fast and furious and disappear so quickly before I can savor them.

That's why a camera comes in handy.

I am not a prisoner of my past, but I am a sentimental fool when it comes to my family.

This was my week to review a year that gave me hope but was also tinged with despair. 

Isn't that always the way in life?

Philadelphia Freedom

We threw caution to the wind and hopped in a souped-up, red Chevy Impala and cut across seven states for a 1,300-mile joy ride that took us all the way to Philadelphia and Gettysburg. My 17-year-old son served as our on-board navigator and acted as a chaperon for his two loving parents who acted like two crazy kids.

During our voyage to the City of Brotherly Love, we visited:

@ The Independence Sea Port Museum

@ The Liberty Bell (Did you know there is a crack in it? Really, there is!)

@ Independence Hall (It gave me a new appreciated for my founding fathers and strengthened my disdain toward a pathetic Congress.)

@ The Borse (Philadelphia's version of Faneuil Hall in Boston)

@ The Olympia (Admiral Dewey's ship that participated in the Spanish American War. I satisfied my son's dream by touring this behemoth battle wagon from the past)

@ Crossing the Susquehanna River. (We took the Pennsylvania Turnpike to Gettysburg, which is surrounded by the Allegheny Mountains)

@The Becuna (It is a World War II submarine that is docked next the Olympia.)

@ Ben Franklin's grave (We threw a few pennies on the big fellas' tombstone.)

@ Staying at the Wyndham hotel (Great people, good food and a four-stars stay as far as I am concerned.)

@Gettysburg (It was worth the 268-mile round trip from our hotel in Philly. It worth spending an entire day in 97-degree heat to check out Little Roundtop and the rest of the battle sites.)

@ Driving through Amish country (I appreciate people who live a simple life and refuse to complicate their lives with technology and greed.)

@Crossing the George Washington Bridge, seeing the World Trade Center One stand out above the New York City skyline, and then crossing the Ben Franklin Bridge as we headed into Philadelphia.

Revere Beach

We wanted to visit with Big Al and see fireworks on July Fourth. We found a way to watch three major pyrotechnic displays that lit up Revere Beach.

We sat on the wall as waves people shuffled up and down the boardwalk on typical hot night in the city. Fireworks could be scene from Marblehead, Swampscott and Boston, and the price of admission was free.

Beach baby

We hung out at beaches across New England and hiked trails at several state parks in the Pine Tree State.

World politics

Don't get me started. This Congress played a huge roll in making every American feeling like they were suffering from an endless stomach virus. There are reports that the economy is getting better. Tell that to the homeless, whose numbers continue to grow, and to the people who can't find a well-paying, full-time job. To top it off, the NSA is recording phone calls of all Americans. Is it subversive when my wife calls me at work to remind me to bring home milk?

The Future

I have no New Year's resolutions, but I have a pretty good idea what I want to do next. Right now, I am having a helluva time watching my son grow and become a fine young man. I am damn lucky I am married to a woman who has the patience and love to keep the two men in her life on the right track, and my dad still knows my name.