What I Found.

In the living room tonight, Declan and Nonie sleep side by side.

They are camping out.

In doors.

It is summer.

Isn't this what kids do in the summer?

Sleep in different places, and giggle with each other while they feel special about sleeping in exciting and usually off-limits places?

At least, this is what my kids do in the summer.

Just for kicks I took their glowsticks from the freezer (which had been there since the concert the other night) and hung them to the light fixture above them for instant summertime ambience.

It is in the dim glow of fading light sticks, that I'm taking time to reassure my babies that I am with them while they fall asleep in this new and mysterious place.

I pause to think about how, in the future, there will be many new and mysterious places they choose to rest their heads - and I won't with them, to stand guard over them, 4 steps away.

Also, I am using the quiet time to

download my camera. It has been a while.

401 pics to be an exact count of how long the long while has been.

Without further ado, here is a sampling of what I found:

sunny sunflowers growing along the white picket fence - a sure sign that summer is here

at long last.

surfer girl brushing her teeth in front of her

favorite audience and biggest fan.

cousins sharing secrets at the seashore.

fathers standing guard.

little rascals getting herded for a group shot.

no comment.

the hubs, hiding from my lense -

oh I'll find you every time my dear.

the best we could do.

after a few seconds of jostling around, the youngest ended up at the bottom...
like a tiny grain of sand.

and I agree with the look on her face - it ain't fair.

hand holding.

a daughter's sparkle.

we weren't even playing charades.

fences in bloom. 02539.
hats with personality.

anniedeux.

running bases played by the adult relatives. with one token youngster thrown in the mix.

average age of runners? 36.9

in my mind I call this picture "life is a game".

1/2 a picture.

1 story.

high five for granny.

t-shirt competition.

summertime silhouettes.

practicing for his first day of school.

practicing for his first day at school.

jumping in at mile 4.99.

celebrating at mile 5.0.

A treasure trove of memories.

What I found.


oh and as if you didn't notice - a very persistent smudge on my camera lense
yup, I discovered that too.

These Are My Stories.

It all started last week.

It was bedtime. So I told a story. And the minute I started to tell it, Nonie and Dec set their books down to listen. I couldn't help but notice that they sat a little closer to me.

***

It all started with...

A quick one about picking corn at Katama Farm and getting into "corn wars" with the other farm hands.

I talked of chucking ears of corn high into the sky - over 3, 4, even 5 rows at a time - with the hope of hitting an unsuspecting picker on the other side. From the old dirt road, Farmer McCarthy saw his investments flying in the air (ear by ear) and he knew we were up to no good. What a site! I still smile about it.

That story led to one about cleaning cow tails. Wearing long rubber gloves and armed with buckets of diluted clorox bleach we approached the cattle. All 100 of them. In one swooping motion, we'd scoop the buckets up the tail (to wet the arse too) and then scrape the arse and the tail with a rake-like contraption. Caked on poop would fly to the ground (and to our clothing, hair, shoes....) with reckless abandon. It was messier than my words can describe.


Oh, and it smelled too.

This was a totally unrewarding job. Most of the time the cow would get stimulated and poop on the arse we'd just cleaned.

Dirtiest Jobs Discovery Channel? You've got nothing on that one.

***

Dec's eyes grew large when I explained that these were my "jobs" as an eleven year-old summer resident of the Vineyard - and my payment, each day, was one single scoop ice cream cone.

We'd work our arses off for that ice cream. And trust me, it was delicious.

Dec's wide eyes made me wonder: was he amazed by the tasks I described, or intrigued by the "payment". I couldn't quite tell.

But I did notice that he was on the edge of his seat.

***

I have stories about exercising the horses along Katama Bay where the cars drive out toward Norton Point.

I told the kids about the one time my horse spooked when it walked by a milk crate stuffed with Quahogs in the shallow water. Sent me running for 1/4 mile. It was scary and exciting all rolled into one bumpy ride.

Trade that experience ever?

Never.


These Are My Stories.

Horse vs. Clams.

(Scooch a wee bit closer and and I'll tell you who wins.)

***

I have stories about taking outdoor showers in the rain. Told that to Dec this evening while he disappeared then reappeared in his bubble bath.

***

I have stories about being able to collect 2 rings on the Carousel and watching the "real islander kids" collect one on each finger.

Still can't get more than 2.


But, These Are My Stories.

I did win the brass ring once. And Dec relived the experience with me the other day on our car-ride home from the Island.

***

I have stories about deep-sea-fishing with Mark, Chris, and Dad on the Skipper, a charter fishing boat. There was a cooler of Sunkist sodas. I drank one and I felt like I was sinning 'cause I was about 10 years old and 10-year-olds in our house aren't allowed to drink sodas. Especially ORANGE ones. But I guess it was okay 'cause I was on a boat and it didn't really count.

Anyway, the captain taught us to drop our line 'til it hit the bottom...then reel it up three times...then wait for a fish...and wait for a fish and stand on the boat and wait for a fish.

Well, when my line caught on something I reeled it in with all my 10-year-old gusto only to find (10 minutes later) that I hadn't caught JAWS (much to my disappointment/relief) but I'd caught the person on the other side of the boat.

Our hooks caught under the boat!

***

At the end of that story Dec belly-laughed at the mere thought of his mother catching another person with a fishing pole.

And, Miss Nonie? Miss Nonie said "boat" every time I did.

"Boat" "Boat".

"Boat" "Boat".

(Priceless I tell you).

***

Yup, I have stories.

These are MY stories.

They are the stories that make Dec and Nonie set their books down and listen.

And sit a little bit closer to me.

and happy house smells like syrup

Packing for the Vineyard.
More like, shuffling items from the Stowe bag to the Vineyard bag.

(Not a complaint. Trust me. That. Is. Not. A. Complaint.)

Never mind that I have a stash of my clothes and some for my offspring on-island.
The packing urge has hit - Vera (Bradley) is busting at her seams.

Only bright colors are allowed in the bag.
A new rule I made up this evening.

Also, I'm wondering if Finn will survive or if I should pawn him off on someone.
I've asked him if he'll be okay without me and he just flapped his finns.

(Does that mean yes or no?)

Also, I'm wondering why Happy House smells like syrup.
I arrived apres dinner and the smell is unmistakeably sweetened.

What happens around here when I leave this place???

The thick summer air smells sweet and sticky. And if you think sticky doesn't smell, you should come sample the air at Happy House. Free samples.

Smells like syrup.

(Not a complaint. Trust me.)

Already there.

Today I ran the last 2 miles of my 4 mile run with a 18-pack bud light box tucked under my arm.
It was just too big to pass by.

Actually, that's not entirely true.

The first time I saw it I ran right by it. It was on a steep uphill and I trudged by slowly and got about 20 ft in front of it.

But during those 20 ft a nagging, sinking, heavy feeling took over and so, (not wanting to spend the rest of my run with this feeling) I circled back for the box.

Darn you tree hugger heart of mine.

I tucked it under my sweaty left arm and pretended it was part of my running ensemble.

What?

Doesn't everyone run with an empty Budlight case under their arm?

Okay, I'll admit it. It was awkward. The rest of my run just felt - a little trashy.

But, the minute I picked it up it reminded me of a funny moment shared by a bus-load of Vineyard-Bound weekend warriors.

***

Memorial Day 2010.

We hop aboard the Palmer Ave bus and quickly notice that it is packed.

PACKED!

Somehow, we'd all managed to park in Palmer Ave, which was technically "full" already due to heavy weekend visitation. The rest were parking miles closer to the Bourne Bridge, but we had all outwitted, outsmarted and outplayed the masses and tucked ourselves in to the "regular" lot.

Sometimes it really is all about survival of the fittest.

Dogs outnumbered people, coolers were heavy and awkward, golf clubs are never easy, overstuffed duffles seemed to be strewn in every corner of the bus, and each child aboard the bus just wanted to stretch their legs. My two children included in that last observation.

Also, did I mention the dogs? And not all of them get along in such tight spaces.

Dec, Nonie, Dame and I found a nook and settled in.

With only 13 minutes left until our ferry set sail, it was not surprising that our bus remained stationary.

Why get to the ferry on time? That would be way, way, way too relaxing and predictable.

These bus driver like to wait until the absolute last minute to take off through Falmouth - keeping the busload of eager passengers wondering:

Will we make it?

Or, won't we?

Just when we were all certain no other human, dog or unnecessary piece of luggage could fit on the bus, two male twenty somethings hopped on board. Both with large duffles, both in flip flops and shades (the second was preppier than the first) - one lugged a surfboard and the other had a golf bag. A case of beer wedged under his arm.

They awkwardly stepped forward hoping no one would call them out (for making us miss/almost miss our ferry). They were also clearly hoping the impossible would happen: elbow room would somehow appear....

And in true Vineyard form, it did.

A loud shout came from the back of the bus:

"We got room for that beer right here!"

and then another:

"I can slide that beer between the emergency door and this stair railing!".

and, not to be outdone (a 60-ish year old male said):

"My father doesn't need his seat, bring that case my way..."

To which, a thunderous roar of laughter erupted through the bus.

Even the elderly father smiled.

Dec and Nonie broke out in laughter, though they had no idea what they (or we) were all laughing about.

My mood quickly changed from anxious and time conscious to relaxed and ready to savor my precious on-Island time. It really seemed like most of those on the bus followed suit.

Even though we hadn't gotten to the ferry terminal yet -

and hadn't even laid eyes on the Island....

In many ways - we'd already made it to the Vineyard.

O!

A few years ago, we arrived on Martha's Vineyard with our sweet baby Dec in tow. He had his new collection of match box cars and 4 hours of pent-up energy. He danced around the house proudly showing his new birthday present to Papa. We gathered in the living room to ooooh and aaaaah at his treasures.

I was equally proud of these cars and trucks and explained to Papa that I'd gotten the collection for next to nothing on Ebay.

A few moments later, deep in conversation - I noticed Dec had something in his mouth. I ran after him, braced his head and scooped out a Cheerio thankful that it wasn't a tiny black tire, or metal bumper from the new collection.

"Just a Cheerio!" I said, and plopped down on the couch opposite dad.

With a sickly look on his face Papa said, "did that cheerio come from Ebay too?".

"Eeeeeewwwwwww....... of course not...." I said.

Did it?

A Sunset Shared...

On Sunday we scrambled.

With news that the presidential helicopter was leaving Cape Cod, we hopped on our bikes and cycled as fast as we could to the airport. Sweat dripped on our brows as we arrived in time to see the endless procession of black suburbans whiz by. Wow. Our hearts raced with excitement. We were impressed by the spectacle of it all.

We waved and wondered which vehicle you were in. And. We were certain that you saw us. How could you miss us?

Then, we re-grouped at Sharky's where all around us vacationers celebrated your arrival with the Obama-rita and the Barack-o-taco. But, we stuck with the tried and true Steak Quesedilia. Delish delish. So so nice got to type it twice.

On a whim, we ventured to Pohogonot to see Oyster Pond from afar. We waved to neighbors enjoying the sights and sounds of this very Vineyard evening. Twigs and berries were sailing their boat around the furthest bend just as we made our way across the sandplain. The sun seemed to be searing through the clouds. It took my breath away. It did.

It is there where we kicked off our flip flops, leaped beneath a setting sun, sent laughter through summer's warm breeze, goofed at the camera and wondered ...

if...

the president was less than a mile down the beach from us, doing the same thing with his family.

We hoped he was.

Sunset over Oyster Pond, Edgartown. August 23. 2009.

Gettin' my fix

"I own an island in the sea, I do not own it actually. I claim it only by right of need, defying those who hold the deed. Perhaps a truer phrase would be, there is an island which owns me."

Louise Bugbee

Off to the Vineyard.
It's been too long.
A few years ago when I was spending much of the summer there by myself and the beauty of it was a bit lost one me...
Kara said -
Be there. Enjoy it. The time will come when you won't be able to spend your summers there.
And you'll miss it.-

I do.

SEE YOU THERE!!