My uncle-in-law, Thomas B. Lemman, of New Orleans, is the
World’s Greatest Private Travel Journal Writer.
He circulates his journals to a wide mailing list, of which Bill is
fortunate to be part. TBL’s journals
always make you wish you were on that
trip, with those people. They are so marvelous – and copious – that
his grandson Alex compiled them into a beautiful hard-bound edition for TBL’s
80th birthday, titled The Odyssey. I would not attempt to put myself in the same
league with his (for one thing, I do not make up words. Yet.), but perhaps this
will entertain, elucidate, and otherwise illuminate our happy time on Martha’s
Vineyard this year.
Monday
I love love love the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. It is best with a car, because then it is
more of an Occasion – you have to get there early, and line up, and pull in
just so. Then you get to go topside and
watch the harbor and it is very exciting to pull away and know that you are on
your way to another glorious MV vacation.
The ferry is always on time, and so are we, despite our now annual Wrong
Turn Somewhere on the Cape.
In addition to us, Barak Obama and family have chosen to
vacation here on MV this year. Much
excitement, and much has changed since the Clintons’ regular visits here. In fact, we hear that Bill Clinton was on the
Vineyard today, eating ice cream in Vineyard Haven, playing golf, dining at Ted
(Danson) and Mary (Steenburgen)’s in Chilmark.
The Obamas will, we hear, keep a much lower profile than the Clintons
did. More on this later.
Our house this year is a fabulous Japanese compound of
pavilions, just off Indian Hill Road in West Tisbury. It has deep eaves and porches, some attention
to Asian landscaping, lots of little lanterns and bridges and temples and
things all over the place. It is a House
of Many Gables. It has a large great
room in the middle, reasonably well- if oddly-stocked kitchen (where are the
pot lids?), and then bedroom pavilions on either side. The owners also own the Dragonfly Gallery in
Oak Bluffs, so the whole house has a dragonfly theme going on. They are everywhere. In an effort to entertain Isabel one day I
suggested she name all the dragonflies she could find. We got through Willie (he’s on a lamp) then
she named about five of the five hundred dragonflies on her sheets with silly
names and then we found something else to do.
The house is comfortable and elegant, but not quite so
flop-around comfy as we might find ideal.
It is approximately three minutes from Seth’s Pond, five from Lambert’s
Cove beach, and there is a little path through the woods to Indian Hill Road
and the Up-Island Cronig’s. You can hear
traffic on State Road, but it quiets to almost nothing at night, so not
bad. And the convenience factor can’t be
beat.
We did several now-traditional tasks upon arrival. A swim in Seth’s Pond to wash off the sweat
and grime of travel (very hot and humid today).
Heresy alert: I’m just not wild
about Seth’s Pond. Yes, it is
convenient, and shallow, and warm. But
it’s also murky, crowded with exploding-diapered babies and their mommies, has
negative beach this year, and is so warm near the beach as to be like a
bathtub. Isabel adores it, however.
We also dashed to Cronig’s to stock up. I love the Up-Island Cronigs. You can get a New York Times, Triscuits,
local veg, local farm eggs, tiny balls of fresh mozzarella and everything else
you need, loaded into a mini shopping cart.
During the pre-cocktail hour rush, which is my favorite time to go,
everyone is wearing flip-flops and buying hot dogs for their kids’ dinners. This year, the staff all appear to be Eastern
European, except for the Southeast Asian woman who is always there, based on
their accents.
As in past years, I brought homemade pesto sauce along with
us for dinner, because it is good and easy to do here.
Tuesday
If you want to park at Lambert’s Cove Beach, you need a resident
permit pass. You’re supposed to bring
one even if you walk on but the supremely un-ambitious staff in the parking lot
never seem to actually get out of their beach chairs and check anyone’s
credentials so it does not appear to be an issue. It is to park, though. You have to buy a month’s pass for $50, but it
is a small price to pay for access to this glorious beach. My cousin-in-law Malcolm Rucker apparently
endeared himself to his then-future mother-in-law upon first viewing LCB by
remarking upon first sight that it was “better than Bali!” Malcolm has actually been to Bali, thus has an
actual basis for comparison.
LCB is indeed a cove, a crescent beach of soft, fine, white
sand, backed by dunes and hills and low headlands on either end. Part of it is public, and you have to walk
down a long, sandy path bordered by poison ivy to get there. There is a dune over which the path clambers
at the end right before the beach, thus heightening the anticipation. On the dune there are beach plums, and
sometimes you see leathery Vineyard ladies picking them to make jelly. When you crest the dune you see the sea and
rush down on to the beach. There are a
couple more lazy lifeguards, and the swimming area is marked so boats can’t
come in. Across the sound you can see
the Elizabeth Islands (Naushon, mostly), and the Cape in the far distance. You can see the ferries crossing far away. There are some big rocks, one we have dubbed
Dino Rock since it looks like a T-rex head rising from the waves. The only downside to this beach is that it is
a bit rocky in parts, right at the shoreline.
But once beyond this, all is sandy and nice. And of course, the rocks are excellent for
collecting, examining, sand-castle decorating, and so on. We usually bring a pile home. The surf here is usually gentle (more on this
below), so good for kids and serious swimmers.
If you walk way down the beach, you come to Coca-Cola Brook,
a stream running out of the Island into the sea here, so-named because the
water is clear brown due to some mineral.
A favorite activity for kids here is dam-building, but sometimes you
have to negotiate between groups of kids some of whom want to build, but not
where your kids want to, or want to use your rocks, or tear down your dam, or
some other activity that might compete with your own gang. It’s our own lesson in diplomatic
negotiations, and when you get them to work together you feel like the
President getting the Israelis and Arabs to shake hands. And if it doesn’t work you just go swimming
again instead.
We have a new innovation this year, which is that we take
lunch with us, and hope Izzy either naps on the beach (which she does
sometimes) or after we get home for an hour or so. We like tunafish and fluffernutters; Izzy
opts for her fave cream cheese and jelly while Peter is a ham-and-cheese man.
Today Bill and Peter made their first foray to
Menemsha. They came back with various
treasures, including a boogie board and lovely piece of striper which we grilled.
Wednesday
The West Tisbury Farmers’ Market happens at the Grange Hall
in West Tis. on Wednesdays and Saturdays all summer long. It is quite a scene, and I try to go whenever
I can. Today is a quick visit right when
it opens, since our main goal today is the Wavy Beach (a.k.a. Long Point). Not all the vendors are there so early, and
the day to go is really Saturday, when there are more vendors, and live
music. Today’s haul: cherry tomatoes from the nice young gals who
only sell cherry tomatoes and basil, teeny beets from some harassed-looking
folks down at the end of the market, and a jar of really divine
strawberry-rhubarb jam from two very nice old ladies who sell jam and a few
squash, and have a sign that says The Shermans.
It is clear that they make this jam, and boy is it good, completely
loaded with rhubarb, just enough strawberry to cut that rhubarb-y tooth-drying
sensation. The Egg Roll Lady has a line
of five and she is not even open yet.
More about the market on Saturday.
We are on a mission to get to the Wavy Beach.
The beach at Long Point faces south, so gets big ocean
waves, good for jumping and body surfing.
There’s also a nice large tidal pond (Tisbury Great Pond) but we don’t
go there – we are serious surf hounds, and the pond is for little kids. There are ospreys nesting right near the
entrance gate, which is very exciting, and you can get out of your car and look
through a telescope trained on their nest.
Also when you arrive at the gatehouse, there is the daily trivia
question, usually relating to the natural history of the island. Today’s is how many species of snake are native
to MV? We guess wrong at 5 (it is 7),
but point out to the guard that we think they asked this last year. “We most certainly did” he replies.
Peter is a crazed wave-jumper. He wears goggles, and is now a comfortable
enough swimmer that he can float and get around without help. Consequently, he spends the ENTIRE DAY in
the water. I go in with him for half an
hour or so, and we are tossed about giggling and shrieking. A few waves carry him right up on to the
beach, and tug at his swim trunks. At
one point I hear “Mom! Get my bathing
suit!” only to spy his (awfully cute) bare bum gleaming on his boogie board
while the waves yanked his shorts down to his knees. As everyone knows, Peter likes to provide
constant narration to any activity, and wave jumping is no exception. Today he cracked me up when I realized he was
shouting at particularly big waves: “BIG
MOMMA IN THE HOUSE, YOOOOOOO!” And he
wasn’t referring to me. As soon as I get
him to take a break, he immediately asks Dad if he will go in. And so it goes, all day long. The current here is strong, and carries you
down the beach very quickly so you often have to get out and walk back to your
camp to start over. Peter spends so much
time in the water that he actually gets goggle lines from the sun – looks like
he’s been skiing.
After an excellent beach day, we have an up-island evening,
going to the kids’ part of the Martha’s Vineyard Film Festival in Chilmark,
called Cinema Circus. There’s a homemade
circus atmosphere before the show (clowns, people on stilts and others with
funny hats), and kids are invited to dip into the costume box to dress up for
the tightrope parade into the show. Izzy
has a particularly charming dragon cape, which catches the eye of a
photographer who asks her to walk the tightrope (on the ground, it is pretend)
a few times before she gets just the right shot. The films tonight are a series of shorts,
some animated, some live action, some funny, some thought-provoking. The last one, “Plain and Simple” was this ghastly
endless thing about a plain penguin trying to prove his worth to the evil
zoo-owner so she wouldn’t replace him with her peacocks. The littles loved it but we bigs found it
akin to torture.
In the Edible Vineyard
mag that came in our rental packet, Bill read about Wednesday Pizza Night at
the Orange Peel Bakery in Aquinnah. The
baker, trained in artisanal bread making around New England, recently
hand-built her own outdoor wood-fired baking oven. On Wednesdays, you can go and put your $10 in
the jar, then get a peel with a small, formed pizza dough that has sauce and
cheese on it. It’s BYOT – bring your own
toppings – and BYOB of course but everyone leaves the leftovers out so there is
already quite a bit to choose from if you get there late like we did. You top it up, give your peel to the fellow
manning the oven, and he slides in to the 700+ degree oven. In minutes, out it comes, bubbling and crispy
and smelling delicious. He cuts it up
but you have to wait because it is too hot to do anything with at first. You also have to wait to get your own pizza,
if that is important to you. Mine, with
cherry tomatoes, basil leaves, and small balls of fresh mozz looked so good
that we actually only got about half – some other lady said “I want a piece of
that one!” and I was too flattered to protest.
But then I got a piece of someone else’s with pesto, chard, and mozz –
and that was pretty good, too. Everyone
just sits around wherever in the driveway, which is where the bakery is
attached to her house. You bring your
own drinks, and if you are smart, your own plate because the ones there are
pretty small. The pizza, needless to
say, is terrific – better than Armando’s, our local gold standard in Cambridge,
according to Peter! The biggest issue that the bakery owner faces
with this is that it just looks like some great private party if you are
driving by – folks in the driveway, someone playing guitar, cars parked
everywhere on the sides of the road. So
the uninitiated are not likely to stop.
Unlike us intrepid Laskins who stopped, ate, and returned sated to West
Tisbury later that evening.
I’m pretty sure we drove right by the farm estate that the
Obamas are renting next week. It
straddles the West Tisbury/Chilmark line, apparently, and overlooks Tisbury
Great Pond. Apparently it has all sorts
of restored buildings from around New England (the first owner was a house
collector), and is entirely self-contained – pool, tennis course, etc. – so
they don’t have to go out. We hear there
are no public events scheduled for the week, which is good, because the
motorcade would totally tie up traffic everywhere. And here’s one of the many differences
between Clintons and Obamas – when the former were here, their house apparently
had a two-mile perimeter and 1,200 foot ceiling around the house, into and
under which aircraft could not fly. For
the Obamas, the perimeter is 30 miles and 18,000 feet. I don’t know how this works with commercial
flights, but all private flights must file lots of extra paperwork , have to
land on the mainland and be cleared through security before approaching the
Island, and the little Katama airstrip was just shut down completely for the
week, since it can’t meet the heightened security requirements. So it goes in a post-9/11 world.
Thursday
We check out the Londons’ digs this morning. They are about three minutes from us by car,
mere steps from Seth’s Pond. The house
looks rather ungainly on the outside – it was once a tiny gatehouse for
Katharine Graham’s estate but has been added on to several times – but is very nice
and comfy inside. Bill’s Aunt Linda has
stayed true to her record of never ever honoring the residential maximum on a
rental lease, and there are mattresses and kids everywhere, generally about 15
people in residence on a ten-person max lease.
It is a lovely, gentle chaos where everyone is at ease and happy. Our kids are enveloped by a throng ranging in
ages from 2 to 16. We hook up with them
all later in the morning at Lambert’s Cove, and have a splendid time digging,
damming, swimming, and generally cavorting on this beautiful beach.
We hear there is a hurricane a’brewing. Will Bill visit the Island?
The West Tisbury Agricultural Fair opens today. It is the 148th edition of the
fair, a respectable age as ag fairs go.
A large London contingent goes this evening, while a handful of the
non-Fair folk come to our house for drinks.
Friday
There are actually two hurricanes – meteorological (Bill)
and media-logical (the Obamas). The
first we can track pretty easily, we won’t get hit but may get some rain and at
the very least some surf. The second,
well, the Island is rife with speculation and rumor. The biggest rumor is that Michelle and the
girls are already on the island ahead of their dad, they dined in Oak Bluffs
last night, we hear.
Isabel gets another milestone today, she learns how to ride
a Trail-A-Bike, which is a one-wheeled trailer that hooks on to Bill’s
bike. After several initial Daaaaaaddddeeeee
noooooooooooos she takes to it quite handily.
We drive over to Katama, and make our now annual ride from the Beach to
the Katama General Store (full of overpriced but tasty sandwiches, beach toys,
and preppy souvenirs) to get lunch, then back to the Beach for a picnic and
swim. It’s about a four mile ride, and
Peter is a pro at it. I apparently am
not. It is interesting to note that
while you can easily ride a bike with one hand, you cannot easily stop with one
hand, so if you are doing something stupid like trying to take pictures of your
family ahead of you on their bikes, and then you try to stop you will probably
end up splattered all over the bike path, camera slightly busted, and with an
extremely large bruise percolating on your right thigh.
At the beach, known as South Beach, the surf is wild, short
choppy waves coming from all directions, big bruisers that toss you up on the
sand. Peter loves it. We learn later that all beaches in
Massachusetts, including this one, were closed today from noon on, apparently
no-one told the folks at South Beach. We
are scofflaws, we laugh in the face of big storm surf.
The problem with those 36-Hours-In articles that the Times
runs sometimes is that then everyone knows about the good stuff and crowds get
bigger. Such may be the case with the
Friday Night lobster rolls at Grace Church (Episcopal) in Vineyard Haven. $13 gets you a huge and great lobster roll
(all real meat, a teeny bit of mayo, no pesky celery or anything else), chips,
and a drink (lemonade, iced tea, or an Arnold Palmer). Another $3 gets you a slice of pie (choose from
apple, blueberry, strawberry rhubarb, pecan, chocolate cream, banana cream,
coconut cream, lemon meringue). For the
non-fans of lobster rolls you can get a hot dog (pronounced the best ever by
Isabel), chips, and drink for $3. No
wonder the line is out the door and up the street. We wait half an hour, and it is well worth
it. Peter gamely tries a lobster roll,
but decides that he’ll get the hot dog next time.
Saturday
Saturdays are when the West Tis. Farmers’ Market really
hops. There is live music, lots of
vendors, and many casually well-dressed vacationers standing around
congratulating ourselves on our good sense to vacation in such a nice
place. I am talked into some sort of
sunburn remedy by a local cosmetics maker and herbalist. Not sure that it works that well, but it
smells nice. More jam for gifts from the
nice old jam ladies, and pink potatoes from the lady with the (in my opinion)
overpriced but fabulous (and she knows it) produce.
The storm is definitely kicking up some surf – at Lambert’s
Cove the high tide is almost at the dunes!
And while the sea looks calm (and this is in a cove, facing the
Elizabeths, so it is not exactly going to take us to Ireland), it produces
these long slow swells that actually crash quite dramatically on this usually
calm beach. The tow is very strong too,
stronger than I’ve ever seen it. Izzy
loves it, because with her little Speedo vest on, she bobs around like a
cork. The waves sweep her up on to the
beach, then back to Daddy, then up, then back.
It’s like a ride at an amusement park . . .
Or a ride at the Fair!
Isabel declares her determination to take TWO big slides this year, and
that she is NOT afraid of that alligator roller coaster. To prove this, she sits right in front and
has a marvelous time. Peter is
frustrated by his parents’ unwillingness to go on a big ride with him – he is
too big for the kiddie rides now, but the big rides all involve much spinning
and when I explained that if I accompanied him I would likely throw up on him,
he understood. Bill just said no. Peter was mollified by climbing the rock wall. In his Telluride Ski Patrol shirt, he looked
the part.
Probably the most exciting thing at the fair this year was
that there were two calves born, one just an hour and a half before we saw
it! Mom was still panting. When one skeptic in the crowd suggested that
there was no way that calf was only an hour and a half old, the afterbirth was
pointed out to him and he quickly became a believer. Eww.
Still, pretty exciting.
Sunday
We planned a non-beach day today because we thought the
storm was going to continue to dump rain.
Of course it did not and the sun shone brightly. So we mini-golfed (I got TWO holes-in-one!),
and then toodled about Oak Bluffs. At
the Flying Horses (the oldest carousel in America), Izzy (well, Bill, on her
behalf) caught the Brass Ring! She got a
free ride. But he most exciting thing in
Oak Bluffs was that while walking along Circuit Avenue, I happened to look up
and saw – the Presidential copter-cade!
Here he comes, I shouted, and everyone looked up. While people do come to MV in private jets
all the time, no-one else arrives in a helicopter with a three-gunship
escort. They came over from the Cape on
Marine One, since you can’t land a jumbo jet like Air Force One on the
Island. They arrived promptly at three,
and then twenty minutes later, when we were driving back down East Chop, we saw
the helicopters returning to the mainland.
Everyone is very excited that the Obamas are here, but we
don’t see much of them. Their estate is
remote, private, and self-contained, which is good. But if they do go out they will see welcoming
messages like:
YES WE CAN
Welcome Obamas Be Sure to Check for
Ticks!
Hi Obama’s take a nice deep breath
Aloha Obama Family
And so on. Also, you
can get a Bobama hat or t-shirt (where FI-DOTUS replaces the ubiquitous Black
Dog of Martha’s Vineyard), an Obamarita and Barack-O-Taco at Sharky’s Cantina, or
some Yes-We-Can-dy or Barak-y Road Fudge at the farmer’s market.
The pictures showing the whole family arriving give the lie
to the rumor that FLOTUS and the girls were already here. There is a Secret Service detail of 100 here,
apparently, not to mention a few extra State Troopers roaring around. My hairdresser has a client whose guesthouse
was rented for the security detail. That
is like four degrees of separation between me and the President.
Monday
Checked out a new beach today – State Beach, over by Oak
Bluffs. Calm, clear water that has Izzy
playing on her new boogie board (named “Boog”) for hours. She masters the boogie board in less than a
day, clever girl. Another lazy beach
day.
On our way home, we see a small crowd by the Farm Neck golf
course, and a couple of state troopers – guess who is playing through.
We dine at the Londons tonight (grilled mako with veg),
where we bigs enjoy the company of other bigs, while the littles tear around
playing tag and hide and seek and then eat hot dogs and corn and watch TV
sprawled among the air mattresses. Does it
get better than that?
Tuesday
Wavy Beach again, today with massive, punishing, post-Bill
waves. One could really injure oneself
in these, but they are wicked fun. Peter
loses his goggles, and I get a teeny cut, but we are otherwise unharmed, if
exhausted by days’ end.
Here’s how you know the President is vacationing very nearby
– the (apparently armed) Coast Guard patrol boat passing back and forth off of
the beach you are on, which several miles down also fronts the Obama’s
property. Apparently there was a local
lady whose tee time at Mink Meadows this morning was bumped for the
President. She did not mind.
Tonight we hit another Island highlight, watching the sunset
at Menemsha. It goes particularly well
with fried clams from the Bite, although others bring elaborate picnics with wine
and lobsters and many crackers. Everyone
claps when the sun finally drops beneath the horizon.
Wednesday
RIP Liberal Lion, Ted Kennedy. How will we get a public option in the health
care plan now?
It was purely coincidental that we went to Chappaquiddick
today (Chappy to the preppy), and walked over that infamous bridge. It now
has a large, sturdy guardrail. Here’s my
take on the Chappaquiddick Incident: it
demonstrated physical strength (how did he get out of that car, the current is
strong! And, whatever he did or didn’t
do, he walked around a LOT that night, and it’s not a teeny island) and shocking
moral weakness. I don’t think a pol
would get away with it today. And yet,
Kennedy did indeed accomplish an enormous amount as Senator, improving the lot
of millions of Americans in so many ways.
Atonement? We could ask the
Kopechnes. I wonder what they make of it
all. The flag at the Trustees of Reservations
hutchen right there was at half-mast as are all official flags in the state
today. For Ted? The Kennedys?
Mary Jo? The Sixties? (Note that this is the 40th
anniversary of the accident, and Woodstock.)
A world in which a senator could get away with that simply on the
grounds of character and prior reputation?
Lest you think the Trustees are just really macabre, putting
a hut at That Bridge, I shall clarify – they run programs in the Poucha Pond
there, kayak quests and the like. The
kids did the kiddie snorkel program, actually (meet creatures of the briny
shallows like crabs and scallops and fishies) and it was a great hit. Isabel took to snorkeling like the proverbial
fish to water, diving in head-first to see how it worked. Many crabs and shrimp and scallops and other
tiny creatures of the not-so-deep were caught and deposited in large bins for
further study by the small set. Peter
directed this activity with gusto and much verbiage (“big shrimp haul coming
through, people!”). We are intrigued to
see a crab munch on a teeny flounder for lunch.
“That’s life for you!” says the perky teenager running the program.
The Chappy beach is beautiful but has a relatively sharp
drop off, and no waves.
This evening, Bill and I dropped the kids off at the
Londons’ (to the kids’ delight) and dined sans enfants at the Chilmark Tavern
(to our delight). This is a new
restaurant, owned by Paul O’Connell of Chez Henri (a fave restaurant of ours in
Cambridge). We hoped for an Obama
sighting, but it was not to be. I had
oysters, excellent, and a grilled tuna with a fennel salad and white bean
puree. Bill had mussels with a divine
broth (special tonight), and then fluke with a shrimp succotash (edamame and
corn) and horseradish mashed potatoes.
Desserts included a fresh fruit cobbler and mocha panna cotta. We brought a bottle of an Italian white, not
perhaps quite so crisp as I might have liked, but it washed down oysters just
fine.
The kids love love love hanging at the Londons’. Isabel is particularly enamored of 6 y.o.
Danny. Barbara reports that she said at
one point: “Maybe we could go up to your
room?” Said he: “No.”
Luke, age 2, is enamored of Izzy.
Says he: “Maybe we could go to
Izzy’s house?” More on this later.
Kathy London’s car got side-swiped twice today in the
Lambert’s Cove parking lot. First was by
a young Secret Service agent who had come down for a swim before going to bed
(she’d been on the overnight shift). She
was mortified and very apologetic.
Second was by the Chief of Neurosurgery at Memorial Sloan
Kettering. We don’t know if he was as
nice as the young Secret Service agent, but we hope he operates better than he
drives.
Thursday
Tennis, beach, bikes, lobsters. Need we say more?
One interesting thing about visiting the same beaches is
that you can see how they change from day to day, depending on conditions. Lambert’s Cove is back to normal today, after
last weekend’s storm. We can see that
the high tide line today is a good 25 feet lower than it was the day before Bill
came by (last Friday). The annual
infestation of krill has begun. When you
get out of the water, you may find teeny shrimp-like creatures stuck to your
legs or shoulders. We also found comb
jellies, and what we think was a nudibranch.
I say it had no head, and that is why it died. Bill and Peter say it is supposed to look like
that, and died only because the bucket aquarium that we created got too
hot. I still say there should have been
a head there. Today was just about
perfect, no wind, sunny, quiet surf.
We are saddened today to learn of the death of our dear
friend Andy Reinhardt’s mother, Joan.
Andy was to have spent this second week with us here on the Vineyard,
after a week with his family in San Francisco.
We were all so excited – I would have a fellow musical buff and another
good eater in the house (such culinary delights awaited him!), Bill would have
someone who has read something other than a crime novel lately and another
tennis partner, and the kids, well, they just think Andy is Da Bomb. But when he arrived in SF, he learned that
his mother’s thought-to-have-been-beaten breast cancer of earlier this year had
metastasized to the liver. He made the
wise decision to spend his vacation with his family, as his mother’s chemo
battle with this particularly virulent strain of cancer was difficult and short. She passed away last Sunday. We hope Andy’s loving presence made it a bit
better for her and his family, although we know how hard this was for him. I only met Joan a couple of times but she was
as nice and smart and fun as one would expect the mother of nice smart fun Andy
to be. Here’s what he had to say about
her on Facebook:
Joan Maxwell
Reinhardt, 1927-2009, goodbye to my incomparable mother and friend, beloved
wife to my heartbroken dad, a woman loved by so many people. Were all with her
to the end--my brothers, their wives, the grandchildren, her closest friends.
Jo's passing was agonizingly fast yet blessedly brief; unbearably sad yet
infused with moments of tenderness and laughter; utterly surreal. I am sure she
is at peace.
Andy has, of course, a space reserved on next year’s MV mission,
should he choose to accept it.
Friday
Clouds roll in for yet another storm. Danny, while only a tropical storm, threatens
to dump a lot of rain and send some wind our way tomorrow. I suppose that the ocean beaches will be
closed again. Today was grey and cool
and bit drizzly by the afternoon, so we rode bikes near State Beach. Izzy likes to sing while on her Trail-A-Bike,
belting out “Skida-marinka-dinka-doo, I love you!” quite loudly.
The Londons came over for drinks this evening, which was
lots of fun. Luke was even persuaded to
put on a clean diaper for the occasion.
The decision tipped in favor of cleanliness when he asked his mother
“What do you think Izzy will be wearing?” and then answered himself, “probably
underwear.” Yes, and wouldn’t a clean
diaper for you be nice, suggested Nancy?
We ended up going back there for dinner, saving our
otherwise nice looking bluefish for tomorrow.
This was a smart decision because Ramon had made paella, and a lot of
it. He brings his own saffron with him
from California, carry-on, just for this dish.
The paella includes shrimp, clams, scallops, squid, chicken, sausage,
and lots of delicious saffron rise. Gosh
was it good. If Ramon invites you for
paella, or probably for anything else, you should definitely accept.
When the Londons particularly like a meal, they sing.
He-re’s to the che-f, the che-f,
the che-f,
He-re’s to the che-f, the best of
them all
He’s handsome, he’s jolly, we love
him by golly,
He-re’s to the che-f, the best of
them all!
The first time they sang this to me several years ago, I
thought about crawling under the table, because it is a little alarming when
all of these people just burst into coordinated song while smiling at you and
waving their wine glasses in your direction.
But Ramon is very gracious about it.
We also ate Julia’s excellent oatmeal and rice krispy cookies. They taste better than they sound, and I
copied the recipe.
Feeling bereft tonight since we finished watching Season 1
of Mad Men last night, and now have
to wait until we get home to pick up the gloomy misadventures of the Drapers,
Peggy, the nefarious Pete Campbell, and all the rest of the divinely styled and
depressingly dysfunctional gang.
And on Saturday, God wept for Ted Kennedy.
It is interesting to notice that one might be more
reflective about major events such as Ted Kennedy’s passing when they happen
during your vacation. You have time to
think about it, and follow interesting thought paths wherever they might lead,
which you might not have time to do during the daily go go go of home
life. We have talked lots about Kennedys
this week, and politics in America, and the outpouring of emotion in
Massachusetts, and the role of the old-style powerful senator. We don’t come to any grand conclusions but it
is nice to just have the time to ruminate.
Man, did it rain today.
Buckets and more great pouring buckets of rain sloshed down from the
sky, but it did not slow us intrepid Laskins - no bored lolling about the house
for us. We may be the only people in
Massachusetts who did not watch Ted’s funeral.
At the truncated farmer’s market, held in the Grange Hall, the chocolate
guys (Yes-We-Can-dy) tell us that the 5 Nutty Presidents nut bark is a
reference to the top secret info that Chelsea Clinton is getting married on the
Island this weekend. I hope not today,
since a) it is raining, did I mention? And b) her parents are at Ted’s funeral
in Boston. I believe this is just a ploy
to get us to buy 5 Nutty Presidents, so I don’t fall for it.
We rolled out Rain Plan A – Martha’s Vineyard Museum in
Edgartown, lunch, Chilmark Chocolates.
The museum is in the house of a 18th c. tax collector, lots
of original floorboards, paneling, even some window panes, all wavy and
marvelous in the gray rain. His office
was on the second floor of the house, and he could sit there and see the ships
come in, then trot on down to the wharf and collect! Much of it is not electrified today, so it
was a bit dim in the deluge. The kids
dressed up as colonial tots, an excellent diversion, as was the small but handy
Kidspace.
Highlights of the collection included exhibits about a
mutiny that killed a 19th c. whaling captain from Edgartown and
about the wreck of the City of Columbus off Aquinnah (the crew saved themselves
and condemned the women and children to a watery grave! So too went their own souls, presumably.), a
whaleboat, fantastic scrimshaw collection, and the 1849 Fresnel Lens from the
Aquinnah Light, donated to the museum when it went electric in 1952. Bill notes that it is quite amazing that it
just took prisms (well, 2,000 of them) to turn a simple whale-oil lamp into a
beacon that could be seen 20 miles away.
My favorite was the picture of Amos Smalley, a Wampanaog who gained
national renown in 1902 when he harpooned a 90-foot white whale off the
Azores. Since such whales can live to be
100 years old, there is much speculation that this was indeed MOBY DICK. Today, his grand-nephew Buddy Vanderhoop is
apparently the best fish guide on the Island and runs fishing charters for the
stars. He had hoped that the President
would come fishing with him, but weather and state funerals took care of that.
We drove all the way to Chilmark Chocolates only to find it
closed until Sept. 3. What
self-respecting Island business closes in August? Maybe the meteorological conditions do not
favor chocolate making until then.
Passed the Obamas’ driveway on the way to and from Chilmark;
even the State Troopers were in their cars today. No need to slow down to rubberneck, the rain
was so hard you could only go about 25 miles per hour anyway. Of course, they are in Boston at the funeral,
so things are quiet around there anyway.
It is so damp here, my suitcase grew mold during the two weeks
it lived in the closet.
The bluefish survived just fine until tonight.
Sunday
A delay at the ferry – a mechanical problem with one of the
boats backed up all the morning reservations.
Of course, this did mean that we got to spend a little more pleasant
time with Tom and Linda, who were also waiting for the 1:30 that actually left
at 3. Fortunately we had stocked up at
the fabulous Scottish Bakehouse, so we were well-provisioned for the
delay. We finally waved goodbye in Woods
Hole, and Izzy promptly fell sound asleep for most of the ride home.
All along the highways back to Boston, the message boards
read “Thanks Ted from the People of Massachusetts.” We Laskins say, Thanks Martha for a Great
Vacation.
MV 2009 Tally
T-shirts acquired: 3
Storms: two, named
Presidential sightings:
none, unless you count the helicopters
Celebrity sightings:
two, Skip Gates and Spike Lee
Beaches visited: 5,
some multiple times, not counting Seth’s Pond which has about no beach this
year
Bug bites: surprisingly
few
Lobsters that gave their lives for us: at least three, more for the Grace Church
rolls
Senators passed: one,
larger than life
Cookies consumed:
countless
No comments:
Post a Comment