In which the vacationing Laskins visit their favorite place, take an unconscionable number of naps, and some of us eat a lot of clams. Plus hockey jokes.
WE MISSED A YEAR. There is some
vague trepidation accompanying my Vineyard planning this year because we DID
NOT GO LAST SUMMER. What if it has
changed? What if the house (a new rental
for us) is terrible? What if the beach
is bad, there are no more lobster rolls at Grace Church, god forbid the
Up-Island Cronig’s has stopped carrying exactly three of everything? What if Chilmark Chocolates is OPEN when we
are there? What if they don’t sing The
Swiss Na-vee at the Sing-a-Long? Despite my obsessive monitoring of the
Vineyard Gazette and approximately 50 MV-related Facebook pages and Instagram
accounts, there are so many sources of potential disaster. I make lists of Things To Do, and Places To
Eat, and Things To Bring, and as we close in on departure day, monitor the
weather, of course. I even order things
from Vineyard Vines.[1] Can you tell that my kids are away at camp
for most of the summer, so I need something to worry about for godssake?
Also, just that weird thing about writing a journal for a trip that
you’ve already taken a half-dozen times.
The fine line between clever and, uh, stupid becomes ever harder to
see. Of course that could also just be
because I need reading glasses to see anything these days.
But back to Martha’s Vineyard, here’s one thing that sort of hasn’t
changed: the Obamas are on the
island! At least, they were a few days
before we arrived. The motorcade doesn’t
snarl traffic any more, and there aren’t any Coast Guard cutters patrolling
offshore, but we still bask in the memory of intelligent leadership. Don’t get me started.
(Follow along on the sidebar for the next installment!)
(Follow along on the sidebar for the next installment!)
[1] This horrifies my children, who think Vineyard Vines
and its whole preppy vibe are just the worst.
They’re maybe not wrong but sometimes I can’t deny my heritage.
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