With our kids out from under our roof, and only the lowest-maintenance cats on the prowl with its walls, my husband thinks NOW is the perfect time to be together … somewhere else.
Somewhere, our worries will have to jog to keep up with us.
I felt it was my duty to support his cause, even as I worked all diplomatic channels to ensure we weren’t spending days in transit or dipping into non-discretionary funds.
We had been lucky thus far. Forecasts had called for a washout, and we had yet to feel even a drop.
This is the third “vacation” we’ve taken this year, and I am trying all the things I can think of to keep superstition and the fates at bay.
All of it felt .. performative.
Luck, in my mind, anyway, is always a coin toss.
I was trying to breathe in deeply and exhale with a matching force. In a few minutes, I would go for a run; the distance wouldn’t be far. Just a little more than a mile to a place that friends had recommended would serve up THE BEST DONUTS on the Island. Then we would visit the farmer’s market, hike to the Coast Guard Beach, and experience a mudslide (the cocktail, not the calamity),
My husband had a list. After visiting Payne’s “Killer” Donuts - which were perhaps the best donuts of all time - he wanted to try out the 25th Best Fudge in all of America at Blocks of Fudge before dinner.
There was also the matter of renting bikes and visiting at least one of the four Lighthouses before nightfall.
I wanted to be done with everything and be back in time to make the 8 o’clock showing of whatever the Empire Theater was screening, so I could pet the dog who lounged around the ticket booth, loosely tethered to the ticket booth with a sandbag, while the owner shot back and forth from the concessions counter.
By the look of them, I’d never have imagined the 133-year-old seating would be comfortable until I slid into mine, and the cushioned seat part gently glided forward.
As the lights went down and the projector started to roll, I felt like I could just sit there forever basking in the glow of … whatever dystopic adventure (that could become reality sometime soon) was playing.
The thought occurred to me that I might even be able to relax here.
The sun rose over the marina, just east of where I could see from the window of our hotel room.
Its light wrapped around, bathing my view in a gentle wash of pink, just enough to make me worry about what the weather would bring.
I’m happily surprised that instead of a storm, the pretty skies brought out a local man into our new favorite coffee shop. He wanted to show off how pretty his chickens’ eggs were. We could all use some more kind words.
I was glad we came to this island, a place neither of us had ever been during our combined century of family trips to New England. It is so beautiful. The landscape sprawls out, inviting us to leave our car behind and walk and bike farther than our eyes can see. Where we zoom past historic houses zhuzhed up with just a few new cedar shakes and a fresh coat of paint.
Time isn’t exactly still here, but it just feels more steady.
