barak

I think he might be the real thing. I think he might be the man sent here to do the job, to get us out of the war, to help ease the tension of race relations, to stimulate the drag ass economy, to show global warming who's in charge I think this might be the answer. This guy, this ROCK STAR, Barack Hussein Obama.

Two's Company

We've had a fair amount of company this summer and it's made me feel like a big, fat lazy slacker. I love people. And I love to be around people. And I love to do stuff with people. But cooking, cleaning and taking care of people--that's the part I don't love so much. It's a lot of work. Where's the staff? Where's the crew? Where's the HELP?

I mean, you get out the cereal and eggs and toast and jelly and clean up and like two hours later, everybody's hungry again and there's more eating that has to happen. And more cleaning. Then a couple hours later it's dinner and they have to eat AGAIN. And you have to clean again. Basically, you're pretty much cooking and cleaning all day, with some brief eating in there and a couple conversations.

Here's the funny thing about me. I really like stuff clean and organized, but I'm most ineffectual at making things that way. To organize things makes me feel like I'm walking in ski boots through molasses with quicksand mixed in. It's all sloooooo moooooooooo.

My mom was sort of clean, but not neat. I think I inherited her distaste for tidying up and her love for whining about how dirty everything was and how she was the only person who ever cleaned anything at all up around the house.

And now I have a dog (who's the best person in the house, by the way). And he's a big lotta work, too. But somehow just knowing he can't help sets up the expectations early on and doesn't make me feel resentful.

Anyway, summer is almost over and that means the sleeping over kind of company is probably over for now, too. School will start, we'll fire up the back packs and Riley the puppy and I will be on our own, doing our thing in a nice quiet, clean house. At least for a few hours a day, anyway.

DOG DAYS OF SUMMER

Tomorrow I become a puppy mamma! We're getting a four month old Cavachon. The family who owns it has an allergic father and we got an email that they had to give it away and a few days later we met him, fell in love with him and tomorrow night, he'll be a Lansbury, with an as of yet to be decided upon name. Woof!

One is silver and the Other is gold

There's nothing like an old friend. Someone who knew you back in the day. Peter just turned 50 and he chose to celebrate by making the second week of our vacation on the Vineyard a party of old friends and it wasn't just great, it was truly extraordinary, one of those times that will be referred to and remembered with the drunken high we felt after a few vodka & tonics.

how can something so good be so bad?

As far as I'm concerned that big 'ol glowing orb in the sky is the name of the game. I love a sunny day. I LIVE for a sunny day. I don't know why I don't live in a place where a sunny day is so darn rare. I know, I know, I wouldn't appreciate it if it were an everyday occurence, but that's wrong, I know it, I'm not like that. I could never get tired of a bright, clear, cloudless day, where everything takes on postcard gorgeosity.

Now the whole skin cancer threat is a problem, both my mother and father-in-law have had malignant melanoma. This is not a part of my sun worshipping equation. And it puts a nasty cloud over my little love affair, but gosh, give me a beach and a cloudless day, and I'm golden, literally. I have always loved a good tan. I look better tan. My nose looks smaller and my cellulite looks less cellulite-y. I have baked, burned, toasted and gotten girl of Ipanema on rooftops, beaches, grass, blankets, chairs, ponds, lakes, docks, floats, boats and porches. I have started as early as April and ended as late as October pushing my face up to the sky and soaking in the aging and harmful rays. I wish I could say I hated it, but I don't. What I am, however, is afraid of it. I do fear skin cancer, and with good reason, it's out there mucking up the whole sun God ethic. Party pooper.

And so, I fake tan (This is what I call a true step for mankind), use sunscreen and try not to bake anymore. When I go to the beach, I let myself tan, but I also actually use the umbrella a fair amount. It's not as much fun, but I can still experience the sunny day mood (great) and the visual beauty (amazing).

do i look like a maid, or what?

We've been out of school and into the summer schedule for three days now and I have become paid help, only I don't get paid in anything except snide remarks, rolling eyeballs and teenage sarcasm laced with delusions of world domination.

I'm all for making the summer fun. I get that there is a big transition happening here, going from the structure of an 8-4 day to a relaxed week of hanging out and packing for vacation, but hey, kids, you can take your dishes into the kitchen, move your shoes from the hallway entrance so nobody breaks their face on them, pick up your clothes off the floor, and you know, wipe your own bottom after evacuation. As a bonus, you can be nice to me, as I hold the all the cards in terms of what you can and cannot do during this little summer break. Also, I have more self-respect than you're giving me credit for--nobody gets to talk to the mom the way you're talking to me. How do I tell you this, you are not the King and Queen of the prom.

So, uh, you know, just um, take up the laundry and make your bed. I'll leave you a tip under your pillow.

take two weeks and call me in the morning

The calm will start as soon as we drive our car onto the ferry. We'll carefully (one year ally dented the car next to us when she opened her door and we had to negotiate a settlement--fortunately the dented were already drugged with sea air and told us to forget it) make our way up to the top floor, where the wind will give us a little chill, wait for the whistle to blow and breathe, as if we'd been holding our breath all year until this moment. We're on our way to the place that gets us through the coldest, dreariest, remind-me-why-we-live-in-new-england-again location that each of us would marry if it were a person. Ah, Martha, will you spend your life with me?

I think traditions ground people, and so my children have been going to the same place every summer, for their whole lives, and until last year, the same house. We are not "islanders," because to be an islander you have to be born on the island. But we feel like islanders. We love the place like it was part of us, an arm, a leg. Take it away and we would be crippled. My husband and I fell hard for this place when we were dating and I booked a romantic long weekend in Edgartown, where we stayed in the best room at the top of the Edgartown Inn. We returned for several years before the mutual friend who introducted us to each other made another life changing introduction--to the opposite end of the island--Chilmark. Remarkably untouched, all sprawling farm land and beautiful beaches.

Lucy Vincent is the "For Childmark Residents Only" beach. Slap the sticker on your car and your in, otherwise, you're out. We're talking body surfing waves and views good enough to stop your heart for a full second or two. Especially if you walk to the far end, an official nude beach, where you get a whole other kind of view. No summer is complete without seeing Alan Dershowitz sporting his sun hat and no pants. The whole beach is backed by oversized cliffs, with tiny piping plovers darting in and out of holes they've created. A wooden walkway from a dirt road parking lot brings you to the beach. At the end of the walkway, people kick off their shoes and leave them. We love this pile of sneakers and sandals lining the entrance. I interpret it as a way to leave the world behind. A short walk from the entrance is a pond, calm and warm, for babies and young kids who can't brave the waves. Beyond the pond are some houses, but the views are mostly of gentle sea grass and horses and sheep. I have been to dozens of beaches in my life, but Miss Lucy V. wins the Miss World Contest for me.

For a bunch of years we shared houses with my cousin and her family. Then we found a small cottage that was perfect, in the part of Chilmark called Menemsha, a small fishing village, made famous because of its starring role in the movie Jaws. Our little house was in a perfect location, near Menemsha beach, Chilmark's town beach-- gentle surf, a jetty, boat docks, and hours of kid free relaxation, the result of a perfect little crabbing cove. Menemsha Beach is known for its sunsets and proximity to a famous little clamshack called The Bite. For those of you who worship in the house of The Fried, this place is your temple. The Texaco station, one of the only gas stations up island supplies the fishing supplies and cow licks and the Menemsha Market, owned by Kevin and Liz, who my family has come to love for everything else. We spend literally hunreds of dollars here every summer, and i swear half of it is on Fire Balls and Bazooka bubble Gum. Going down to Kevin's store for toilet paper or mustard was the first bit of independence my kids ever experienced. And with a charge account in place, they they were feeling it.

Last year we rented a new house. While I'd seen photos of it online, I wasn't exactly sure where it was located and knew the kind of lawsuit my kids would level against me if it didn't turn out to be a nice place, within walking distance to all "their" places. It turned out to be smack on the beach, amazing views, beautiful big great room, in short even better than our other house.

The Vineyard is the star of so many of the best parts of my life. July would feel as alien as a summer snowstorm without Midnight Farm or Noches, the rocking chairs on the porch of The Chilmark Store, a fried scallop at The Bite, seventeen trips to Pandora's, the nagging to go to the carousel and arcade, movies in Oak Bluffs, the 4rth of July parade, the farmer's market and flea, Boggle, a cocktail, ice cream at the Galley, breakfast at the Artcliff or Aquinnah, a celebrity sighting or two, and the warmth and heat of the beach.

There is a heaven. There definitely is a heaven. I know it well. I've spent the last 22 summers there.

it's bitter cold outside. The downstairs of my house could serve as a meat locker. Wind is sneaking through all the windows. I feel a little like I'm at a photo shoot with one of those oversized fans blowing my hair. Only I'm sure a photo shoot is warmer.

I have absolutely no projects going on right now. I stopped working at Upromise a few weeks ago and felt elated and relieved by the no longer having to be stressed out by my schedule. But today, I feel lethargic and guilty for not having some sort of work going on. I worked out, cleaned the kitchen, made some valentine's for my nieces and nephews, cleaned the kitchen and put away all the clothes piled on my chair. Then, I just laid on my bed and watched In Treatment and The Millionaire Matchmaker show, both of which i really enjoyed. It's warmer upstairs, and laying on my bed, watching guilty pleasure tv felt good, but it left me with nagging guilt, making me feel like I should be doing 101 other things--cleaning the third floor--a near constant to do on the to do list i carry around in my head everyday, putting away the clothes in the laundry basket, looking for work. I don't feel like doing any of it. I just feel like hanging out today and staying warm. I could read or watch tv, but more than that doesn't interest me today. why do i feel so guilty i wonder? why can't i just let it be, that this day is ok to spend being a slacker?