I hate to say it, but I think you may have already heard about the best part of the vacation.
Sunday morning we wake up in the hotel and it is POURING. Buckets and buckets of rain. We drive to Woods Hole to catch the ferry and arrive way ahead of schedule because we were the only flipping fools on the road. So we actually managed to catch an earlier ferry. Got to the island and believe it or not, the rain was beginning to subside. Hooked up with our friends and drove to the other harbor to catch the third arrival before doing a scenic drive to delay our arrival at lunch. Met up with the rest of the crew at a restaurant for lunch, and by the time we emerged ... could it be? The sun was shining!
Susan and I took our time walking around town and had the world's best ice cream before strolling back to our car and trying to follow the directions in reverse and upside down. Made one wrong turn and traveled down a country road (who am I kidding - they are all country roads!) before turning around and making our second attempt. Found the house no problem and unloaded Trucklet.
Dashed off to the grocery store just before it closed and $150 later we had hot dogs and hamburgers and potato salad and cole slaw and mustard and catsup and some paper goods and not much else. Boy are things expensive on the island! And the prices are fixed too - no matter where you go on Martha's Vineyard (or Nantucket for that matter) the prices are the same. Lobster roll? That will be $13.95. Six rolls of cheapo scratchy one-ply toilet paper? $6.99, please.
But damn if they weren't the best burgers we'd ever had.
Just when we thought the week was off to a good start after all, Monday morning brought rain. And it rained all day long. No matter. We broke out the "Sopranos" jigsaw puzzle and put in that old stand-by for the kids, "Ferris Bueller" Bueller? Bueller? Anyone? I actually napped a little and then picked up a really bad book. Unfortunately for me, I read the whole absurd thing. Bird children. Little boys and girls with wings. Yeah, right.
On Tuesday we day tripped over to Nantucket. Susan and I had promised to take Mary's husband since he'd lived in Massachusetts all his life and had never been. Nice way to spend what was basically a blah day, weatherwise. When we got back, we ditched the husband and hooked up with Mary for apps and drinks, some shopping, and more apps and drinks. A lovely day.
By Wednesday, the sun was out more than it was in and there was a mad dash to the beach. Except for me and Susan. We stayed home by the pool. By ourselves. And loved every minute of the solitude. People went different ways that evening and there were only five adults and one child in the house for dinner. We had awesome steak and swordfish. I'd been drinking rum and coke most of the afternoon, and Mary introduced me to Limoncella. You might as well have injected it straight into my veins. 32% alcohol. And a glass of wine. Or two? And an accidental sip of tequila. I thought I was fine, but by 3:30 a.m. I was wide awake and the hangover had begun. Susan encouraged me to drink water. I did. And then five minutes later I promptly threw up. I cannot tell you the last time I puked. (I know it's a harsh word, but there is nothing delicate about regurgitation.)
Thursday was overcast in the morning so we went to a craft fair and then dropped Mary at the beach to join the rest of the crowd. Dipped my toe in the surf so I could say that I did, and then off to lunch where Susan had the best fish sandwich of her life. I had a very bland cheese quesidilla which suited my stomach just fine, thank you very much.
[more to come; it's 5:40 and I really should go to the gym]