La la la la la ... I don't hear you!

Do I still have anything to say?  Will I be able to maintain a daily blog anymore?

I am still formulating in my mind how I am going to go about creating this new business based on raw food and I just can't seem to care about politics or really any of the things I've been blogging about the past few months.

How cool is that?

I don't care!

I have no idea what the stock market is doing today, I have no clue where the candidates are in the polls, I have no idea what type of stupid thing Sarah Palin did today, yesterday or days before that.  I don't care!

I truly don't!

It is so freeing.  I do feel as though I have been released from a vicious cycle that I'd somehow gotten into without intending to.  But even more so, I just inherently know without a shadow of a doubt that what will be, will be.

And the only thing I can do ... is let it be.

I used to think that inaction was a sign of passivity.  I used to think that in order to initiate change, I had to get all fired up and charge full steam ahead and DO something, even if it wasn't productive.  The thought of doing nothing made no sense to me.

There will always be a need for leaders and action, but I now realize I can't take it all on -- I can't read about it and become consumed with it.  I need to take the information and process it, for sure, but then let it go.  If I can change something within my own realm, then I should.  But I know now, like I know my own name, that I can't make people change their minds or habits or anything just because it might change their lives, save their lives even.  It just doesn't work that way.

It should!

And wouldn't it be nice if it did.

But it doesn't.  So I have had to accept that people do not do anything they don't want to do -- no matter what.

And I'm alright with that.

I was having my hair done today and I brought everyone some raw chocolate pudding.  I explained that they were market research and I was curious to see if they liked it.  The majority did ... and said they would eat it again, even after finding out that it was made from avocado, dates, maple syrup and cacoa powder.  One of the customers that was having her hair done tried it as well and liked it, and quizzed me about the way of eating, etc.

When we were leaving she was eating some of the candy that they have left out on the counter, and she looked at me guiltily and said something like oops, probably shouldn't be eating this, it's not good for me.

And I smiled at her and said that she didn't have to feel badly around me -- it was none of my business what she ate.  Which is what anyone would have said I suppose, but the big thing for me was THAT I MEANT IT in a non-judgmental way!

She then went on to say that she had no vices ... she didn't drink, she didn't do men, she really only did one bad thing and that was to eat candy.  And I thought, why does she feel the need to explain herself?

We make our own choices.

Good or bad.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

It is so nice to have hours stretching out before me with nothing PLANNED!

I am fresh off a five-day intensive course where for five days I sat for 12 hours (with a few breaks) and learned and listened and listened and learned.

It was hell.

It was fabulous.

And that really sums it all up in a nutshell!

I am not ready to write about it yet.  It was a lot to take in, a lot to process, and I am still not sure how to sum it up.  Or even if it can be!

But one thing I know for sure:  I am going to stay raw!  It was such a great thing to be in the company of people who have been eating raw for a long time -- to see how beautiful they are, to see their vitality, their ageless beauty.  Seriously.  Why would you not want that for yourself?

I do!  I do!  I do!

Raw World here we come

Tomorrow I am off to Maine for five days to become a raw food instructor.

What, you might ask, is that?

Well, if you are interested, check out this link The Living & Raw Food Diet - Alissa Cohen-- my instructor will be Alissa Cohen herself, and I am really looking forward to it.

I have dabbled in raw food and I know that it makes me feel unbelievable.  And yet, even knowing this, I continue to eat "dead" food.  Because it is addictive.  It really is.   And I know this, and hopefully I will gain the tools to overcome my inevitable return to the foods that are bad.  And when I say bad, I'm not even talking junk food!

Since the middle of August, knowing that tomorrow was coming, I have been eating foods with the thought that it might be the last time.  Ever.  I don't even know if that upsets me, in fact, it makes me feel a little better in a way.  And I can still cook foods -- which I've always enjoyed -- I just won't eat them.  But then again, will I do that?  Which will I give up ... the cooking or the eating of cooked foods?

Which brings about another factor ... my family.  I guess if there is nothing else in the house for them to eat and no one else preparing anything else, they will eat my diet?  I don't know.  For it seems that we eat way to much food to begin with.  I look at the daily diets of people who eat raw, and it's not much.  Today I had a smoothie with blueberries, banana, coconut milk, maca powder and camu powder (for extra vitamin C because I've had a cold knocking at my door) and that is all I had until 3:30.  Then I had some of this goat cheese torta that I bought for the weekend that was never eaten, and well, kept thinking, is this my last meal?  

Nope.  Peter of course wanted to know what was for dinner.  I found some turkey burgers in the freezer, so it looks like turkey burger will be my last meal.  How exciting!  Not.

But what about next Tuesday when he asks what is for dinner?  I've tried to warn them, but they don't hear me.  All they know is that their world's can't change ... because they just can't!  And all I know is that mine must.

Should be interesting ... I'll let you know Tuesday what happens!

Thank you, John Walters

Two weeks ago when Peter and I were on Martha's Vineyard I received a phone call from my brother asking me if I had any great ideas for my father's upcoming 80th birthday.  He said that in speaking with him he had discovered that he wanted to go to Montana.

Neither of us wanted to tackle that one.

I had also been researching flights to Chicago, thinking that we might all go there for Thanksgiving, but I'd pretty much become discouraged with that because not only would it be expensive, but it still didn't really focus on my father's birthday.   And the fact of the matter is, when you incorporate airfare into the equation, it becomes a whole 'nother animal.

So I did what I do, and put it out of my mind and figured it would all work out.

Hence, John Walters.

Peter and I were Jeeping out on Chappaquiddick when we kept driving by these handmade signs of a picture of an older man waving ... with the name JOHN WALTERS printed underneath and an arrow pointing the way.  We weren't following the signs, but our destination was the beach, and that is where there was a huge white tent set up for John Walter's.  I assumed it was a big birthday party for him, and I thought HMMMMMM.

Thirty years ago we had rented a house out on Chappy that laid the foundation for my need to return on a regular basis.  It was a fabulous, rambling old house with loads of bedrooms, guest houses, spectacular views of the ocean and a clay tennis court.  I was 15 at the time and it was truly the best thing that had ever happened to me.  It was beyond my wildest imagination of what can happen when family and friends gather together in a fabulous setting.  We had tennis tournaments, baseball games on the beach, we hunted for "Billy the Lifeguard,"  (Well, I did, but I made others follow!) we had huge meals at the largest table any of us had ever seen in our lives and my parents slept in the biggest bed we'd ever seen in our lives.

It was all so huge.  The house was huge, the excitement was contagious and because the house was also bigger than my parent's had expected, they called everyone they knew and told them to come visit -- so there was always someone new showing up over the course of the two weeks that we were there.

It was the type of event that you remembered for always, and I had looked into renting the house again over the summer but had quickly been discouraged by the $15,000 weekly price tag.  Ummm, I can only hope that one day such a number does not seem a lot to me, but now is it not only is it a lot -- it's out of my realm.

But John Walter's was having a big-ass party out on Chappy, so why the hell couldn't we have one for my father?

I called my brother.  I told him to look up the house and call the people and try to finagle a deal.  This is his thing -- and he did it well.  He explained how we had stayed out there 30 years ago, he explained how our father was turning 80 and we wanted to do something extravagant ... and the woman went for it.  And even though they never rent the house for less than a week, she said we could.  And the price was affordable if split up between my brother, sister and myself and certainly worth every penny if we could pull it off.

Which we did.

And how.

Last week I was beyond stressed.  This is my own problem -- I try to do as much as I can, I try to figure out how to make things as best as they can be -- and the amount of headwork that had to go into getting everyone from here to there, or from where they where to there was crazy.   But these types of things don't actually get off the ground if someone isn't figuring out all the details and worrying about them, so, unfortunately, it had to be done.

And this week, this Tuesday, the morning after we returned, I just received a phone call from my father saying that it was probably the most wonderful thing that ever happened to him.

And that was what it was all about, right?

You betch your sweet boopie it is! 

While we were figuring out meals, how to get people out of work and school, securing ferry reservations (it absolutely blows my mind that we had trouble getting ferry times in mid-October) trying to coordinate how to get people from airports to ferries on time, how to get my brother to the house before my father, how to convince Maddie that missing school was not the end of the world, hitting the grocery store or liquor store or Trader Joe's every day for a solid week with the plan being that once we were there, we wouldn't need to go into town for anything but maybe a lunch or a breakfast, all I told my father was that he should plan to be gone from Friday to Monday, that there were no plane rides involved, and that the weather would be similar to what it was here.

And then my sister, brother and I talked on the phone daily, trying to hash out the details, my sister and I would talk about how RIDICULOUS it was that Jamie wouldn't get a plane reservation (that is his thing) and my brother and I would talk about whether he should appear on the ferry to surprise my father, or at the house, and then I would say YOU NEED TO GET A PLANE and then we can figure it out.

It was crazy.  I made a lasagna to feed an army, an apple pie, filled bags with crackers, birthday cake mix, frosting, the oil and eggs for that, and snacks and coffee, and milk and cream and sugar and sweet and low for that,  etc. etc. etc.,  and my sister planned the dinner for the second night, which was a chicken dish and macaroni and cheese (my father loves mac and cheese).

Details.  Did we have mixers for the vodka and gin?  I put in a Briita water filter instead of buying bottled water.  What about games?  We packed games.  Extra blankets.  Sleeping bags for the kids.   I went to the store Friday morning so that there could be fresh fruit for my father.  And we had to pack it all in a small area of the car because we needed all three seats for people.  Oh, and bikes.  And tennis rackets.  Anyone have any tennis balls?  

And the sheets!  The house sleeps 19 people.  My sister and I emptied out our linen closets in preparation of making so many beds.  Pillow cases.  Towels for everyone.   Shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothpaste?

I only brought one.

There were three floors and guest cottages, everyone vying to steal toothpaste!  Hallie clumped down from the third floor bathroom to the second floor to get some.  Jamie said it was too far to go from the cabin.  Imagine if we'd forgotten other things besides massive amounts of toothpaste?

I'm just saying, it's stressful trying to anticipate all the things you might need in a house where you have no idea what is already there.  I did forget toilet paper, but not paper towels.  I'm not perfect.

Anyway, that was the week before -- I kept thinking, man, if we'd just thrown a party I could have shopped, cleaned the house and then whammo, it would be done.  Instead I was cultivating gray hairs trying to figure it all out in a few day's time.

But at last, Friday late morning we were all in the car headed to Boston to pick up Jamie and his girlfriend Doo.  I called my sister, who had instructed my parent's to be at her house by noon, to find out what was going on in her world.  My parent's had decided that we were taking them to either Boston, the Cape or New York City.  They had even gone to the bank and gotten a bunch of small bills so that they could take taxi's in the cities because they know how I like to walk everywhere!

Too funny.  And while I am sure they had it figured out fairly quickly where they were going, my parent's both played along while my sister strung them along from the Seacoast through Boston, towards the Cape and at last to the ferry to Martha's Vineyard.  We had several hysterical phone calls along the way, and it was a lot of fun.

We picked up "the package," (Jamie and Doo) at the airport, and they both proceeded to climb into the back seat and fall asleep as they had been up since 4:00 a.m. to make planes.  We sped towards our 2:30 ferry and we stood on the deck and watched as they let on cars as they were coming in.  I knew my sister was not far behind, and I wondered if they would end up making this ferry instead of the 3:45 they were scheduled for.  I pondered how we would handle this ... perhaps have my brother keep hidden in the car?  Maybe we would head to the house beforehand anyway ... and my sister could drive around the island a bit?  My mind was still racing, still trying to figure out the best way to have it all happen.

They drove up literally seconds after we started to pull out.  We waved, and I made sure that my brother was nowhere in sight.  Phew.  We sat down and had a beer and talked and laughed about this great thing we were up to.

I started to relax.

We arrived at the house and ran around checking it out.  It had been remodeled since we'd been there last, and it was fun to try to remember what was original, what might be original, etc.  The house is just so wonderful.  The view had also opened up across the street, so that you actually could see water from any window.  Beyond words, really.

My sister wasn't sure which driveway it was, so when she was on the Chappy ferry she called, and I sent out Maddie and Charlie to pretend that something weird was happening at the house.  The fact that they made such a scene I thought they had been attacked by wolves is another story, but anyway ... in 1978 we had all been at the beach and when we returned, the house was completely dark.

Which was weird, because usually there was always someone there.  Then we saw it, up in the tower, a light and a big hand waving.  Some of us screamed ... (I am sure not myself) and it was discovered that it was my father up there pulling a prank.

So how could we emulate that in 2008?

It wasn't dark.  Oh what the hell, Jamie just went and stood in the tower window.  So when they drove in the driveway, I was looking up there.  Peter, who was supposed to be helping, was on the phone.  Geesh.

I poured my first drink then.  Oh wait, I'd already had two beers!  Anyway, I was relaxing!

I don't think my parent's had ever expected that it was that house -- so it was a fait accompli -- we got 'em.  We surprised them.

We all toured through the house again, all ending up in the tower exclaiming at the view, trying to recall what had changed.  SO MUCH FUN.  And a fabulous sunset to boot.

While I worked on dinner, Peter, who couldn't understand why HE had to go pick up his daughter, left in a huff because HE had to go pick up his daughter alone, because you see, no one ever wanted to leave.  The house is just SO AMAZING.  The kitchen is huge with a big island with stools where there was always someone hanging out.  Then there was a small table in the kitchen where someone was always playing a game.

Then there was the dining room table -- that seated us all.  

Oh, and the living room where there was usually a fire burning in the woodstove, jacking up the temperature to say 90 degrees.  My mother said it was just right.   It was HOT.

And the tennis court where the kids went down to play and we basically never saw them again.  Charlie spent hours sweeping the court, or whatever it was he was doing.  When we played there was always a kid cleaning something.  But they were great, and chased after balls.  And began and ended every day playing tennis.  It was awesome.

We ate.  We sat around and talked, we hiked one day and got lost, we ate.  We watched the Red Sox, win one night, and lose the next.  We ate.

We played tennis in the wind.  And I beat Jamie.  HAHAHAHAHAHA.  Then we ate.

We drove into town on Saturday to pick up Jeff and Emma and had some snacks and beer at the Brewery and wandered a bit around town.  Then we went home.  And ate.

This was the view off the front deck.  Why would you want to do anything else but hang there?

And eat.

The days went by far too quickly, and before we knew it, it was Monday and we had to go. 

Thirty years ago we had taken a picture of a bunch of us sitting on the bed in the master bedroom.

Thirty years later:

So it was a great time had by all.  

And in addition to talking, laughing, playing, drinking and eating.

I took pictures.

Moon over My Jammy

You see that?  That is why I am WIDE awake at nearly 1:00 a.m.  I haven't yawned once in all the hours I have been waiting to feel the slightest bit tired.  I am loathe to go upstairs and lay there, tossing, turning and groaning as I wait to fall asleep.

I have been watching this series on TV for the last (OMG) five hours, and I am a little dazed from staring at the screen, and I hoped that maybe I was tired enough to go to bed.  Except that I'm not.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.

There is nothing worse than laying there counting the hours until you have to wake up.  I hate it.  But there are just some full moons that I can't escape, and I knew when it was midnight and I wasn't tired that something was up.  And I looked outside and I could see across the field and down to the tree line it is so light out there.  The moon shines right in over my bed ... or at least it will for a few more hours, then it will be turning the corner and setting on the other side of the house.  I know this because I've seen it before.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.

I hate to sit here mooning about it, but what else to do?

I just forced myself to yawn.  I've never done that before -- I felt like a horse.  Try it.  Open your mouth wide and yawn.  Doesn't it feel fake?  Well, probably not, if you're fortunate enough to be tired.  The third try turned into a somewhat authentic yawn, though it didn't make me feel tired.  Yawning without being tired ... it's faking it.  

Note to self:  YOU ARE BORING WHEN THE MOON IS KEEPING YOU AWAKE.

Sorry.

The Joy of Looking

Oh what a beautiful weekend.  Yesterday on the boat I just couldn't look enough -- at the colorful trees or the magnificent blue sky, the wispy artistic clouds that made my jaw drop in wonder -- seriously.  Everything was just so pretty, and with my keen photographic eye :::::grin::::: everywhere I looked was picture-perfect.  Here we are at Sunapee Harbor and this is the "dinner boat," which was filling up with a wedding party, ready to hit the high lakes.  (As opposed to seas!)  We went over to the restaurant that was closing and had an interesting lunch comprised of everything the restaurant had left in their larder, set out buffet style.  Nothing like a plate of stuffing, rice, chicken, mixed vegetables, scallops and salad ... it was kind of weird, I won't lie.  But it was nice that it was warm enough to sit outside and enjoy the bustling harbor.  (When we took the boat out of the water this afternoon, the bustle was replaced with the opposite of bustle.  It was the anti-bustle.)

This was taken a little later, when the "dinner boat" was out and about.  As you can see, the leaves are pretty spectacular, keeping in mind that they never photograph as wonderful as they actually are.  Now all I need to do is photoshop that hideous cell phone tower or whatever it is off the mountain.  And maybe fill in the green with a little color ... but here you get the untouched virginal images.  This one is a little washed out, but it is the one that has the boat so perfectly placed between the lighthouse and the little island.  Also, note how low the water is ... the black edges of the rocks are normally under water.

We wandered around the lake and I had to laugh when I saw this next picture.  I think it is the epitomy of life in New Hampshire ... tie up the fun in the sun folks, summer's over and it's time to stack wood.

Later in the afternoon we dumped the kids at the cottage and headed down towards the other end of the lake for cocktails and a fabulous moonlit ride home.

Not that I want to say this ... because I hate the thought ... but it was a perfect end to summer.

BOOOOOOOOOOO

HOOOOOOOOOOO

Monopoly

When I came home from the VIneyard last weekend, my mother and Maddie and Charlie were deeply engrossed in one of their many games of Monopoly that they had apparently been playing while we were gone.  I was interested in how they were actually playing -- as in -- Wrong!

They paid no heed to the rule that you had to own all the colors of a group of properties, but instead when they owned one, they would put on houses and hotels and, well, it was WRONG!  There were no directions in the box, so they had downloaded some from the Internet, but did not read them closely.

In all fairness, I blame myself for my children's lack of knowledge (my mother, well, come on, WHO doesn't know how to play Monopoly?) and I was somewhat horrified when they told me that I had NEVER played with them.  Seriously?

The problem with having one child and then waiting seven years to have another is that you get confused.  Hallie had it all -- and by that I mean she had it ALL.   So when the other kids entered into the picture, I guess I just assumed I'd done all the normal things (like teaching your kid how to play Monopoly) with them.  Who knew!   Now, in my defense, I have taught them plenty of other games, and Monopoly is a tedious game that goes on forever and well, I mostly played with my sister and friends when I was younger, and I was ALWAYS the banker, and well, I always won.  If it is suspicious that the banker ALWAYS won, I don't know what you are implying.

But you would be right.

Now Charlie insisted upon being the banker (hmmmm) and we began to play.  Like I always do, I bought everything I landed on.  Until I had no money.  Charlie did manage to land Park Place and Boardwalk, but I bought just about every other property!  And then, with four bucks to my name, I started having to mortgage my property to buy more.

Charlie was horrified.  He explained I couldn't afford it.  I explained I was taking a RISK.  All was good, until I hit his Boardwalk that also had a hotel on it.  Two thousand bucks.  Even if I mortgaged all my properties, I couldn't come up with that kind of money.

And so, I said to Charlie, this is basically what is happening in the world today.  People and big companies kept buying things they couldn't afford, and then when they had to pay for something, they had no money and nothing to mortgage.

He said ... I wanted to play a GAME, Mom, not get taught a lesson.

I'm just saying things would have turned out differently if I had been the banker.  You know, as in the president of the bank.  I am an excellent bank president.

I should have done that for a living!

"Fall" ing into it

The thing about Fall is that first I fight it.  I continue to wear shorts and t-shirts and flip flops and pretend that even though it is 50 degrees it will be warmer.  Tomorrow.  Or the next day.  Or even next week.

Until the morning I wake up and there is frost everywhere, including inside the house because my husband will not let us turn on the heat until ... until I say screw it and turn it on.  But that takes a few frosty mornings, and of course they are interspersed with gorgeous days, like today, where it climbs back into the high 60's and I can pretend for a few more hours that summer isn't so long gone that it will never return.

So that's my first stage of clinging onto summer with all I've got.  Today I have on jeans.  I hiked in shorts, but it's actually colder in the house than outdoors right now, go figure.  And last night I wore socks to bed.  So those are my first little concessions, signs that I am loosening my grip on the last threads of summer and finally accepting that the weather is changing, hell, has changed.  But this is ONLY because I am cold.  And I hate to be cold.

The next stage is trying to decide if the changing leaves have reached "peak" yet.  First I pretend that they aren't changing at all.  There will be a branch of oak leaves that have turned vivid red in late summer, and I close my eyes to them.  Denial baby -- I must have a brain tumor and THOUGHT those leaves were red.  But they weren't.  Which says something, don't you think?  That I'd rather have a brain tumor than have the season change.

I'm just trying to impress upon you the significance of this for me.  While spring is about life (have I said this already in another blog?  I am having deja vu) fall is about death. Decay.  As in, it's over baby, the fat lady has sung and there is only one thing left now -- 9 months of winter.

So the first leaves change and I ignore them with a vengeance.  Then the damn cold comes, and I ignore that too.  Then the frost and the DEATH of fresh vegetables and flowers and ... :::::::sob::::::: life as we want it, or at least how I want it, and somehow I have to be happy about this?  I DON'T THINK SO!

I was trying to be upbeat about this!  For heaven's sake, I was just driving around marveling at how beautiful it is out, and I sat down here to express that -- and whammo!  I start freaking out about the death of summer and life as I want it.

Well, that's kind of what it's like.  I attempt to enjoy the beauty, no, that's not true, I actually do.  But deep down inside I am kidding myself.  I WANT SUMMER.  I want to be able to go outside and I want to drive around with no roof on the Jeep and I want to swim and I want to sweat when I hike and I want to cloak myself in the hum of a hot summer night and breathe it all in.

Well, I thought I'd progressed toward stage two of my Fall-ing in love with fall, but it's not the case, is it?  And here it is, nearly 4:00 p.m. and the sun has already lost its vigor, the air is getting cold and I am reminded how much I hate daylight savings time.

So here's what I was trying to say.  Is it peak foliage?  Because once the oaks turn red then they all fall off and die, so then there are yellows and oranges, and there is always more green then you want there to be ... Wait!  What I want is a full cacophony of color -- I want them all to turn at exactly the same time, because it seems that once that happened and the world was brilliant with color.  But was that just my memory playing tricks on me?  Because it seems as though it has been YEARS since there has been a spectacular foliage year.

I think the leaves are just expressing the same feelings as me.  They don't want to die!  And they hold on to their color as long as they can -- but they know, as do I, that you can't stop a force such as nature, and then they give up.  But not all at once.  So what this says is that Oaks are weenies!  They give up immediately!  A bunch of red wusses.

And I too should give up!  My ability to explain that I accept Fall is Falling short because the bottom line is I don't!  It is the beginning of winter, and while I love winter, I'd love it a lot more if the length of winter switched with the length of summer.  I'd rather have nine months of summer and three months of winter, as opposed to the other way around.  And if anyone wants to argue that there are four seasons, fine, but there aren't.  Not in New Hampshire.

There is summer and then there is late summer and then there is winter.  And then there is late winter and there is summer again.  These fall and spring names are lovely and all, but they are insignificant because the leaves fall off within weeks and we are left with the desolate look of stripped limbs and that remains until late winter, when just before summer they get green again.

I really thought I was in a good mood and I was going to share with you pictures depicting my beautiful hike in the woods, and how beautiful it is out.  But all this did was remind me that winter is coming!  And that everything is dead or dying.  And decaying.

GEESH!

I blame it on George Bush.

And so should you!

Getting Away on a Sunny Day

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.  A long weekend away was just what I needed to disconnect myself from all the silliness I was getting bogged down in.  As in, Sarah who?   

We went to Martha's Vineyard on Thursday afternoon.  We drove down without hitting a smidgen of traffic and were on the ferry drinking an iced cold beer a little before 4:00.  Yesssssss.

We checked into our hotel and then decided to upgrade our room to a residence suite.  Okay by me!  

We were right in the center of Edgartown and it was perfect for primo people-watching, not to mention highly convenient as far as being able to walk around to get coffee, bagels, dinner or snooping on people's private property.   Man, there is SOOOOOOO much money out there.  Unfathomable.

On Saturday Peter had a haircut smack in the middle of the day.  I was a little irritated, as he does this all the time -- and I wandered around Vineyard Haven waiting for him, at first with not such an open mind.  The first picture above I took when I was like ... yeah, killing time.  Then I went into the public bathroom at the Steamship Authority and took the next picture.  And questioned my sanity.

I wandered over to a small beach and looked around.  Two boats caught my eye, and I began to photograph them.

Suddenly it all came back to me.  How much I enjoy taking pictures.  How much fun it is to frame a subject just so.  I spent a half an hour taking pictures of this boat from every angle I could think of.

Suddenly the world became one photo opportunity after another.  Everywhere I looked I could see bold color or crazy beauty.  I hadn't felt so full of inspiration in a long time (thanks to that wench Sarah!)  Yes, I know that letting silly things bother you is ... silly.  But it did.  I've had to really question the future of mankind and the actual fact that people believe that just anyone can run this country ... you betchya :::::wink::::::

With my joy of photography restored, we eventually ended up here, on our balcony, to people watch, sip cocktails and enjoy the late afternoon sun.

But the light ... oh the light.  I couldn't stop seeing everything as a potential photograph, and kept snapping.

The dark sky with the patches of blue, contrasted against the whiteness of the buildings, with a smattering of green trees thrown in.  Beautiful.

And then I stood up.  Wow.

Here we are going over on the little ferry between Edgartown and Chappaquiddick.  As you can see, it is an absolutely beautiful day.

A little over a year ago, there was a breach in the beach.  Between the islands of Martha's Vineyard and Chappaquiddick there was a strip of beach that connected the two islands, as well as creating a barrier for Edgartown Harbor.   The bay you see to the right of the next picture used to be fairly stagnant -- only getting an infusion of fresh seawater during high tide.  It was actually kind of gross.

But the breach in the beach has created a completely different place.  (Not to mention that tranquil Edgartown Harbor now gets such crazy tides flooding through it, that during the summer it is not uncommon for boats to hit each other on a daily basis.)  

You can see how the water is eroding the beach, creating these fabulous contours.

There was a feeling, as we walked along this stretch of deserted beach, of perhaps witnessing something that was on borrowed time.  As the waves lapped at the edge and small particles of sand spilled, like sand through an hourglass, into the ocean, you had to wonder.  Was this beach an endangered species?  Or would the winds and tides pull sand from another source and create an even stronger beach?  I don't think anyone knows, but these birds, I believe they are piping plovers, were not in the least bit disturbed by my presence.  And I was somewhat drawn to them in terms of getting a decent picture.

Such accommodating little fellers.

As I drew closer and closer to the funny little birds, I kept wondering how close they would let me get.  I knew it was just a matter of time before I would get this ... and I am so glad that I caught it.

 

The little guys flew a few yards away and settled down with the bigger birds for protection, I guess!

I worked hard at capturing the perfect curl of the wave and the splash against the beach.  Peter, at this point, was halfway back to the car.  He does not find the same peace and wonder that I do on a beach.  This was the far end of the strip of beach -- an edge of the breach -- and I knew without any doubt that this very spot will be gone soon.  So I stood there for a while and thought about life and its overall impermanence and evolution -- you know, garden-variety thoughts for a beautiful Saturday!  And the birds looked at me, and I looked at them, and we were both perfectly happy to share this small piece of real estate for a short while.

The following day we drove up to Aquinnah, which I am starting to call it, as opposed to Gay Head, which it used to be called.  I don't know why, but the wild thing about this beach, which is one of my favorite places on this planet, is that you never know what to expect.  When we were here this summer -- really, only weeks ago -- the entire beach was sand with only a scattering of rocks.  And this is what it looked like this weekend.  There were so many rocks I had a hard time finding the ones I wanted to take home.  Normally they "speak" to me, but this time all I could hear was a dull roar and I was, in a word, overwhelmed.

It was really windy on the beach, but I could have spent hours there communing with the rocks.  Peter took a load to the car while I continued to search, and I watched as a couple walked toward me.  The woman was on the hard sand, looking for shells, while her husband saw that he was near the path that would lead them back to the parking lot.  I could see relief in his face, and I glanced down at the woman, who was completely absorbed in her search.  Her husband called to her several times, but he was shouting into the wind and she couldn't hear him.  Then he picked up a rock and threw it so it landed near her.  She jumped and looked up at him.  I could see that she had been torn from her meditative state, and I gave the man a most disgusted look.  He squirmed a little at the energy I was throwing his way and he beckoned to his wife.  She came toward him and asked him what his problem was.  He said it was time to go.

She asked why.

Of course he had no answer, and probably no other destination.  All he knew was that he was done.  Was there any other reason to stay?  

Peter returned and asked me if I was ready.  I asked him where we were going to go, why did we need to leave, what was the big hurry to get somewhere else?  Since the couple was gone, he didn't understand the depth of my response, and instead turned and walked away from me muttering that I didn't need to freak out, we could stay all day if we wanted.

I laughed and resumed my enjoyment of my two favorite pasttimes -- collecting rocks and taking pictures of them.

It was a perfect weekend.