Tag Archives: Island Home

I need a new Menemsha Blues shirt.

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Years ago, a fellow author commented on how bizarre the life of a writer actually is. “You sit at your desk, alone, day after day, week after week, month after month,” my friend said. “You wrap yourself up in sweats or denim* and forego wearing make-up. You drink lots of coffee (tea, water, or otherwise). You don’t answer your phone. Or your doorbell. Your only friend is solitude. Finally you finish. Your book is published.”

Of course, my friend’s story (which perhaps I have embellished, but only a bit) does not end here. So let us continue.

“You publisher sends you a schedule of appearances and booksignings. You read it. You sigh. Then you throw your sweats or your denim into the wash. You dig through your closet in search of something decent to wear. Shouldn’t there be a plain black dress in there somewhere? And maybe a scarf? What about that blue skirt . . . Oh, wait. That one went to the Thrift Shop three years ago.You realize your mascara has dried up. But the time has come when you must look the way women once looked when they went uptown to lunch or maybe to church or when traveling first class on a plane.

“After all, you are now part of the world again. Or at least, you must appear to be. You must smile and speak to an audience other than yourself. Or your imaginary characters. Or your cat or your dog. And you must tell them about your wonderful book. If you do that, and do it moderately well, in a week or two or three, you will be allowed to slip into your sweats or your denim, sit back down at your computer, and begin the process all over again.”

So . . . that’s the whole story. And it’s my way of saying that if you’re on the Vineyard, or perhaps will be Columbus Day Weekend, please join me for the official launch of A VINEYARD CHRISTMAS. Maybe I’ll find my black dress by then.

Sat. Oct. 6, Edgartown Library, 3:00 p.m.

Sun. Oct. 7, Edgartown Books, Noon–2:00 p.m.

* When my editor approved my manuscript for the second book in my new Vineyard series, A ViNEYARD SUMMER (to be released July 2019), I decided I need to toss out my 20+-year-old Menemsha Blues green denim shirt. It’s been washed so much, it’s lost most of its color. And there’s a rip in the left sleeve at the elbow that the Island Home could easily navigate through. I’m going to miss that shirt.  

 

Pardon my Doornail Cliché

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IMG_4674Anyone who lives East of, oh, I don’t know, L.A. perhaps, is aware of the wicked freezing temperatures this past weekend. And few folks will be shocked that my car refused to start.

Sadly, no one knows a car has a dead battery until one is going out. Needing to be somewhere. Having stuff to do.

I had a list. Errands. Not fun, but necessary.

So when I turned on the ignition and heard that dreadful . . . nothing . . . I groaned. It was as dead as a clichéd doornail.

AAA no longer services the island. (That’s another story.) But they reimburse you, once someone defibrillates the thing.

A nice man showed up quickly. (Hooray!) He got it going. Then he told me I should drive it for a while without shutting it off.

I’d like to pause to mention this happened here a few years ago when I stupidly failed to turn the car lights off after dark. (I was still getting used to the utter blackness of the nights and was concerned, well, okay, terrified, of skunks.)

When AAA arrived (that was before the “other story”) and solved the problem, I was told to drive my car for an hour. Problem: I’d been heading for the boat. “Not with this car you’re not,” the AAA guy said. Huh? It’s only 15 minutes to the ferry, but once on board, I’d have to shut my car off. The folks behind me might say mean things when we reached Woods Hole and my car couldn’t disembark. (Not sure if AAA serviced the Island Home.) Anyway, I drove in circles around the island for an hour and took a later boat.

Fast forward to this weekend. “But I have errands to do,” I whined after the nice man echoed his predecessor. Then he added, “Well, luckily you’re on the Vineyard. Just leave it running.”

Leave it running? My car doesn’t lock when it’s left running. (Thanks for the safety factor, VW.) Still . . . I had things to do.

First, the post office. I dashed in quickly, one eye peeled on the parking lot where telltale smoke puffed merrily from the exhaust pipe into the frigid air. I made it back before car thieves could arrive.

Next stop, the pharmacy. Unfortunately, the things I needed weren’t by the window. My heart pounded just a bit, but when I returned, my car awaited, nice and toasty, as I’d left the heater running, too.
Last stop: the seafood market. The owner stood inside, peering out. “Let me know if anyone steals my car,” I said. He chuckled, shook his head.

I paid for my clam chowder. On the way out, another woman entered. She, too, was alone. As I got back to my car, I realized she had parked beside me. And she’d left her motor running. With no one else inside.

Moral of the story: This is Martha’s Vineyard, Jean.

Warning: Wherever you are, I don’t recommend trying this at home.