Time away from the loft to re-energize in anticipation of going from the shortest month, to what seems to end up feeling like the longest month, is pretty easy on Martha’s Vineyard. Here, this February, the temperatures are climbing to the high 60s, and crocuses are blooming on a lawn, and forsythia are in bloom in the area called Up Island. It gets even my FHB to smile his hidden smile.
It is a time of small indulgences . It involves a stay in which, were it July, would be a prohibitively expensive hotel. We overlook the Edgartown Harbor Light from our room and the island, though occupied, is quiet. Who doesn’t like quiet? I like hotels but I get a bit quirky about how to manage the room. This is often a bone of contention between my FHB and me. I want to be a good guest. He suggests that we are paying not to be bad guests, but to relax and let others take care of our needs i.e. fresh towels, new little bottles of soap and body lotion and putting the hairdryer back in the little bag. I like to straighten out the bed, while not making it, at least leaving it looking as though we didn’t have a pillow fight. I hang up our clothes and wipe the nightstand and hide my personal possessions somewhere out of sight. I vacillate between leaving our towels on the floor in a heap, which we do not do at home, and picking them up and putting them a little helter skelter on the towel racks, so that the housekeeping people get the hint to replace them. I don’t put the hairdryer back in the bag because I don’t know exactly how to do it like they do. That’s my concession. My FHB might already be sitting in the lobby area, waiting for me to go through my military inspection before leaving to start the day. Everybody’s got something…
We had a minor miscommunication this morning when I was asked where his shirts were. I had, before we left home, suggested that he might want to bring a nicer shirt in case we decided to eat somewhere with cloth napkins. He suggested that I might as well pick out that shirt. I did, but apparently, I was supposed to have checked the psychic wife network to pick up the message which was ” and please pack several shirts because I am not going to”. We were going to be away for four days. We were not going to wear the same things every day. He had one shirt, which he wore over on the ferry, which was balled up and placed in the dirty laundry bag. There was one shirt I packed. You do the math. Luckily, despite about half the businesses being closed in February, the other half were open and even more luckily there were sales at one store, and while he sat in the island sunshine, I found something that could fit the bill. Disaster averted. First world disaster…it’s all good as they say.
Tonight’s dinner out, which was in a place with cloth napkins, fell a bit short in the menu department ( my opinion). We had made a joint decision to try a place recommended by the woman who sold me the shirt (that was saved for tomorrow’s dinner out). We reviewed the menu online and my FHB said yes, based on the appetizers that included chicken livers in wine. He said “You had me at chicken livers…” as the movie line goes. Unfortunately, and more to the point, the menu had not been updated. I was disappointed for him. He got over it quickly and made an alternate decision. I mulled over the menu like a prisoner on death row when the clock is ticking. I couldn’t find anything that really piqued my palate. I glanced at the gentleman’s plate to my left. I looked at the menu to try and identify what it might be. It had wide noodles and it looked a bit interesting. Couldn’t find it and then went through a moment of concern (another first world worry) that they would run out of this unidentified dish before I could decide. The wait staff arrived and stated that they had one special. She described what my neighbor was having. I heard pappardelle noodles and did not listen to the rest of the description and ordered it. Suffice it to say, it was a decision made in haste, in an emotional frenzy. Like buying a dog, when the last thing you need is a dog. Disclaimer, I love dogs. My FHB ordered his dinner and we waited and listened to the conversations and music around us. The dinners arrived and my FHB dug in happily. I was presented with what looked like school lunch which included mystery meat in a sauce. The noodles were there, but it sure had looked better on the other guy’s plate. I felt like an eight year old pushing the food around and picking out the noodles and pushing the meat to the side. As a good guest, when asked by the wait staff if everything was okay, I smiled and played that game. I then made an executive decision after some other wait person cleared our table, that despite acting like an eight year old, I was going to find a dessert to save the day. I generally don’t get dessert, except when we are on an island, and on vacation, and my dinner is yucky. The dessert, three little cannolis, made us both happy.
Island life….gotta love it.
Enjoy the good weather…Happy Weekend.