If I were President Barack Obama...

Rumor has it that our president will be taking a family vacation to Martha's Vineyard toward the end of August. First, I'd like to congratulate him on his choice of location. Well done. Second, I want to thank him for giving me an excuse to finally write about the place I called home for two years--certainly not long enough to be called a local, forever just a wash-ashore, but long enough to let it significantly alter my cultural imagination. And I've been away from it long enough to recognize a gap in my mental images where its landscapes used to be. I envy those year-round residents. They've got a good thing going and they know it, and they hold it close like a secret, very reluctant to share it with "mainlanders." But for two years they permitted me to "play" islander, and I think I made some progress in cracking their code. I witnessed and tried to embody their pace, their patience, their high standard for quality, and what I found had very little to do with Chappy Reds, Lilly Pulitzer patterns, or t-shirts with black dogs on them. No Vineyard Vines ties, really nothing that would suggest any exclusive connections to fame or money. Rather, I found that the code, the secret had more to do with the island mentality that keeps you from honking rudely or yelling at another driver because it's highly probable that the driver will later hold the door for you at the grocery or help you carry a large package to your car at the post office.

We went back to the island for a few days this past May, and I've been wanting to write about it ever since. Granted, most of my suggestions can only be experienced by folks able to blend in with their surroundings, probably not possible for the President of the United States. But the Obamas have been to the island before, and if they can escape the vacationers, if they can find the places where only the locals gather, they might actually be allowed some sense of normalcy. Much of my own warmth for the island comes from the relationships I made with the people who live there, but that's not something I can recreate for the First Family, so here I'll stick to the locations, the places, the establishments, the scenes where wonderful things, quality commerce, significant dialogues, or general epiphanies are likely to occur. At least they did for me.

First on the agenda, ditch the airplane and take the ferry. To my mind, the only way to go to and from the island is on the ferry. It never got old for me. I'd actually look forward to going to my off-island dentist because it would give me a chance to ride the ferry. Forty-five minutes of floating, thinking, reading. The best way to commute. I'm sure it gets old for the folks who have to do it everyday, but for me it's the epitome of island life. Experience your distance from the mainland in real time. Come and go by ferry.

And when you arrive, don't rush off to your motorcade, find a waterfront bench and sit for a bit. Have someone bring you a coffee from Black Dog or Beetlebung, and soak in your surroundings. It's a different perspective when you can separate yourself from the scene. Watch the travelers, note the activity on the docked boats, hear the maritime sounds, smell and feel the briny breeze. Then after 15 or 20 minutes, proceed to your temporary home, and enjoy it. But don't spend much time there. That's not the island experience. Very little "island experience" can penetrate the walls of a carefully decorated, well-secured vacation spot. Get out and experience at least some of the following:

Ocean Park (or "Goose Poop Park," if you ask my niece Dorothy)-- located in Oak Bluffs, this is the perfect place to sit some more. Fly a kite, take a picnic, lay down and read. This is an essential spot. This is where Olivia first perfected her walking skills, it's where we spent a lovely August evening with friends watching fireworks and listening to the Vineyard Haven Band, and it's where we've spent countless hours just enjoying the surroundings. It's also within walking distance to the Gingerbread Houses and our favorite date night destination, Slice of Life (I strongly recommend the Slice Salad).

Also, if you're in Oak Bluffs late at night, go to Back Door Donuts. Go around to the back door of the Gourmet Cafe and Bakery between 9-12PM and score a hot, delicious donut. By far the best I've ever had.

Also in Oak Bluffs, you'll find the Book Den (East), a rare and used book store located in a garage behind a house on New York Avenue. It keeps strange hours, and as President you might be tempted to make special arrangements to assure you get in, but resist. Just go. And if it's closed, accept the circumstances as another indication that you are experiencing one of the many idiosyncracies of real island life. If I could, I'd place you at the Book Den in the dead of winter, where the hours are even stranger, and the majority of the rooms are without heat. You'd keep your mittens, hats, and scarves on while you perused, and you'd see your breath while flipping through the pages of a potential find.

I'll mention a couple of other places to peruse the pages, both in Vineyard Haven.

Bunch of Grapes-- Last summer, a large fire from a neighboring business forced this independent bookstore to spend the last year operating out of a tiny room off the beaten path. But now it's back in its original location on Main Street. Regular island patrons include the likes of Geraldine Brooks, David McCullough, Judy Bloom, or, as was the case during my May visit to the temporary location, Carly Simon. And I understand the Clintons stop in when they can. You need to leave your presidential presence here as well. Everything about this place is appealing, from its architectural details to the carefully selected inventory which, I think, speaks to the well-read island customers who support it so faithfully. And please note the stained glass wagon wheel window, with its red, blue, and yellow pie pieces, still prominently located on the landing of the double set of stairs leading up to my daughter's favorite stacks, the children's section. She can still recall this particular window in great detail.

Riley's Reads- Apply all the charm your mind can muster when I say "tucked away in a corner off main," and you might come close to imagining a portion of the good spewing out of this children's bookstore. Malia and Sasha could certainly find a book or two for their personal libraries in this place. The owner, Zoe Pechter, has done a phenomenal job creating a warm space brimming with excellent displays and the best selection of children's books I have ever come across. I felt I'd found a kindred spirit when I noted all the Charlie and Lola books she had in stock, and then later she introduced me to Mo Willems and his amazing characters; Knufflebunny, the Pigeon, and Piggy and Elephant. Remember Meg Ryan's character's bookstore, The Shop Around the Corner in You've Got Mail? This is it, but in real life.



Even with a number of bookstores to support with a few purchases, make sure you spend some time at the West Tisbury Public Library. Though the Vineyard is fairly small, it supports six public libraries, one in each town. Especially during the cold, dreary winter months we often frequented three different libraries a week, but none as regularly as West Tisbury's. And once I was able to convince them I really was a permanent resident, not just a tourist, they permitted me to have a library card. I will keep it longer than my Black Dog t-shirt. Their periodical section is nice, their biography section is fantastic, but make sure to spend some time in their two-story kids' section. I'm remembering all the treasures Olivia first discovered there. That's also where she first grasped the concept of puzzles. And if you don't know what you're looking for, ask for Nelia. She's phenomenal and so good at remembering kids' names.

Before you leave, let Sasha and Malia have some time in the field and playhouse back behind the library. There's lots of room for the imagination to run wild. Back there, in our imaginary world, we opened a flower shop, ran a successful bank, built any number of restaurants, cafes, and coffee shops, and prepared Thanksgiving dinners. It's also a nice, private place to have a picnic. I didn't even realize this area was back there until our second year of living on the island. If the front porch swing at Alley's General Store is occupied, this is the place to have a snack break.

But don't let that keep you from going to Alley's. It's the island's oldest operating retail business, and it's located just across the street from the library. If you do get a spot in the coveted swing on the front porch, linger there for awhile. Sip their coffee, and try to catch pieces of conversation coming from the locals standing around their cars just out front. They'll pop in and out just to get their mail (there's a post office inside) or grab a coffee, maybe a couple of groceries. And more than likely, they'll run into another local, and that's where you'll hear what's really happening on the island.

You should also bring the family for a Saturday morning stroll through the Farmers' Market at West Tisbury's Grange Hall, just down the street from Alley's. The set up is great, each stand representing a family or business with a fascinating story to tell. And the produce is divine, but what I remember most are the flowers. Buy a bouquet or two, and watch as they remove your flowers from the recycled tomato cans and secure them in newspaper for you to carry home. Also look for Daniel Water's stand. He has some beautiful linoleum-block prints, many inspired by scenes from the island.

Morning Glory Farm will have a stand at the Farmers' Market, but you really need to plan a family trip to their store, located in Edgartown, to know what they're about. They have great produce, but I'm most fond of their baked goods, especially their muffins and quiche. Upon our last visit we discovered that the family who started the farm put together a book: Morning Glory Farm and the family that feeds an island. The book also includes a number of yummy, seasonal recipes. And the photos, by an island photographer, Alison Shaw, are fantastic. Yes, you can buy it on Amazon, but I'd suggest purchasing it at the farm.

Another "sweet" stop off the beaten path is Chilmark Chocolates on State Road. This tiny chocolate shop, located in a converted barn, employs a number of people with disabilities and trains them to create quality chocolate that will leave you wishing you'd bought a few more boxes before your island departure. I have to confess that, on more than one occasion, I bought boxes to give as gifts which never made it to the intended recipients.

Also on State Road, back in West Tisbury, look for a little sign reading "Eileen Blake's Pies and Otherwise." This little roadside gazebo is where I found my favorite pies of all time. In fact, I wasn't a pie eater until I tried Eileen's. I was sorry to find out that Eileen passed away last summer, but I'm hoping her husband and her well-trained staff is still there, making those delicious pies in her home located just off the road behind the gazebo.

While in West Tisbury, take a little hike to Lambert's Cove Beach. To me it beats South Beach, hands down. But honestly that speaks more to my memories there than the actual quality or popularity of either beach. Lambert's Cove Beach is a private beach for residents only. We never needed the coveted car sticker to indicate legal access because we could walk there from our home. For me, this was the location for many a Melville moment, "Meditation and water are wedded forever." And I think I can safely guarantee that your girls are much more likely to find some pretty pieces of sea glass here than on South Beach, particularly if you plan your short hike to the beach early in the morning.

I'm getting long winded, and you're a busy man, so I'll just highlight a few more island treasures.

Art Cliff Diner (Vineyard Haven)-- In my opinion, it's the best place for breakfast on the island. It's small, so you'll probably have to wave your presidential wand to make sure there's room for your family and your necessary entourage. Of course, the wait might allow you some time with the other customers, some handshaking, some photo-ops, easily wrapped up when your tables are ready.

Net Result (Vineyard Haven)-- This is my favorite place to take visitors for fresh seafood. I believe it's supposed to be more like a seafood market, but we would always buy lunch and eat outside. My favorite meal there (as seen below): a fish dog, a cup of clam chowder, and a Nantucket Nectar (Half and Half).

Scottish Bakehouse (on State Rd between Vineyard Haven and West Tisbury)-- Get at least three sesame cookies for every family member. They also have great sandwiches.

Rainy Day (Vineyard Haven)-- So pleasing to the eye. The perfect spot to pick up some gifts. This is where I did most of my gift shopping for the ladies in my life, also where I would frequently splurge on myself.

Mocha Mott's (Vineyard Haven, though I think the Oak Bluffs location was the first)-- Go early in the morning and listen to the scruffy fishermen's conversations. This (along with the post offices) is one of those places where real island politics are being discussed everyday. This is also where I've occasionally spotted Willy Mason, a singer/songwriter who quickly became our favorite, local, island musician. In my opinion, his songs and lyrics flow right along with that "cultural imagination" that could only be cultivated through a lifetime of island dwelling.

One last suggestion. I'd encourage a somber stroll through a few island graveyards, my favorite being the one located just up from and behind downtown Vineyard Haven. I never visited with any kind of notable frequency, but I will always remember one visit just a few weeks before we moved away. My husband and daughter were playing at the nearby school playground, and I'd wandered away to have a few moments alone. We were expecting our second daughter, and I was searching the tombstones for a nice name. I found "Adel" early on, and continued the walk, wondering if future daughter could ever really appreciate that she was named after an unknown deceased, that her name for life was discovered etched on a tombstone marking another's death. I decided the idea was just a little too morbid (we eventually settled on "Martha"). But I was also moved by the sheer volume of islanders around me, family lines that went far back in the island's history. Long before this was a famous vacation spot for the famous, the rich, and the powerful, it was their home. Where they toiled and labored, loved and lost, where they also sat, listened, smelled, felt, watched. So sit with the powerful, visit the obvious, but don't miss this other layer of the island: the real, the worn, the weathered, because it's this deeper, thicker layer that holds the island's essence, and once it's gotten inside of you, you'll want it to stay with you long after your return to the mainland.

Pete and Repeat

This was possibly the first joke I ever learned. My Granddaddy Sharp taught it to me. It might have been one of my earliest lessons in accepting that sometimes the joke's on me. But once I learned it, I was always frustrated that there wasn't a way out, neither for the joker nor the joked upon.

Apparently this has bothered Olivia as well. We taught the joke to her yesterday, and this morning, she had this to offer me:

Olivia: Hey Mom, Pete and Repeat were sitting on a fence. Pete fell off. Who was left?

Me: Repeat

Olivia: Pete and Repeat were sitting on a fence. Repeat fell off. Who was left?

Me: Well, that would be Pete.

Olivia: Nope. I tricked ya. There were two Repeats.

May the shades of gray continue to sweeten the deal.

Summer Reading

"What we're reading, or listening to, or rather, what we're getting into lately is in some sense the most profound question we can ask each other. It's all seamlessly related to the question of how we're doing, and what it is that has hold of us, and how our passions might be channeled in a redemptive direction (and be good for something) rather than being tossed to and fro by the powers of passionate distraction."

-David Dark, The Sacredness of Questioning Everything

I'm borrowing this idea from my friend Katie's blog. And it seemed to fit nicely with the above quote I grabbed from my brother David's book.

So here they are, the books I'm spending some time with these days:

1. Coming to You from the Blue Room by Loranne Marsh Temple- this is the thin one on the top. And sadly, it's the only fiction in my bunch. I always wish I was more drawn to fiction. This one was written by my neighbor who lives three doors down. We're getting to know each other.

2. Standing By Words by Wendell Berry- we just bought this one on our trip to Michigan. I haven't opened it yet except to look at the contents, but I try to always have some Berry flowing into my brain.

3.The Sacredness of Questioning Everything by David Dark- my brother's latest. Possibly my favorite of his thus far. It's completely engaging, but I'm taking my time--sort of my way of making it last as long as possible.

4. Spinning Straw Into Gold by Joan Gould- I finished this one a few years ago. It explores how women's connections with certain fairy tales can point to particular transformations in their own lives. I'm addressing a few of her observations in some of my own writing, so currently this book has a constant presence on my desk.

5. Through the Children's Gate by Adam Gopnik- I'm a fan of Gopnik's. One of the essays in here, Bumping Into Mr. Ravioli, played a large part in helping me think through my current, and thus far most consistent, writing project.

6. Even In Quiet Places by William Stafford- My most recent attempt to prime the poetry pump. I actually bought this to give to some friends but thought I'd read through it first. My favorite Stafford poem thus far, A Ritual To Read To Each Other, is not in this collection but would be worth a "look up" in your spare time.

7. Keeping the Sabbath Wholly by Marva Dawn- Another purchase from our recent trip to Michigan. I actually wanted to purchase a different book of hers, Talking the Walk: Letting the Christian Language Live Again, but it wasn't on sale. So I grabbed this one. I really like Marva Dawn. Her book, Is It A Lost Cause: Having the Heart of God for the Church's Children, had a tremendous impact on me a number of years back.

8. The Writing Life by Annie Dillard- my daily devotional for writing. Chicken soup for the writing soul. It will always have a place in my reading cycle of books by writers about writing.

So? What have you been reading lately?

Excellent Orchestration

Following directions can often lead to good things...
(found through Amanda Maciel Antunes)

Work Ice Cream

Our summer has been a bit too busy thus far. It's all good stuff--good trips to see good people and enjoy good places, but it's not quite the schedule of lazy days with lots of writing time that I'd pictured. Hopefully, these next two weeks at home will provide a little bit of that.
As of today I'm back to my morning writing routine, so that's something.
We started this schedule earlier in the year, and it was picturesque. I'd rise early, sneak downstairs, start the coffee and get the breakfast items ready for Brett and the girls, then I'd hide away in the basement to get in a couple of hours of work before the rest of the house began to stir.
If I look up to the ceiling from my desk in the basement I see an old air vent that leads into our dining room. Many years ago I'm sure it was functional, but now it serves as my muffled speaker, giving me a nice muted version of the family show happening just above my head.
The morning program would usually start with Olivia's energetic footsteps hitting the bottom of the upstairs steps in the entrance hallway and then running over to the vent.
"Hi Mom. How's it going down there?"
I'd look up and see her little fingers clinging to the vent's grate and then her mess of morning hair falling all around her face.
"Good Liv. How'd you sleep?"
"Good. Well, bye Mom, I gotta eat."
What would usually follow was a perfect melody: sweet A.M. conversations between Olivia and Brett, delightful babbling from Mae, drawers and cabinet doors closing, cereal hitting the bowls, spoons clanking ceramic-- general morning pleasantries and silliness. And it was the perfect viewpoint for me, an onlistener, as I tried to stream together the words of an onlooker for various scenes on paper.
But now Olivia is rising earlier, and she knows I'm down here. In her little 4-year-old mind, there is nothing wrong with her being down here with me, as long as she stays in her "playing" area and doesn't bother me in my "office" area. And in my idealistic morning mind, this should work. We do have a really big basement. But even with the best of intentions coming from the both of us, interruptions happen, and frequently.
Just within my first hour of writing this morning, I've also built a spaceship out of a cardboard box, purchased two ice cream treats from a musical push toy turned ice cream truck, and I've helped decorate for a princess wedding with wrapping paper scraps. And all the while, I was putting my "foot down," really.
Finally, the vent began broadcasting the morning show with Brett and Mae, and Olivia went up to join them. I was sure the interruptions were over. But soon I heard the clankle-de-clink of the ice cream truck making another detour down the basement steps.
"Olivia, really. I have to write."
"But Mom, I have something special just for you."
"No, Olivia. I'll enjoy it later. I have to get some work done now."
"But it will help with your work."
"Later Olivia. Go eat breakfast."
"But Mom, it's a special work ice cream!"
"....Really?"
"Yes! It has paper, pencils, and words mixed in. And I put it in a cup, just the way you like it. And it's free!"
"... wow... Thanks Liv, I really need this..."
"I know, Mom. I love you. Bye."

...bent as double as the living body can be bent...

My friend lost her nine-year-old son Michael just before this past Easter weekend. She'd kissed him good bye, gone to work, and then received the call from his school.
I do not know what all transpires in the human body after a call like that. I don't know how the hand remembers to put the phone down and grab the car keys or how the feet know to move faster than has ever been required of them before. But I do know that the heart breaks, the soul cries out, and the brain goes to an even deeper, more intricate level of comprehension. New processing mechanisms expand and old filters completely disappear. And somehow this new, different understanding of reality has to interact with the old, the day to day, the common.
This can't be right.
Life's rudest interruption.
All things normal now held in contempt.
Daily planning now replaced with attempts at remembering.
Remembering correctly, adequately, responsibly, desperately.
What are we supposed to do with our commitment, our relationship with a person when they are gone? It certainly doesn't go away. It's significance is the most focused picture our minds can muster. And how long will we be allowed to keep everything else blurry?
How can we begin to comprehend what grief may require of us?
I turn to stories. For good or bad, they frequently become my coping mechanism of choice. And here I'll include two places for such stories:
The first is Anton Chekhov's story, Misery. It follows a man and his interactions with strangers the week after his son has unexpectedly passed away. I've spent a few weeks thinking through different passages to include here, but as grief is one of those things that should not be interrupted, I don't want to interrupt the story's flow or remove any details. It's not long. I'd suggest you read it all at least once.
And the second is my friend's blog. Since her son's death, she has been faithfully remembering his life as well as her honest struggles to cope with his absence. The moments she shares with us are deeper than beautiful-- his library books she can't bring herself to return, the articles of clothing now absent from her laundry, attempts at normalcy with trips to the grocery or trying to laugh at funny movies. Her commitment to capturing his life and sharing it with everyone is a challenge toward reverence for all of us to accept. I'd suggest you read it frequently.

Allegro con brio

(Please note the aforementioned lilac-- I really have put it everywhere)

When I was a teenager I thought like a teenager, and so my piano teachers selected my pieces for me. Left to my own devices, I would have only played Bach and Debussy, and never very well. My repertoire would have consisted of technical pieces played with no emotion or dramatic pieces that seeped of "woes is me, nobody understands."
Fortunately, my teachers knew that and were more committed than me to the piano becoming a life-long companion of mine, ready and able to help me further express and make sense of whatever was going on in my life/head at various times.
After a fifteen year period without a piano in my life, I was finally able to purchase one a couple of months ago. It's acquisition is a story that delights me to no end, but that's for another day. It's been fulfilling to introduce my now family to the sounds and mistakes that were pounded into the ears of my original family members. And it has been extremely satisfying to find that the technique which was lying dormant for so many years is still there. For the first few weeks, every sit down at the bench was a practice in remembering. But now, with the exception of a few fingering patterns I've yet to nail, it's all back.
And I'm venturing out to select new pieces on my own. I've never really done that before. There's no one around to play the first few measures for me, so I fumble my way through, trying to decide if the particular piece is something I want to devote hours to mastering. But for any number of reasons, one being my limited time at the bench before someone under 3 feet tall is calling me away or wanting my attention, I usually choose to go back to the old pieces. It has become interesting to note which ones I choose to play. Unless there is a spoken request-- Olivia's current favorite is Scott Joplin's Cascades, which she insists on calling Cattails-- I select pieces that reflect my general state-of-being at that moment in time.
And so this past week the piece that I've found to best express my most frequent mode or tempo is Haydn's Sonata in D Major. Specifically the first movement.
In the mornings, if I awaken before everyone else, there is silence, a blank sheet of composition paper. If there are any notes on my page they are in the tempo of those found in the piece's second movement, Largo e sostenuto. I will be intentionally slow for as long as I'm allowed because as soon as Olivia bursts onto the scene, there's no ritardando, no diminuendo. She's allegro con brio from the get go. 6 requests, 5 questions, 4 observations, 3 songs, 2 activities, all occurring in 1 tempo. My largo e sostenuto has a choice to make. I can squelch her and insist on my pace, or I can join in, skip in, hop in, spin in. It might take a cup of coffee, or three, but I eventually acknowledge that there's only one way to go. For these particular days, while the opportunity still presents itself, we'll play together, allegro con brio.