Take the Long Way Home

Blog soundtrack:

"On the seashore of Nantucket I saw the play of the Atlantic with the coast. Every wave is a fortune..."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

“There are some stories you write, because you think they’re good; and then there are other stories you write only because they make you feel good."
~Me

This last year of my life has been a bit about letting go in many ways, particularly letting go of a particular place and the home that is located in that place. It was a house that belonged to my father, which my sister and I now own. My father passed away in 2000 and left the house to my brother, my sister, me, and his girlfriend.

It took a long time to settle his estate and by the time the house went on the market, the real estate market had been effected by 9/11; and, the house sat there for some time. My sister and I decided to buy the house as an investment (renting it in the Summer and using it in the off-season) with the hopes of some day being able to own the house outright. Well, as with many plans in life, things don’t always end up like you hoped they would. Thus, I have always been associated with this house, first, by a few degrees of closeness and more recently by many degrees of separation.

Anyway, the house is located on the island of Nantucket. Contrary to a popular opinion (okay, it’s more like my silliness that I’ve morphed into my own little fantasy and not technically an opinion at all), Nantucket is not in Alaska, as noted in my personal blog details, err, nor do I live there. Gasp! I know. I’m sorry to let some of you down, but ‘tis true. And to set the record straight, for those of you who do not know already, Nantucket is an island off the coast of Massachusetts.

Anyway, the house had been rented until October of 2008 when the renters departed. Before the house could be re-rented, it needed some TLC in the form of cleaning. So I, not having a job and needing a holiday of sorts (most people don’t care for the ocean in the Winter, but I love it), volunteered to go down for a few days to tend to the incredible mess left by the renters.

Rumor had it that there were piles of empty beer bottles in the family room, old tires and a bucket of oil in the yard, and just hearing all that made me second and third think the trip I was about to take. But, I finally decided that for lack of anything else to do, I should be the designated “cleaner”. Besides, an odd thing about me, I love to clean when I’m upset, because I find it relaxes me. It’s like having a glass of wine, except instead of holding a wine glass, I’m holding the vacuum or a paper towel!

So, on a Thursday morning at 6:30AM, I drank the last of my coffee and loaded my doggie (Monty the trusty corgi) into my Toyota Rav and drove the 2 hours to Hyannis to get on, ironically, the “Martha’s Vineyard” ferry, which would eventually get us to Nantucket in about two hours and fifteen minutes. I had never traveled on the ferry with Monty before. The last time I brought him, I flew, and he slept in the back of the small plane for the 15-minute plane ride.

That was the trip that he (the Corgi, the small dog in the big dog’s coat or so they say) attempted to take on a large yellow lab on Cisco Beach and then spent the rest of his time there digging hole after hole in the sand. If that encounter between Monty and the Labrador was a WWF fight, Monty surely had that lab in a half nelson. After that trip to the beach, I remember taking him to the cemetery for a walk, seeing him squat, and watching SAND come out of him! Well, I then learned something about Monty that I didn’t know before; obviously, he liked to dig with his mouth open.

Nantucket’s population from Summer to Fall to Winter declines significantly. And, with the Fall and then the Winter, places begin to close, so by March, the only places open are two restaurants (The Even Keel and The Brotherhood of the Thieves), two supermarkets, and the post office. Most of the homes are only occupied during the Summer months, and I knew that houses in back of my Dad’s house and behind it were not occupied. (Whenever I have referred to the house as “Dad’s house”, my sister has always said, “It’s not Dad’s house; it’s our house now.” But somehow, even though the deed transferred the house on paper, the transfer never quite went through in my heart.)

Anyway, Monty was to be my "protection" while I was alone in the house on the island. My thought was that while Monty was not big or particularly intimidating upon first glance, he liked to bark a lot. At home, when I asked my son if he wanted parmesan cheese on his spaghetti, Monty said, "Bark, bark, bark!" If I came down the stairs, Monty said, “Bark, bark, bark!” Heck, if I even looked at Monty, he would say, “Bark, bark, bark!” Okay, that last example is not true; but sufficed to say barking is something that Monty does quite well.

As we headed to Hyannis, Monty paced the back seat nervously and panted in time to the beat of Britney Spears’ “Toxic” on the radio. He was so uptight, I wondered if he thought I was taking him to live on a “farm,” because I had finally had enough of his barking. As I watched my “big dog” turn into a nervous wreck, I thought with my canine luck, if an intruder did enter the house, he probably would forget how to bark! Of course, when I thought about it more later, I wondered why I ever thought Monty would be any match for a 6’2” man weighing 220 pounds and wielding a knife; perhaps, I was hoping that if someone did break into the house, it would be that yellow lab who had resorted to a life of crime after being pummeled by such a small dog on the beach!

When we arrived at Hyannis, we got in the car queue for the ferry. I took Monty out for a spin around the grass, and when he had relieved himself, we headed back in the car. Of course, the man taking the ferry tickets for the vehicles stopped to say “Hi” to Monty, and as Monty always does, he barked. The man said, as most people usually do when they meet Monty for the first time, “He’s so cute” to which I always respond, “Yes, he is, thanks. Do you want him?!?!!?!”

When given the signal, I drove the car onto the ferry. When I maneuver and park inside the ferry, I feel like I’m flying a plane and landing it on an aircraft carrier. One of the steamship authority employees stands in front of your car the whole time and guides you to your spot motioning with his or her hands “left”, “right”, “forward a bit more”, or “Stop right there, or you’re going to run me over!” I got that last one once, but in my defense, it was the first time I brought my car on the ferry.

Once all the cars were loaded on, we squeezed out of the car; really, it’s like sardines in a can. We made our way up above and parked ourselves inside on the top deck. Little did I know, until a Steamship Authority employee informed me, that dogs were not allowed there; thus, we were banished to steerage class on the lower deck, where we sat by ourselves for the whole trip -- two indogviduals amongst many empty seats.

I told Monty not to take our exile personally, even if it was because he walked on four paws instead of two feet. At first, he had a hard time settling down; well, in his defense, the poor little guy hadn’t seen such a tremendous change in zip code in ages. I think it put him at ease when a nice man stopped to chat with him and rubbed his belly; he then said to Monty, "Yeah, it must be tough to be an Englishman with all these Irish guys around here." He told Monty what a “good doggie” he was, and then, of course, I asked the man, “Do you want him?!” Monty finally settled down and fell asleep on the floor, good doggie!




I hadn’t been on the slow ferry in about six years. My Dad never lived on the island full-time; instead, he spent a few weeks there and then returned back to his condo in Marlboro. I remember going to visit him every now and then on a weekend. At one particularly rough time in my life, I remember going over, lying on the chairs outside of the ferry, and drowning myself in the Dave Matthews’ “Crash” CD.

No matter how miserable I was, the movement of the ship, the smell hot dogs in galley, and traveling along the dark and beautiful sea always made me feel better. My favorite part was when the ship neared the harbor. I’d go out on the deck, see the beautiful lights in the harbor twinkling, and when almost docked, I’d see my Dad in the ferry parking lot waiting for me and doing his “Anne made chicken dumplings” wave. (Anne’s chicken dumplings were his favorite.) Even though I didn’t grow up there, for the last 5 years of my Dad’s life, going to Nantucket was like going “home”.

At 11:20am, the PA system announced that all vehicle owners should go below. Monty and I made our way back down to the car, squeezed back in, and waited for the big bump that would signal when the “Martha’s Vineyard” docked. BUMP! As with the ingress (telecomm word that I always loved), the egress from the ship was planned and directed. When I started up the car, I took a deep breath. I hadn’t been here in ages, and so much had happened in my life since I was last here. Monty was madly panting in the back; no doubt, he was nervous about a rematch at Cisco Beach with the big yellow lab.

When it was my turn to go forward, I released the emergency brake, put the Rav in drive, and drove the car out of the black hole of the ship. When I reached the opening, it was like I had lifted the shade in a very dark room. It was Winter, but everything was just as bright and as beautiful as I remembered it – the lovely harbor, the Brant Point lighthouse, the steeple of the Unitarian church still standing high above everything else in town, and, once out of the ferry parking lot, there were the cobblestones!

These aren’t too terrible in a car, but they’re a bit rough on the lower extremities when traveling over them on a bike; therefore, some cyclists take to the sidewalk, like my Dad’s girlfriend used to. Did I ever tell you about the time she almost ran into someone while biking on the sidewalk? Ah, another time. But, sufficed to say, it was the only time in my life I had to say to another person, “Do you know that you just almost killed Lesley Stahl?!” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lesley_Stahl)

Once I stopped thinking of the terrified look on Lesley Stahl’s face when she turned around and saw Anne barreling toward her on her 1974 black Schwinn, which probably weighed 150 pounds, I realized that I might forget how to get to the house. Well, I knew the address, but the streets of Nantucket are filled with one way streets and such. I believe in the 14 years I had been going there, I only ever learned one route from the ferry dock to the house. Well, it got me to the house, and I usually stick with something when it works! I knew I had to go by the Jared Coffin house and then take a left; however, it was my good fortune that many of the roads, particularly the ones I had to take to get “home” were closed due to construction.

I made my way to Main Street, but all roads leading home from there were one-way. I found it rather amusing that I was “lost” on an island that was only 47.8 square miles. I ended up on a road that led to the rotary near where many of the business were located (Marine Hardware, the post office, Stop & Shop, Downy Flake Donuts, and The Inquirer and Mirror (The “Inky”) to name a few.

Marine Hardware always fascinated me; primarily, because to me, its name always seemed misleading. When my Dad first spoke of going to Marine Hardware, I thought, “Why is Dad going there?” I thought that the only possible thing you could buy there was, well, hardware for your boat. And, I knew my Dad didn’t have a boat. I was even more mystified when he told me he bought a new sofa and rug from Marine Hardware. I envisioned a padded bench seat and a large rubber mat!

As it turns out, it was really called Marine Home Center, but my Dad didn’t refer to it by its given name. He had me thinking http://www.marinehardware.com/ when he really meant http://www.marinehomecenter.com/. So, Marine Home Center sells everything including the kitchen sink. It’s a complex of many small buildings, which they refer to as a “sprawling retail campus” on their website. (And, I’d like to meet the person who came up with that phrase!) Each building yields a new world of retail, letting you go from appliances to zippers in less than 100 yards but forcing you to spend approximately 50% more on any item in its “retail campus” than the same item would be at Target!

Anyway, once I saw Stop & Shop, I knew how to backtrack my way to the house. Seriously, the 5 detours with lots of one-way streets combined with me not knowing my way around made my ferry to house drive time at least 25 minutes when it should have taken 10! I pulled into the driveway around noon.

Hello, house!



Well, from the confines of the driver’s seat of the Toyota Rav, the house looked fine on the outside. It was hard to get out of the car, because I didn’t know what was going to greet me when I opened the front door. Fortunately, Monty squeezed himself part way into the front seat from the back seat and asked me if he could get out of the car to pee. I noticed that the former tenants had put up a dog lead from tree to tree, so I let Monty do his thing, and then I attached him to the lead while I went to open the front door.

I walked up the porch stairs, opened the screen door, put the key in the lock, turned the handle, opened the door, and walked in. It was as if I had walked into someone else’s house. Inside, it was terribly cold, dirty, in total disarray, and the house smelled like absolutely nothing. It was a far cry from the way it was when I came for those weekend visits to see my Dad – toasty warm, fairly clean and orderly (my Dad was no Mr. Clean), and smelling like those chicken dumplings Anne used to make.

I surveyed the damage. Good God. I could not believe the tenants lived like this -- the way they kept the house. My father was cremated, but I'm sure his ashes would have burned bright in their urn, if he had seen this. I sat down on the couch, the beautiful yellow couch which now had been faded by the sun and was covered in dog fur. I wondered where the matching floral rug had gone. I got up and went room by room until I found it rolled up and lying on the family room floor. I began to unroll it, but stopped after I saw the second large dog urine stain. I dropped it, and I went back to sit on the faded and fur-covered couch.

I looked around, trying to absorb it all. We had rented the house one Winter to a bunch of 20-something men; even they had not left the house in the state that this 30-something couple with a young child had. If getting off the boat had been a shade being raised, right then I was wishing that I was looking through a window into this place and could pull the shade to make it all go away. I scanned the room, looking for my Dad in any bit of it all, and I could not find one thing to bring me back to the time of Anne’s chicken dumplings. I began to cry, because at that very moment, it felt like I was living the death of my Father a second time.

I thought about packing up and leaving the island entirely; however, I got up, went out and hugged Monty, and then began to unload the car. Once everything was unloaded, I took Monty off the lead, and put him inside. It was time to leave, not the island, just the house. I told Monty that I was going downtown for clam chowder and a very LARGE glass of wine; he agreed that a trip downtown would do me good at this point and asked for a bone. I turned up the thermostat before I left; if the house could not clean, orderly, and smelling like chicken dumplings upon my return, well, at least it would be warm. If it wasn’t warm, then Monty would be sleeping with in bed me that night, which would make his purpose on the trip two-fold – protection and space heater.

After paying for a huge bowl of chowder ($6.75) and a teenytinyittybitty glass of wine ($7.50, go figure!), I walked back to the house. When I entered again, it was obvious to me that COLD, dirty, and disarray were my lot in this Nantucket life. I then figured that unless I wanted to sleep with Monty, it was time to call Harbor Fuel. Within 30 minutes, two men were there pulling out the stairs in the family room. The heating system is under the house, which is kind of odd. And, apparently, one of the men, who must have visited here previously, said before he climbed under the house, “I hate going under here!” I took a look in; at that point, cold, dirty, and disarray looked a lot better than dirt, cob webs the size of Monty, and, most likely, spiders the size of my cat, Liam.

In about 20 minutes, they had the furnace going. Now the smell of nothing had turned into the smell of oil. And, that’s the last time, I complain about the smell of nothing! Well, at least, there was a smell now. Apparently, the furnace needed some kind of cap on its something or another, and if that didn’t happen, then the issue would keep reoccurring. The guy was stern with me; it was definitely a furnace care and maintenance lecture. I think the fact that the guy had to go under the stairs and get up close and personal with cob webs didn’t help matters. “And, you need to get a carbon monoxide detector if you don’t already have one.” I didn’t have one, so I felt even more derelict. I thanked them, and they left. I then knew that this meant a trip to the “sprawling retail campus” to buy a $20 carbon monoxide detector for $40.

I decided to unpack the groceries I bought with me first. As I alluded to previously, everything is more expensive on the island. So, I decided to bring as much food and the now much needed wine with me in the name of economy. As I unpacked the coffee, I looked around for the coffee maker. I searched high and low, and it was nowhere to be found. They stole the coffee maker! Why not the blender, the Cuisine Art, the microwave, the TV, or the steak knives?!?! Not the coffeemaker! That's so wrong and un-American; everyone needs their cup o' Joe in the morning. It's one of those inalienable rights kind of thingies -- the RIGHT TO DRINK COFFEE IN THE MORNING IN ORDER TO WAKE UP AND FACE THE DAY! Okay, I was now going to have to buy a $30 coffee maker for $60 at the “sprawling retail campus!”

I told Monty I was off, and he smiled at me. It wasn’t a I-had-just-told-him-why-the-pug-crossed-the-road-joke kind of smile; it was more like a keep-smiling-Jean smile. I said, “Thanks, Monty”, and I left, hoping it wouldn’t take me 30 minutes to find my way back to Marine Hardware. Oh, but how could I possibly miss the “sprawling retail campus”?!

Upon arrival at Marine Home Center (its given name), I was greeted by a pair of pooches, who were happily sitting outside in a Jeep. It was almost as if the Great Cat Goddess had sent the Jeep owner there (most likely to buy a $3 spatula for $6!) in order to help me forget about the cold, dirt, and disarray that had so far been my day in addition to the incredible sticker shock I would have once I bought my carbon monoxide detector and coffee maker. Anyway, they were the nicest dogs, and I noticed that the corgi only had one eye. When I got home, I would be sure to say to Monty, “Hey, I know you have to put up with three cats, but at least you’ve got two eyes, Dude!”



Not having an idea as to which building housed what I needed on the “campus,” I entered the Hardware College at Marine Home Center University. I was lucky; I found the monoxide detectors straight away. I paid for my unreasonably priced detector and inquired where the College of Appliances was. I was told that I had to exit the building and use another entrance to access that “campus.”

I found the appliances, but not before I found the wine glasses. As I walked by, one in particular shouted out, “You need a nice new wine glass!” I picked it up, thinking it was right; it would certainly be comforting to bring something new and unscathed into the house, even if it was a $5 wine glass masquerading as a $10 wine glass. When I stumbled across the coffee makers, I chose the cheapest one, which was still expensive, and I headed toward the register. At least by then, the sticker shock had worn off; after all, isn’t life on a campus always expensive?

After arriving home, I plunked the coffee maker down on the kitchen counter and then installed the detector. Monty looked up at me and, always the optimist, said, “It’s only dirty and disarray now; at least, we’re warm and safe.” I smiled at him and gave him a pat on the head as I looked around the place again. I said, “Hey, Monty, we’re here ‘til Monday. Let’s forget about all this, and go to Cisco Beach!’ He wagged his bottom back and forth; he would have wagged his tail, but he doesn’t have one. He started to laugh and said, “We’re so out of here!”

In 10 minutes, we were at Cisco, my favorite beach. It was a good thing I didn’t wear my bathing suit! The wind was whipping, the surf was pounding, and it was about 40 degrees, if that, on the beach. Monty went running down the sand bank to the water, which was funny, because he is not a water dog. I zipped up my coat, put my gloves on, and headed down after him.

I tried to convince Monty to take a dip in the water. He looked at me like I was crazy and said, “No way!” When my fingers were numb (yes, even with gloves on), I knew it was time to turn around and head home. I would like to point out though that I did solve the Amelia Earhart mystery. She crash landed on Cisco Beach, see!



When Monty and I got back to the house, I made up the bed in my Dad’s room or what used to be my Dad’s room. The couple had left behind this hideous platform bed which had been crudely constructed out of plywood. It must have been built with NBA players in mind, because, even I, Amazon Girl, had a hard time climbing up into it.

After I made the bed, I walked into the living room and thought about beginning my cleaning effort; but after two seconds of thought, I thought better of it. I was still experiencing my cold, dirty, and disarray post-traumatic stress. I figured that I’d begin tomorrow. Doesn’t everything look better in the morning? Yes, well, I hoped it would in this case. I fed Monty, changed, and ventured back down to the Even Keel Café for another bowl of chowder and, this time, a few $7.95 glasses of wine!

The next morning, I woke up feeling like I had a hangover. No, it wasn’t the few glasses of wine. Little did I know, never having had him for a roommate before, that Monty snored. And, it was not a cute little whimpering snore with a small yip thrown in every now and then for good measure. It was the buzz saw snore.

I was up that morning from 4:30-6am trying to fall back to sleep while Monty slept soundly. Now, why didn't I move him? Good question. It was dog Mom guilt, of course. I have it with the kids, and I have it with the pets, too. And, I could trace it all back to a lovely dog sitter named, Lynda.

When I first got Monty, he couldn't go the whole day without peeing at least once, so I hired Lynda, to come at noon and take him out. She was definitely a dog whisperer. I remember she called me once at work after she had visited him one day to tell me, "Our little man has started to lift his leg when he pees!" While not a big deal to us humans, apparently, it's a milestone in a young male dog's life. It must be how we women feel when you guys remember to put the toilet seat down or something like that.

Anyway, when Monty was a pup, he slept in his crate in the kitchen. Lynda pointed out that I might want to consider bringing his crate upstairs and let him sleep in the hallway. She said, "Because then he'll feel like part of the pack." The what?! I thought then that Nathan and I were a family not a couple of wild dogs. I've always understood cat mentality so much better than dog mentality myself. That is why Monty is my first and last dog.

I did as she said, but after stubbing his toe on my crate several times in the dark and just the sheer inconvenience of having to maneuver around it during the day, that whole "part of the pack" thing didn't last too long. Monty soon took up residence back in the kitchen at night and seemed no worse for wear.

Anyway, since Monty was a bit out of his element in the new digs (me, too, for that matter), I felt like he and I should remain together; I wanted to move him out of the bedroom so badly, but I felt guilty. I'm one of those people who likes absolute silence when she sleeps. I think it's because where I grew up, it was always so quiet at night.

Anyway, I struggled to get back to sleep, but his snoring was horrible. Finally, I said to myself, "I can't take it anymore. Monty, you're fired!" I got up, took hold of his basket, and saw him look up at me. He then asked, “Can we come to some compromise, Jean?” I sighed, decided that he and I could probably come to agreeable terms, and said, “Okay, how about if I just drag you around the corner of the wall, so you’re nearer to the doorway?” He said, “Okay, I can live with that.” I dragged him right to the door opening. So, technically, he was still in the room, BUT he was not right next to the bed. After that, he got up in the basket, and repositioned himself. He continued to snore, but it was nowhere near the volume it had been before. He was willing to make the extra effort, because I was; we were a good team.

Anyway, after two cups of coffee made with my $30 coffee maker that cost $60 that morning, I created a list of things to do. My list looked something like this:

1. Think about cleaning up the new bathroom.
2. Think about cleaning up the living room.
3. Think about thinking about cleaning up.
4. Take Monty for a walk...
5. Run in the cemetery.
6. Shower.
7. Think about thinking about cleaning again.

Yes, it was looking like “productivity” was not on the day’s list, but I knew I could only avoid it for so long. Thus, I took Monty for a walk, and then ran two loops of the cemetery.

I listened to one song quite often on my runs, and since my original blog soundtrack has long since ended, here is that song. Actually, this would probably be THE soundtrack to my Nantucket trip if I had to choose one. It’s called “About Today” by The National; it will always remind me of running through the cemetery, feeling far away while things are slipping away.

Today you were far away
and I didn't ask you why
What could I say
I was far away
You just walked away
and I just watched you

What could I say
How close am I to losing you
Tonight you just close your eyes
and I just watch you slip away
How close am I to losing you

Hey, are you awake
Yeah I'm right here
Well can I ask you about today
How close am I to losing you
How close am I to losing



The cemetery is one of my favorite places in case you haven’t noticed. (See http://goddessofallthingslovely.blogspot.com/2009/07/thats-not-my-name.html for some of my favorite headstones and names in that cemetery.) I actually spent a lot of time in the cemetery the next few days; oddly enough, sometimes it was more comforting being in the cemetery than it was being in the house, at least that’s the way it felt the first two days there. And, when I went off without Monty, this was what I always saw upon return to the house.



It's always nice to have someone at home who is waiting for and missing you, isn’t it?

With the lack of any greater distraction, I began to clean at around noon on Friday. The first place was going to be the bathroom, because it was new and dirty from construction. Water had leaked from somewhere, the floor rotted, and the whole thing had to be replaced. Unfortunately, the contractor had left it a mess. You know, I bet if I were a contractor, and I made it a point to clean the room I had worked on so it was spotless upon completion that I would be in high demand! Really, didn’t they get the memo about cleaning up after the mess you make?!

After the bathroom, it was time to vacuum the walls. I know that sounds odd, but there were cob webs everywhere; therefore, I would have to vacuum the walls for lack of having a big feather duster. And, I vacuumed every inch of every wall until the only cob webs that remained were the ones under the house, much to the Harbor Fuel guy’s chagrin.

At one point, I really wished I had someone to help me move furniture back in place. For example, there was no bed in one bedroom and a bureau in the middle of living room, which really wasn’t a big deal, but it bothered me in that feng shui kind of way!

In the “I guess no good deed goes unrewarded” category, I moved a cabinet, and I found a Norah Jones CD. Oh, and when I was going through the cabinets, I found a bunch of VHS tapes, one of which was all about some hurling championship. Hurling?! It definitely gave the soft porn cheerleader tape I found a run for its money. Finally, I found 14 cents under a bookcase. I then thought, “If I put this in the bank, when my grandchildren's grandchildren's grandchildren are 18, I will have $19.26 to give them!”


That evening, I decided to cook for myself. Well, by that time, I concluded here that you pretty much spend the same amount of money in the supermarket or on going out. It was ironic that fish there was 50% more than at home when you think that you're on an island surrounded by an ocean full of fish. So, here’s one of my comfort dinners: salmon with mustard sauce, Mediterranean couscous, and asparagus.



While at the house, I spent the evenings on my laptop, reading, or watching DVDs, because there was no working TV in the house; funny, but I didn’t miss TV at all. I had been sending a lot of emails to friends trying to stay connected, and again, I was making the running group at “work” jealous by saying, “Not today, I’m in Nantucket!” I had told Brenda all about the horrendous mess, and she and her husband, Steve, offered to come all the way down to Nantucket, just for ONE day, to help me clean. Have I already mentioned what wonderful friends Brenda and Steve are?

Brenda also mentioned the Webcam outside of Arno’s restaurant; she told me that people “stand in front of the camera there, call their friends and family and wave and do silly things. But you’re probably not interested, because you never do anything silly.” Brenda doesn’t know me too well, does she?! The ironic thing was that when I finally did park myself in front of the webcam with Monty, Steve happened to have the webcam up and snapped a photo of me sitting on the bench! So, it really is true; big brother is watching you!



On Saturday morning, I took Monty for walk, ran, and then began to clean again. Yes, I was falling into a pattern, as the house became more recognizable to me (well, just cleaner really), and I began to feel that much better about being there. That is, I knew my time there was limited, and it became that much more special to me. I could now even make my way through the living room and sit on the faded yellow couch without cringing.



Anyway, I was still madly vacuuming up cob webs and the like, and I stopped for a cup of tea. I couldn't find Monty, but I heard snoring. So, I followed the snoring into the bathroom. Apparently, Corgis get upset by lots of vacuuming. Yes, this is him in the shower stall! Wimp! And, I brought him to protect ME?!



And, this is where I found Monty when I ran the dishwasher, cowering under the dining room table.



After this trip, I concluded that Monty was a really a small dog in a BIG fraidy cat coat.

On Saturday, I took a trip to my favorite part of the island – Sconcet. From the rose-covered cottages at the Summer House to the overpriced food at the Chanticleer, at some point, I had left my heart there. One Summer I went to Nantucket with my then boyfriend, and he took me to the Chanticleer. My Dad and his girlfriend, Anne, were both off island when I took that trip, and I remember Anne calling the house the night of our dinner and telling me that she would call the next day and ask about every detail of the evening. She also said, and I’m assuming my Dad was in the room, “Jeez. Your father has never even taken me there!” I then heard my Dad respond in the background, “Hey, I bought you their cookbook!”



When not walking Monty, running, or cleaning, I went all over town. On the way to Sconcet, I go by this one section of Nantucket that has always reminded me of how Africa must look. And, actually, for many years, someone had large wooden rhinoceroses standing up amidst the barrenness. I always liked to call this section of town Nantucket, Africa.

And, I love this sign near Brant Point, because it reminds me of the scarecrow in “The Wizard of Oz” when he tries to give Dorothy directions. Which way to where?!



At a certain point, I think it was on Saturday, I reached a cleaning saturation point. I asked myself, “Is this place 200% cleaner than when Monty and I walked in the front door?” Monty happened to be near, and before I could answer my own question, he said, “Yes, Jean. You done good, girl. You rock.”

On Saturday night, I went to the Brotherhood of the Thieves for dinner. At one point in my life, I hated eating alone, but at this point in my life, well, it’s still not my favorite thing to do, but as long as I have my notebook and pens, it’s all pretty good. I like the Brotherhood, because it makes me feel like I’ve walked into a tavern in the late 1700s, well, a piece of history. I don’t remember what I ordered, but I remember writing a lot about what was going on around me, chatting to a few people, walking home, and then falling into bed with my trusty big fraidy cat Corgi in the doorway!

On Sunday, a dear friend of mine asked me if I would take some pictures of Brant Point for him after he sent me this picture. There must be a black light version of this at Spencer Gifts I think!

I told him that it would be no problem whatsoever, because time was what I had a lot of and still do! I drove out to the point and parked in the rotary by Hulbert Avenue. Okay, who lives on Hulbert Avenue? Anyone? Anyone? Teresa Heinz, the food heiress, has a home there; and her phone number is listed in the phone book as 228-5757, yes, no lie!

So, here is Brant Point in a, err, scallop shell.



Believe it or not, by the time Sunday rolled around, I didn’t want to leave on Monday. I found myself wanting to stay, funny, but forever. I remember thinking that morning, as I was lying there awake at 5am listening to Monty snort, woof, growl, and wheeze in his sleep, that some things in life are just not meant to be. It's more often than not disappointing, but when something ends, you move on and you hope something better will come along, and, even better, you've learned something important that you will take with you.

Specifically, it's like this house. I was really upset when I first got there, but after a few days there, I realized that the important thing was that I just really loved being in Nantucket. The house was just not meant to be. I could always come back for a week or a weekend; therefore, while the house would end, my love for being there and all it ever meant to me, well, that would never have to end.

I had lost my job given the horrible economy, but at least I was not in danger of losing the home I lived in 365 days a year. And, if I had to lose any house, I was glad it was going to be Nantucket, because the warmth and love that I knew there had long since been gone; and, in this case, it was somewhat true that you couldn’t go home again.

The thing I truly loved most about Nantucket was not there and would never be again -- my father. I knew when I left on Monday morning, I wasn’t leaving anything behind. I was talking a lot with me, and the big part I was taking with me was my father, because he is the biggest part of me – my ability to write, my sense of humor, and my sense of fun. And, while you let go of relationships, jobs, and homes forever, it’s important to remember that new things always enter your life and to take the good things with you and always move forward.

I realized something about myself on that Monday morning. I'm a pretty tough and special chick. Well, I get emotional sometimes (typical chick stuff, I'm sure), and I'm not perfect, BUT going to the house and doing what I did, well, it took a lot of ovaries and then some.

On Monday morning, when I began to pack up the car, Monty look at me, frowned, and asked, “Can’t we stay a tad longer?” I said, “No, Monty. It’s time for us to go back home, but it’s a good thing, really.”

And, before I shut down my laptop and headed down to the ferry, Brenda, the Weather Girl (and I find her love of the weather endearing to say the least), sent me email saying, “It’s going to be kinda windy, and therefore it could be rocky on the boat, so bring your Dramamine." Did I already tell you how much I love Brenda?

As time grew short, I checked that I had everything packed, and I went room-to-room to see if I had forgotten anything. Unfortunately, that room didn’t include the bathroom, because I left all of my hair care products there. Well, let’s hope the guys who rented the house were metrosexuals and put them to good use!

About 15 minutes before I left, I remembered a story my sister told me about her house. When she and her husband bought their house, it was a bank foreclosure. The couple was divorcing, and it was apparent the wife was not too happy about it and loved the house. My sister said that upon moving in, they discovered that the woman had left but not before ripping out some plumbing fixtures. My sister also said, rather amazed, that she found a lipstick imprint on the ceiling in the kitchen; yes, the woman had kissed the ceiling of her house before departing, which I always thought was quite touching and not odd in any way.

So, I stood there, looked up, reached into my purse, put on a good coat of my Shiseido SL8 lipstick, climbed up four stairs of the stairway which led to the second floor, and I kissed the ceiling.



Purple haze all in my brain
Lately things just don't seem the same
Actin funny, but I dont know why
'scuse me while I kiss the sky

I went out to the car to make sure I still had room for Monty, and then I came back to fetch him, the last thing I would be taking out of the house. I saw him at the door.



He said, “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.” I thanked him, put his harness on, attached the leash, opened the door, locked it behind me, and I never looked back.

Anyway, Dad, wherever you are, I love you, and I love all the parts of me that are you; and, a house is just a house, but the parts of you that are me are forever.