It looked this morning as if this trip was off on the wrong foot; well, it was more like the wrong hand. I noticed the bit of padding in the heel of my favorite pair of black kitten-heel pumps had come undone. I had wanted to wear them to dinner tonight. Where is the Super Glue?!?!
Tangent Black Kitten-Heel Pump Note:
You might be wondering why I even bothered to bring a pair of shoes. Did I have a date? Was I going to the Chanticleer for dinner? Were those shoes like a Teddy Bear to me that I could not leave at home? None of the above.
I worried because my feet had been wearing sneakers (or been barefoot, but only inside and only outside, when it was not below 40 degrees!) for the last 9 months; thus, I was afraid my feet might forget what it felt like to wear a pair of pointy toe shoes, a pair that might pinch the toes a bit, yet which we wore nevertheless for the sake of fashion. Form over function!
Once I located the Super Glue, I opened it, and the cap with the tapered tip for applying just the right about of glue came off in the cap! Grrrr! So, in a rush, I squeezed out the glue using the “just not the right amount of glue” tip.
It came out fast, and using the tip, I tried to spread it around. I grabbed the padding, and I pushed it back into the heel, but not without smearing it on my hand, between my thumb and my index finger and on the tip of my index finger. Grrrr!
There I was, half-packed, and I needed to leave in 30 minutes. I went to my laptop and googled, “How do you remove Super Glue from your skin?” Of course, this is why I love the Internet; I was told that I only needed to wipe my hand with acetone (fingernail polish remover). I ran to the bathroom only to find that the last time I bought nail polish remover I bought the NON-acetone flavor. Grrrr!
Super Glue all over my hand? Good job, Jean. I had a flashback to 1986. I was wearing a dress with a lace collar, and being late, I thought I’d save time by taking the iron to the collar while still wearing the dress, err, instead of taking the dress off. (I know Cathy remembers this; it was before Marcia’s wedding!) So, I ended up with a nice little burn on my neck. Okay, I never claimed that I didn’t have a blonde moment or two in my life!
Anyway, I read that you could also get rid of Super Glue by soaking your hand in warm soapy water. I knew I needed to shower, so off I went. I got out of the shower and was disappointed to find my hand somewhat less crunchy with glue. Grrrr!
I stuffed all my things into the car, as I drove the glue started to slowly flake off. Grrrr-not! By the way, friends don’t let friends use Super Glue when they are frazzled and in a hurry, okay?
When I arrived at the Barnstable Airport, it was jammed pack. Okay, it wasn’t. I’m sure the Barnstable Airport would have a heart attack if it ever experienced 12pm at Penn Station on a Sunday. There were two people in the whole airport; and oddly enough, they both looked like they were hanging out and had no intention of flying anywhere.
I went to the Island Airline counter, and I said, “I was on the 5:20, but can I go earlier?”
The agent said, “Yep. We can get you on the 3:20. Do you have a ticket or do you need to buy one?”
I answered, “I need to buy one.”
He then asked, and this question ALWAYS throws me, “How much do you weigh?”
Of course, I have not weighed myself in years. So, I “guesstimate.”
And when I guesstimate, I think, “Jeez, what if I’m wrong by 5 pounds, the plane goes down due to my miscalculation, and then 7 people die because I’m not in tune with my weight or vain?!?!?”
Then, I always think, “Well, no plane I’ve been on has crashed yet, so they must calculate for the fudge factor!”
Here’s the plane. Well, didn’t I say it was teeny tiny?
By the way, the plane so discriminates against amazon chicks like me. I was in the last row, and I spent the entire flight with my head at a 45 degree angle (I’m not a mathlete, so I hope you know what I mean), because I couldn’t hold my head upright!
Also, whenever I take off in any aircraft, I always cross my fingers. I do not uncross them ‘til we are at cruising altitude. Crud. Now that I’ve told you that, I’ve probably jinxed myself, and I will end up on the floor of the Atlantic tomorrow, because my weight was off by 5 pounds!
After arriving safely at the airport in Nantucket (ACK), I gathered my luggage, and I went out to get a cab. I approached the first in line. The driver saw me, got out, and walked around to greet me.
When he saw me, he said, “I know you!”
I said, “You do? Uh-oh!”
He said, “Polpis Road?”
I said, “No. That’s not me,” and I laughed.
I got in, he put my bag in beside me, closed the door, got in and we drove out of the airport.
He said in a heavy accent, “That means something. Someone recognizes you, but it’s not you.”
I asked, “It does?”
He said, “Yes. It means you’re going to come into money.”
At that point, given what I was here to do, I laughed out loud. But, only in my head.
I asked, “Where are you from?”
He said, “Ah, you want to play the game?”
I asked, “Are you Slavic?”
He said, “No.”
I said, “Well, give me a hint.”
He said, “My country borders the Baltic Sea.”
I wanted to say, “But, I’m American. I don’t even know where North Dakota is let alone do I know what countries border the Baltic Sea!”
I said, “I think I’m going to need another hint.”
He said, “Poland borders my country.”
I asked, “Does your country end in ‘uania’?” Lucky guess.
He said, “Yes.”
I said, “Lithuania! Hey, I’m Polish. We’re kind of related by 26 degrees of separation!”
He told me his name was Tomas (Thomas), and that this was his fourth “season” here, but it was his first Winter.
When he dropped me off at the Jared Coffin House, he gave me his card and said, “Here, call me if you need a ride to the airport.”
I thanked him.
And he then asked, “What’s your name?”
I said, “It’s Janina.” My grandmother always told me that’s what Jean translated to in Polish.
He said, "We have Janinas. Janina!"
I then said, “But, it’s really Jean. My grandmother said I was Janina.”
He said, “Have a nice trip, Janina.”
I need to eat soon. I have only two choices within walking distance – The Brotherhood of the Thieves (arg, arg!) or the Boarding House. (Whenever I say “Brotherhood of the Thieves,” I feel like I’m a pirate and should have a musket on my belt loop, an eye patch, and wise-ass talking parrot on my shoulder.) I did happen by the Boarding House and their menu looked much more enticing than a burger at the Brotherhood. So, arg, arg, the Boarding House it is!
I can’t tell you lovely it is here. It always has been. And now, everything is lit up for Christmas and the stroll (http://www.nantucketchamber.org/visitor/Stroll.html), which I’ve never attended in my 14 years of knowing this place. I will miss it here.
And, as I made my way downtown earlier for wine, cheese and crackers, and some bubble bath, I realized again that what I will miss most about Nantucket is not Nantucket but my Dad. He was not the perfect Dad (nor am I the perfect person); but, no matter, I still miss him so very much. ♥
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