Squeal Like…

For several years — 2007-2010, I think –Gretchen & I went to Martha’s Vineyard, on little just-us getaways. It started out as a fun idea, to have time to let a new friendship build: within 6 months it seemed strange that I knew so few facts about her life experience, because, after all, we’d known each other forever…right? But then, it became a deeper, meta-vacation sort of thing. We had specific, extended, uninterrupted and nearly-uninterruptable time to sit and knit, or ride the bus, or walk, and just…be.

And it gave the significant others time to miss us…or, perhaps, time to imagine us donning lingerie and high heels for our nightly pillow fights. Whatever, I always came home to the same number of children that I left, so I was happy to ignore home when I was away.

So I already have more than adequate reason to miss those times. Even the really hard time, a handful of months after my 2010 nightmare, when I was still using a walker and overmedicated and chronically Not Myself. Because I got that experience that most moms seem to miss out on (time to just be) and time with Gretchen, whose simple acceptance and beautiful soul allowed me to feel like a halfway-decent human being, just by association…both when I was reasonably functional in the Before I Got Sick days and in the During, not to mention the After.

Apparently I’m getting maudlin in my middle age. I turn 37 tomorrow, that’s middle aged, right?

Anyway.

You might expect a certain degree of class — even snobbery — in anything to do with The Cape and Islands, particularly since we’ve been there at the same time as the Obama family, multiple other celebrities/politicians, blah blah. Even without the big names, it’s all cottages and pristine beaches and photo opportunities (and margaritas). So, you might expect similar muted colors and eco-consciousness, even at their little Agricultural Fair, right?

Right, me too. Such assumption was quickly disabused upon viewing the inflatable 20-foot rat immediately inside the entrance. So when we saw “Pig Races” on the itinerary, attendance was imperative.

I laughed for an hour straight, probably caused permanent damage due to oxygen deprivation. Best competition EVER. If we’d been just a little more prepared, we could’ve placed bets.

So, yeah. Good stuff comes in small, pink, squealy, astonishingly fast packages. Add it to the list of reasons why Gretchen & I have to return. The sooner the better.