A Cape Cod Vacation

To protect the anonymity of my patient but long-suffering traveling companions, I have assigned noms de plum (a super-fancified version of “fake names”) to ensure that I can say whatever I want about them without having to share the royalties from my lucrative writing empire.   My daughters are currently in similar negotiations to shield their identities but, as of the printing of this particular publication, legal proceedings have stalled as we debate what constitutes room and board, wage garnishment, and home confinement parameters. Personally, I would consider a trip to Cape Cod fair compensation for over-sensationalized, highly exaggerated media coverage but it is just so difficult reasoning with teenagers these days.

            Savannah, Sydney, and I joined my friends Jőaŋ and Ĝerį on a relaxing one week adventure to “The Cape.”  The first red flag that I might be a serious impediment to this trip, geographically-speaking, showed up early when I kept telling everyone within earshot that I was going to Maine.  I had conscientiously printed out the step-by-step directions from the computer and couldn’t understand Ĝerį’s frustration when, in the midst of four lanes of rubbernecked traffic, I’d inform her to turn left.  “Is that east or west,” she growled, hands that were clenched around the steering wheel itching to wrap themselves around my neck.  What did east or west have to do with anything, I wondered, as I pretended to consult my paper, knowing I’d deleted that information so my directions would fit onto one sheet.  “Check the atlas,” she snapped; sounding exactly like my husband did when we first got married (he has since committed all maps to memory).  I thought her head was going to pop off her neck when she saw me turn the page to Maine.  With Jőaŋ now effectively in place as co-pilot, we made it to Massachusetts. 

            More than just a limerick, Nantucket was warm and welcoming and wonderful.  We stayed at a lovely bed and breakfast Victorian inn with a deep front porch.  We quickly became acquainted with our fellow lodgers, bonding quickly with the lively and precocious young Michael and his beaten-down older brother Josh.  Unknowingly, we became entangled in a crime scenario with a cast of characters straight from the board game “Clue.”   The setting:  the downstairs parlor set for a breakfast of hardboiled eggs, thin-sliced watermelon, gourmet breads to be toasted, and crocks filled with creamy butter and a selection of homemade preserves.  As our party enjoyed our morning meal on the porch, we heard a commotion as young Michael discovered that his bread had been removed from the toaster.  Young Michael’s mother quickly intervened and offered him her bagel but the young man would not be deterred from his quest for justice.  Interviews were conducted, witnesses sought, furniture overturned, and inevitably, poor Josh was brought up on charges to placate Michael’s inability to cope with his loss of toast along with young Michael’s mother’s inability to administer her own brand of sunny side up justice.  You guessed it, the thief sat among us.  Savannah nibbled young Michael’s abandoned toast, savoring each bite as his indignant howls grew louder, confident that the statue of limitations on bread would apply to her. 

            Naturally, one must bike when one visits Nantucket.  When faced with physical exertion, I will employ any device necessary to thwart unnecessary activity.  Even math.  It was a tough call.  Pay one dollar a person to ride the bus or twenty-five dollars a person to bicycle fourteen miles to the farthest possible beach on the island?  Uh-huh.  I did, on this particular journey, have an enlightening experience.  Pedaling along, I noticed a moth fluttering along beside me.  I could distinguish its every feature; see its wizened little face.  Enthralled, I marveled at how fast it flew as we traveled the path harmoniously together.  Until the light bulb finally illuminated the reality of how ridiculously slow I go on a bike.  Amy Mosiman…so slow she can be easily outdistanced by a moth. 

            I had to realign my life philosophies quite a bit on this particular vacation.  For instance, modesty was no longer a chief priority as, while boogie-boarding in the churning Atlantic, I inadvertently turned one of Nantucket’s prime recreational hotspots into a nude beach.  To make matters worse, my “friends” assured me that no one noticed.   A great white shark sighting in the harbor where we were in the middle of enjoying a seal cruise cost me my lifetime memberships in humane animal rights organizations.  Learning that the shark had taken two bites out of a helpless seal, we were quickly reassured that the victim had been rescued.  Indignant, I demanded that the shark be given satisfaction…what were they thinking, leaving a hungry man (woman)-eater out there?  Feed him the seal for goodness sake! 

            Visiting Plimoth Plantation was an exercise in sensitivity training.  Before entering the Wampanoag village, one first encounters a large sign outlining suitable language to employ to avoid offending the culture.  After reading it respectfully, Savannah stepped forward to lead the way, offering us all a fabulous view of the back of her “Letchworth Big Red” shirt.  Well, at that moment, we felt it was necessary to “hide that Indian pride.”  Savannah, arguing that plenty of sports teams are still named after Native People in what is meant to be a complimentary nature, was nevertheless wrestled back to the van to exchange shirts.  She still had plenty of spirit left though, because when she returned, she was sporting a blazing red Mason City, Iowa Mohawks t-shirt.  Point taken.  Shirt exchanged…again. 

            I don’t know why people cringe in horror to think that they might show up in one of my harmless little stories.  As you can see, Jőaŋ and Ĝerį were portrayed in a most flattering light.  This article answers that ages-old, much-anticipated school essay question:  What did you do over summer vacation?  And in writing the essay, you tend to discover that it’s not what you did but who you spent it with that really mattered.  Sure, Maine was beautiful but the best part was spending time with Jőaŋ, Ĝerį, and my daughters.  Hope you had a great summer vacation too.

as published in Warsaw's Country Courier

http://www.mywnynews.com/arcade_warsaw/