Day Four: Captive in Connecticut

"We're going to Block Island," Savannah announced in a no-nonsense voice the other night. "Sounds spooky," I replied, barely looking up from my library book. "That means," she said pointedly, "that you'll have to drive me in to work in the morning." THAT got my attention. Savannah leaves for work early.Plus she instructed me to pick up an umbrella at Stuf-Mart should it rain. Ugh. "Can't we just stay home," I whined. "90 Day Fiance is on and they're going indoor sky-diving to better bond." "Too bad," Savannah answered firmly, "you'll be on a ferry heading to Block Island instead."

So the next day, I cheerfully drove Savannah to work before 6 am and managed to find my way back to her apartment without barely getting lost. I perused Stuf-Mart's display of fifteen dollar umbrellas before I got suspicious and discovered another hidden display of ten, eight, and five dollar models. I bought Savannah and I identical umbrellas so we could be twins (and annoy her in the process). While on a hunt for a family-sized bag of plain M&Ms, I watched a man on a lark ram his way through a center-aisle display of Ramen noodles. He never looked back. It was spectacular. I considered adding this activity to my Bucket List as I helped the disgruntled Stuf-Mart employee re-assembly her Ramen noodle arrangement which now resembled an edible Jenga tower, leaning to the left like its more-famous Italian counterpart.

I returned to Titan to navigate my way back to pick up Savannah, pausing nervously at the traffic light to turn left as car after car across from me turned right. Perhaps the law dictates that they disable the turn signal lights of every Connecticut-registered vehicle. I took a breath and inched Titan through the intersection, coming perpendicular to a woman who used her lack of turn signal to indicate that she was traveling forward. Imagine that! I waved at her, my left turn signal blinking cheerfully. She kind of waved back. Oh my.

Having successfully picked up Savannah, we headed to the under-staffed but over-populated ferry ticket office. There were a lot of committed Christians in line as they loudly invoked their Lord and Savior's name as the minutes ticked by leading to the ferry's departure. The harassed agent repeatedly assured her patient travelers that their tickets would ALL be processed and that she would hold the ferry until that time. Imagine having the power to be able to "hold the ferry." Bucket list.

Savannah and I ate a few M&Ms from our family-sized bag and watched Bobbie Flay roll a meatball
as waves rushed us along. An excited group of young people on their way to a wedding rehearsal dinner used the ferry aisles as a fashion-runway as they changed outfits and applied make-up. One of the many Ashleys of the mix sported a crotch-level shimmery nightie with a magenta cape. Bucket list.

We arrived on Block Island with the rain. We walked the road to the left, past the monument, to the end and stood before a menu boasting a fresh blackberry mudslide. "You didn't bring ID," Savannah scolded her whiny 47-year-old mother, turning us in the opposite direction. Savannah prevented my many impulsive purchases including a welcome mat that read, "For whom the dog barks? It barks for thee." (Classic), a jelly fish encapsulated in glass, a buy one/get one free sweatshirt offer ("We could be twins," I squealed, twirling my umbrella for emphasis. "They're still $35 a piece, Mom," my daughter mathematically lectured.), and a compass with Robert Frost's "Road Not Taken" inscribed on the lid. I punished her by delaying her ferry-ride home fudge acquisition. "But they're rated 25th in the nation for fudge," she protested as I pulled her away.

We scored seats on a plastic-wrapped porch for dinner. I shrieked as a pinchy-clawed insect scuttled across our table and Savannah bravely flicked it away as she reached for the bread basket. "Are they warm," she asked, as I held two rolls to my chilly cheeks. I nodded. Speech had been momentarily halted from the arrival of the minuscule scorpion. I ordered clam chowder which Savannah proclaimed delicious. I thought it was a tad too clammy but enjoyed the sprinkling of applewood bacon on the top. "Look, Savannah," I said, pointing, "they gave me TWO croutons!" She frowned at me, anticipating a scene but the scorpion had cured me of complaints. I was grateful for the croutons. My entree was calamari. I'm a texture gal. I love rubber-band-y food. "It's like I'm eating ligaments," I told a horrified Savannah. I teased her out of her coleslaw but retched when I realized it was sauerkraut. Maybe the scorpion had been a sign.

We raced raindrops from store to store, spending 40 minutes putting together puzzles, condemning a sign that advertised taffy since they only sold one table's worth of the boxed candy rather than the bins and bins of assorted flavors that we envisioned, considered (and then later regretted not having acted upon our impulse) buying socks sporting catchy phrases incorporating the f-word in ironic ways and made friends with the high proprietor of a shop filled with Tibetan meditation bells and baoding balls ("Those can be used for something else," I whispered to Savannah, nudging her with my umbrella. "Please be quiet," she whispered back.) and lots and lots of incense.

We ended up in an ESL bakery/ice cream shop. We over-pronounced the word "cookie" a dozen times with accompanying hand gestures and then bravely ordered hot chocolate as well. I almost cried when the young woman asked Savannah if she would like sugar in her hot chocolate. Block Island was scarier than I had first imagined. "Are they Eastern Block," I asked, eliminating French, Spanish, and Italian languages as I eavesdropped on the behind-the-counter conversation. "I dunno," Savannah shrugged, drinking what she thought was the best hot cocoa of her life. I had long-since tossed mine in the garbage. "Norwegian?" "Isn't that slightly Germanic though?" I asked, "They don't seem to be strictly stressing their consonants." "Here," Savannah sighed, pushing her bag towards me, "Have some of my COOK-ie."

We excitedly boarded our ferry home. "Well, THAT was fun," I said, flopping down in an available booth. I paused, looking out the window momentarily lamenting my loss of a fresh blackberry mudslide for a sugar-free, lukewarm hot chocolate. "I'm sorry it wasn't as much fun as we imagined," Savannah said, "I knew we were in trouble when you were so enthusiastic about the flowers. We're hard up if you insist on kneeling in front of a bush to have your picture taken." "Block Island was wonderful," I assured her. "It was a great trial run. And next time we'll rent mopeds, ride horseback on the beach, and frolic in the water." Bucket list. I pulled out the playing cards and what remained of the family-sized bag of M&Ms. Savannah paused, looking out the window, momentarily lamenting her loss of ferry-ride fudge. "Do you want that," I asked, indicating the top card. "Bucket list," she murmured, picking it up.