In not necessarily that order, have brought MJ and I at last to Martha’s Vineyard. Last night we took a 10:30 PM red-eye to Boston — which actually departed at 11:37 — then, this morning, an 8:00 AM car to Vineyard Haven, (in which MJ threw up all over herself and her brand-new, specially provided carseat. Twice. Remind me never to insist she “eat something!” in the hour after we land again. A Trader Joe’s fiber bar, especially). Finally, a 10:45 ferry to the island. Oh, and then another car ride — brief — to the house.
The house. The house! We are staying in a house more impossibly beautiful than any I have ever, will ever, or could — even in a parallel reality where I didn’t wipe the tub out with a dirty sock, or insist on always leaving one encrusted dish in the sink, or leave butter out to soften on my concrete front steps — ever live. It’s tasteful; it’s spectacular; it’s supple; it’s earthy; it’s flowing; it’s whole. It’s inspiring. It’s exquisite. It’s mildly depressing.
But we are in good company. We got here safely. The weather: wind and loud rain — my favorite. Best? MJ is happy. And healthy. And in love with travel, and change, and flying on airplanes, and riding in luggage carts, and hanging on the railings of fast-moving ferry boats in her mismatched emergency outfit — her original clothes all covered with puke — while yelling delighted “ow’s!” at the buffeting of the wind.
What more does any mother want? Nothing, if she knows what’s good for her.
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