Greetings from Somewhere

Dispatches from airplanes, buses, boats, and minivans

I’m writing from Vineyard Harbor on Martha’s Vineyard about to get on a ferry that will take me back to Cape Cod where I’ll catch a bus to Logan International Airport in Boston where I’ll catch a flight to Dallas/Fort Worth and then another to San Diego. How did I get here? Well I’ll tell you. 

My trip to Virginia was pretty uneventful and not nearly as anxiety inducing as I imagined it would be. I have TSA pre-check, which makes getting through security very easy, but I wasn’t thrilled about hanging out in a crowded terminal for an hour. Thankfully, the San Diego airport wasn’t crowded at all and at the gate every other seat is taped off so that travelers aren’t sitting next to each other, so it does pay to arrive early. Every few minutes a recorded announcement reminded travelers of the federal mandate to wear a mask at all times and everyone complied. Different, but neither disturbing nor dystopian. I could do this. 

I had a seat in the exit row on the first leg of my journey and the flight was stress free. I had a long layover at Dallas/Fort Worth and was worried about hanging out in a crowded airport so I bought a one-day pass to the Admirals Club, American Airlines airport lounge, and it was totally worth it. The facility is big and the seats are spread out, airline employees cleaned constantly, and there were plenty of free coffee and snacks. If you’re an anxious traveler and have the means, I highly recommend it. (Also, nearly every seat in the terminal was filled.) Lastly, there’s no food or coffee service on most domestic flights which adds value to the price of the lounge.  

My second flight was only three-quarters full and the large serviceman seated next to me was moved to the exit row. I actually slept on this flight. All in all, a pretty mellow experience. 

In Virginia, the days blended together as I spent time with my mother. We talked a lot and the television was always on (the Today show in the morning, murder shows in the afternoon, game shows in the evening, plus the 4 o’clock news when the news was particularly terrible, which, sadly, was most days). I cooked meals for her and did some minor chores like rearranging the furniture so she can watch the birds at the new feeders my nephew has installed in the back yard. 

My mother has her own space set up in my brother’s house with a kitchen, bedroom, day room, sewing room, and bathroom. It’s bigger than my condo so she has plenty of space. She’s on oxygen 24/7 and uses a scooter to get around. One of my tasks was to replace one of the wheels that was wearing out and I felt stupidly proud of this achievement, like I’d reassembled its motor rather than give a socket wrench a few spins.

My mom is a painter and we went through her collection that decorates her walls and documented all the pieces (who painted them, the subject, materials used, etc.). We did this over the course of a couple evenings and I got to hear a lot of stories about the work. Although my mom loves to tell a good story, she hates to have her photo taken and rarely talks about her art, so I loved hearing these stories, which made it easier to mentally put aside the reason we were inventorying her art in the first place. 

The day before I left Virginia, I drove my mother’s minivan out to Leesburg to meet my father for lunch. My father is in his late 70s and got his vaccination through the VA several weeks ago, but he’s one of those lucky people who caught the virus and didn’t have any symptoms so he never knew he had it until he went for his annual physical and the tests revealed he had the antibodies for COVID-19. 

When my father and I were seated we were the only ones in the restaurant and then it slowly started to fill up, which I much preferred to the opposite. Again very mellow. I ordered the catch of the day—grilled rock fish—and I don’t know if my taste buds have changed over the pandemic or I’m just not used to restaurant food but it felt drenched in butter and brined in salt. I enjoyed it, but it was strange.  

While in Leesburg I got a haircut at a barber shop and wondered if there will come a time when entire towns will change their names. If memory serves the Washington and Lee families are connected by marriage so maybe Leesburg is named after the entire family and not just Robert E.? I’ll have to do some research.  

My visit to the barber shop was another first and afterwards I posted a photo on Instagram and immediately caught shit for it from my barber back in San Diego. Hoorah for connectivity. 

The next morning I said my goodbyes, which were tough, because even though I’m planning on coming back very soon there’s no way of knowing what the circumstances will be. I went to the airport, but didn’t fly home. At the last minute I’d tacked on a few days to my trip so I could fly up to Martha’s Vineyard and meet with Evan Dando of the Lemonheads. 

One of the positive things to emerge from the pandemic is that it’s never been easier to change flights. I also have a lot of travel credits from trips I had to cancel in 2021 so after a few calls to the airline and some coordination with Michael T. Fournier I was off to Boston for 72 hours. 

Mike picked me up at the airport and we drove to his home in Yarmouth where he and his wife Rebecca gave me a lesson on how to shuck oysters and we ate them raw right on his back porch, chucking the shells over our shoulders and into the yard below like pirates. Welcome to Cape Cod! 

Mike is many things: an author of fiction, an interviewer of punks, a reviewer of books, and a full-time educator. He also wrote the 33 1/3 book in the Minutemen’s Double Nickels on the Dime, which is where I probably should have started. He’s also got a great new broadsheet zine called Policymaker that you should check out. 

The following morning we drove a distance that can be measured not in minutes or miles but seconds to the Edward Gorey House. I’ve loved Edward Gorey since the first time I saw a poster of the Gashlycrumb Tinies but it was The Unstrung Harp that sealed the deal. It’s Gorey’s first book and IMO one of the greatest things ever written—especially if you’re a writer. I revisit it every year and I’m probably overdue for another tribute. 

It’s an enchanting place. This year’s exhibit focuses on Gorey’s children’s books but really all you need to know to get the spirt of the place is there’s a Gashlycrumb Tinies scavenger hunt. 

Something else I learned: apparently, Gorey was a big fan of the New York City ballet. He’d move to the city for the duration of the ballet season and never missed a show. When I say never I mean that literally. He saw every performance of every production and had perfect attendance for decades. The gentleman who introduced us to the house said that Gorey kept every ticket stub—over 7,000. I want to learn more about this remarkable artist. 

From there it was off to the ferry. I happen to believe the most romantic way to visit a place is by sea and even though it was cold and gray and most decidedly off-season, I was charmed by Vineyard Harbor. It was a quick walk to the motel and my room had a view of the Vineyard Sound and the murmur of the waves lapping on the shore was almost too soothing. I went across the street to the fish market and brought an absolute feast back to my room after which I struggled to stay awake. 

Eventually I met up with Evan and he took me on a tour of the island though by then it was pissing down rain and the wind was blowing fierce and it even snowed, which was odd because my first night at the motel I dreamt the harbor was blanketed in snow. 

Evan and I have been speaking on the phone throughout the pandemic, collecting stories for his memoir. There are times when that works and times when it doesn’t. There’s no substitute for face-to-face, especially in an environment like Martha’s Vineyard, a place that Evan has been coming to for his entire life. Places trigger memories that trigger stories and you can’t do that on a Zoom call or over the phone. 

Even though I was on the island for less than 48 hours, it left a deep impression. That bracing Atlantic air and changeable weather is in my DNA. Granted, I’m a sucker for nautical shit, that’s no secret, but I’m grateful that my first trip after the vaccine took me someplace that stirred up all my senses and fired my imagination. If travel can’t do that, what’s the point of leaving home?