Showing posts with label Bell Buoys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bell Buoys. Show all posts

Saturday, August 01, 2009

Deja Vu all over again


We just completed our annual trip to Nantucket. I liked how the Hi-Line called the slow ferry the "traditional" ferry and the high speed, of course, was the high-speed. Both were full on Friday morning. Windy and cool, but warm on land.

We ate, as is our wont, at the Rope Walk, right on the water, and the fish and chips were so good and the wine, a Pinot Grigio "Oggi" was fab. A walk up Main Street with some things the same and others different. Lots of "blingy" jewelry stores and less art galleries, a comment on the kind of money that has moved into town the last fifteen years.

I love the cottage gardens and the funk and that Murray's Toggery hasn't changed much in 40 years. Arno's still there, still crowded. The movie theater has been rased, where there is unfortunately a missing plaque commenorating that Grapeshot questioned the proprietor as to whether the popcorn contained "real" butter and was told of course. Never mind that the so-called butter was orange as a tropical sunset. The entire family agrees that the last movie seen there was The Posidon Adventure.

We had ice cream at the Juice Bar and it wasn't beach weather, so we didn't go, but we prowled thru the town and our small guest bought a few souvenirs and I found a brown t-shirt, so practical but hard to find. That's Murray's for you.

Traffic terrible, and people on cell phones and otherwise clueless. (see next post).

I was very tempted by a big-assed wind gong at the Whaling Museum that sounds like the bell buoy coming into the harbor, but was fearful the neighbors might object, as it was damned loud.

This morning my cute little hummingbird was at the NEW feeder, and he ate and ate. Fighting the tomato blight. Most seem all right. First the rain then the fungus. Weird orange stuff growing in the wildflower garden. Pretty but deadly looking.

I went to Kate's Mystery books to help pack up the store which is closing. The end of an era. Alas and alack.

Friday, July 04, 2008

Island in the Stream


Yesterday we left on a small ferry for a tour of the Boston Harbor Islands. The first adventure was finding the ferry dock, as the Google directions were well, basically wrong, or obscure. I don't know. Three adults couldn't figure it out.

We found the place, no sign, and got on board a tiny ferry which took us to Grape, Bumpkin, Hull, and finally Georges Island, where we found a huge old civil war fort, picnic tables, seagulls, and a pleasant place to while away the afternoon.

Took our lunch and beverages and even a table cloth but no booze.

Enjoyed the harbor views, the colorful markings of where the lobster traps were set, the buoys, and the whole nautical ambiance.

Arrived home via the GPS, which we should have programmed to take us there, but we have found the programming sometimes takes longer than getting there. Anyway, GSP took us thru the back roads of Quincy and to a spot where we could navigate from. Quincy is one of the worst towns ever to find your way around in, and they don't believe in a lot of street signs and certainly do like to keep the local tourist bamboozled. I wouldn't even want to think of the non-local tourist. It would be ugly.

Today we're seeing a Pawsox game and the fireworks afterward. Dinner at the ball park. Tomorrow we're doing the tacos we didn't cook last night. So tired we treked to the 99 and had a bang up meal of prime rib and barbequed ribs and deep fried asparagus, caesar salad, hey, we were hungry as well as pooped.

Tonight there will be 500,000 people at the Hatch shell and the fireworks, and we have decided this is just a bit much. Quite a bit much. And one can't line up on the Longfellow Bridge this year, always a good viewing spot.

I hope the music is better than past years. Sometimes they get carried away with pop music that isn't very good. I favor John Phillip Sousa on the 4th of July, along with the 1812 overture and patriotic songs. Can't help it. Just an old fashioned grrrrl.

You read it here first.


Grapeshot