Me and the girls were taking a morning break at TPH in their Michelin-rated cafeteria called, "The Trading Post". Let's just if you ever wanted the best grilled sandwich, like ever, The Trading Post is the place to go. I'm disappointed in myself for never having taken a picture of one, and there have been many in from of us over the past four weeks. Perfectly grilled, which means a nice crispy crust all the way around, lightly toasted in the middle with a touch of a taste of butter when you bite down, perfect amount of cheese, no flop, and the most important thing, consistency. Yesterday we ordered five of them and they came out looking like they came out of a cookie cutter. Kudos to the Chef there. If the kids remember one thing from Trenton Psychiatric Hospital it's the grilled cheese.
A few weeks back we were all jazzed up for when we would hit The Trading Post. I had taken orders from to call it in and when the lady answers the phone it was..."The cook's out today". So that meant a roadtrip over to Ben's in Morrisville.
While some who teach nursing students treat the game like it's us against them, I don't follow in that thinking. These aren't kids, they're adults. We can work hard and play hard, and have some fun along the way. Although, I might admit it would hard to explain to my boss how we all wound up in the ER after the Suburban rolled over on Route 29.
So yesterday the girls knew the plan, work through lunch and get out early so I could hit the road and make the ferry. Needless to say my mind was preoccupied with getting done and gone sooner than later. That's when one of the girls said, "And what about the World Cup traffic?". My heart sank. And then she added, I think it goes from Philly, to the Meadowlands, up to Massachusetts. "Okay ladies we're done here today", and that was it. Later.
Getting over to the Vineyard has always been stressful. In all my years going there in June I've always taken a first light ferry over from Wood's Hole to Vineyard Haven. That meant hitting the road shortly after midnight and fighting falling asleep at the wheel. This year I switched up mostly due to the super tight schedule and availability at the Steamship Authority. with lots of miles to cover and a hard deadline of 845 I sweated the entire ride up. And I didn't just sweat the clock, there's no A/C in the Suburban, even though I refilled the freon before I left. And with fabric seats and 100 degree temps, let's just say I felt I was sitting in some old man's Depends.
In the end I never hit any of the World Cup traffic. Siri took me over the GWB to the something, to the other thing, onto the Merritt Parkway, until it met 95 below New Haven. And boy does traffic suck around the pizza capital of Connecticut. I wished I had time to stop at Pepe's Pizza but I had to keep the pedal down. It's funny when you use a live action driving app, at any moment the arrival time gets later. At first I was a 458 arrival, and then 6 o'clock, and finally around 730.
When I realized I was going to make the ferry I allowed myself time to make a pit stop. That was in Fairhaven Mass., just outside of New Bedford. I stopped for some "I'm never eating McDonalds again" only to be happily surprised there was an Ocean State Job Lot in the same shopping center. Outside of the old Christmas Tree Shops this is my next go-to place. There used to one in Shrewsbury when I lived in red Bank and I was sad when it closed. I was ecstatic because I knew I needed one item I know I didn't bring.....shorts. With the feel-like temps around 100 I knew I needed something light inside of those waders. I picked up a few things to snack on for the week and soon I was rolling into Wood's Hole.
While Siri told me it was a 5-1/2 hour drive it's a haul getting from Mid-Jersey over to Aquinnah. I left Jersey at 115 AM and pulled into Abe's place in Chilmark at 1015. That's was a
long day. Up at 430, at clinical at 630, and then bed at 1130 pm. Of course there was some catching up and a Guinness or two to enjoy before hitting the rack.
Before we called it a night Abe swallowed down a few of the meatballs Theresa had made for the trip. She went into full production mode on Wednesday, first the sauce, then the meatballs
and sausage, and then packing it up with a full list of instructions on how to store it and what's for now and what's for later in the week. Before I left she told me she wasn't happy with the first batch so she got up at 330 am, while I slept, and made another. She handed me the carrying case with the "These came out really good" finished batch. But they were too fresh to put into the ARTIC cooler when I first left. They needed to settle, and cool, but gradually. So about mid-way up there I pulled off onto a rest stop and followed the orders. I opened the back door and, let's just say, slide and crash.
This was a stash of all meatballs, probably two dozen of them. When I heard the crash I felt like I had just broken one of my Mom's Hummel's that felt victim to horseplay around the house when my brother and sister and I were kids. I actually panicked for a second and looked around to see if anyone say when had just happened. I thought about picking some meatballs from around the glass but I couldn't not help foreseeing the Two Joe's hemorrhaging from chards of glass down in their esophagus. So the whole shootin' match when in the garbage. I didn't have the heart to tell Theresa, and luckily she's not one of the daily readers here. So I won't tell if you don't.
And all that noise about light's out fishing here on the Vineyard...well that may be good on the social media posts but it's not happening like you may be hearing. There's no fish around, at least from the people who are here, and definitely no slot or smaller fish. But, like every year, it is what it is and you can only catch what's in front of you.
While I had hoped of sleeping in and catching up on some rest my body is programmed for early rising. I was up at 515 AM and soon enjoying a cup of coffee while on the patio. In year's past I would have already been at, or close to leaving for Red Beach. The truth is I don't even know what or where my fly fishing stuff is in the back of the Suburban. So why rush? I could feel the humidity and dead air as I sat there. I can tell you this early prediction, I'm going to have a real hard time breathing down in the Lowcountry. I am going to have to somehow retrain my lungs on how to oxygenate in that thick and humid air down there. During these hot spells we've been having the work of breathing for me has increased. But we'll deal with that when it comes.
But one thing I know, and it's been since 2013, the Vineyard is a special place for me, and definitely my happy place. Theresa wished she were here, and I'm thinking that I might need to get the fishing out of my system the year, meaning fish hard, and then bring her next year. One things that's good about that, she can cook those meatballs and sauce up here, and I don't have to worry about losing a batch on the ride up.
