Nantucket, Massachusetts (Summer 2008)
August 16th, 2008
The Miracle Of Showing Up
We rarely do much of anything in Nantucket, and I like it that way.
A typical day might involve a good run, a real breakfast (eggs, pancakes, etc), a trip to the beach, magazines, books, puzzles, and the ever-essential mid-day nap.
We rarely leave our little corner of the island save for trip to Cisco Brewers (for pints of Whale's Tale Pale Ale), Bartlett Farms (for fresh corn, tomatoes, and blueberry pie), and 167 (aka East Coast Seafood, for whatever Bill's caught that day).
Whatever we do, and wherever we go, the one constant is ...
Lightning In A Bottle
If life is a collection of moments, all strung together and played back in contrast and context to one another, then the defining moment from last summer's trip to Nantucket was that of a lone cottage against a wide, evening sky.
The photo was taken from a narrow, wooden bridge on the western edge of Madaket's Hither Creek. The shutter of my Canon Rebel XT's lens was flung wide to capture dusk's fleeting light. The sky was clear. The water was still. And while the clapboard house, framed by open water and empty sky, was splendid in its ...
ACK ‘08
Over the years, I've invested a lot in the restorative powers of Nantucket.
For me, for better or worse, true or false, the island has provided significant counterpoint to this island.
Still, the place was something of an acquired taste.
I first visited Nantucket just a few months after moving to Manhattan. I was living with my brother, surviving on hot dogs and generic Tang paid for by the $5/hour I was earning keeping the Men's Journal equipment closet.
My mother, perhaps sensing a post-collegiate slump, invited me to crash on ...
Given To Fly
There are three major flight paths outside my window: Newark, LaGuardia, and JFK. With the frequent buzz of tourist helicopters and Hudson River air traffic, the skies above me are constantly crowded with jet engines, propellers, and blinking red lights.
It's an apt metaphor for New York City, really. Or, for that matter, my brain.
Friday night, though, found Chris and I wandering an empty Nantucket wharf. The water was still. The Steamship Authority's klieg lights illuminated empty docks. Slips were barren. Cottages were vacant. ...
Nantucket, Massachusetts (Winter 2008)
January 27th, 2008
Bouncing Off A Satellite
The last twenty-four hours have been a study in contrasts.
Tuesday night, I woke to the sound of crickets, wind, and waves.
This morning, I woke to the sound of air horns, sirens, and traffic.
Wednesday morning, I jogged past modest, gray clapboard houses on a sparkling Madaket Bay.
This morning, I jogged past multi-million dollar, gold-tinted, flashing light-strewn high rise hotels and casinos.
I left Nantucket on Cape Air flight #1 at 6:05. Eight hours later, I arrived some 2800 miles west at Las Vegas' McCarran ...
Nantucket, Massachusetts (Summer 2007)
September 4th, 2007
Whisper (A Million Different Voices Speaking In Tongues)
I was touching the spirit world well prior to slipping beneath the covers last night. Likewise, I expect, tonight.
Wednesday's Late Night at Rockwood Music Hall left me reeling well into Thursday (as, I suspect, it did Casey and Chris -- though they had Thursday off).
In fact, I opened my team's annual MTV Video Music Awards digital production meeting by saying that I'd stayed up 'til five in an effort to recalibrate for Las Vegas (and that I was likely to hurl at any minute as a result, which was true though -- thankfully -- I ...
ACK
The Nantucket Municipal Airport is straight out of TV's "Wings," all faded paint and gray clapboard. In fact, I'm pretty sure I spotted Thomas Haden Church behind the Cape Air counter.
The place is unhurried, even as Labor Day Weekend stragglers head back to Hyannis, Boston, and New York. Long-faced travellers in ACK t-shirts, island-logo'd golf shirts, Nantucket red pants and whaleprint belts sit idly on wooden benches, staring blankly towards a runway dotted with eight-seater Cessnas, ignoring their Blackberrys for just a few hours
...
