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 ...
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 ...
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
I imagined a hand-picked group of my closest, oldest, most gregarious, and strongest friends sitting around a blazing beach fire, full from a three course feast of lobster, potatoes, corn on the cob, all washed down with numerous pints of Cisco Brewers' Whales Tale Pale Ale. A few of us would strum our acoustic guitars. Fish would tap on his bongos. Everyone would sing. Finally, I would find myself alone beneath the harvest moon as it plunged into
The year after he died, I decided to preserve his memory (and entice my brother to bring his family to Nantucket the following summer) by creating a race: The Mister Rogers Memorial Triathlon.
The course consists of a half-mile swim in the waters adjacent to his Crooked House, a twelve mile bike ride to/from the end of Madaket Road, and a three mile run to/from
The air is cool. A breeze blows out of the west. It is cool and dry. It feels like fall. And that's ok.
The Nantucket airport is quiet, its white search light sweeping through a clear blue sky. I check my bag, and settle into my brief commute from this tiny island in the Atlantic, to my office in the sky above New York.
I am calm, cool, and
I've packed swim trunks, running shoes, and my iPod. That's it.
Delta Shuttle departs Marine Air Terminal at six o'clock.
I arrive Logan 6:56.
I arrive Nantucket at nine a.m.
The sweaty city may never hear from me again.
I'll be thinking of you.
In your carry-on you stow a new balsa wood glider, Cisco Brewery cap, one liter of Triple 8 vodka, and a Lightship-red Nantucket T.
Inside, you carry the rush of the surf, the crush of sand between your toes, and the cool of ocean mist on your face. Inside you harbor sea birds and sand crabs, seal and sunshine, and the flotsam and jetsam of this visited place.
You hold onto all of these
It's a little odd to have a weekday to one's self: no deadlines, commitments, obligations. It enables one to walk out the back door for a quick peak at the bay, and keep walking 'til sundown. That was my Tuesday.
I started my day with a brisk run through on old farm adjacent to Hummock Pond. The sweaty, sandy, and completely solitary six miles culminated in a long soak in the cool Atlantic with nary a human soul in sight. I lay in the