An Island Never Cries

There are some quiet moments here on the island, a lot of them actually, but few when I find myself alone. Figured this might be a good time to get a few words in. Alannah, Abba, and her French poodle puppy Anouk are in the yard out front (nope, here they come into the house) and Bruce, Jennifer and Sara are all still asleep. We started our drive up on Friday, and the first leg of the trip took us to Dedham, MA, in suburban Boston, where we stopped for the night at Amy Pacheco's parents place. We were giving Amy a lift to York Beach where her family is vacationing, and in exchange she allowed us a pit stop at her vacated home. The car I rented is a total piece of shit, an 87 Ford Taurus with a jumpy transmission and a big gaping hole of wires where an ashtray, lighter, and cd player once were. I was especially annoyed by the lack of a lighter, as it meant that I couldn't plug in my ipod, and we were at the mercy of the homogonous offerings of the airways all the way up. Bruce Ronn, Jennifer Blowdryer, and Sara delphine came in a different car, and didn't arrive in Dedham until 3 in the morning. We were back on the road by 8, at Rockland by 1, and on the island by 4. Of course, we did make the traditional pit stop at the New Hampshire State Liquor Store where we purchased copious amounts of wine, Tequila, Capt. Morgan's, Irish Whiskey, Vodka, and I continued the tradition of buying at least one bottle of the heinous pre-made cocktails that they sell. This year I opted for Chi-Chi's pre-mixed Long Island Iced Tea, and am waiting for the right moment to break the seal of the plastic bottle. No doubt, the "right moment" will be the moment all the other stuff runs out. So far, there's been a fair amount of drinking, laying in the sun, and going back and forth to town to replenish supplies. Jennifer is hilarious in her obsessive need to find out what's been going on in New Orleans. Yesterday afternoon we swam in the quarry, which I try to do every day each summer I'm here, if I can. It's the best feeling in the world, and lying out on the granite and eavesdropping on the inane conversations of late-staying summer peeps and islanders isn't too bad either. We got to hear all kinds of movie reviews and commentary from one group of ladies, and a gaggle of island youth talking about their boats the way other kids talk about their cars. "Susie, won't your dad let you take the lobstah boat tonight?", "Nah, he doesn't trust me". When we returned from the swim, our driveway was blocked by a military-looking jeep in front of the tiny house at the end of the driveway, which was being worked on by three military-looking dudes (I'm a judging by the haircuts, here). There was a second jeep in front of the house. This was doubly odd to me, as the little house had been abandoned -or at least only sporadically lived in- for years. I've heard rumors that there's a CIA Safe House somewhere on the island, and now I speculated that perhaps the tiny little house just down the dirt driveway WAS the CIA Safehouse and I'd just never realized that spies were being debriefed just a stone's throw away. The military dudes seemed kind of jumpy when I drove up... I don't think they thought our property was currently being occupied... and they started scrambling around when we appeared. They said the jeep "wouldn't start" and made me drive around them, causing me to bottom out the piece of shit car on a rock. I think today I will get in my camoflage gear and do some spying of my own! I'm determined to know what's going on in that little house.