NEVER MIND THE WEATHER - 29 May 2011
29th May 2011
For the two weeks that we’ve been here in Provincetown the weather has been pretty much the same: grey foggy mornings that either stay that way with a threat of rain that rarely comes, or a slow burn off by noon, the sun teasing us for half an hour of summer before the arrival of a dervish of a chill wind that claws at the skin and sends you back inside, beaten.
It’s like a meteorological mirror of our emotional state: we start the day in a bit of a confused pall, move into bursts of faith and optimism followed by a somewhat mad agida at how little we can control. Ridiculous. The good news is nearly all the closets are empty, the Zodiac is sold, complete with outboard motor and life vests, the Klepper kayak for two has a possible buyer and our bikes are soon to be advertised on the supermarket bulletin board. Several boxes of books have been purchased by Tim’s Used Books and Yesterday’s Treasures kindly bought back many of the collectibles we’ve bought from them over the years.
I’ve never been attached to the material. Oh, look, I love stuff as much as the next person, but a hoarder I am not. I figure you use things until you don’t and then you pass them on. My personal motto on stuff is: if you haven’t used it, worn it, or noticed it for a year, out it goes. Still, when one is undoing a whole house it seems to me that some of these things deserve a tip of the cap before being sent on their way.
The Zodiak we purchased 10 years ago to putter over to Long Point, often with our kids or friends.
Long Point, the very tip of the Cape always made me feel like a wash-ashore: the lack of buildings or any shelter, the surreal quality of sitting on a spit of sand barely 100 yards across, the beautiful sea-worn stones – the pink ones my favorite, a few dozen of them brought back from every trip for use in the garden. Our most memorable trip in this boat we took with my daughter, Isabel, setting off on the normally 20 minute trip just before lunch, a basket of lovely sandwiches at the ready. It was a beautiful clear day, the sea becalmed. We were chatting away, looking back at the diminishing town and the next minute, turning toward the point we saw what seemed to be a different day. The sky was lowering and the sea getting a serious chop, its friendly blue now gunmetal grey.
We turned back immediately and spent 20 minutes somewhere between terror and hysterical laughter as gigantic waves slopped over the side of the boat, many of them hitting us full in the face. Once home and dried off we sat at the dining table to eat our picnic agreeing that the sandwiches were the moistest we’ve ever had!
Tomorrow I’ll tell you about our bikes and the kayak, all of which have played such an important part in the tapestry of our lives.