Okay, so we lost a full day to driving Saturday. it took us a full 12 hours to get to Cape Cod from Bethesda. By the end of the day all I could see was red--red brake lights, red street cones for the accident in New Haven that slowed us down, and red traffic lights when we finally got off the highway. Richard Russo's That Old Cape Magic, a highly relevant audio book, helped ease the pain.
But our mood greatly improved when we arrived in Jerry and Susan's beautiful home in East Falmouth on Cape Cod and they helped us decompress immediately with salty snacks and salt air; and a candlelit dinner of steaks, salad and sorbet. A quick tour of the house revealed that one door led to an airplane hangar. Jerry and Susan live in an "airpark community" designed for people who want to have their plane handy and a runway nearby. in this case, literally in their back yard. Jerry is a pilot with a single engine plane and a second plane he is building, now in progress. I slept like a baby, in other words for eleven hours. I woke to a very loud noise. Was it a leaf blower? No. Was it a lawn mower? No. It was a plane, boss! A plane! This happened a series of times as people took off for their Sunday jaunts to the Vineyard or Nantucket or Boston or the airshow in OshkoshToday, I couldn't have been happier to be in the backseat and leave the driving tour to Susan. She took us to Woods Hole. where I saw a sign for "lobster tacos." While this is is the marriage of my two favorite foods, it just seemed wrong to me. Wrong. We went for a lovely lunch at Landfall with cool ocean breezes where I had my first lobster roll of the trip. We cruised around Falmouth proper, and North Falmouth where oceanfront manses abound; we strolled around cute little shops with crustacean covered curios; we went onto Osterville, where things were wrapped up tight by 5 p.m. on a Sunday; but we had to see a certain store with my name on it. What do they mean "practically unusual" anyway? I am fully unusual.