Only Beverly would drive me to a house of a complete stranger (on Madaket Beach), drop me off, tell me to go inside and make myself at home. This is all for internet access. And, not just a little, for dinner.
So in the interest of making this my 261st consecutive blog, I have just broken into a house owned by Beverly's friends Laurinda and Larry, made friends with their two miniature dachunds, poured myself a glass of wine and taken full advantage of their WiFi. I should add immediately that we brought the wine. So I am not adding theft to my current criminal activities.
Meanwhile, Beverly has gone off to persuade the folks at Millie's (formerly the Westender Restaurant on Madaket Beach) to prepare to-go dinners when they don't do that. Especially when there is standing room only at the bar. BUT I have no doubt whatsoever that she will prevail and my Rhode Island quesadilla will be delivered in short order.
Breaking and entering is not entirely new to me, I admit. Indeed I am shockingly comfortable with it. We used to do this regularly on Nantucket years ago when the off-season presented such lonely beachside decks and widow's walks. No harm no foul, as we used to say. As long as we left not a trace, what possible harm was there in availing ourselves of a view that would otherwise starve for lack of attention?
Personally, I have to say up front how nice it is to be here. First, Beverly's internet is down and in spite of the best efforts of local techies, it stayed down. Second, I look out the window and there is the surf rolling in — it's like sofa art that's come to life. Eerie and fantastic all at the same time. Furthermore, it is blowing a gale out there so the curtain are whipping around inside here as if heralds for some horror flick. Third, there is this quality about my friend Beverly that I simply adore — there is a way to accomplish ANYTHING if you just want to hard enough.
Oh, and perhaps I should say that the owners are not in. Well, duh. But then Beverly knew this. It is Lorrinda's birthday and they are in town celebrating with a big Italian dinner. More power to them. And may they enjoy it for some time to come. Because, I can tell you this, it will be some awkward if they show up at their own home before Beverly, my cover, shows up with my dinner.
If I blog from jail tomorrow, you'll know the outcome wasn't a good one. Till then, Penguin.
Truffle: Coming home. I can't help it. It's summer on Nantucket. An awful time of year to be here. But I sniff the air here like a dog his treasured bone, lift my nose into the butter-thick humidity, get a hint of rotting eel grass and taste the salt on my lips. Home is where you buried the bone.
Quote of the day: "If you share your friend's crime, you make it your own." (Latin proverb)