Skip to main content

He sells sea shells, I wish



   So now rather than being obsessed with fake fingernails I can’t afford, I’m becoming obsessed with checking this blog. I’m pretty sure all 52 views were made by either me or my husband.
  That leads me right into the current situation at hand. We need friends. We’re desperate for them. I’ve started handing out my telephone number to people I meet while doing my meager freelance work. They think it’s for the story I’m writing but really it’s in hope that someday they’ll find a reason to call and then I can hit them with, “By the way, do you play cards? Bingo? Gin Rummy?” If I wasn’t so arthritic I’d throw Twister in there.
   It’s not so much for me, it’s my husband who likes to have people around. I have become hermit-like since moving here while he has become convinced we could die here and not be found for months. He had friends back in Syracuse but he chose to stay home at night with his loving wife. Now all of a sudden I get the impression he’d hightail it out of here at the first opportunity. It’s the knowledge that we’re always a $200 ferry ride away from Wal-Mart and a Big Mac. That can get to you after a while. 
   We spend a lot of time driving around the Island and checking out the crazy-looking stuff that washes up on the beaches. I finally had to put the kibosh on my husband’s shell collection. It was getting way out of hand. He’d pick up what looked to me to be the same shell over and over, “See this one Babe, isn’t it awesome!” I’d nod agreeing with him and smiling at his childlike wonder until every compartment of the car was stuffed with seashells and rocks. Alas, he reluctantly gathered them all up and put them in a box and no, I don’t know where it is nor am I going to look for it. He wasn’t happy about it either. He kept mumbling and I heard him say, “Hmmm something’s missing…”
   I feel strongly that if he had some friends to go shellfishing with or even to drink a beer with on a Friday night he’d be a little less neurotic about the sea shells. I offered to slap a name tag on him and shove him through the door for next Saturday’s community supper at the Methodist parish hall. It’s an option. I went to one for a writing assignment and I had to drag myself from the place the people were so friendly. And they were passing out free meatloaf and minestrone soup.
   I’ve got to come up with something soon. He’s getting those puppy eyes. Meanwhile, we’ll keep scavenging (I may have made that word up) the beaches and I’ll keep my eye out for friends. We’ve only been here since the fall. Surely we’ll find someone to play with by spring. 



   And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.


- Khalil Gibran


 

Comments

Anonymous said…
I suggest buying Chris a little bit drill so he can start making things out of those shells. I love this shell wreath
http://allthequietthings.blogspot.com/2012/02/she-sells-sea-shells.html
Connie Berry said…
Thanks for the note...checked out your wreath and it's lovely! Chris lays awake at night trying to figure out how to make a night light, scrimshaw, Christmas tree ornament out of them!
Tori Kaase said…
I truly love reading your writing! You have fantastic style and wit.
Connie Berry said…
and you have good taste!
Deb said…
Hang in there - maybe sometime soon some random weirdo will show up on your doorstep out of the blue saying, "Mary Bridget sent me!" And next thing you know you'll be taking daily walks together to the train tracks...or the Martha Vineyard's version of the Gristmill.

Connie Berry said…
o how i miss that. walking for exercise and ending up at the ice cream stand:)

Popular posts from this blog

Getting well takes baby steps

So I’ve had what you could call a case of the pneumonia. It was not pleasant. And to top it off it happened in San Antonio, Texas. Like I wasn’t sweating before the fever.
I was there to see my niece Michelle, who by the way kept asking me, “Are you going to write about this?” which is funny because she’s a writer too. I naturally said, “Oh no, of course not.” And here we are.
Thinking back, the best part of that trip teeters between meeting my two great-nephews, Oliver and Isaac, and having a couple of beers with their Yaya, my sister, who I haven’t had beers with in decades. Like I said, it’s a toss-up. There’s also the fact that I got to spend time with my niece’s husband Alex. He’s a hardcore military guy. He teaches other military guys how to be military policemen. I’m not going to gamble on writing anything about him. He’s from Wisconsin though, which I like. And he likes to cook, which I also like.
I thought to myself before I ever left my nice cocoon of Martha’s Vineyard to tra…

Just sitting around doing jack

I think my blog may have been hijacked. I haven’t written in forever because I’ve been writing …for my job, which may mean I’m no longer a “jobless goddess.” I may just be a regular goddess.
I love the word jack. I could use that all day. Whatever, hopefully those who want to read the blog will read. Back to jack. It’s a cool freaking word. I had a brother-in-law named Jack who pretty much personified the word “cool.” He’s gone too soon and missed by everybody.
There’s Billy Jack, get back Jack, Jack Sprat, Jack Nicholson, Jack Berry, Jack in the Box, Jumping Jack Flash. And my favorite, a little ditty my sister introduced me to, “Jack Mother.” This is a something you say when someone cuts you off on the highway. “I’m sorry officer, I was cut off by that Jack Mother in the blue Subaru.”
My brother Steve has a friend named Jack. I thought he was about the greatest thing ever when I was 12. Who are we kidding? I probably still do. Jackie was hilariously funny and I loved to watch my brot…

Little women

I’m getting a real kick out of my co-workers these days. I’m working with about a half dozen young women — young being the operative word.
They’re all so freaking competent it kills me. They can write like it’s nobody’s business, they all take great photos to go with their stories, and they almost always laugh at my jokes. I call them ‘the girls.’
They’re either about to go to university, just leaving university, or all done with it and on their way. They do yoga and eat a lot of avocados. We live on Martha’s Vineyard and none of them know who John Belushi is but they all know they should keep using the same plastic cup for take out iced coffee over and over and over again. If they see a bug, they think twice before killing it. Actually they leave it for me to kill because they couldn’t possibly… and they know I won’t hesitate.
We get along just fine the girls and me. Oh, there’s a little trouble when I insist on running the window air conditioner up in our second floor office —ramsha…