Skip to main content

Coffee Counters

             My coffee maker broke last Monday. This meant, and this comes as no surprise to those of you who know me, I had to make the 5:45 a.m. run to Cumberland Farms in my pink and red long-suffering pajama pants and my new fuzzy slippers for a couple of large black coffees. I pride myself on wearing my pajama pants until they are threadbare enough to see through.
  This trip set me to thinking about what it’s like to live on an island. I know this particular island is only about seven or eight miles from the mainland, but you still need a plane or a boat to get here. Unless you’re Jesus, of course, or maybe the Flying Nun.
                Anyway, my trip to Cumberland Farms (affectionately known as Cumby’s in these parts) was a bit of an eye-opener. First of all, the only two women there were me and the cashier. We were also the only two not wearing rubber boots. There were about a dozen men in varying degrees of he-man wear milling around the coffee counter – and I need to say that Cumby’s coffee is probably better than what you find at half the restaurants here and costs about half the price, so if you ever find yourself stranded on this particular island, stop by.
                So, I am always impressed by he-man undertakings: fishing, building things, making popsicle stick sculptures; hence, married to an upholsterer who thinks nothing of rebuilding sofas or old antique chairs fit for a fat lady to sit on. These Cumby’s men were sporting the dirtiest, crappiest jeans, jackets, shorts and boots that I’ve seen since leaving upstate New York. Made me downright lonesome for the place.
                I dutifully waited in line behind a guy wearing what at one time must have been white rubber boots up to his knees with shorts and a grimy ball cap. He grabbed a handful of Snickers bars and turned his head when somebody shouted, “Hey, Cap’n, we need more water on board?”
                That’s right, “Cap’n.” Who lives in a place where people are actually addressed as Cap’n? Seriously.
                “Nah,” says Cap’n, “we’ll grab some at Stop & Shop when we get to Nantucket.”
                “Okay, sounds good,” says who could only have been a lowly crew member.
                Cap’n grabbed his candy and coffee and headed out the door only to be hailed by another coffee drinker delighted to run into him.
                “How they runnin, Cap’n?” says an impressed and equally dirty-clothed, rubber-footed coffee guy.
                “Ah, ain’t hit nothin’ striped yet,” Cap’n says. “A little albie and a coupla blues is all.”
                “Ah, well good luck to ya,” says dirty coffee guy.
                “And to you,” says the polite Cap’n.
                Now, I felt a little like a kinsman to these early morning risers. I felt like I might go take a stroll around the wharf or maybe buy a cup of lobster bisque out of Menemsha for dinner that night. Going home with my two capped cups of morning sunrise just didn’t seem right. I felt like I should maybe ask them if I could go on the boat with them. I’ve always wanted to see Nantucket. God knows I’m always game for a trip to Stop & Shop.
                But of course I didn’t. A large woman wearing pink see-through pajama pants with red sheep jumping over a fence on them and brown furry slippers approaching might not be a welcome sight, so I took my two large coffees home, thinking the whole way that I was this close to being a character in The Shipping News.
                I bought another coffee maker a few days later, thereby ending my mornings at Cumby’s, but it was fun while it lasted. 

                Let's get in the mood....


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…