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The Glorious Fifth

July 05, 2008 - View Single Entry

Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun, fools rush in where angels fear to tread -- and it takes a crazy islander to drive into town on Fourth of July weekend. An overcast and rainy Fourth of July weekend, no less: if you've survived a summer on Martha's Vineyard, you know that you only go into town on good beach days; on lousy days everyone who would otherwise be at the beach is (duh) in town. So it was a lousy beach day on Fourth of July weekend, when the island's population peaks for the summer, and I drove into not just one down-island town but two: Vineyard Haven and Oak Bluffs.

Vineyard Haven wasn't too bad. I was woolgathering when I drove by the cemetery and singing along with the radio when I passed John's Fish Market -- these being the best back ways into town when traffic is bad -- but when I closed in on the tail end of the cars backed up State Road, there was still time to hang a left on Look Street, which I did. I found a parking place on Center Street, behind the town hall. Not bad. Travvy and I headed down Center Street toward Main, in the general direction of Mosher's, where I had film to drop off.

I already knew that Cafe Moxie, a restaurant at the corner of Center and Main, had burned down Friday morning, but I wasn't prepared for how burned down it was. A shell of the kitchen area in the back still stood, but the dining room was a heap of charred planks. Looming above the wreckage was the startlingly white outside wall of Bunch of Grapes bookstore, with a scorch hole in the second story. I'd heard that part too, that the bookstore's second floor had been heavily damaged, but not been able to visualize how that happened. Now it was easy. What was hard to imagine now was how the firefighters managed to keep the whole block from burning. The police lines were still up. The air reeked of smoke. The bookstore was dark. Even if most of the damage was on the second floor, the first must have sustained a major hit from smoke and water. How many of the books are still readable, never mind sellable?

Travvy attracted much attention and many compliments, I dropped off the film -- Mosher's is now charging a $3 deposit because so many pictures are never picked up -- and we returned to the truck. My brain was finally in gear: rather than crawl down State Road and through Five Corners, I took the long way around to Oak Bluffs, by way of the blinker light.

My objectives in OB were beer at Our Market and salad fixings and dog biscuits at Reliable. The beer was the most pressing: I was out of it. Maybe driving into OB in search of beer on Fourth of July weekend should be one of the warning signs of alcoholism? Nah -- no halfway competent alcoholic would have run out of beer on Fourth of July weekend; she would protected the source of supply by stocking up on Thursday. The Our Market lot was chaotic (you definitely don't want to negotiate it, or most other Vineyard parking lots, with faculties impaired), but I found a parking place. As I stashed two six-packs of Sam Adams Boston Ale and a twelve-pack of Beck's into the back of the cab, two of the Our Market guys were surveying the lot: "Where are all these people? There are only three people in the store." That was a slight exaggeration, but I could see his point.

I was sh*t outta luck finding a parking place at Reliable or anywhere close, and I cruised all the way around Ocean Park. Didn't see any good license plates either. By then it was raining. No way was I going to try Circuit Ave. Salad stuff could wait, and we had enough biscuits to get through the weekend. I headed down Dukes County Ave., hung a right on Wing Road, and went to the barn. When I left the barn, it was only 5:15; Reliable's open till 6, so I figured I'd try again. No luck on the second pass either. We went home.

Pat Riot

July 04, 2008 - View Single Entry

Ever notice that when we're really sure of something, we don't need to trumpet it to the skies or rub everyone else's nose in it? It's the person who goes on and on and on about how perfect her marriage is who's in divorce court by the end of the year.

This kind of patriotism is like a certain kind of religion, a raft that people cling to when they're scared sh*tless about where the river is carrying them. And when you're that scared, the biggest enemy is the person who says the raft is breaking up, or we don't need the raft to ride the river.

I wonder a lot about whether the wars fought and atrocities committed in the name of God were fought and committed by people who believed in God -- or by people who didn't and were afraid of being found out. Some days I wonder if the entire leadership of the religious right consists of men who can't handle their attraction to other men.

Here's an idea for a Fourth of July celebration: Find an emperor who's parading around nekkid and tell him he's got no clothes on. Start small, maybe with some petty apparatchik in some organization you belong to, or maybe a member of your family. Work your way up to someone with serious clout. If going up against someone with serious clout looks foolhardy, organize a few friends and do it en masse. You don't have to do it on the Fourth of July; it's a holiday, after all, and there's a weekend coming up. You've got till the end of the month.

For the Fourth of July WUMB-FM scheduled specials all morning and afternoon; each one featured a particular performer and included lots of recorded concerts. Bruce Springsteen and the Seeger Sessions Band were on from 9 to 10 a.m.; the featured concert was in Dublin. Oh dear. By 9:30 I had ordered both the live CD of the Dublin concert and the American Land edition of the Seeger Sessions tour. When Dylan came on around midday (after 30 years or whatever it is, I still can't handle Dylan's voice for more than 10 consecutive minutes), I put the We Shall Overcome edition of the Seeger Sessions tour on the boombox and whenever I've been home, it's been on. Wonder of wonders: disc 2, which has been screwed up on "Bring 'em Home" ever since the "friend" I last lent it to returned it to me, played through without a skip. It's a miracle.

No. The real miracle of the day is that the canine in residence has slept through all the fireworks. I dimly remember a time when Rhodry didn't cower at the foot of the nearest stairs when the boom-boom started, but it was a long time ago.

Licensed!

July 03, 2008 - View Single Entry

Yesterday West Tisbury dog license #505 was issued to Traveller, gray/white Malamute, age 4 months. Puppies aren't required to be licensed till they're six months old, so Trav is a bit early. He turns six months at the end of August, and by the end of August my brain is usually fried, so I figured earlier was better. You won't see him behind the wheel of a car anytime soon, however.

Correct that: You may see him behind the wheel of a gray Mazda pickup, but the pickup will not be moving. If you do see him behind the wheel of a gray Mazda pickup, the pickup is moving, and I am not immediately behind it, call my immediately.

This has been the week that Travvy became official. On Monday he had his last puppy shot (for parvo) and had his last less-than-full-size doses of Heartgard (heartworm preventative) and Frontline (flea and tick deterrent). He weighed in at 38.2 pounds. By the end of July we figure he'll be over 44, which is to say big enough for "large dog" Frontline, and probably over 51, which is big enough for "large dog" Heartgard.

What Travvy didn't get was fixed. June 30 was going to be his neutering day, but I cancelled in the middle of the month. So his license paperwork identifies him as a MALE DOG / FEMALE DOG, not a SPAYED FEMALE / NEUTERED MALE DOG, and it cost $10, not $6.

Trav's registration certificate also arrived this week from the American Kennel Club (AKC). He is officially Masasyu's Fellow Traveller, #WS25848203. Allie's registration certificate is considerably more impressive -- it includes four generations of her pedigree, for one thing, but the AKC wants you to pay extra for that -- but Travvy's has Dad's official name and Mom's on it: Masasyu's Here Comes Trouble and Masasyu's Bound and Determined, respectively, better known as Trouble and Mayhem, also respectively. (I have yet to type "Mayhem" without having it come out "Mayhew" first. One of the perils of living on Martha's Vineyard, where the Mayhews are among the very oldest of European-rooted families here.)

I've never had a purebred dog before. So far having a dog with papers doesn't seem much different from having a dog without papers. At one of our visits this spring to Michelle, our vet, a cat owner admired puppy Traveller and asked, "Does he have a breed?" Michelle shook her head, stifling a laugh, and said, "No, no -- you have to ask 'What breed is he?'" With Trav "What breed is he?" has a one-word answer. With Rhodry I had to tell a whole story. I liked telling the story, and I liked it that my beautiful Rhodry had no recognized pedigree whatsoever. People rarely guessed what Rhodry was. Those who did usually identified him by family, not by breed or mixes thereof: "Is that one of the Red Pony puppies?" Which, come to think of it, is like being a Mayhew or a Manter or a Moreis on Martha's Vineyard: it helps people figure out where you're located in time and space.

Travvy's kin may be concentrated in upstate New York, but he is most definitely here. He now sits, lies down, comes, and offers his paw for shaking (either paw; you choose). In the last couple of days he's gained proficiency in catching cookies. This should stop his Lab friends from laughing at him. "Where's Travvy?" still brings him running most of the time, but lately at the barn he's been going off with Tilly and several times I've had to go look for him. Other than one (paid) phone bill and an Amstel Light box, he hasn't destroyed anything. The Amstel Light box was his anyway, and no, I don't drink Amstel Light. Don't go starting any rumors.

June License Plate Report

June 30, 2008 - View Single Entry

Hawaii!! And Oklahoma!

I haven't spotted Hawaii in several years. Well, there's been (may still be) a car on island roads that had a Hawaii plate on front, but it's Massachusetts on the back, and that's what counts. A couple of weeks ago I pulled into the NAPA auto parts store to get new blades for my windshield wipers (long, long overdue -- if it had been raining when Uhura Mazda got inspected in March and reinspected in April, she would have flunked that too). I parked next to an old sedan with its hood up in front -- and a Hawaii plate on the back. The owner, a young guy with a bandanna around his head, was in the shop buying rubber gaskets for his headlights.

Oklahoma wasn't quite as exciting. It was on the back of a Budget rent-a-van that I was behind one day at the blinker light. There's no way of knowing when the van was last in Oklahoma, or whether the driver's ever been there, but it was an Oklahoma plate, and it's legit.

I saw South Dakota yesterday when I stopped by his mother's house. He's got a good job waiting in South Dakota and will be heading west shortly. Hope he comes back to visit in 2009 . . .

YTD total is now 40.

Use-It-Up Cheese Bread

June 29, 2008 - View Single Entry

When Trav and I went out this morning I was torn between oatmeal and cheese. By the time we got home, the decision was for cheese. I took Uprisings off the shelf, a whole-grain baked-goods cookbook that I rarely use but love to look at. It was published in 1983 and includes breads, cookies, muffins, and other stuff from about 30 cooperative bakeries from all over the U.S. We sold it at Lammas, which is almost certainly where my copy came from, and one of the contributing bakeries was the Women's Community Bakery from a couple of blocks up the next street over. I wonder how many of the contributing bakeries still exist. WCB and Lammas sure don't, but I still remember WCB's wonderful oatmeal cookies. Anyway, Uprisings sat on the counter to my right as I worked, open to a recipe for cheddar cheese bread that I mostly ignored.

What went into this bread:

The last active dry yeast in the jar, which was visibly less than a tablespoon so I added a packet. This may have been overkill because my dough doubled in bulk in about 45 minutes, whereupon I knocked it down and it rose again in even less time. Maybe it's the heat.

Mostly whole wheat flour, but a couple cups of unbleached white and the rest of the rye flour -- about a cup and a half, not enough to make rye bread. Probably 7 or 8 cups of flour in all.

Orange juice left in the carton, plus enough water to make 2 1/2 cups.

Vegetable oil remaining in mostly empty bottle.

Three squeezes of honey.

A generous drizzle of barbecue sauce.

A generous sprinkle of dried parsley.

A scant teaspoon of sea salt.

The remains of a brick of cheddar, plus a few gratings of parmesan because it was there*

I heated the liquid stuff to just about tepid, though that wasn't exactly necessary. My smallest saucepan has been neglected a lot lately and needed something to do.

Mixed it all together in my big bread bowl, starting with about four cups of flour and a wooden spoon, then adding flour, kneading (by hand) first in the bowl, then on the board -- maybe 15 minutes for all the mix-and-kneading.

There followed the rapid risings, then loafing. This is one big hunk of dough. It's currently rising in my two biggest loaf pans and I probably could (maybe should?) have made three smaller loaves out of it. What the hell. These are gonna be two big-mutha loaves.

I've now washed the empty rye-flour jar; rinsed the (recyclable) yeast jar and oil bottle; and rinsed the orange juice carton and chucked it in the trash. I like using things up.

Travvy rooted around cleaning up bits of dough but I decided I'd vacuum anyway. Well! Travvy pays no attention to the vacuum cleaner when it's sleeping in the closet (whose door is never shut), but this roaring machine with a long moving snoot was something else again. He started barking at it, trying to keep it at bay or maybe (less likely) get it to play with him. He's very vocal, with a considerable vocabulary of howls, screeches, and woos, but this was one of the first times I've heard him flat-out bark.

* Added on July 1. Thanks to Nina the Texas proofreader for tactfully pointing out that this was the first recipe for cheese bread she'd ever seen that had no cheese in it. In her honor I've added "Cheese" to the name of the bread and the title of the blog.