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Crofton, MD, 21114

A long-running personal blog shared by two authors with completely different approaches to life. And a lot of large, beautiful photographs of dogs and nature and places we've traveled to. Rich in commentary and irreverant in style. 

Blog

We started blogging a long time ago. Our work hours never aligned with recommended psychotherapists and we needed to get our thoughts out. We are great friends, total opposites and long-time housemates. This was a way to communicate. With each other. With strangers. With consumer marketers. With sub-par meteorologists. With distant friends who wanted to see pictures of stuff we were up to.

This is the place. Our bucket of thoughts to share. You are welcome. 
(We realize that most of you are here for the dog pictures.)

Vacation Exhaustion: Day 1

Healey

We left Crofton MD at 4am. We drove to BWI. Caught the bus from satellite parking to the terminal. This was a 10 minute ride  - standing room only - where the bus driver announced over the intercom that he wanted to die of electrocution - not once, not twice... he mentioned it three times. His preference was a pool with a 50 foot lighting rod  attached to him. This elicited a muttered ‘jesus christ’, accompanied by ‘big eyes’ and silently muttered ‘wtf’s’ between new early morning friends. All the black ladies on the bus hated him more. more than anyone. I thought this was funny because in my mind they were saying “I’m gonna kill yo’sorry ass if you don’t shut up about kill’in yo’self. And then I’ll be really mad cause I’ll be tiered and still have to travel.” (That may not have been exactly what they were saying in their heads. But it really seemed like it from their facial expressions.)

We got on to an airplane and flew to Boston. Next we sat in the terminal (next to a 6 foot sculpture of a cup of coffee) for 4 hours, waiting for ‘the bus’. I had been assured by my mother that if I missed the bus I might as well just kill myself. Everything would be lost. Nothing could be regained. You would think that having gone up to the same destination every year for 34 years  - that I would be able to figure some things out. In Joyce’s eyes, you are wrong. I could blow it at ANY moment. So I forced Bryant to arrive in Boston early so as not to be duped by a Flash Mob of people lining up in front of us. We made it on to the bus. But what  I had neglected to think about was the traffic. It was 4th of July weekend and the highways were much more of a photograph than a video. We spent a lot of time in a lot of places. Once we arrived in Portland we realized two things 1) we were never going to catch the ferry to the island in time with these busses running hours behind and 2) Bryant’s cell phone was now on it’s way back to Logan Airport on the bus we had just left. Awesome. I called my mother to update her on our progress and heard her blame me in the silence that ensued. So many unspoken words. So much meaning.



We got to the ferry dock at 6pm. An hour and a half after our “Plan B”  ferry had left.
Joyce called and reported that she had guilted an island fisherman into coming an hour out to collect our sorry asses from the mainland. Yeah, she may have won that round - but seriously - she has been babysitting my 7 year old child for days  - she wanted me on that island. She needed me on that island.

We arrived alongside our float in the pitch black waters at approximatey 11:45. No one but a local lobsterman could have delivered us. We might have been in space at that point.