La isla de mi corazon

New England Island Stuff

I am seamlessly leading the reader's traveling mind to the USA (where I am now) by going first to the island that I think of while I'm traveling: Martha's Vineyard de Massachusetts. This island offered me vast privacy in my childhood. As an older person, I am absolutely tranquil here. A friend who often visited us on the Vineyard told me that she visualizes walking through our house when she needs to calm down. So when my father went there a few weeks ago to mow the lawn/fix our mutant computer from the 90s that hides in the dusty unfinished attic, I decided to tag along.

Sundown: "The White Rock Lady"

It can be a frustrating place in the peak of summer. I worked at Mad Martha's as an ice-cream scooper for a few summers, and I've witnessed desperate, disappointed, frenzied tourists. In July and August, mopeds buzz and crash, SUVs soak up the sun in Edgartown traffic, fights break out in fudge lines. This period is a little weird, but luckily it only lasts two months. No matter the season, there is nothing more pleasant than sitting on the porch steps, drinking black coffee and reading on of my grandfather's old books.

Le Porch

When Dad and I were there, the magnolia in the backyard was blooming. This magnolia, when it blooms, reminds me of a young, solitary jungle animal than no one ever sees. It seems adolescent and shy, like it's growing up a little too fast for it's own comfort. At night, Dad put on one of his records and I sat outside on the porch under a really light spring rain. A few neighbors had a light or two on, and the lamp on Nashawena park was glowing as usual, blocking out stars. But mostly the place was quiet and dark. Dad's music hummed through the windows, and I thought I could hear some church bells ringing somewhere else.

Wild Magnolia Bloom