This morning I asked Audrey about the film crew allegedly filming a documentary. She confirmed that it was a documentary, adding that she had heard it was about the Whydah. That's more like it. I know people who dove on that expedition. I've even watched fireworks from the Vast Explorer. Neato. Now I can watch the movie and find out what all that gear was for.
And then I went to Trader Joe's so I could socialize and, oh, get some food. I asked about the artwork and lo and behold the artist was there. So she came out and chatted with me. She was glad someone actually noticed her oblique references to local traditions, places and oddities. I was impressed at her knowledge of such traditions, places and oddities and her response was "my family's been here 135 years, I better know my way around" or something like that. Which is typical. Even if you're born here you're not necessarily a native. No siree Bob. It takes generations to be a native. The rest of us are "washashores".
Anyway, Becky (I know her name is Becky because she told me and also her surfboard name tag says "Becky - the artist") has done all these paintings - at the ends of aisles and all over the walls. They had one for opening day of the Cape Cod Baseball League, a reference to Jack's Outback (which is a restaurant known for its courteous and efficient self-service and for a very long time had no sign so unless you knew it was down an alley behind another building, you didn't get to go) and a whole mural of Edward Gorey - who used to hang out at Jack's Outback. She brought down an old painting that featured two of our musician friends, which is what I was initially asking about. I took a picture of it with my phone, but then neglected to save it. I do, however, have over 900 pictures of the inside of my handbag.
She has a painting of Scargo Tower which is one of those places I always knew was there but never bothered to go, until I was about 16 and a half months pregnant and going out of my mind and Chris drove me around sight seeing and made me waddle up up up the tower stairs until I, gasping, admitted that it was pretty beautiful up there. That was also about the time we became better acquainted with Woods Hole. We put on a lot of miles, boy howdy.
On my way out Becky gave me a calender her friend had put together.
And about an hour later I realized I had left the calender at the register, along with my grocery list.
Normal people write their grocery lists on the back of a Comcast envelope, so if they leave it somewhere it is generally not a problem. My grocery list is in a spiral notebook that doubles as a journal. I put copy-writing stuff in there, story ideas, guest lists, love notes to my long-deceased childhood rabbit, you name it.
It was a little like the Brady Bunch episode wherein Marsha's diary is inadvertently sold at a garage sale.
I called them, and was sure I heard derisive laughter in the background. I disguised my voice, but they knew instantly who I was. After all, I had just spent 45 minutes on a guided gallery tour of Trader Joe's.
I did get it back, and finger printing has come up negative on the more sensitive pages. In The Brady Bunch, Marsha gets to meet the movie/rock (don't actually remember) star of her dreams at the end because of course her diary has fallen into the right hands.
So I may get to meet Donny Osmond after all.