All that you can't leave behind

I thought I had done a reasonably good job packing for a three-month trip. I brought along most of the essentials: my computer, several pairs of jeans, my camera, notebooks, enough toiletries to stock a bathroom, shoes for all occasions. But I confess that somewhere along the way during my extremely drawn-out moving process I must have bugged out, or something. I keep finding items I meant to put in storage. (Placemats? Who brings placemats with them on a trip like this? Oh, that's right -- I do, apparently.) On the other hand, I've realized I left behind things I intended to bring.

For instance, I have hanging in my closet nine pairs of white (and off-white) pants. How many people even own nine pairs of white pants? Who knew I did? (Not I!) But there they are, waiting to be worn. And, just in case Michael Phelps is around and I feel the need to impress him, I brought six bathing suits in an assortment of colors and patterns. There may be another one hanging around, waiting to be discovered: The yellow one I bought on Mackinac Island 13 years ago has yet to surface, but I sense its presence.

These strange circumstances came to my attention yesterday when I was talking to the house manager at the Vineyard Playhouse about job possibilities and she asked if I could usher at Thursday's show. "Do you have a white shirt and black pants?" she asked. Immediately, I replied that I did and went to the closet to confirm it. The black pants were right at hand (and if she'd needed me to wear white pants...) and the white shirt was -- hmmm. It had to be in there somewhere. Who would travel without a white dress shirt?

Answer: The person who made room in his luggage for half a dozen bathing suits and placemats.

So when I went into Oak Bluffs this morning for an interview, I had to make a quick detour into a clothing store to find a white shirt, even though I would guess I own at least as many white shirts as I do bathing suits. But when they are in a storage space almost 1000 miles away, they don't do me much good.

Anyhow, when I was in Vineyard Haven today I made a fascinating discovery at the Waterside Market, a cozy eatery located midway down Main Street. I haven't really eaten breakfast at any of the local restaurants yet: I tend to save my appetite for lunch or dinner. But I saw a corned beef hash special on their menu board and decided I'd give it a try. To be honest, I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary. But this was not the corned beef hash I am used to at all.

The Waterside cooks shave corned beef into little bite-size pieces and mix them into raw hash browns, then fry the mixture together and serve it with eggs. The result has much more of a pronounced corned beef taste than your typical hash, which usually involves corned beef and potatoes being mashed together into a chunky spread before going on to the griddle. This is another one of those ideas I'm definitely going to try out at home later.

Speaking of homes, some people have asked for a picture of the house where I am staying. Here it is. Isn't it stunning? It was just completed last year. My portion of the house is in the upstairs area where the windows are open. It's located in between Vineyard Haven and Oak Bluffs in a beautiful woodsy setting.

There's a lagoon across the street (that's what it's called anyhow). I only found this out when I was telling someone where I lived and he said, "Oh, you're by the lagoon." I said, "I am?" And yes, I am.