stomping divots and busting chops

September 6th, 2005

“So, I guess that means dinner is a no.”

I was lying across the bed, toes curled on the dormer windowsill, hair still wet from the shower when the phone rang. Unwilling to sit up in order to answer, I fanned my arms out until my fingertips made contact with my cell phone. Lazy, I know. I was reveling in my vacation stupor. It was late Sunday afternoon when Wes called and I was sunburned, well-fed and miles away from New York City. And I had an armory of stories from my last minute New England getaway. There was a sunny cliff walk, big, family style dinners, futbol and even a picnic polo match.

“Polo? Are you trying to out-snob me?”
“I think it would be impossible to out-snob a European. But nonetheless, it was pretty intense.”

Polo was not quite the highbrow affair I’d have thought. Not that there weren’t a handful of people in silly lobster embroidered outfits, but for the most part, the US v England match was about beer cooked onions and bratwurst, candied apples and one amusingly drunk commentator from across the pond.

Then there was stomping the divots. What could be more far removed from my everyday life than stomping divots at a polo match? It was all very Pretty Woman. I couldn’t have been more thrilled, though secretly, I wished I’d worn a fancy hat and something with Swiss dots.

I heard the slap of bare feet on the floor outside and a knock at the door.

“Get up! We’re going fishing in like, five minutes.”

I promised to catch-and-release and said goodbye, grabbed my flip-flops and a sweater and joined Stephanie, Phil and the others downstairs for some sunset fishing. A dozen of us spent the evening spinning yarns and swapping playful insults. Nothing goes so well with night fishing as busting chops. When we returned a few hours later, we’d caught nothing but mosquito bites, seaweed and the sunset. It was absolutely perfect.

The trip had been unplanned and I’d almost declined the invitation. I hadn’t packed. Who would feed the Sir Hal? The excuses could have been endless. But on Sunday night, when dinner had wrapped up and we were scrunched onto the living room sofa attacking the crossword puzzle (eight heads are better than one), I was so glad I’d not made them.

Thanks to Ari for some last minute pet sitting. All photos by Stephanie and Phil. No fish were harmed during the making of this post (except for the ones we used for bait but I had nothing to do with that).

Uncategorized

19 comments to stomping divots and busting chops

«  
  »