So when we last left our Fourth of July recap, I had just had my dreams dashed with the cancellation of the fireworks. Although I was completely bummed out, there was no time to dwell on such things, as my sister Becky and her boyfriend Freddie were set to arrive the next day! Also, Steve and I both had to work on Friday, so we returned to the real world while Alisa and Rocky set off for the beach. 

I was going about my regular work day when I was shocked to see my photo on Nantucket BlACKbook. Well, not like, totally shocked, because Holly had sent me her style survey to fill out. But still shocked, nonetheless because I had no idea when it would run, if at all.

island infamy.

So needless to say, that was my greatest accomplishment that day. 

My sister and her boyfriend Fred arrived that afternoon, and after I was finished with work, we all met up for dinner. Unfortunately, in doing so we kind of missed out on the rescheduled fireworks. Correction: I saw one single firework while we were waiting in line for ice cream.

oh say can you see.

Yes, we had ice cream everyday. IT’S THE FOURTH OF JULY.

The next day was Saturday, so I finally got to go to the beach- YAY! But Steve still had to work- BOO. Regardless, we all packed up our beach essentials and headed to Surfside. 

you have yours, i have mine.

The beach was amazing. If you can believe it, it was the first time I had gone and sat on the beach since I moved to Nantucket.

Unfortunately, it was also the first time I got severely and horribly sunburnt. Apparently, event the strongest SPF needs to be applied immediately after getting out of the water. Needless to say, there were a lot of references to Alicia Keys’ “Girl on Fire.” Because that’s what I was for the rest of the weekend. 

Since we clearly needed some cooling off, our next stop was Cisco Brewery. Even though there was what seemed like 40,000 people there, somehow I managed to snag us a shady seat where we spent our afternoon sampling an array of delicious beverages.

just a couple of f yeahs & madaket mules.

and peach wine, for the lady.

I appreciated that even Cisco showed some patriotic spirit. 

accessories are important.

The rest of the night was pretty relaxed, as most of us were sporting some serious sunburns and aimed to move as little as possible. Steve made us a delicious pressure cooker meal and we dined like kings around our Ikea coffee table. 

But with everyone leaving the next day, we couldn’t resist going out… for ice cream. Yes, one last time. And of course, we couldn’t resist a photo op with a reminder of our PSU days:

what’s a few hundred miles?

Finally, it was time to head home and come to terms with the fact that that holiday was almost over and everyone would be leaving us, which was really hard, because it was the first time that we had had any friends visit since we’ve been on Nantucket. 

Before seeing everyone off to their boat back to America, we took a quick stroll around downtown to make sure that everyone got their full island experience. Which obviously meant souvenir shopping.

meet nantucket’s newest rap duo.

I also took all the ladies to one of my favorite stores downtown, C. Wonder. I love this place, not only for all the nautical items and brightly colored baubles, but also, free candy.

i’ll just have a few sweet tarts for the road.

Unfortunately, my sister’s most favorite item in the store is not for sale:

her pageant talent may or may not be balloon animal-making.

As we approached the Hy-Line docks, we realized that my sister and I never took a picture together. Not one, the whole weekend! That needed to be amended real quick.

like my granny cardigan? it’s to keep my flesh from burning.

We finally said goodbye and prepared to return to our normal lives, sans four house guests and boozy fruit. 

But it was still the weekend, and after seeing a posting about it on Facebook, we headed to Sconset for a free event from Theatre Workshop Nantucket with Tom Meehan. Why who is Tom Meehan, you say? This guy:

who doesn’t love a man in a seersucker suit?

Don’t recognize him? You probably wouldn’t. But you know his words, as this is the guy that wrote only my favorite musical of all time, Annie. He also wrote Hairspray, The Producers, Young Frankenstein, Elf the Musical, and even the new Rocky musical that is currently showing in Germany (opening in the U.S. March 2014!). He’s a summer resident in ‘Sconset and it was so inspiring to listen to him talk about his work (he’s simultaneously writing four shows right now) and writing (he’s 83 and he spends hours each day just doing what he loves) and even though it was like 95 degrees in that chapel, I clung to every word. 

and yes, that is blair waldorf’s dad conducting the interview.

These are the types of things that makes me love this place. On any given night in the summer, there are at least six events going on like this (and some of them are even free!). 

Did I mention I love ‘Sconset?

got my church on.

After that, I kind of thought that our weekend was over. Until this happened:

claire-aoke.

What can I say? I can’t resist an evening of belting out some solid lady-pop songs. 

this time i’m not leavin’ without you.

Was that the longest four-day recap in the history of recaps? I almost never do these, because unlike all my blogger friends, I can never seem to write up a recap in an appropriate amount of time. Hence why it is now almost August and I’m just finishing up what happened on the Fourth of July. But I just couldn’t resist after such a fun-filled weekend sharing some of the amazing-ness that had ensued. I may have exhausted the amount of fun I’m allowed to have in a short time period, but I’m okay with it. And I’m definitely okay with not getting sunburnt ever again. 

~L

Guys, this is it. My favorite season. My favorite holiday. My favorite color combination. 

Except this year, it was going to be different. We live on Nantucket now, afterall, therefore making our usual pilgrimage to Portland, Maine not exactly feasible. 

But seeing as this island is like, one of the Fourth of July capitals of the world, it seemed crazy to be anywhere but here. So they came to us. They being Alisa and Rocky, the other half of this annual patriotic party, and then later, my sister Becky and her boyfriend Fred joined as well. 

But Lindsay, didn’t you move into a super small apartment over a garage down a dirt road in the middle of the woods? Why yes, yes we did. So what did we do? We had everyone over anyways. All six of us. One bathroom. 

But let’s start at the beginning, shall we? 

We moved about a week before our guests were scheduled to arrive. There’s nothing like impending company to force you to unpack. Without them, we’d probably be living in a box fort right now. We spent all our waking hours trying to get organized and make our place at least livable, if not presentable. It was less than a mere 24 hours before Alisa and Rocky were set to arrive that we even got our couch set up:

yep, that’s right. we didn’t have anywhere to sit for an entire week.

As we neared 2:00 A.M. on Tuesday evening, I attempted to put away some stragglers of my wardrobe that hadn’t found a home yet. As I opened my dress closet, I felt a strange wobble, and before I even had time to react, this happened:

there aren’t enough tears in the world.

The game hadn’t even started and I already lost. For those of you that don’t know, there is a very long, love-hate (me being the “love” part and Steve being the “hate”) relationship with this particular piece of furniture that I am feeling deserves its own post. However, I still haven’t processed my feelings on that yet, so it will have to wait until I have completed the seven stages of mourning and am emotionally stable enough to tell my story. 

So there was a set back. But we soldiered on. And finally, on Wednesday night, we were reunited for the first time in what felt like forever:

forgive our weird pupils.

After a little dinner and after-dinner drinks, we headed to Stop & Shop for a few necessary essentials:

inappropriateness. not on the list.

PS- Did you know if you go to the grocery store super late at night, it is all neat and organized for your shopping pleasure? I may have to start cooking. 

i wish my life was this organized. color me jealous.

That night, we prepared some lovely sleeping accommodations for our guests. I.e., sheets on either end of our newly cleared off sectional couch. Of course, that meant that violations ensued:

this shit is bananas. b-a-n-a-n-a-s.

For those who may not know, many years ago, we noticed a pattern in pictures of Steve and Alisa together. And that pattern was some sort of inappropriate gesture in Alisa’s direction. It had become such a phenomenon, that one year, Steve created an anthology of pictures known as the “Violation Album” (Volume 1, of course) for Alisa for her birthday. And so, almost eight years later, it continues. 

We awoke the next morning with only two thoughts in our mind: food and fireworks. Okay, and booze. Three things. 

Let’s start with the food. Steve made his most notorious breakfast item that he only breaks out for very, very special occasions: The oven-baked caramel french toast from the Graycote Inn in Bar Harbor, Maine. If you must know how to make it (and I assure you, you must), you can find the recipe here. We all died a little bit, came back to life, ate more food, and died again. 

there is also an egg sausage thing, but we all know i don’t eat eggs. among many other things.

The best part? There is a caramel drizzle. CARAMEL DRIZZLE, PEOPLE.

breakfast will never be the same.

Did I mention mimosas? Yeah, there were those two. 

nothing like popping the cork on a three year old magnum of champagne.

The weather ended up being kinda meeeeh that day, which really started to concern me after last year’s fireworks got totally rained out and we had to miss them completely. But we couldn’t resist visiting at least a few of Nantucket’s numerous miles of shoreline. 

it’s just like that movie beaches, but with dudes. and less death and singing.

Of course, it wouldn’t be us if there weren’t some more inappropriateness:

from dancing to violating in less than five seconds. a new record.

The weather mildly started to improve, which could only mean one thing: it was time to grill. Slight problem: the grill was in pieces. In a box. In the garage (yes, the very one we live over). Luckily, the men were here to save the day:

like mckayla, rocky is not impressed.

But they did it. And it only took like seven hours for us to feel hungry again. 

you may not be able to tell, but there is cheese inside the burger.

There may have also been beverages. We steered away from the red, white and blue margaritas this year, because unfortunately, I only own one blender. But there was a new addition, which will forever be known as… boozy fruit.  

i.e., steve’s orange sangria champagne concoction thing.

But Steve was greedy, and stole my Nantucket-necessity Lilly Pulitzer coozy and got beer sweat condensation all over it, totally decreasing the preppy girl value of it. 

it takes a very secure man to rock a regatta print.

After conquering our expertly grilled meals, we prepared ourselves for the fireworks on the roof of the Whaling Museum. At the last minute, the entire staff was invited to take in the Fourth of July finale from the rooftop observation deck, which is not only private, but boasts some of the best harbor views on the island. I was so excited to show our guests not only where I worked, but also to beat the insane crowd that heads to the beach. 

And of course, the second we pulled out of the driveway, the fog rolled in. That Grey Lady can be such a bitch sometimes. 

We went to the roof anyway, hoping that as fast as it rolled in, it would just roll right out. 

so happy i curled my hair.

And it stuck around. But so did we. 

fog or instagram?

But the fog, like this shirt that Steve insists on wearing, was relentless. They cancelled the fireworks, rescheduling them for the next night. 

It was mildly depressing. I mean, this was our first Nantucket Fourth, after all.

Nothing a little trip to the Juice Bar can’t fix.

if i could cover my life in patriotic sprinkles, i would.

That’s it for the first installment of Steve & Lindsay’s First July Fourth on Nantucket guest-starring Alisa and Rocky. Coming up next? The arrival of Becky and Fred. And more ice cream. And more drinking. 

AMERICA.

~L

So I haven’t blogged in some time now. I know, same old story. I’m so busy/tired/enjoying my new Nantucket life that I don’t have time to write, right? Well, sort of.

Basically the last few weeks have been an absolute nightmare in which Steve and I have found ourselves living out of suitcases, moving from one location to another for a week at a time, and in a tug of war with landlords and one horrible tenant who doesn’t mind disrupting someone else’s entire life. 

I should start out by saying that we’re fine. Nothing is physically wrong with us. Emotionally and mentally, yes, we may be committed any day now. But we’re on Nantucket, so any form of psychological lock up would probably be on the beach covered in gray shingles. Work has been great, Steve is working full time and doing a show on the local radio station, and gasp we have gotten to hang out together every weekend and explore and visit every beach we can find, taking a break occasionally to enjoy a dinner here and a Bruins game there. It’s exactly what I imagined married life was supposed to be like, and can’t believe that we’ve been doing it wrong the past two years by not being able to spend hardly any free time together and when we did, trying to shake the bad feelings from working in jobs that we despised.

The problem is we’ve been doing all of these things on the island while essentially being homeless. Let me explain.

When I first came to Nantucket, I was warned up and down that the year-round housing situation for normal people (i.e. not millionaires) was awful. However, I was offered temporary housing from my job in order to settle in and figure out where we would go. This is not a place where you go on Craig’s List and dig through potentially sketchy listings. I was told I could stay in a particular historic property until May 15, when I would need to leave to make room for the seven interns that had already been selected. The people I work with put the word out that we needed a place to live, and I quickly saw that they only way find out anything around here is through word of mouth.

We visited countless apartments. Some of them were beautiful but totally out of our price range. I guess if you want to get technical, they were all out of our price range. The least expensive place we looked at was still $300 more than what we had been paying for our previous one bedroom apartment. Some were crazy tiny and still expensive. Of course none of this was unexpected, everyone had warned me about everything being expensive- it’s an island, after all. I was choosing to focus on the fact that with my new job I would be making (slightly) more money and not spending $500 a month on gas commuting, and could accommodate having to spend a little extra on living. Did I mention that this entire time we were looking at apartments, Steve didn’t have a job yet? Yeah, there was that. So it was really hard to think, “sure, I’ll give you $1800 a month” when only one of you is technically employed. I had multiple people who suggested it was time to buy a house, and believe me, if I had $700,000 lying around, I would surely look into it.

So we looked and we searched and I talked to everyone about how we were trying to find a place. Finally we were in between two apartments, which is a conundrum in itself because you have to make snap decisions here or else something could be scooped out from underneath you, which totally freaks me out as an emotional over-thinker. One was a one bedroom cottage that was small but beautifully constructed. It was slightly further away from town, but the least expensive option that we had looked at. It had a backyard and a deck and a bed for a garden. And a basement, did I mention a basement? I didn’t even have a linen closet in my last apartment, so any form of storage was exciting to me.

The other was a very centrally located, townhouse style two bedroom apartment that wasn’t as nice but also had a large basement for storage. It was barely a mile from downtown (where I work and don’t have a parking space) but about $300 more a month than the cottage. 

The biggest issue we had was that the cottage we really liked wasn’t going to be available until July 1. I only had guaranteed housing until mid-May, maybe end of May if I stretched it out a bit. We went back and forth for a week trying to figure out if we could find a place to stay for a month. We communicated with the owner about our issue, and he was very understanding and even offered to take money off the first month’s rent for the inconvenience. Finally, I got the okay from my job that they would let me stay in a different historical property for the duration of June so we could rent the cottage.

Elated, I called the owner immediately to tell him the good news. He didn’t answer. I called him the next day. Steve called him and texted him. It had barely been days since we spoke with him before, and suddenly he was ignoring us. At the same time, we had the landlord of the two bedroom apartment demanding that we tell them whether or not we were going to rent from them, as they had many other people waiting after us. We were panicked- do we let the option we really want go for fear of ending up with nothing? After days of back and forth, we finally had to accept that he wasn’t calling us back for a reason, and take the two bedroom. Sure it would be more expensive, but we would have an extra bedroom for guests and easy access to both of our jobs, bike paths, the grocery store, all the necessities. Two days later the guy from the cottage emailed me and said he rented it to someone else. No kidding. 

We had our move-in date set for our two bedroom apartment on May 15, so we could just pop out of my temporary housing and right into this. A few days before, the landlord contacted me and said the tenant had asked for an extension. I said that was fine, because in the midst of all this, we had found ourselves dog sitting for two weeks and the owners let us stay in their house. Two weeks was up, and the tenants were still in the apartment. The landlord told me they signed a letter saying they would be out in 10-14 days. I begged my job to let me stay in the property I had been in before until a few days before the interns arrived. They’re nice and they don’t want me to be homeless, so they agreed. 

Another week went by and the tenants still hadn’t vacated. I was told by many people that Massachusetts rental laws favor the tenant heavily and that it was almost impossible to actually evict someone, and if you do it could take months and thousands of dollars. Steve and I packed up our stuff and moved across the street to an even nicer historical property, where we slept in a room with twin beds and more fancy knick knacks than I’ve actually seen in museums. We would only be allowed to stay a week, as other people had already been booked to stay there after that. We lived out of our suitcases and tiptoed around for fear of breaking anything. In case you’re wondering what that looks like, here’s a visual:

nothing hot about this mess.

I said we’d have to think about it. I immediately started crying in the car and cursed this tenant for being such an asshole to another person. I just didn’t understand. We’re pretty decent people. I mean, I always brake for animals crossing the road and Steve goes to church every Sunday. We worked very hard for many years in jobs that we didn’t care about and never really made any money. We took a risk and moved here for the chance to start over and do something more with our lives and to be able to spend time together. Why was the universe so against that, and us? 

The next day, I told my boss what has happened. She immediately sprang into overdrive and made me call every listing in the paper, even ones that were out of my price range. She said you have to put things out there in the world and hope that you get something back. Less than 24 hours later, she got wind of an apartment that was available immediately for a monthly rate that I didn’t believe existed on Nantucket. She called them and told them what wonderful people Steve and I are. She drove me to look at it when Steve got stuck working late and I was car-less (we currently only have my car here). She was determined to make this work.

When we turned onto a dirt road in a very residential area where you have to drive five miles an hour as not to hit a bunny, I knew we weren’t in Kansas anymore, or at least, downtown Nantucket. Which is kind of an exaggeration, as we were three miles from town. We looked at a tiny one bedroom apartment over a lovely woman’s garage, who- surprise!- happens to work with Steve. When she informed me that all utilities were included, I almost passed out. I have not seen one apartment where any utilities were included. Like none. 

The only real problem is that it was tiny. Like smaller than the place we just left on the mainland. You know, the one we grew out of two years ago? However, it did have a big beautiful backyard and did I mention all utilities included?!

So we were faced with yet another dilemma. Do we take the smaller apartment for the great price, and deal with the fact that we can only take a quarter of our belongings and that we’ll be living in super close quarters with hardly any room for guests, or do we wait for a bigger apartment that could potentially never be available to us, ever? 

For 24 hours, we once again agonized over whether or not we would make the right decision. We were told that we had to decide if we wanted to smaller place by the following day, as the owner already had people basically stalking her over knowing that she had an apartment available. 

After talking to both our mothers, my boss, the manager of the apartment we were supposed to be living in, and the nice lady that owned the small apartment, we just did it. 

Welcome to our (tiny) new home.

don’t worry, the stained couch isn’t ours. although it is a pullout.

And we’re going to be fine. The station manager we’ve been staying with offered to let us keep our extra stuff in his basement, so we can at least have all of our belongings on the island. I am going to read every blog about living in small spaces, and if you want to come visit, you are welcome to, but you’re sleeping on our sectional sofa (it is comfortable, I will say) or on an air mattress (also, more comfortable than I expected). Or in bed with us.

~L

P.S. In case you have figured it out, this is why I haven’t posted any outfit photos this week. I’m lucky I even got out the door with clothes on. I hope to return to my favorite past time at some point, but I just need to get it together a bit at the moment. Hang tight.