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*Puff* *gasp* *huff* *inhale* *exhale* The sound of my gusty panting sounds steadily in my ears. I have always been of the opinion that whenever you run or do any strenuous exercise you should give yourself as much oxygen as possible (none of this recommended *sniff sniff puff* thing), because I have heard that part of the reason why you get muscle cramps is from a production of lactic acid, which is a result of a lack of oxygen (I learned this is seventh grade so if my knowledge is somewhat twisted, then you will understand). Therefore, in my point of view, panting is not always a sign of being out of shape, although this is often also the case. So it should surprise you little if you lent your ear and heard my muted wheezing while I pump my way uphill on the one-mile trek to the lake. Frankly, I am also exaggerating.

All that to prepare you for my telling you that I biked to the lake and on to Dublin's tiny Memorial Day parade with Clyde. The first mile is the toughest, though not the worst in the world, and then it's cruising around the lake in delightful relaxation. If you want to relax, that is. So anyway, we made it to the parade, waited, watched, marched (or rode ever so slowly), listened to my dad's speech on patriotism, then whoo-hoo turned around and went home. Man, I just taught you the way to make your events sound the most exciting. But really, the ride back was fun, especially the last mile because guess what? It's almost all down hill. It's very thrilling to have the wind whistling in your ears and whipping in your hair, and keeping a tight motorcycle grin to avoid getting bugs in your mouth (you just get them in your teeth instead). The pavement was whizzing by underneath my tires, and it can make you feel dizzy if you're not careful. We arrived home safe yet happy.

That afternoon, after some debate, we left for Cape Cod. Yes, of all the places in the world, I finally made it to that beloved spot. Sure, I went there when I was two, but when you don't remember a thing about it, it doesn't really count. We took a hotel, and the next morning we set out to explore. When my dad is at the wheel, you know you're going to have a nice, slow, relaxing drive. As long as that's what you want. My dad has a funny way of wanting to explore new roads in ways that sometimes found us lost, but now, although "I once was lost, but now am found" we have the all-new, ultimate, extreme Strips and Treats!!! At least that's what we like to call it, although its real name is Trips and Streets (or is it Streets and Trips?), but my dad called it the other name by accident when he opened his Christmas present and we just haven't gotten over that laugh. Anyway, my point is that basically we can never get lost as long as our software is functioning properly and the satellite is accurate.

We moseyed our way along down the coast through various towns, stopping for a lighthouse, a thrift shop, or a little break at the beach. I did find something out though--Cape Cod is just like any other place! Well, almost, with the difference of a few higher prices, more hotels and mini golf places, and a more laid-back lifestyle, since it seems like much of the place is built around touristry. But that's just from my perspective.

When we wound back to our hotel, Craig, Clyde, and I decided to go for a bike ride on one of the scenic trails in the area. It was unbelievably smooth--take it from me, if you live at Fairwood where it's mostly hills, you will be astonished when you come upon a few miles of flatness to bike on. Craig's luck wasn't so great. . . his tire popped near the beginning. Poor guy. I knew he shouldn't have eaten that pastry for breakfast. . . (haha, Craig) but it really wasn't his fault. You can't exactly hop on your dad's bike that hasn't been used for a little while and has lately been overblown with air; it just doesn't work. Still, eventually we came to a scenic area and we pumped on leisurely, admiring the ducks in the pond or the pink flowers, sandy beach, and aqua ocean. Clyde lent his bike to Craig for a little while and we did get to hike it through the woods, past an arbor, and a house with the aromatic scents of their cookout wafting by to beckon us temptingly. I wonder what they would have thought if we had asked for a bite?

The next day found us sitting outside on the deck of a ferry while the foghorn blasted its way through the mist to Martha's Vineyard. Then we were dumped onto dry land and found ourselves inside a rental car (which was cheaper than taking our own vehicle), ready to blaze a trail. What new adventures would await us? We were actually on an island, which is practically the same thing as a foreign country, when we came to a shock. Martha's Vineyard is just like Cape Cod!!! Bummer. No Norwegian countryside for us. And yet there was still something extra fascinating about the touristy place, and we managed to enjoy ourselves, even if we did have to buy gas for 3.52. Lighthouses are still something intriguing for us picture takers, even though they are getting a little old ("I think I'm beginning to get sick of lighthouses," Craig commented dryly, and then he only took like two pictures of one lighthouse which tells you something really is wrong), and we visited them faithfully. The water was gorgeous, and by mid-afternoon we stopped for another little break at the beach and I got to get my own little sunburn.

Probably the highlight of Martha's Vineyard for me was Oak Bluffs. It's a town that used to hold camp meetings in its center (and still does), where there is a very large pavilion or tabernacle set up that even has stained glass. People used to come from all around and set up camp (Grant and Harriet Beecher Stowe, to name a couple), until before long they decided to be build cottages. These were the wonders. I guess since then they have decorated these many houses into the elegant Victorian style, in varied colors of pink, purple, orange, red, blue, and so forth. Intricate eaves, sharp trimming, and quaint porch decorations complete the gingerbread house look, and the cottages are often given names like Mulberry, Oops, Over the Rainbow, Alice's Wonderland, etc. What's more, people actually live in these houses, which must be an absolute pain because they have to keep their shades down most of the time, they can't leave normal looking junk on the porch, they have to keep up the house's beautiful looks, and endure touristy picture snappers like us. That didn't keep me from enjoying the place, however, and film was soon being spent like water as we admired the charming buildings along their quiet, pedestrian roads. Aaahhh. . . . .

Thursday evening found me sweating in my concert. Excuse me, but I mean literally. Not only were we playing a song that I had to skip a whole measure in because it was going so fast, but if that weren't enough it was a sticky evening, we had hot lights flooding onto us, and I was wearing a black skirt with cosy dress shoes. Aaaaahhhh, agony!!! Now do you blame me? But before we knew it our pieces were over (hurray! no more string ensemble until the fall!) and I got to enjoy the rest of the concert. Well, at least some of it was enjoyable. It just so happened that it was the band concert and not everything the percussion ensemble plays is my favorite thing, though they were pretty good. The concert band did play Raiders of the Lost Ark (Bria, it sounded a lot better when your orchestra did it), which gave us inspiring wishes to watch Indiana Jones. There was also a really cool piece called The Golden Age of the Xylophone. Supposedly it is a song that was written in the early nineteen hundreds and it cost $200 dollars for the band director to rent it, before it came out a year later so he could buy it for like $120. So he bought it, but while he was teaching at another school, so he got to borrow it from them and not use our money (which he pointed out with much glee). Also I guess it's a song that he has never heard without cuts because it is so much long, fast music to memorize he wasn't sure how easily it could be done. However, despite this obstacle, Conval's two best percussionists, who are also seniors (and FYI one of them is going to the Hartt School next year) have done it! Before we knew it, these two guys, with the accompaniment of the band, were pounding away on that xylophone for all they were worth, astonishing us to the utmost. Spellbound, we watched them as they took turns to play this incredible piece (all memorized, remember!), and then as they both got up there and played together the impressiveness was complete. You could rarely have a more fanatic audience.

So now you've got a little update on my recent life, and now I am having some of my first normal summer days. But if you're still reading this, I am quite impressed.