People often assume my husband is Jewish (funny, somehow Scottish-Protestant and Italian-Catholic mingle to that effect) so when the words ‘Rosh Hashanah’ quietly rippled their way around the dimly lit pub where we started our Rhode Island adventure, I understood that the locals weren’t just leering at us because he was chatting with some fellow patrons about Jeter’s last game in pinstripes. The Noreaster ripping up the coast and the surly (bigoted) natives did not promise the most auspicious beginning to a sorely needed respite from the challenges of reality since summer came to a close, but sometimes an oasis opens up in the eye of a shitstorm. The night was saved by a friendly bartender-turned-Instagram-friend pouring a long list of dynamite beers, and the rest of the weekend overfloweth with cloudless azure skies, fresh oysters just yanked from the sea, clean ocean air, waves crashing on stony gray bluffs, boats in the sunset, barefoot splashes in Narragansett Bay, picnic lunches, decadent mansions, hiking, wine, laughter and romance. Vacation does a body good!
Why don’t I stop talking and just show you the pictures?