I don’t say “Lawn Guyland”

It’s where I grew up, but I got to Texas as quickly as I could, and I say it just like y’all.

I’m going there early Saturday morning!  If you look on the (very judgemental) map below, I grew up on the south shore, in “Too far from the City, Too far from the Hamptons” Bayport.

imageI’m meeting my sisters at the train station, if I don’t get lost between LaGuardia  Airport (The City) and Ronkonkoma (Extrememly White People).
I’m a tad worried…it’s been more than 30 years since I’ve taken the train, but I keep reminding myself, “You used to take the train into the city to go to concerts all the time. Stoned. You got this!”

On Monday, we are taking the ferry south, across the bay, to The Pines, on Fire Island (Gays) for the week and staying in a little beach cottage for some R & R (relaxation and recreational bartending). Three of the four of us have tended bar professionally at some point in our lives, and we love to mix cocktails for each other.

The real reason for the getaway is that we are finally going to scatter our sister’s ashes. Hopefully we won’t get arrested, drop the urn into the ocean, or injure someone. And since our 88 year-old father, Daddy-O, will probably be there, we need to walk the tight-rope between the solemnity the occasion deserves, and our familial hiding-behind-humor coping mechanism.

Picture any movie with all four Marx brothers  in it, (yes, there are four – everybody forgets poor Zeppo) and that’s us. Should be a lot of fun.

My sisters have already mapped out the best German bakery for pastries and coffee cake, and where to get the best Eggplant Parmigiana. I will take notes, take pictures, and have stories to tell when I get back.

Now to pack. I wonder if the cottage will have a cocktail shaker?

XO Donna