The morning was so gloriously bright and promising, I am totally disappointed when I finish unpacking to discover the azure skies have been replaced with overcast gray gloom. I guess the cold front and rain that chased us across Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut and most of Massachusetts yesterday, has caught up with us.

Lisa left early this morning with a briefcase under her arm for board meetings with a museum committee and will be gone all day and into the night. So, we have the day ahead of us to try and acclimate.  And I need to shop for groceries. After eating out for days and days and days on end, we are ready for a home cooked meal.

Lunch

“Michael, are you hungry?” I loudly call down the stairs.

The sun peeks through the clouds as we walk up hill toward Main Street, turning right, we pass by some shops that call my name. We choose the first restaurant we come to, open the door to an empty room, and seat our selves at a table near the bar. Another tavern! The Captain’s Den. Perfect, I think, since a sea captain built the house where we will be living.

Being in a tavern the menu for lunch is pretty much bar food. I order a BLT, although other items on the menu interest me more. The BLT is made with toasted wheat bread, and that is the healthiest thing on the menu. Plus, there is the LT part. That attracts me too.

When available Michael orders fish and chips, so the meal placed before him is no surprise. However, I am surprised when I bite into my sandwich. It is exactly what I ordered a BLT on toasted wheat. But — No mayo. No mustard. Nada. Nothing moist. Only the tomato. Rather than question the missing dressing I decide to eat it as presented. Maybe I’ll like it better this way.  I don’t.

Shopping

Even with a GPS telling us what to do, we don’t listen closely enough and make a wrong turn. Still following directions, we take the extremely scenic route out of town and finally arrive at our destination.  It is so nice to feel you will never be lost as long as there is a satellite up in the sky, watching you, taking care that even if you do totally mess up and don’t listen, you will be put back on the right track.  A guardian angel or BIG BROTHER? Maybe I shouldn’t feel so taken care of — just watched.

I was hoping for charming and quaint and slow in my grocery shopping experience, what I get is big, bold, and beautiful, with so many items to choose from I can’t find the forest for all of the trees.  But between the two of us, dividing and conquering, we almost manage. And then, Michael appears at my elbow and says, “They don’t stock Italian sausage. The only kind they stock is white. Like boudin.”

That’s a problem. I head to the meat counter.

Day’s End

Later, sitting in the kitchen, our first home cooked meal in Plymouth before us, we have our own private Thanksgiving feast.  We pick up our glass of rich, deep red wine, and toast to our new adventure, and the normalness of this first day in a new town. A day of getting lost, getting acclimated, imperfect weather, finding our center.

And, I did find sweet Italian sausage.

So, why is this town named Plymouth?

The explorer John Smith named the area Plymouth after leaving Jamestown, the first permanent English settlement in the New World. The settlers decided the name was appropriate, as the Mayflower had set sail from the port of Plymouth in England.