Karen Zamboni’s Day Off
I woke up this past Monday morning realizing, in the frenzy of a rather bizarre Sunday night, that I had forgotten to return my car rental. I’d be responsible for an additional day’s rate regardless of whether I returned it 10 minutes or 10 hours after this realization. A quick check of the weather sealed the deal. I was to call in sick and hit the road with my Barbie dream car (a Hyundai- almost as bad as when they gave me a P.T. Cruiser). I decided I’d hit Eastern Long Island because I know the terrain and it would allow for social visits if I so desired. But, first and foremost, I wanted solitude. I didn’t want to talk to anyone; I wanted to sing to myself in the car, loudly. Catering to conversation would only inject obligation into my rare spontaneous outburst.
There were some interesting ideas brewing as I contemplated my day off over Eastbound traffic on the L.I.E. Perhaps I’d do a grave rubbing for extra credit in my death class, pretend I was interested in purchasing a hand gun and 
shoot a gun for the first time or ring my very first boyfriend’s doorbell in East Setauket. They’d all succeed in getting me out of my comfort zone. But traffic, the ultimate buzzkill, delivered me to my Salvation with an already depleted tank of motivation. I would thrift until I decided what to do. The Salvation Army in Babylon, my old favorite, was a disappointment so I moved onward to Brentwood’s Island Thrift.
Island Thrift had some goodies. Most notably was Bob Dylan’s s/t on vinyl in pristine condition, Blizzard of Oz, a puzzle of Manhattan island for 69 cents, a bright orange electric typewriter and a t-shirt that is aligned with my brazen drunkenness.
Next I made multiple stops to pay homage to our nation’s war heroes. Seriously, I just kind of stumbled across these detours. From in-between an indescript county route in Farmingville sits Bald Hill, one of the highest point on Long Island, and piercing the sky upon it is a monument erected to commemorate our Vietnam Veterans (left). There were a scattering of men surrounding the structure, most likely veterans, who look baffled by my presence. Then I was on my way to Riverhead, which became my decided destination, forgetting the Big Duck had moved quite some time ago. I passed Calverton National Cemetery (right) and decided I’d visit the grounds and take some pictures. I was one of a 3 visitors to the cemetery that afternoon. The grounds were so still and so quiet that the birds seemed obstreperous rustling and chirping in the trees. I crept around the headstones reading epitaphs and imagining the final moments of these soldiers, mostly from WW1 & 2 and the Korean War.
After successfully tucking thoughts of my own mortality back under a few layers of thought I decided Riverhead was a fruitless journey with not much to offer an explorer like myself. There were no wrong turns or roads less traveled, just outlet stores and a water park. I steered north to conquer the tip of Long Island’s north fork, Orient Point. Orient Point is less impressive than her big sister on the south shore, Montauk Point, but it’s shoreline much less jagged with jetty. The scattered rocks and shells punctured the smooth sand like a pin cushion. After watching the cars board the Connecticut-bound Mary Ellen and getting my feet wet, it was time to head home where Joey, Ali G and Lily Thai awaited. 
