Thursday, July 31, 2014

really not to much to say

Weather is absolutely perfect.  
On the sparsely populated beach from 11 to 4.  
The Cape at its best.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

beach, day and night

Sunny skies. Light wind.  High 70’s.  Zero humidity. And very few people on the beach.
Jean comes down (with Sally and Jack), and the three of us (including my mom) hang out on the beach from mid-morning to late afternoon. 

And then, Jack and I return after dinner to watch the sun set over Wild Harbor.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

welcome to the Cape!

The ride to the Cape is effortless, but long.  There is no easy way to get here.  4 ¼ hours on the Bolt Bus, then a quick layover in Boston, and another 1 ¼ hours on a Peter Pan Bus to Bourne.  I leave my home around 7:15 and at 2, my bus pulls into Bourne.  Ten minutes early.

The momentous thing about the early arrival is that my mother has not yet arrived.  My mother, who is always early, actually arrives on time, meaning I arrive ahead of her.  It is a noteworthy event.

We get to my mom’s home and I unpack and set up my computer.  Darn.  I have the charger but not the little thingy that connects to the wall.  But fortunately, the local Apple dealer sells those for only $10.

I drive over to Mashpee Commons to pick it up.  My mom asks me to check on the new Greek restaurant to see if it’s opened yet.  I pass the restaurant and it looks nice, but it is still closed with a big sign outside that reads, Coming This Summer.  I ask one of the local retailers when the restaurant is supposed to open, and am told, “Sometime in late July.”  I say, “Gee, today is July 29th, it can't much later in July than today.”

But here on the Cape, no one seems in a rush to make money. I imagine that most retailers and restaurants make most of their money during the summer months. Still, it is amazing how many don’t stay open 7 days a week.  The great French p√Ętisserie downtown isn’t open on Monday and Tuesdays, Dana’s is closed on Tuesday, and on and on.

My mom and I have dinner at my favorite little nothing restaurant called Crabapple’s.  They used to be open for dinner Thursday through Sunday. It was a big deal when they began offering dinners seven nights a week.

We arrive at 6:30 and wait twenty minutes.  The place is mobbed. Half the diners have canes.  But by 7:30, the place is emptying out.  If you don’t want to wait, arrive after 7.

The food is great.  I get a lobster pie, which is really a baked stuff lobster (fresh from the fish market) out of the shell, and my mom orders a reuben sandwich.  Their menu is quite varied.

We order an apple pie for tomorrow (this little restaurant has the best pies).  They don’t make “rhubah” my mom points out, knowing that’s my favorite.

We get home, and I’m in bed by ten.

Welcome to the Cape.

Monday, July 28, 2014

an unwanted email

Why is there always so much to do before leaving home for a few days?

Tomorrow I am going up to the Cape. I have a mile-long list of things to do before leaving.

I go to the office for a few hours this morning, and figure I’ll come home around 12:30, with plenty of time to get everything done.

But then I get this email:

Our favorite Manolo Blahnik sale is finally here and it could be the best boutique sale ever. These final markdown sales always boast discounts at about 75% off and usually only run for just four days but this year the sale is 10-jam-packed-days of Manolo bargains.


Should I run over and check it out?  My office is right near the subway.

But then I think, do I really need another pair of shoes?

Of course I don’t.

But I love Manolos.

I can actually walk in them.

And they are so damn sexy.

And right now they are close to being affordable.

Yes, I tell myself.  Close, but remember, you still have no income.  Yes, there is that.

I come home and keep busy with my list. I pack, clean the apartment, cancel the newspaper, arrange for the doorman to collect my mail, and clean out my fridge. 

Then I go and get waxed, have a manicure/pedicure, return a library book and stop by Agata.

Still, that morning email taunts me.

It is not until 5:30 when the Manolo doors have closed for the day that I can relax.


I did all the things I needed to do and avoided the one thing I shouldn’t do.

But the sale lasts 10 days.  It’ll still be going on when I return.

I should probably start now reminding myself again why I shouldn’t go.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

a place I'm not allowed

Bored.  I consider my options for the day.

  • I can finish Eyes On You by Kate White, an easy beach read.  But that’ll only take a half hour.

  • I don’t want to spend money so shopping, though tempting, is out.

  • I don’t feel like sitting in a movie theater.  I friend of mine recently said, “Going to the movies in the daytime is depressing.”  I think she’s right.  Unless it’s winter or pouring rain.

  • It is too humid to exercise.

  • I could walk over and see the Jeff Koons retrospective at The Whitney but I am not sure I want to see it enough to pay $20 and probably wait in line.

  • A nice brunch out is expensive and fattening, as I know I wouldn’t want an egg white omelet and instead would gravitate to eggs benedict or some other equally unhealthy option. 

  • My closets are pretty much cleaned out, so that’s not really worth doing.

  • I could go to a free outdoor jazz concert at MOMA but I don’t like jazz.
But I do want to go out.  I throw on a pair of running shorts and a tee shirt.  I pull my hair into a ponytail.  Wear no makeup.  Grab my camera, and leave.

I head over to John Jay Park.  I’ll shoot some kid portraits.  I take a handful of my moo cards, as I always ask permission, and then will hand out my card if the parent/babysitter is interested in seeing the pictures I take.

I snap away.

I see a woman with some kids enter the park.  “Hi, mind if I take some pictures of your children?” I ask. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“No problem, that’s why I asked,” and I start to walk away. 

Her friend then comes barreling over to me and says, rather rudely, “I don’t want you taking any pictures.”  I tell her I only take pictures if the parents approve.   The two women walk over to some other area of the park.

A few minutes later, woman #1 comes up to me and asks, “What are you doing this for?” 

I tell her the truth.  “I was bored today so I thought I’d take some photos of kids.  I’m an amateur photographer.  And if they’re any good, I might post them on my blog. If you want, I’ll give you my card.”

She refuses it and walks away. 

Two minutes later her friend approaches me. “Do you know that adults who are not in the company of children are not allowed in this park?” 

“No I didn’t know,” I respond. 

She then goes on to explain the reason (as if I couldn’t guess).  “It’s to keep pedophiles out.”

“Are you accusing me of being a pedophile?” I ask.

“I didn’t say that,” she responds and walks away.

I am shaken from the encounter, and decide to check.  And sure enough, at the Park’s entrance, I see this:

I take only one more photo, with permission, and leave.

I guess I’ll be looking for another activity next time I’m bored.