exercising

 I envy my friends who need to exercise. You know the ones. 

They don't feel right if they don't do their daily workout. For them, it's not a chore, it's a necessity. Maybe even something they look forward to.

My mother even falls into this group. Almost every day she feels the need to go out and cruise her neighborhood, even if for a short distance.

I am not like her. And I am not like the friends I envy, the ones who like to exercise.

I do it because I like the results. Or even more to the point, I'm fearful of the outcome if I don't. 

Since I've been back from the Cape, and it's no longer 90 degrees outside, I am determined to get back on track.

But I need incentives.

First, I buy a pair of shorts from Lululemon and am thrilled to discover they have discreet side pockets...enough to hold a phone and credit card. They are comfortable and look great.

Next, I set a goal: A minimum of 16 miles/week. 

I create an excel spreadsheet (I'm an Excel nerd). I won't record any day that I walk less than three miles. Last week I exceeded my goal and walked 26.4 miles — a tiny bit more than a marathon. Okay, I know, it took me 7 days and not a few hours, but still. 

I am now thinking of purchasing the new BOSE Quiet Comfort in-ear headphones that are being released this week. I imagine long walks getting lost in a good crime podcast... though I've yet to listen to a single podcast ever. But there's always good music if the podcast thing doesn't work out.

I am posting this, not because I think it's post-worthy, but it's one more incentive I am hoping will make me more accountable.

2020 Yom Kippur

Usually on this date I would be at Abbey sister's Jill's, and along with a big family group, we would all break fast together.

We'd also talk about the rabbi's sermon, and find out who fasted, who only drank water, and who didn't fast at all. 

None of us ever do the 25-hour fast, which is what tradition calls for. I had always thought it was sundown to sundown but today (thanks to Google) I learn it's even longer. 

At Jill's, we would first have a glass of orange juice. Then we would sit down to an enormous feast of bagels, lox, white fish, various salads, kugel and many other foods.

But today is different, it being 2020 and all.

I don't go to services; that's not unusual. 

Instead I go for a walk and contemplate life. The mistakes I've made. The many things I have to atone for. And the hope that those I love are inscribed into the Book of Life.

On my way to Central Park, on East 81st Street, I come across an outdoor service, led by a rabbi from Manhattan Jewish Experience, a group I've never heard of. It appears to be orthodox as I notice the men and women are separated.

Many stop. And for a few minutes, we observe the holiday together.

I head over to the park, passing the fountains in front of the Met on my way. 

It's an overcast, muggy day. I walk the reservoir, maskless (mostly) which feels good. 

I walk 4.2 miles. Come home. Shower. Read the paper. Nap for an hour. And break fast, alone. But still, with the traditional lox and bagels.

I miss the usual. 

But I'm grateful for the obvious (health, family, friends).

There is a Jewish saying, "Next year in Jerusalem." 

I'd be happy with next year at Jill's.

Phyllis turns 91

A year ago my mom celebrated her 90th birthday. My sisters and I put together a luncheon for her and 40 of her friends; there could have been more invited but we needed to limit the list because of space. My mom still talks about it.; it was a gorgeous event

So today, for her 91st, my mom has lunch again at the same place, the Flying Bridge. This time, it's a tiny group. But my sister sends a photo, and the weather looks as beautiful as it was last year.

We are a close family, but pretty spread out geographically — Massachusetts, New York (the city and Long Island), Greenwich, Philadelphia, LA  and Barcelona. So we decide to surprise my mom with a little Zoom get-together after her luncheon.

My mom is thrilled at seeing everyone.

And, it turns into a real family gathering. After the polite happy birthdays and blowing out of the candles, we evolve into life updates and of course politics. The big message being that everyone needs to register and vote. Unspoken (but understood) is where our politics all lean.

Abbey brings some humor to the conversation. "You know. I'm sure that right now in Texas someone is having a birthday celebration on Zoom, and they are saying the exact same thing we all are. Be sure to vote."

We all laughed at the words that were unsaid.

Happy 91st, mom. Your family and friends love you.

do you know where your child is?

I had hoped that Alexander would join me on the Cape, but he couldn't. 

Too much work. Too far to drive. And a host of other reasons.

Plus, do I really want him driving five hours to the Cape? He is relatively new to driving, after all. I think I'd worry too much.

So I go to the Cape without him. We speak often. He sounds good. 

Last night Alexander calls.

We talk a bit before he says, "Look, I need to tell you something and you're not going to like it."

When my son says something like this, I know that I am definitely, 100%, not going to like it. There is zero chance that I will think, "Oh you're wrong, that doesn't bother me at all." My son knows me too well.

He continues.

"I just got back from Arizona and California."

"You what?" I ask incredulously.

Before I have much of a chance to say anything more, he continues.

"I know you wouldn't like it and I know you would have tried  to dissuade me. And, you would have worried the whole time."

Of course he's right.

I express my disappointment, especially since I haven't seen him since December. But I can't be angry or then he'll just stop telling me things. 

I ask for details.

Alexander flew to Arizona last Monday, met a friend from Chicago there, and drove to the Grand Canyon. (Arizona, by the way, has just been added to NY as a state requiring a 14-day quarantine after you've been there).

Alexander and his friend decide on glamping — so much better than my son's original plan to camp out. Hard to picture my city boy erecting a tent by himself, and then sleeping among snakes and other unfriendly wildlife.

After three days, Alexander's friend flies home and he rents a car and drives seven hours, through the relatively deserted desert, near wildfires, to LA. I'd have been a mess just thinking about this part of the trip.

He gets to LA and spends time with his Aunt Lisa (Eric's sister), including a trip to Malibu.

And though I didn't know it at the time, on the same day that Alexander is enjoying the views on one coast, I am enjoying the view on another; here at Central Park's reservoir.

My son is in good, caring hands with his very cool, creative, and fun aunt. We both adore Lisa.

She encourages Alexander to tell me, and he says he will when he gets home.

And he does, as soon as he's off the plane, last night.

The truth is, I do understand. 

The Cape doesn't compare to the Grand Canyon, Sedona, and Malibu. And he did save me from worrying about the plane trips, the very long, lonesome drive through the desert, the wildfires, and COVID.

I never would have thought that an old PSA, Do you Know Where Your Children Are? would apply to my 27-year old today.

Guess I was wrong.

hoping for a better 5781

My sister Valerie calls.

We always spend the holidays together. This year we won't. And I understand. Another reality of COVID, and this strange, difficult time.

I hope by Thanksgiving we are able to figure out some way to be together. It's been 10 months.

Like everyone, I am hoping for a better new year than the one we are leaving. I have been inconvenienced, but nothing worse. I am both lucky and grateful.

Rosh Hashanah is about reflection and renewal. The mad year we are leaving has been filled with a pandemic, riots, mass unemployment, small business closings, and hate-filled politics. And the upcoming months promise to be challenging — especially with the arrival of flu season, the presidential election, and now a vacant seat on the Supreme Court.

It's an uncertain time. And in many ways, a frightening one.

But I am hopeful that things will improve.  And my prayers for the new year will be about that.

And also about ways that I can be a better person. 

Alexander calls to wish me shanah tovah. While brought up Jewish, my son is, unfortunately, one of the least observant Jews I know. But he does remember that sundown marks the start of Rosh Hashanah.

I tell him that some temples will be streaming services and that I will send him the link. "No thanks," he says. "Ya know with COVID and everything, I don't want to take any chances." 

Wishing you all good health, joy and sweetness for the coming Hebrew year, 5781.

five stops for a single drink

About two hours into the drive back to NYC, M and I come up with an idea foreign to both of us: let's make cosmopolitans.

Great. But we have to buy every single ingredient, including the glasses.

At exactly the same time that we decide to make cocktails, we notice a Costco on I-95. Soon we are exiting in East Lyme Connecticut.

There's a separate liquor store at this particular Costco and I buy the Kirkland Brand of vodka—which the salesperson assures me is the exact same product as Titos. Since I won't know the difference if she happens to be misinformed, I buy it.

Our second stop is a liquor store in Greenwich. But they don't sell Triple Sec.

We finally reach the city and stop at a small wine and spirits store on York. They do carry Triple Sec.

M next parks in front of a Rainbow Ace Hardware store on First Avenue. I run in and buy an OXO shaker and two martini glasses for $3.99 each.

We get to my apartment six hours after leaving Massachusetts.  

I unpack a few things, and we order dinner from Sandros: Tropea salad with onions, cucumber and tomatoes, Cacio e Pepe (spaghetti, pecorino cheese and black pepper) and grilled butterfly prawns. 

While we are waiting for dinner to be delivered, I go to D'Agostino's (the worst grocery store around, but nearby) and get limes, lime juice, cranberry juice, and a bag of ice.

Finally, we have all the ingredients.

I get home and we put the glasses and vodka in the freezer.

Dinner is exceptional.

Afterward we print out the Barefoot Contessa's simple recipe for cosmopolitans. We halve the recipe which still yields two-glasses each.

They are perfect. As good as my sister Jean makes, and hers are incredible.

Cheers, to my very good friend M, with whom life is always interesting, as well as fun.

the long good-bye

First, my plan is to leave on Sunday, September 6. Zelia is supposed to return to the Cape but then has a problem finding a cat sitter so she can't return.

Then I am going to leave on Thursday, September 10.  But the weather for the weekend sounds great. And I've gotten into long morning walks. And hanging with my mom and sister has been nice.  And what am I really missing in NYC? And the beach has been pretty perfect. So why not stay longer? I do.

Next I am going home on Monday, September 14.  I  buy a non-refundable ticket on the Acela. I'm not thrilled about taking a train and then being let off at Penn Station but I have no choice.

Until...

M decides to drive to NY today.

Instead of staying 9 days, I end up staying 18. But that extra time allows me to:

• Confirm that West Falmouth Market is just as good as Dean's... well, maybe better. They appreciate their customers more.

• Eat outside with M at C-Salt, my favorite Falmouth restaurant. Their calamari with mango and grapefruit is worth a trip to the Cape.

• Introduce my favorite dog, Jean and Jim's airedale Roxy, to the joy of golf cart riding. 

• Have one of my best dinners while here at the Green Pond Yacht Club. I had no idea that coffee crusted pork tenderloin could be so good.

• Get to drive a bit more, something I miss living in NY.

• Have dinner with my mom at Bleu, my second favorite restaurant on the upper Cape.

• Make use of my mom's washer and dryer... if you have your own (which most people do), it's hard to understand the thrill of doing laundry.

• Hear my mom say, 

• "What do you want for dinnah on x day," asked on x minus two days.
• "Have some brie (watermelon, lemon cake, etc)." "It's good." "You like it."And then repeated at least three more times within the next hour.
• "Did you turn up the air?" Every night I turn it down to 70 and every morning I put it up to 76 and every day my mom asks in case I've forgotten.
• "Where's the clicka?"
• "When I say I'm going to bed, watch. Ellie will follow me." And my mom's cat does. Every single night.

• And best of all, hear more of my mom's infectious laughter. 

I'm so glad I came.

two beaches, two days

Yesterday I finally go to Chapoquoit Beach.

You have to check the tide schedule before leaving home as there is too little beach at high tide. And during the season, you should arrive by dawn to get a parking space.

But given that Labor Day has passed, and high tide isn't until 5:32, all is good.

I arrive around noon, and can quickly see the allure of this beautiful, open beach.

It's a gorgeous early-fall day that feels like summer. The only thing missing are the crowds.

My sister arrives a little later, and we take a 3-mile walk along the shore and over some rocks, to Black Beach — accessible only by foot or boat.

Then we relax and talk, as sisters do.

And today, while a little cloudier, is still beautiful. I drive the golf card to WIld Harbor's deserted parking lot.

No one is at the beach.

I am all alone.

Until my mom arrives an hour later, dressed for snow.

I bid a farewell to the beaches I love for another year —

Hoping that next time I visit, the COVID signs will all be gone, and the only traces remaining will be in our collective memories.

lesson #47, how to order on amazon

Every day since I arrived, I've been working with my mom on her texting skills. 

And every day when we sit down for our lesson, it's as if the previous day's lesson never happened.

But she is getting better. A few texts have even been sent successfully.

I think my mom may be ready for online shopping.

At first she resists. "I can just call and order anything I need," she says.

It takes a lot of convincing, but I keep stressing how easy it is. And finally, my mom gives in.

Today she pulls up a chair next to me in the sunroom. Our first lesson will be ordering a gift card for a new baby. I tell her that it's a little bit more complicated than a product order, but still very simple.

I set her up with an Amazon account, and store her credit card information.

I go through the steps of ordering a gift card, explaining each one as I go.

Once she's decided on the amount, chosen the design, and written the gift card note, we review everything. It's perfect.

"Okay," I say. "Now all you have to do is click on the box that says Add To Card.

"This is by far the easiest part of the whole transaction," I say.

I click on Add to Cart.

Nothing happens.

I try again from the beginning. And still nothing.

Buy Now doesn't work either.

So I try a test.  I add some random product. I hit Add to Cart and my mom's shopping card instantly shows the number 1.

Hmmm. So why can't I add a gift card?

I call Amazon. The nice Indian woman I speak to is of zero help.

I ask for her supervisor. And wait.

By now, my mom has lost the small amount of interest she once had.

She leaves me and goes into the kitchen.

About fifteen minutes later the Amazon supervisor picks up.

He asks me to enter the info again.

I do.  Still nothing.

I am now about 30 minutes into the call when I hear my mom yell from the kitchen, "Forget it. I'll just send a check."

But I'm determined, and ignore her suggestion.

I  re-enter all the same info again and suddenly I see a plus one in my mom's shopping cart.

The supervisor can offer no explanation beyond,  "It was probably just a glitch in the system." 

I won't attempt to explain that to my mom.

I just hope she'll give Amazon shopping another chance.

Because it really is easy.  Most of the time.

I'm saving Instagram for next year. 

playing cards with my mother and her friends

My mother is well-liked.

She has always had a lot of friends. Growing up, my mom and dad were very social. Before I was old enough to go out with boys — but old enough to babysit my younger sister Jean —my parents would go out every single Saturday night. Valerie (my middle sister) and I became Gunsmoke addicts.

So it's no surprise that now, at almost 91, my mother still has lots of friends. Her phone rings more than mine does. 

And, many of her friends are closer to me in age than they are to her. 

Today we are playing canasta both online and in-person. Hope and Phyllis join us. 

While I am the instructor for anything technical, I can't figure out how to sit at the table and keep my computer plugged in. The cord is not long enough, and my battery is too weak to endure more than an hour or two of playing.  

After much discussion of where I can sit while remaining plugged in, Hope finally suggests moving the table closer to the outlet. 

And then Phyllis goes out without asking her partner, which she is something she is supposed to do. "Why didn't you ask your partner if you can go out?" Hope asks. 

Phyllis responds, "When you play on the app you can't ask your partner." 

"Well you can when she's sitting across from you," Hope counters.

Perhaps it's the sun that has fried our brains. 

And while everyone is a good player, not everyone is good on the Canasta Junction app. I won't name names, but it takes forever to get to the point where we can begin play. And unlike my games in the city, these women play for money — which I think makes it a lot more fun. $5 each to enter (all in ones). Partners are rotated and you get a dollar for every special hand, a wild card canasta, a sevens' or aces' canasta, and winning a game. 

It's a great way to spend a rainy Thursday. And with $3 more in my pocket,  I'm the big winner. 

a good guy to know

I am having dinner with Jean outside at the Quarterdeck. When we need to scan the menus with our phones, I realize mine is missing.

After a quick search, I find it on the floor of my sister's car. It looks like I may have stepped on it.

I google the cost to fix the screen on my iPhone 8; $149 according to Apple. Not horrible. 

Today I go to Verizon and learn that they don't fix iPhones. "But there's a guy in Mashpee who does. His name is Matt." 

I figure if it's a small retailer it'll probably cost a lot more than $149. But I need my phone fixed.

I call and Matt answers on the second ring. Nice.

I tell him my problem and ask how much and how soon. 

"$100 and 20 minutes," he answers. Perfect.

I drive over to Mashpee and find the aptly named repair shop housed in a quaint New England cottage.

When I tell Matt that I love the directness of the store name, he answers, "You'd be surprised how many people ask what we do."

Right away I know that my phone is in great hands. Matt is friendly, confident, and knows exactly what he's doing. 

I leave my phone and tell Matt I'll be back. I decide to grab lunch at the nearby yogurt store, only to learn that they open at one; twenty minutes from now.

So typical of the Cape.

With most business occurring during the busy summer months, you'd think all retailers would have extended hours. But no. Dana's Kitchen, a great place for coffee and homemade muffins, opens at 11. The best bakery in town, Maison Villatte, is closed on Tuesday. And C-Salt, my favorite restaurant, is closed on Monday and Tuesday.

I come back a half-hour later and my phone looks brand new. Plus, the tempered glass protective cover which is $40 at Verizon, is only $20 here.

The Cape is lucky to have such a competent, nice guy around to fix their broken phones. And judging by the number of people who stopped by in the short time I was there, I am not alone in my praise.

Thanks, Matt. I'm so glad I found you.

last day of summer

Every day for the past five days the weather has been perfect. Sunny. 70's. Clear blue sky.

I start the day with a four-mile walk over to Old Silver Beach. 

It's a little after nine and the man who's there to ensure cars are properly stickered is still having breakfast.

Late summer beachgoers are already settling in, knowing the beach will be packed within a couple of hours. 

My legs have never looked so long. 

I get back to my mom's feeling as if I've accomplished something.

I'm in no hurry to get to the beach. I actually don't want any more sun; I'm as tan as I want to be. In fact, for the last two days I've even been wearing a hat.

But I do love reading on the beach, and am totally into my book, The Vanishing Half by Britt Bennett.

Wild Harbor Beach isn't as crowded as it has been, which is nice. And my guess is that the day after Labor Day will find the beaches pretty empty.

But even here, on this gorgeous stretch of land, there's that reminder that our current reality is still nearby.

good-bye dean('s)

I've been buying deli sandwiches from Dean's Market for as long as I can remember. The sandwiches are so big I always ask for them to be cut in half and wrapped separately.  Same exact sandwich, but in two halves. That's my beach-lunch for the next two days.

Dean's been telling people that this has been one of his best summers ever. Fortunately, the store has not been hurt by COVID.

In 2013, I ask Dean if he'd consider selling lobster rolls. And he listens. That summer, for a few weeks, you could buy excellent, well-sized lobster rolls at Dean's. 

He's a strange man. I remember one day joking to my mom that I had made Dean smile. He can be quite dour, but his sandwiches are always great. Really, I've never had a problem in all the years I've been going there.

Until yesterday.

I'm on the beach and open my half sandwich. It's a turkey and swiss cheese sub. Missing are ALL the other ingredients I asked for: mayo, honey mustard, lettuce, pickle, and cucumber. 

The sandwich is dry and unappetizing. But hey, mistakes happen. This story isn't about the mistake; it's about the aftermath of the mistake.

I call and some young kid answers. I tell him the story, and also include my loyalty to Dean's over the years. I ask if he could replace the sandwich.

"I'm really sorry it wasn't exactly as you ordered it, but we've been very busy."

"And?"

"And nothing," he says.

Ignoring his response I say, "And can you make me a new half since the half I still haven't eaten is all wrong."

"No, we won't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because we just don't."

"Well that's not very good customer service. May I speak to Dean please?"

"He's not in. He'll be here tomorrow."

"Okay fine. I'll be in tomorrow. What's your name?"

"I'm not giving you my name. Good-bye. " And he hangs up.

Today I go back to the store and see Dean. I tell him the story that he's obviously already heard. 

"Ya, and what would you like me to do about it?" he asks antagonistically.

"Replace the sandwich. And, talk to that employee about how to speak to customers."

"Well, I"m not doing that."

"But that would be the right thing to do."

"Oh would it now?  First of all, that boy you spoke to yesterday happens to be one of our best employees. And secondly, I can't believe you would even think of asking for a replacement half. You paid for a product; you got a product."

"Yes, but the product I got was not the product I ordered."

And then Dean adds in a syrupy, whiny little girl voice— "Oh, gee, I'm sorry if your sandwich wasn't quite perfect. Get over it."

I am stunned, and say, "I can't believe you're talking to me this way."

"And I can't believe you. You know, you're a pain in the neck. And everyone in the deli counter thinks so too. They still remember all your complaints about the lobster salad." 

First of all, the deli counter is staffed with mostly college kids who turn over every year. And bringing up the lobster roll? The ones I suggested 7 years ago? The ones I loved and complimented him on? The ones he over-ordered and couldn't sell?

And he continues, almost as if he's been waiting for this opportunity.

"You are so difficult. You want half this on one side of the sandwich and half that on the other side."

Now he's just making stuff up. I only ask for the sandwich to be cut in half and wrapped separately — not made differently for each half.

Then finally, as he's walking away, he turns, and says, "We'll miss you," his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I go back to the car and almost cry, feeling like a student whose been unfairly chastised by her teacher.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have said anything. it's only a sandwich. And the deli almost always gets it right.

But it's too late now. I'm sure I'll find other good sandwich places; I'm told West Falmouth Market is excellent.

But I will miss Dean's—the place.

But I will definitely not miss Dean — the person.

outdoor dining

In NYC, I haven't had a meal outside my home (excluding two picnics in Central park) since March.

Here, I feel more comfortable dining outside. Maybe because I feel like I'm on vacation. And maybe, too, the views are alot better.

On Thursday I have dinner with my sister Jean and my friend M at Flying Bridge. We sit on the deck, overlooking Falmouth Harbor. The wait staff in restaurants are required to wear masks but diners are not. I had planned on my annual order of fried clams, but after starting with fried onion rings, I order the lobster salad instead.

Last night it was dinner with my mom, Jean and Jim at Sacconnesette Golf Club where my sister and Jim are members. My mom looks beautiful in her ivory and white outfit. With her dark glasses she looks more glamorous than either of her daughters.

We are seated overlooking the golf course.

With a view made more dramatic by the setting sun.

Oh, and the swordfish, in some kind of lemon, basil, carrot puree is outstanding.

Tonight it's me, M, her husband Tobey, and Tobey's second date— my mom. There is a sweet and genuine camaraderie between the two of them. 

The Greek restaurant Estia, does not take reservations. We arrive at 6:30, and are told it'll be a 30-45 minute wait. Long, but okay. It's Labor Day weekend afterall.

We take a walk up Falmouth's busy Main street, impressed that most are wearing masks, including of course, all of us.

Around 7:15, we head back to Estia and are told our table will be ready soon. 

We are seated at 8pm. And while the food is excellent, and the service fine, it's hard to justify a 90-minute wait. 

The food here has been great —  especially mixed with the right company, and those Cape Cod views.

the same, but not

I'm doing pretty much the same things I do on the Cape, but there have been a few subtle changes.

Coffee

In the past, M and I would meet most mornings at The Daily Brew. But she is more careful than I am, and I am more careful than most. M wouldn't consider going inside to pick up coffee now, even if we planned to drink it outside, as a safer alternative exists — making coffee at home.

Hanging at the beach

Actually, the biggest change is that people are more aware of sitting at a distance from others. This is actually nice, regardless of COVID. And because it's so late in the season — later than I am typically here — the beach is less crowded anyway. 

Meals with friends and family

This has changed the most. 

The other night, Zelia, my mom and I all have dinner at my sister Jean's house — as good as any top restaurant. We eat outside, which is great. Inside dining isn't even a consideration. 

And tonight, M and I are supposed to have dinner at an outdoor restaurant. But it rains, so we cancel and eat separately. 

I pick up soup and salad at Crabapple's, and am surprised to see a 10% add-on for COVID.

My mom's cat

Ellie is one big cat. And now an odd-looking one. Her hair got so matted that the only solution was to shave her. Poor kitty. Now she looks like a lion, as her face, tail and legs remain as before.

The Cape is really not much different from NY. People all wear masks in stores. Caution exists for food delivery or pick up. Here, call ahead, pay ahead, wait outside, and the food is delivered to your car. And conversations often include politics and COVID. 

Even still, because people drive more than walk, and the streets aren't crowded, the constant reminder of this ugly, dangerous virus feels more like a whisper than a shout.

Maybe that's what makes it so peaceful here. Oh, and then there's the ocean.