today

 Clear skies. High 60's. Perfect early fall weather.

I wake up ready for a cup of coffee. I'd set it up last night. Just had to press the brew button.

But I'd forgotten to put the lid on the glass coffee carafe. So when I go to get my cup, I am greeted instead with this:

A total mess. No drinkable coffee. Damn.

And then I think, there was someone who did this, twenty years ago, and thought, "What a bad way to start the day." Not knowing that a really bad day was imminent.

It's hard to believe that 9-11 was twenty years ago. The memories, the smell of cool autumn air, and the relentless and horrific news coverage do not feel old. I remember seeing the downtown smoke from my apartment more than four miles away. The posters everywhere searching for loved ones. The emptiness of the city. The bravery of many. The fear. The sadness. The unity.   

I am one of the fortunate ones. My family, too. 

And today, all these years later, the city still sparkles.

a few beach essentials

A good day at the beach has some requirements.

First, the chair. 

It has to be the right height. Comfortable. Have a cup holder. A place for a phone and Kindle.  Be adjustable to different back angles. Be compact and easy to carry. And have a flexible sunshade (the absolute best part of my Sunflow chair).

Small, easy cooler for one

Put this in the freezer and you don't need an ice pack.  Fits a bottle of water. A sandwich. And maybe some fruit. Who needs more?

At least one good float

This one by Poolmaster is perfect. Easy to carry (which is key). Flexible (you can lie on it or sit on it). Comfortable. And inexpensive ($20 on Amazon). I've spent more time in the water this summer than ever before.

And the most important essential of all? 

A beautiful beach. 

And my three favorites are all nearby.

Chapoquoit. 4.1 miles away.

Old Silver Beach. 1.2 miles away.

And WIld Harbor. A  half-mile away. On one loaded-up golf cart.

the long good-bye

Tropical storm (or possibly hurricane) Henri is making its way up the east coast toward Cape Cod.

Saturday is a changeover day.

My mother is worried.

The bridge could close.

There could be long long lines at gas stations.

Who knows, they could even run out of gas.

All this is could happen on the very same Saturday that Alexander and Megan are planning to leave.

"Tell them they have to leave early," my mother tells me.

I oblige.

Then a bit later she adds, "They should be on the road by 6am. Otherwise they could be backed up for hours trying to get ova the bridge."

I relay the concern.

Alexander and Megan are now armed with all the knowledge they need.

How they use that knowledge is up to them.

That's hard for my mom to accept but she tries.

I hear my mom on the phone Saturday morning talking to a friend. "Left? They're not even up yet."

Around nine, Megan comes downstairs. 

All packed. Baskets emptied. Bed stripped. And even a beautiful thank-you note written to my mom.

A bit after that Alexander comes down. Still not fully packed.

They grab a quick breakfast.

They don't seem in a big hurry.

And eventually, they are ready to hit the road.

11am.

One last pic before they leave.

And guess what?

They make it over the Bourne Bridge just fine. 

They have plenty of gas.

And Henri turns into a non-event.

mostly the same

I've been on the Cape since August 12, and mostly it's been the same. 

But same in a good way.

Great beach days. Especially at low tide and 78-degree water. 

Spending time with my mom who looks amazing with her natural-colored hair.

Early-morning walks on near-deserted beaches.

Dinners out.

Hanging with my good friend M.

Home-cooked meals outdoors. 

With the moon as the perfect backdrop.

Morning fog.

And gorgeous sunsets.

But the one non-same activity is getting to spend time with Alexander and his friend Megan who arrived last Saturday.

There's always a bit of drama, but so far, all is good.

verbal attack in elevator

It should be an uneventful trip to the basement to deposit my papers and bottles.

It isn't.

I get in the elevator. One floor down the door opens and a man gets in.

It takes a second for it to register that he's maskless. 

Before I have a chance to exit the elevator, the door closes.

This is a man (about my age) that I know. 

Know not in we're friendly and we hang-out together. But know as in he's lived in the building for ages and if we saw each other on the street we might nod hello. That kind of know.

I say to him, "You need to put your mask on."

He replies, "I don't have a mask on me."

I point to the sign behind me, in our very small elevator.

His response is unexpected.

He starts screaming, "You F*CKING C*NT." 

And he just keeps going, louder and louder. Totally out of control.

I go up to the first floor, and soon he's there (not necessarily that he follows me but because that's where he is heading).

His ranting continues. Louder and more vehement.

He stands in my face, pointing his finger, and shouts obscenities.

Inexplicably, I don't cower. 

I just stand there, looking him in the eyes, almost daring him to hit me.

The doorman holds him back as it looks like he's about to physically attack me.

On subways, and in stores, I never say anything to people who chose not to wear masks. I just move my seat or stand far away.

But this is my building. 

I'm in a very small elevator. 

And a giant sign stating the required protocol is prominently displayed behind me.

The man retreats to his apartment. 

I stay rooted in place in front of my building, too shaken to move.

A few minutes later the man comes out of his apartment and approaches me.

"Look, can we talk like two adults?"

I nod.

He then apologizes. Tells me he's sorry he exploded. He's just so tired of people telling him what he can and cannot do. And blah blah blah.

I accept his apology.

We live in the same building after all. I don't want to be afraid of my neighbors.

But still.

As the Delta variant spreads and rules about mask-wearing and vaccinations keep changing, I get that it's hard to know the right thing to do.

But if I had to guess, calling someone a F*CKING C*NT is never the right thing.

finally, a v-neck

I have always loved the sun. Or more specifically, getting tan.

We all now know, if we didn't then, that baking in the sun is not a good idea for lots of reasons.  

Over many summers, my chest has become mottled. It does not look good. And for years, I've avoided V-necks. 

Recently while at the dermatologist (whom I've been seeing for years and love), Dr. Rhonda Pomerantz tells me that I'd be a good candidate for IPL — Intense Pulsed Light. It's used for skin pigmentation sun damage, and according to Wikipedia, "the technology uses a high-powered, hand-held, computer-controlled flashgun to deliver an intense, visible, broad-spectrum pulse of 

On March 9, I go for my first of two treatments. 

I am excited to improve this bad look.

I'm told that the process will be uncomfortable, and afterwards I'll be red. But over time, the dark spots will slowly lighten.

The process begins.

Instead of using the word uncomfortable, perhaps a better description would have gone like this:

"It'll feel like you are being slowly tortured with lit cigarettes all over your chest."

It is brutal. 

And every few minutes I need to take a short break.

The whole process probably takes about 15 minutes, if that. But it feels like hours.

Though it looks horribly painful, as soon as it's over —and for the days and weeks following —there is zero discomfort. 

Now that I know what it feels like, I am dreading the second treatment a few weeks later. But on April 14 I return.

Same procedure as last time.

Protective goggles and some gel goop on my chest.

But this time, quite by accident, I am talking to Dr. Pomerantz the whole way through. And the simple distraction of talking makes this time much less painful than the first. 

And, Dr. Pomerantz later tells me, she had increased the intensity level of the pulses.

The weeks pass. The spots continue to lighten. 

And now it's August.  

Finally, I can wear a V-neck without being totally embarrassed.

It's not perfect, though I never thought it would be. 

I'm quite happy to settle for a much-improved. 

Face maybe next.

unwanted visitors

Maybe it's something about me that attracts bugs.

After a visit to the dermatologist, and a stronger medication, my feet and ankles have finally stopped that awful itching. They still look dreadful — gigantic red dots all over my legs, feet and toes — but hopefully that too will subside in time.

But that's only one of my bug problems.

In February of 2020, a big water bug landed in my hair while I was in my apartment. It's not hard to imagine how awful that was.

Since then, I've had the exterminator to my apartment more times than I can count. The wonderful Paul, owner of the exterminator company, even gives me his cell number (with my building's approval) so I can contact him directly.

                

He's tried everything.

Glue traps.

Granular poison of some kind.

Little rubber circular things that do something lethal to the bugs.

We've sealed every possible point of entry. 

Even pulled out my stove and dishwasher to make sure these buggers aren't getting in that way.

Every vent. Every crack. Every drain. Every everything has been hermetically sealed.

And still, they find a way in.

Mostly when I see one of these giant, hideous creatures they are dead. Bad, but not as bad as when my friend Linda was over and one of these motherfu....s raced across my living room carpet, scaring us both. And, if alive, they are not easy to catch.

Paul is here again today. After getting back from the Cape, I find two dead bugs and one alive one. And, they were all in different parts of my apartment. 

Paul thoroughly treats my apartment and the basement below me. 

If only we could figure out how they are getting in.

It's baffling and upsetting. These bugs just don't want to leave.

But at least it's not as bad as what my friend M found in her beautiful Massachuttes home.

The other night, late, she notices a brown mound sitting on her hallway carpet. Her first thought is that Gus, her adorable dog, is responsible. But as she gets closer, she notices movement in the dark mound. 

Turns out it's a dying bat.

Perhaps I should be grateful for having just a bug problem!

from abyssmal to incredible

BAD customer service

My friend Q orders a dress online from Saks on July 4; it's for a wedding in early August.

It never arrives. 

She tries calling. She tries writing. She gets nowhere.

So one quiet night, with little to do but watch TV, Q calls.

She patiently waits online for over two hours (great Customer Service, that Saks), and finally reaches a nice woman who is working from Colombia. 

Q explains her frustration. The woman listens patiently. Then she asks Q what she'd like to do.

"Cancel the order," Q says. 

The CS rep does. 

And then Q asks, "For this major inconvenience, which includes having to wait on hold for over two hours, is there anything you can do?"

"I can send you a coupon for 20% off your next purchase," the rep offers.

"Fine," Q says.

The rep promises she'll have it within a few minutes.

Q hangs up and as promised, the coupon arrives a few minutes later.

From: Saks Fifth Avenue Customer Service <service@saks.com>
Date: July 13, 2021 at 10:37:20 PM EDT
Subject: Saks Case #0854251 Order #285875160   

 We hope this email finds you well and safe, we have received your request . We do apologize for the inconvenience you have experience with us about requesting the hold for pick up for your order , Here is a 20% promo code that you can use on your next purchase.  Excludes some designer 

collections. valid at Saks.com only. Offer not valid on pre-order items. Offer cannot be redeemed more than once. Limit five promo codes per order.

Cannot be combined with any other dollar off or percentage off promotions. Offer not valid on merchandise shipped directly from vendors. No adjustments to prior purchases. 

Offer valid through 07/13/21 at 11:59 pm ET.

Just brilliant!

VS GOOD customer service

In 2015 I wrote about the bad CS I received from Louis Vuitton. Well, they've redeemed themselves.

Before leaving for the Cape, I bring my falling-apart Neverfull MM tote into Louis Vuitton to be repaired. The leather around the top is torn and ragged-looking. Also, one of the side straps has ripped. I haven't used the bag in a while 'cause it looks so bad.

Anyway, I go to the store and a very nice person named Rachel helps me. She tells me it's $60 to repair the leather around the top (a bargain, I think) and $60 for one side strap replacement. 

The shoulder straps are also in desperate need of fixing but those cost $240 to repair, so I skip that.

Rachel asks if I want both side straps replaced because the colors now won't match. New leather is light orange and takes a while to turn to the more tan color.

I decline.

She also says, "If they find that the vinyl is ripped when they remove the leather around the top, they won't be able to repair it or even put the damaged leather back."

I accept the risk.

A few weeks later, while on the Cape, Rachel calls to tell me my tote is ready.

She emails me an invoice for $120. 

I pay it and she says she'll send the bag to my house.

When I receive it, I open it up and see this:

It looks like new. 

They fixed the two pieces I paid for and didn't charge me for the two other pieces they chose to repair. 

I was charged $120 for a $420 repair.

Maybe LV doesn't want someone walking around NY with a tote that doesn't meet their quality standards.

Whatever the reason, I am happy with my new bag.

cape souvenirs

It takes Zelia and me five-and-a half hours to get home, about an hour longer than it should.

To pass the time on the way back, we listen to a few podcasts called PARK PREDATORS. Doubt I'll be camping any time soon. Then again, I never camp.

I walk into my apartment and and see two, very ugly, dead gigantic water bugs, plus one that I think is dead but scoots away when I try to grab him. This has been a problem for almost a year and a half. The building and exterminating company have been trying...but these big, ugly bugs don't want to move out.

I have 27 messages. Strange, because most people I know have my cell number. But then every single one of them turns out to be some kind of spam call.

I start to unpack, but don't get far. I am too uncomfortable.

On Wednesday, I had spent about four hours at the beach — my feet in the water, my Kindle in my hand. And now I'm paying the price.

I have 68 bug bites (sand fleas, I think) on my right leg, most on my foot: top, sides and back. My left foot and leg only show 41. (Yes, I actually counted). 

I am not exaggerating when I say my feet and lower legs look like I have chicken pox.

I am trying everything.

I go into a store and feel like an addict looking for my next fix.

I get:

• Benadryl tablets (I was able to sleep last night).
• A CVS generic spray which helps little.
• Cortisone-10 which isn't all that effective.
• Ice, which feels good temporarily.
• Benadryl itch-cooling spray, which I still have to try (a friend I bump into today highly recommends it).
• Aveeno Oatmeal Soothing Bath Treatment (will try tonight).

While on the Cape, I typically walk between 7 and 9 miles/day. Today I can't even walk to my shoe repair place, only seven blocks away. I am too uncomfortable and just want to go home and scratch.

The itchiness is unrelenting. And, I can't really concentrate. I even leave my bank card in the ATM machine.

But as awful as this is, it's not all that awful.  It won't kill me and it will improve. 

I'm hoping that today is the worst.

Sadly, I now need to re-think my days of idly sitting at the ocean's edge.

lonely? not this lady!

I'm talking to a friend a few weeks ago and I happen to mention that my mom calls me every day. Occasionally twice a day. "She must be lonely," my friend says.

"No, that she isn't," I respond.

And now that I'm staying with her, I am even more sure that my answer was correct.

My mom's phones (both landline and cell) ring much more than mine does. And I am only counting her friends and family calls.

She has many many good friends. Most much younger than she is. 

She is always being invited places.

She has regularly scheduled games of bridge and canasta.

There are lots of adjectives that can be used to describe my mom. 

Fun. Likable. Beautiful. Talkative. Active. Stylish. Warm. Loving. Positve. 

The word lonely is not among them.

a few cape oddities

My guess is that July and August represent the majority of revenue for most Cape businesses. 

Yesterday I suggest dinner at Crabapple's. A small nondescript restaurant with inexpensive, good food. "They're closed for dinner on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights," my mother tells me.

And then there's the cheese shop near my mom's. There's been an upside-down sign in front for years. It was put up that way by accident (I was once told) and never corrected. They are closed on Sunday and Monday.

And my favorite French Bakery, Maison Villatte. There's always a long line to get served. Everything there is great, especially their cranberry walnut bread. They are closed Mondays.

One of the best local restaurants, C-Salt, is closed Mondays and Tuesdays. Same as Dana's Kitchen, a great little breakfast/lunch place.

Oh, and forget the weather apps. It may say clouds in North Falmouth but I only see sun. Or it's raining at the beach (an 8-minute walk) and it's clear skies at my mom's.

Another oddity? The total lack of street lighting, making driving at night difficult. 

And then there's this. 

Most places no longer require masks. 

Walk along the beaches of Falmouth. Go into its stores. Stroll along Main Street. Or visit Mashpee Commons. You'll see very few, if any, masked people.

But you will find them at Cape Cod Bagel (whose bagels rival New York's).

What makes this odd (ridiculous would be a better descriptor), is that there is only outdoor service.