time on the cape

I think I have spent part of every summer on the Cape, starting in my first year of life. It's always been my second home.

I get back to NYC yesterday after six days at M's gorgeous house on the ocean. Aside from cloudy weather most days, and a 9.5-hour trip home (three buses, one cab, one train and one Lyft ride), it was an amazing trip, and already I miss so many things:

• Access to affordable lobster and lobster salad (from The Clam Man). I had it for three days.

• A perfectly designed and decorated house where there is a drawer or shelf or closet for everything.

• A backyard ocean to start and end each day.

• Salads made with a neighbor's home-grown tomatoes and dinners cooked on the grill.

• Long walks along the ocean and ending up in Woods Hole.

• Driving around aimlessly after dinner and finding a popular faux-truck that serves coffee and pastries, though we end up buying sleep shirts.

• Under $5 cinnamon buns at West Falmouth Market, the best I've ever had.

• Spending time with V and my sister (on different days), both of whom I see much less than I'd like.

• A resort-like pool and deck area to just lie around and read, eat and swim.

• Ice-cream from Lazy Sundae's.

• Reading the Wizard of Oz to M's adorable and wonderful grandson.

• The most perfect walk-in shower; oh how I wish I had that at home (and a laundry room too).

• I won't miss a house so large that misplacing my phone is easy and common. Though we do visit Nest and Feathers, a home goods store with the solution.

• Magnificent sunsets.

• But mostly, just hanging with M, who always makes life a lot more interesting and a ton more fun.

So what did I miss about New York? In the summer? Not a thing.

when it doesn't make sense

 I love the self-check-out kiosks that seem to be popping up everywhere.

Today I am at Agata, my local gourmet grocer, who recently installed four. 

The line for the human cashiers is always long, while there is usually no line for the self-checkout. 

Today, like most days, I see that only one is working. The others have signs that say, "Out of Order." I ask the manager why their new kiosks always seem to be not-working. "Oh, they work just fine. We just don't want people using them." This of course begs an obvious question.

Then she adds, "And we've gotten lots of complaints from customers who don't like them." This time I state the obvious, "Then don't use them."  If I select the white T-shirt over the blue one, should I complain to the salesperson that they shouldn't offer blue?

And then there are places like Sixteen Handles. I love their sorbet options (which I erroneously thought were a little bit healthy).

I select the cup size.

I chose the yogurt options.

I fill my container.

I add some toppings.

I wait in line (typically) while my yogurt begins to melt.

I pay. 

And then I am asked (either overtly on my credit card, or implicitly by the large jar labeled tips) if I want to add some extra money for what I always thought was service.

Really? A tip for what? Processing my payment? Or just because.

103!

I remember my two, very old-looking bubbies from childhood.

They were probably in their 80's but looked ancient, spoke no English, and  sat in their chairs all day. 

Rita is nothing like them.

Today we are celebrating her 103rd birthday. And, this isn't even her first celebration of the week. Rita has the energy and style of someone much younger, and is always up for getting together with her large and growing family (2 children, 5 grandkids and their spouses, and 11 wild and wonderful great-grandchildren). 

I meet Alexander at 10:30 for the train up to White Plains. Somehow I must have read the schedule wrong, and we end up having to change trains in Harlem and wait an extra 12 minutes (it could have been much worse). 

We arrive exactly on time. 

And like all our big family events, we attempt a memorable group photo. 

It's a large, boisterous group with a bunch of adorable kids (and still missing are Lily in California and Chloe and Isabel at camp).

My son (though reluctantly) even allows me to take a photo of him

It's a beautiful day for a beautiful woman.

She is well-deserving of the Birthday Queen crown she wears. She is our family royalty.

school hair

My sister recently gave me a folder of photos she found at my mom's house. Among them were some old school headshots and some that were professionally taken. 

I look at them and think, OMG. how NOT cute was I? 

My dad used to insist on cutting my bangs and some of our biggest fights had to do with my hair. "You are such a pretty girl," he would say. "But no one can see your face with your hair in your eyes." 

While I vehemently disagreed with him, and hated some of the bowl cuts he would give me (ala Moe of The Three Stooges fame), I look at the photos now and think, maybe he was right about my bangs.

The pre-school years:

Early school years:

The long-bang years:

High school graduation photo:

College yearbook:

And a year after college where I thought hair maybe mattered less (and I had a closet full of clothes not dominated by neutrals).

an unexpected afternoon

I win the Lottery.

Not the billion dollar one, the theater one. After trying for months, I finally get picked, Two, $30 tickets to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show today at 3pm.

I find out around 9:30am, and need to decide by 10.

• Susan has plans.
• Robin is in Saratoga seeing John Mulaney perform.
• Jill is at the Jersey shore.
• Shari has already seen it.
• Zelia lives in Connecticut now😢
• Linda is traveling somewhere in the world.
• Robyn is babysitting.
• And Alexander hates theater.

I buy the tickets anyway, then go on an app called Theatr. I post the tickets and they are sold within minutes.

I arrange to meet Madison at the box office. She is adorable. 23. Adventurous. Loves theater. And just recently moved here from — of all places — Anchorage.

Our $30 seats would have been $189. The Lottery is a great deal, if you can win.

And I did. And not just with the ticket. But by spending the afternoon with someone charming and new.