One of my faithful readers (probably the only one) asked for more poetry so here goes.
GLOBAL WARMING
My bed is cold
Colder with you than without you.
Cold because of anger
You turn your back
Refuse to touch me
The cold is palpable.
All because we don’t agree
Clipped verbal responses
Make me feel
Small
Unwanted
Useless
I feel bad; then bristle; then cajole
It doesn’t work
I wait for the thaw
Which always comes
Making me feel warm again.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
WOMAN'S CLUB OF MARTHA'S VINEYARD
I missed the first two meeting this year and so was very happy to attend the November meeting on Monday. It was a fund raiser for the Red Stocking and as we have done for the last three years or so Janice Belisle was auctioneer to a bunch of 'treasures' the members brought in. It's a fun way to raise money without just writing a check. Just like yard sales, eventually you start to recognize the items that are on sale!
THE WOMAN’S CLUB
I had been living on the Vineyard just short of three months when I met the president of the Edgartown Woman’s Club. Entering the third year of a two year term she was quite passionate about my joining the club. She introduced me to two other members and they were equally passionate. The Woman’s Club, she carefully explained, is probably the oldest service organization on the Island. It was founded in 1898, joined the State Federation in 1924 and the General Federation in 1926. In fact, she went on, the list of past presidents and members reads like a who’s who of Island history. I assured her that I was grateful for the invitation but I really wasn’t into selling wrapping paper or baked goods. I had done enough of that when my daughter was in school.
Oh no, she assured me, the ladies don’t actually fund raise. They prefer to write checks. (They used to fund raise but when one member complained that the cake that cost her ten dollars to make had been sold for five dollars...) Three times a year collections are taken for Island charities; October for veterans, November for Red Stocking and April for the high school scholarship. Any leftovers go to Hospice, the Historical Society, Community Services and other assorted deserving causes.
This seemed a somewhat novel approach for a service organization so I agreed to go to their next gathering to see what it was all about. The next meeting was in September (the group only meets September through June excepting February when all the snowbirds are in Florida and it might snow and there is no place to park in July and August) and wasn’t a meeting at all but the annual fall luncheon. It was in what used to be the Dunes Restaurant out by South Beach in Katama. Approximately twenty five members (one of whom was a man--I must say that threw me) attended. When I was introduced as a potential new member I was met with hugh smiles and open arms. Every woman there spoke glowingly of the club, welcomed me and seemed genuinely thrilled that I wanted to join. (Later I found this was a far cry from the old days when they actually used white and black balls to vote on new prospects. These items were donated to the Historical Society back in the mid seventies, by President Norma Bridwell.) I must say I was hooked by the warmth, especially since I was such a recent washashore.
Over the course of the next year I met some fascinating women and made some good friends. I became so impressed with these women and their charitable works I didn’t think twice when asked to be Vice President (after I was assured that I wouldn’t have to be president if I didn’t want to-hah!) Of course once I was in office it was obvious to everyone but me that I was being groomed to take over. In my naivety it never occurred to me that the vast majority of members had already been there done that, some more than once. No wonder they had been so anxious to welcome me! In May of 2002 I cheerfully started my two year term. The main thrust of my presidency was to enroll new members. It would be a terrible sin if this Island institution didn’t survive. Maybe you’d like to join. I promise you won’t have to be president!
THE WOMAN’S CLUB
I had been living on the Vineyard just short of three months when I met the president of the Edgartown Woman’s Club. Entering the third year of a two year term she was quite passionate about my joining the club. She introduced me to two other members and they were equally passionate. The Woman’s Club, she carefully explained, is probably the oldest service organization on the Island. It was founded in 1898, joined the State Federation in 1924 and the General Federation in 1926. In fact, she went on, the list of past presidents and members reads like a who’s who of Island history. I assured her that I was grateful for the invitation but I really wasn’t into selling wrapping paper or baked goods. I had done enough of that when my daughter was in school.
Oh no, she assured me, the ladies don’t actually fund raise. They prefer to write checks. (They used to fund raise but when one member complained that the cake that cost her ten dollars to make had been sold for five dollars...) Three times a year collections are taken for Island charities; October for veterans, November for Red Stocking and April for the high school scholarship. Any leftovers go to Hospice, the Historical Society, Community Services and other assorted deserving causes.
This seemed a somewhat novel approach for a service organization so I agreed to go to their next gathering to see what it was all about. The next meeting was in September (the group only meets September through June excepting February when all the snowbirds are in Florida and it might snow and there is no place to park in July and August) and wasn’t a meeting at all but the annual fall luncheon. It was in what used to be the Dunes Restaurant out by South Beach in Katama. Approximately twenty five members (one of whom was a man--I must say that threw me) attended. When I was introduced as a potential new member I was met with hugh smiles and open arms. Every woman there spoke glowingly of the club, welcomed me and seemed genuinely thrilled that I wanted to join. (Later I found this was a far cry from the old days when they actually used white and black balls to vote on new prospects. These items were donated to the Historical Society back in the mid seventies, by President Norma Bridwell.) I must say I was hooked by the warmth, especially since I was such a recent washashore.
Over the course of the next year I met some fascinating women and made some good friends. I became so impressed with these women and their charitable works I didn’t think twice when asked to be Vice President (after I was assured that I wouldn’t have to be president if I didn’t want to-hah!) Of course once I was in office it was obvious to everyone but me that I was being groomed to take over. In my naivety it never occurred to me that the vast majority of members had already been there done that, some more than once. No wonder they had been so anxious to welcome me! In May of 2002 I cheerfully started my two year term. The main thrust of my presidency was to enroll new members. It would be a terrible sin if this Island institution didn’t survive. Maybe you’d like to join. I promise you won’t have to be president!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
KATAMA WIND
The wind is howling. For those of you who only visit the Island in the summer you should know that if Martha's Vineyard wasn't heaven sometimes I'd think it was hell.
Katama Wind
The wind lives in Katama
Challenging trees and birds.
Trees bend like crippled old men,
Birds struggle to stay in place.
No gentle Trade
The Katama wind is a stern parent
Keeping dunes in place
Pruning plants, rolling the fog.
Sometimes it roams the Island
Stirring up ponds, piling leaves,
Disrupting power;
Stopping the ferry.
But it always comes home.
Home to Katama.
Katama Wind
The wind lives in Katama
Challenging trees and birds.
Trees bend like crippled old men,
Birds struggle to stay in place.
No gentle Trade
The Katama wind is a stern parent
Keeping dunes in place
Pruning plants, rolling the fog.
Sometimes it roams the Island
Stirring up ponds, piling leaves,
Disrupting power;
Stopping the ferry.
But it always comes home.
Home to Katama.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
PHONE-Y BUSINESS
Did they really have to pass a law forbidding texting while you are driving? Duh. I feel sorry for people who can't spend one moment alone with their own thoughts.
PHONE-Y BUSINESS
My friend Jules has finally accepted cell phones as a fact of life. This is no small accomplishment since he is America’s anti-techie. He was the last person on this continent to purchase a telephone answering machine, and although he does use a computer, he is still clueless about sending e-mail. Cell phones were the last novelty of the information age to win him over. How you might ask? Well, he was on his way off Island for his annual month in Mexico and like most Islanders asked a friend for a ride to the ferry. When they arrived he unloaded his baggage, said good-bye, and started walking to the boat. Jules suddenly realized he had left his carry-on bag with all his cash in the car. Needless to say Alice was long gone.
He ran into the terminal, called her husband and got her cell number. Thankfully she had her phone with her and returned with Jules’s bag in time for him to catch the ferry. This experience forced Jules to accept the fact that cell phones can be helpful.
He still complains about their use by people driving cars, when they ring in movie theaters or if people use them in restaurants. He’s always happy to go somewhere that has a ‘no cell phones’ sign, and yearns for the days of old fashioned telephone booths where you could shut the door and have a private conversation without disturbing everyone around.
Of course Jules used to think that cell phones were a phenomenon of women. One day he set out to prove it to me and did an informal survey throughout the day. He had to admit that usage was pretty much fifty-fifty, but he still feels that men use them for business and women primarily to chat. This has been confirmed over and over again since one cannot help but overhear one end of all cell phone conversations in one’s immediate area.
My introduction to cell phones was many years ago when they were still rare. I went into the ladies room in a restaurant and there was a conversation going on in the lone stall. I of course figured it was a mother and child but as time passed I realized that this woman was speaking to another adult. This, I must say, had me not only confused but intensely curious. Finally out of the stall came a well dressed woman draped in gold jewelry, a cell phone glued to her ear. I wonder to this day if the party on the other end heard the flush.
We were in the grocery one day waiting to place a deli order when a woman, who was obviously a summer visitor since she was clad from head to toe in designer duds, grabbed a number and proceeded to make a phone call. When her number came up she was deep in conversation and so was passed by. When she finished her call and noticed the current number she started waving her ticket and yelled at the clerk. “They passed my number,” she said to everyone around her. I informed her that they did call her number but she didn’t respond. “But I was on the phone!” she replied.
Cell phones make it impossible to be incognito. If you don’t turn them on and someone wants to reach you they get highly irate and leave nasty voice mails encouraging you to join the twenty first century. My daughter always says the same thing. “Mommmm. Why do you have a cell phone if you don’t use it?” I guess it hasn’t occurred to her that I have a life and I might be doing something I don’t want disturbed by a phone call. I always feel embarrassed if I get a call when I’m out in public. I don’t know why. Nobody else seems to. Riding on the T in Boston it always amuses me when all the college kids with phones stuck to their ears announce in unison, “I’m gonna lose you, we’re going underground.” At least the disconnection is complete. I hate it when the service is intermittent. It’s bad enough you have to listen to half a conversation but when they yell and repeat themselves I want to scream.
Walking down the street surrounded by people on cell phones can be disconcerting. A friendly, chatty, woman I know always assumes people are talking to her until she turns around and looks at them. And those little technological wonders people leave sticking in their ears really creep me out. How important are these people?
My friend Jonathan shops in Cronig’s. One day he was in the soup aisle and a gentleman was holding a cell phone to his ear. By the look on his face he was apparently listening to a diatribe. When he hung up, which you can’t really do with a cell phone, my friend asked if he could help in any way. “I don’t think so,” the gent said. “My wife wants ten bean soup mix. All they have is five and fifteen.” Jonathan suggested he buy the fifteen and let her pick out the ones she didn’t like. Of course if the shopper hadn’t had a cell phone, he wouldn’t have been in this quandary. He would have had to make a decision and live with it. Still, it’s not unusual to see and hear husbands who have been sent to the store, checking in with the little woman to clarify the list.
I guess the place that annoys Jules the most, where cell phones are concerned, is the beach. Going to the beach is sacred to him and he feels everyone else should treat it with the reverence it deserves. Unfortunately others do not feel the same. His new beach chair has a cell phone pocket attached to the arm.
PHONE-Y BUSINESS
My friend Jules has finally accepted cell phones as a fact of life. This is no small accomplishment since he is America’s anti-techie. He was the last person on this continent to purchase a telephone answering machine, and although he does use a computer, he is still clueless about sending e-mail. Cell phones were the last novelty of the information age to win him over. How you might ask? Well, he was on his way off Island for his annual month in Mexico and like most Islanders asked a friend for a ride to the ferry. When they arrived he unloaded his baggage, said good-bye, and started walking to the boat. Jules suddenly realized he had left his carry-on bag with all his cash in the car. Needless to say Alice was long gone.
He ran into the terminal, called her husband and got her cell number. Thankfully she had her phone with her and returned with Jules’s bag in time for him to catch the ferry. This experience forced Jules to accept the fact that cell phones can be helpful.
He still complains about their use by people driving cars, when they ring in movie theaters or if people use them in restaurants. He’s always happy to go somewhere that has a ‘no cell phones’ sign, and yearns for the days of old fashioned telephone booths where you could shut the door and have a private conversation without disturbing everyone around.
Of course Jules used to think that cell phones were a phenomenon of women. One day he set out to prove it to me and did an informal survey throughout the day. He had to admit that usage was pretty much fifty-fifty, but he still feels that men use them for business and women primarily to chat. This has been confirmed over and over again since one cannot help but overhear one end of all cell phone conversations in one’s immediate area.
My introduction to cell phones was many years ago when they were still rare. I went into the ladies room in a restaurant and there was a conversation going on in the lone stall. I of course figured it was a mother and child but as time passed I realized that this woman was speaking to another adult. This, I must say, had me not only confused but intensely curious. Finally out of the stall came a well dressed woman draped in gold jewelry, a cell phone glued to her ear. I wonder to this day if the party on the other end heard the flush.
We were in the grocery one day waiting to place a deli order when a woman, who was obviously a summer visitor since she was clad from head to toe in designer duds, grabbed a number and proceeded to make a phone call. When her number came up she was deep in conversation and so was passed by. When she finished her call and noticed the current number she started waving her ticket and yelled at the clerk. “They passed my number,” she said to everyone around her. I informed her that they did call her number but she didn’t respond. “But I was on the phone!” she replied.
Cell phones make it impossible to be incognito. If you don’t turn them on and someone wants to reach you they get highly irate and leave nasty voice mails encouraging you to join the twenty first century. My daughter always says the same thing. “Mommmm. Why do you have a cell phone if you don’t use it?” I guess it hasn’t occurred to her that I have a life and I might be doing something I don’t want disturbed by a phone call. I always feel embarrassed if I get a call when I’m out in public. I don’t know why. Nobody else seems to. Riding on the T in Boston it always amuses me when all the college kids with phones stuck to their ears announce in unison, “I’m gonna lose you, we’re going underground.” At least the disconnection is complete. I hate it when the service is intermittent. It’s bad enough you have to listen to half a conversation but when they yell and repeat themselves I want to scream.
Walking down the street surrounded by people on cell phones can be disconcerting. A friendly, chatty, woman I know always assumes people are talking to her until she turns around and looks at them. And those little technological wonders people leave sticking in their ears really creep me out. How important are these people?
My friend Jonathan shops in Cronig’s. One day he was in the soup aisle and a gentleman was holding a cell phone to his ear. By the look on his face he was apparently listening to a diatribe. When he hung up, which you can’t really do with a cell phone, my friend asked if he could help in any way. “I don’t think so,” the gent said. “My wife wants ten bean soup mix. All they have is five and fifteen.” Jonathan suggested he buy the fifteen and let her pick out the ones she didn’t like. Of course if the shopper hadn’t had a cell phone, he wouldn’t have been in this quandary. He would have had to make a decision and live with it. Still, it’s not unusual to see and hear husbands who have been sent to the store, checking in with the little woman to clarify the list.
I guess the place that annoys Jules the most, where cell phones are concerned, is the beach. Going to the beach is sacred to him and he feels everyone else should treat it with the reverence it deserves. Unfortunately others do not feel the same. His new beach chair has a cell phone pocket attached to the arm.
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