Boat's gone for the winter. Beach is windy. Hiking is the preferred outdoor activity this time of the year.
TAKE A HIKE
I’m not what you call the outdoorsy type. Oh I don’t mind a couple of hours on the beach, as long as I have a comfortable chair, umbrella, good read, and a beer. Don’t tell anyone about the beer. I don’t even bring food because I don’t like to eat sand and frankly I really don’t want to stay long enough to need nourishment. And swim? Forget it. It’s the North Atlantic, for Pete’s sake. Unfortunately this does not make my husband happy. He accepts it because I have other attributes that are best not mentioned in a family publication.
This Island was made for him. Any place that has organized walks twelve months a year is his kind of place. It’s not so much the walk per se, but the camaraderie of like minded individuals that pleases him. The information disseminated on these ‘winter walks’ is not of paramount interest to him. He really doesn’t care how much erosion has taken place in the last hundred years on the bluffs at Lucy Vincent. What he enjoys is the company of people who go out in all kinds of weather with walking sticks and hiking boots. However, even he is suspicious of people who wear shorts and sandals in March. He loves to hike, swim and do all those things I wasn’t born with the genes for. But--marriage, thy name is compromise, so I go along occasionally just so he’ll owe me one.
He bought a couple of those “Hiking the Vineyard” books hoping to get me interested. “Look honey, they put in more trails at Brine’s Pond.” Or “Here’s a walk that’s only 3.5 miles and promises a view of Vineyard Sound that can’t be seen from anywhere else on the Island.” Big deal. The Island is covered with gorgeous, unique views. I can see most of them from the front seat of the car, which is where I prefer to do my sight seeing. There seems to be a conspiracy against me in the Vineyard Gazette’s calendar. “There’s a walk to the brickyard. They only do that once a year.” Or “Seven Gates. They haven’t done that for a couple of years.” Not only does the Conservation Society take you places that aren’t open to the public but they reward you with cider and cookies! I can’t win.
We were the only ones who showed up for a walk in the state forest once and I thought for sure it would be canceled. No such luck. These people are real tree huggers. They love their job. If it were the stone age they’d be sporting ‘Save T-Rex’ buttons. Another thing. Can’t these walkers keep their mouths shut and just walk? Why do they have to ask all those questions? “What’s a terminal moraine?” “Could you show us an erratic?” And do they have to point out owl pellets and other disgusting natural phenomena? Jeez. It’s like a sixth grade science class. I do enjoy the vernal pools, though. I think the fairy shrimp have the right idea. Hibernate when the weather isn’t to your liking and come out to play when it gets nice.
May, June, September and October are the ideal hiking months on Martha’s Vineyard. Nice weather, not too many tourists, and you can find a place to park. The other day we went to the Fulling Mill Brook Preserve. There was one other car parked in the lot, which isn’t unusual off season. We walked the entire trail and didn’t see another soul. When we got back to the parking lot the car was still there. I have one question. Where were these people? The walk wasn’t enough? They had to climb a tree maybe?
Waskosim’s Rock Reservation is one of my husband’s favorites. We frequently get lost there. Usually, just about the time we feel we’ve had enough and turn back, we lose track of the trail and go in a huge circle. The trails are marked about as well as the Island roads were prior to the 911 system. Which may be why he likes this particular preserve so much. He can get a couple of extra miles out of me.
My favorite is Long Point. The ride from the winter entrance is longer than the actual walk. I also like the Caroline Tuthill Preserve. There are maps with little tidbits of information about points of interest on the trail. In June (so it says) there is a large stand of Lady Slippers. These indigenous orchids are protected by law because they are very fussy about where they like to grow and are untransplantable, though God knows many have tried. I finally saw them last year and was so excited I sent an item to the Edgartown gossip column in the Gazette.
I guess it’s not the walking I dislike so much as where we do it. I much prefer malls, where I can indulge in my favorite exercise. Shopping.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
LET'S STEAL FROM THE RICH
The fund raising season is over. For now. Many people ask me what we do here in the winter. Well, we think up ways to part the tourists from their cash during the following season.
LET’S STEAL FROM THE RICH
Islanders are ingenious at finding ways to separate the summer people from their money. Auctions seem to have become the method of choice these days, silent or otherwise. I attended one for the Boys’ and Girls’ Club about thirty years ago. There was no admission fee and they served free punch with crackers and cheese. I got a gold charm for $45. That’s about what they were going for in the stores, so I got something of value, felt good about helping a worthy cause and everyone was happy. Unfortunately, auctions for charity no longer offer such a big bang for your buck.
Take the Possible Dreams auction. Admittedly the biggest event of the summer, but not so different from the rest. You have to cough up $25 and this doesn’t even get you a seat. Bring your own or they’ll be glad to rent you one. Now this wouldn’t be such a bad deal if you got to eyeball all the celebrities that attend, but noooo, they are all sequestered up front so unless you have a special talent for recognizing people by the back of their heads it’s just like waiting in line at the post office (but wait--that’s free). I don’t mean to sound snarky and I know that the money raised is a godsend to us year rounders but come on--nothing like feeling left out at your own party.
It wasn’t always so, I’m told. My friend Janice likes to talk about the old days. Now, don’t get me wrong, she still loves the Island dearly and hates to leave for any reason including fabulous vacations but she likes to tell me how much fun it used to be. The incredible things they did in the off season for entertainment, wait, no, I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about that.
Fund raisers in the old days before the rich and famous found Martha’s Vineyard were for the people and by the people. The things you would find on the auction table were lube jobs at a local garage, a day on a working fishing boat (including a fish for supper), breakfast or lunch at a fancy restaurant (including the recipe for the main dish) and maybe a private concert by a local musical group. These items were frequently bid on by a consortium of people to keep the cost down. Breakfast for four, for instance, would be bid on by a group of four friends who would each kick in a quarter of the price. This allowed for a nice donation without costing any one person their kid’s tuition money. Since the items to be auctioned were listed in the paper, these arrangements were all made ahead of time so no one got too carried away during bidding.
After the rich and famous arrived the auction became a war between people who had much more money than the local dry cleaner or plumber, essentially cutting us out of the fun. But, hey, we’re not complaining. We get to keep the money.
Then there’s the Woman’s Club of Martha’s Vineyard. When I joined they informed me that they no longer did any active fundraising. This puzzled me since the General Federation of Woman’s Clubs is known as a philanthropic organization. It seems that one year after a bake sale a member complained bitterly that a cake that had cost her ten dollars to make had been sold for five. “In the future,” she announced, “just ask me for a check.” Which is what they have been doing ever since. It sure beats those five mile ‘walks’ that have become popular on the mainland.
It’s amazing how much money we collect just by setting out a little basket on the dessert table at every meeting.
LET’S STEAL FROM THE RICH
Islanders are ingenious at finding ways to separate the summer people from their money. Auctions seem to have become the method of choice these days, silent or otherwise. I attended one for the Boys’ and Girls’ Club about thirty years ago. There was no admission fee and they served free punch with crackers and cheese. I got a gold charm for $45. That’s about what they were going for in the stores, so I got something of value, felt good about helping a worthy cause and everyone was happy. Unfortunately, auctions for charity no longer offer such a big bang for your buck.
Take the Possible Dreams auction. Admittedly the biggest event of the summer, but not so different from the rest. You have to cough up $25 and this doesn’t even get you a seat. Bring your own or they’ll be glad to rent you one. Now this wouldn’t be such a bad deal if you got to eyeball all the celebrities that attend, but noooo, they are all sequestered up front so unless you have a special talent for recognizing people by the back of their heads it’s just like waiting in line at the post office (but wait--that’s free). I don’t mean to sound snarky and I know that the money raised is a godsend to us year rounders but come on--nothing like feeling left out at your own party.
It wasn’t always so, I’m told. My friend Janice likes to talk about the old days. Now, don’t get me wrong, she still loves the Island dearly and hates to leave for any reason including fabulous vacations but she likes to tell me how much fun it used to be. The incredible things they did in the off season for entertainment, wait, no, I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about that.
Fund raisers in the old days before the rich and famous found Martha’s Vineyard were for the people and by the people. The things you would find on the auction table were lube jobs at a local garage, a day on a working fishing boat (including a fish for supper), breakfast or lunch at a fancy restaurant (including the recipe for the main dish) and maybe a private concert by a local musical group. These items were frequently bid on by a consortium of people to keep the cost down. Breakfast for four, for instance, would be bid on by a group of four friends who would each kick in a quarter of the price. This allowed for a nice donation without costing any one person their kid’s tuition money. Since the items to be auctioned were listed in the paper, these arrangements were all made ahead of time so no one got too carried away during bidding.
After the rich and famous arrived the auction became a war between people who had much more money than the local dry cleaner or plumber, essentially cutting us out of the fun. But, hey, we’re not complaining. We get to keep the money.
Then there’s the Woman’s Club of Martha’s Vineyard. When I joined they informed me that they no longer did any active fundraising. This puzzled me since the General Federation of Woman’s Clubs is known as a philanthropic organization. It seems that one year after a bake sale a member complained bitterly that a cake that had cost her ten dollars to make had been sold for five. “In the future,” she announced, “just ask me for a check.” Which is what they have been doing ever since. It sure beats those five mile ‘walks’ that have become popular on the mainland.
It’s amazing how much money we collect just by setting out a little basket on the dessert table at every meeting.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
A FOUR WAY STOP IS NOT A STATIONARY CLOVERLEAF!
I'm going off Island for a shopping spree tomorrow. I will have to refamiliarize (is that a word?) myself with the way the rest of America drives. Stop lights--oh my.
A FOUR WAY STOP IS NOT A STATIONARY CLOVERLEAF!
I realize that Island drivers are familiar with four way stops. I conducted some research asking my brother, cousin, daughter-in-law and three people from a soap opera chat room, and have learned that people from New York and New Jersey have probably never seen one before. They’ve put up ‘signage’ and turned what used to be the blinker light intersection into a four way stop. There were lots of complaints and debate, but let’s face it, everything causes complaints and debate around here. So in addition to the signs they left the blinker light but put red bulbs in both directions.
After living in Edgartown for several years I have gotten used to and even become fond of four way stops. I have to go through four of them just to get to the store to buy a quart of milk and a newspaper. I believe they are a very civilized traffic option as long as everyone follows the rules. Yes. There are rules. There are things you always, always do, things you never, never do and some things that are a good idea and some things that are a bad idea. I offer them up for our ‘guests’ from off Island, and those from up-Island who rarely venture down.
For instance, it is a bad idea to try to make your way through a busy four way intersection while chatting on a cell phone. It’s a good idea to keep track of all four cars stopped so you’ll know when it’s your turn to go. Never, never try to cross the intersection if it isn’t your turn. Always, always cross when it is your turn or you’ll create confusion and the driver behind you will start beeping. If you’ve lost track, the polite thing to do is wave the opposing cars through then go forth. This will teach you to stop chatting on that damn cell phone and pay attention.
Now it’s very important to remember that no matter how long you’ve been stopped, it doesn’t count unless you’re first in line. It’s not like a red light where everyone stops then everyone goes. And don’t try to sneak through if you are making a right turn. I repeat--it is not a red light. It’s also important to remember that occasionally you will come across drivers who have never encountered a four way stop or are daydreaming or yelling at their kids and will not follow the rules. So keep an eye out.
In order to successfully negotiate a four way stop you need to become familiar with the local use of hand signals. Everyone knows that a smile and Queen Elizabeth sideways wave means either, “It’s your turn” or “Please, be my guest.” A peace sign means, “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention--go ahead.” A frown accompanied with a shaking fist means, “It wasn’t your turn, damn it!” And the universal clenched fist with middle finger pointing skyward means, “You are a jerk. If you can’t figure this out go back where you came from.”
Now that you know all the rules and regulations for navigating a four way stop I have one more heads up for you. There are certain individuals who do not believe the rules of the road apply to them since their vehicle has only two wheels. Nothing will foul up a four way stop faster than a string of bicyclists who blithely sail past the stop sign looking like a family of ducks headed to the nearest pond. These people think they are pedestrians and have the right of way. They aren’t, yet they go anyway. Look out for them unless you want to end up in traffic court charged with vehicular homicide.
The Barnes Road intersection has become as safe as the Cook Street crossing. Remember when everyone had a bumper sticker that said, “This car made it through the Cooke Street intersection”? Maybe the powers that be should consider a five way stop for you know where.
A FOUR WAY STOP IS NOT A STATIONARY CLOVERLEAF!
I realize that Island drivers are familiar with four way stops. I conducted some research asking my brother, cousin, daughter-in-law and three people from a soap opera chat room, and have learned that people from New York and New Jersey have probably never seen one before. They’ve put up ‘signage’ and turned what used to be the blinker light intersection into a four way stop. There were lots of complaints and debate, but let’s face it, everything causes complaints and debate around here. So in addition to the signs they left the blinker light but put red bulbs in both directions.
After living in Edgartown for several years I have gotten used to and even become fond of four way stops. I have to go through four of them just to get to the store to buy a quart of milk and a newspaper. I believe they are a very civilized traffic option as long as everyone follows the rules. Yes. There are rules. There are things you always, always do, things you never, never do and some things that are a good idea and some things that are a bad idea. I offer them up for our ‘guests’ from off Island, and those from up-Island who rarely venture down.
For instance, it is a bad idea to try to make your way through a busy four way intersection while chatting on a cell phone. It’s a good idea to keep track of all four cars stopped so you’ll know when it’s your turn to go. Never, never try to cross the intersection if it isn’t your turn. Always, always cross when it is your turn or you’ll create confusion and the driver behind you will start beeping. If you’ve lost track, the polite thing to do is wave the opposing cars through then go forth. This will teach you to stop chatting on that damn cell phone and pay attention.
Now it’s very important to remember that no matter how long you’ve been stopped, it doesn’t count unless you’re first in line. It’s not like a red light where everyone stops then everyone goes. And don’t try to sneak through if you are making a right turn. I repeat--it is not a red light. It’s also important to remember that occasionally you will come across drivers who have never encountered a four way stop or are daydreaming or yelling at their kids and will not follow the rules. So keep an eye out.
In order to successfully negotiate a four way stop you need to become familiar with the local use of hand signals. Everyone knows that a smile and Queen Elizabeth sideways wave means either, “It’s your turn” or “Please, be my guest.” A peace sign means, “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention--go ahead.” A frown accompanied with a shaking fist means, “It wasn’t your turn, damn it!” And the universal clenched fist with middle finger pointing skyward means, “You are a jerk. If you can’t figure this out go back where you came from.”
Now that you know all the rules and regulations for navigating a four way stop I have one more heads up for you. There are certain individuals who do not believe the rules of the road apply to them since their vehicle has only two wheels. Nothing will foul up a four way stop faster than a string of bicyclists who blithely sail past the stop sign looking like a family of ducks headed to the nearest pond. These people think they are pedestrians and have the right of way. They aren’t, yet they go anyway. Look out for them unless you want to end up in traffic court charged with vehicular homicide.
The Barnes Road intersection has become as safe as the Cook Street crossing. Remember when everyone had a bumper sticker that said, “This car made it through the Cooke Street intersection”? Maybe the powers that be should consider a five way stop for you know where.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS
The hurricane was a big fizzle but it successfully ended the season. Almost everyone had their boat hauled out of the harbor and the exodus seems to have been permanent. Streets are lonely again except for the senior bus trips. And everyone is complaining about business. This isn't new, however, there is never enough business for the entire summer for everybody.
TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS
Business is down. Everyone’s complaining. It happens every year. The MVJCCC (Martha’s Vineyard Joint Chamber of Commerce Commission) is burning their midnight oil looking for solutions. They’ve put suggestion boxes in all the town halls and are doing surveys on the ferries. The number one thing the tourists want is - Ta Da! Who would have guessed it? - sunshine! We used to get a lot more tourists before everyone started watching the weather channel. Maybe we could hack into their computer....
The problem is, word got out that the Vineyard isn’t as exclusive as it used to be. That there are actually vacancy signs at some inns; even in August. This is not good for business. So suggestion number one is to take down those signs and burn them. Do not rent rooms after March 15. And make sure they pay up front, have a three night minimum and a no refund policy. There may be a drought next year but after that our reputation will be restored. That should pretty much take care of rentals.
The restaurants are complaining too. One of them has even stopped serving bread to cut costs. They’ve gotten so upscale that you practically need a microscope to see your portion of fresh Island sea bass with pesto-orange cream sauce and asparagus risotto. This has something to do with not being too rich or too thin, but I’m not sure what. Word’s out that you can get into some of these establishments without a - gasp - reservation. Suggestion number two has the MVJCCC speaking to the boat czar about playing music on the ferry with subliminal messages to make the tourists hungry for veal cheeks with poached ramps. Just don’t stand in their way as they stampede off the boat in search of a meal they will have to take out a second mortgage to pay for. This should help the food industry.
The souvenir industry tries very hard. Every year there are new T-shirts with new slogans. Unfortunately the only way to sell them is to get the celebrities to wear them (or take them back as souvenirs for their interns). Now there isn’t a self respecting celebrity who will wear a T-shirt that costs less than oh say $300. This is not good because your average day tripper will not spend more than $25 for a shirt unless the slogan is really hysterical or really dirty. The suggestion box, however, came up with a gem. The MVJCCC has made a deal with a few of our Island celebrities (you know who you are) to wear some of this year’s selections when they are out and about. That should help the economy. I can’t wait to see Spike Lee in a bad dog tee. Or maybe Diane Sawyer sporting one from the Monster Shark Tournament. When we start seeing Ag Fair shirts on the national news we’ll know business is back.
Now if they could only do something about the temperature of the ocean.
TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS
Business is down. Everyone’s complaining. It happens every year. The MVJCCC (Martha’s Vineyard Joint Chamber of Commerce Commission) is burning their midnight oil looking for solutions. They’ve put suggestion boxes in all the town halls and are doing surveys on the ferries. The number one thing the tourists want is - Ta Da! Who would have guessed it? - sunshine! We used to get a lot more tourists before everyone started watching the weather channel. Maybe we could hack into their computer....
The problem is, word got out that the Vineyard isn’t as exclusive as it used to be. That there are actually vacancy signs at some inns; even in August. This is not good for business. So suggestion number one is to take down those signs and burn them. Do not rent rooms after March 15. And make sure they pay up front, have a three night minimum and a no refund policy. There may be a drought next year but after that our reputation will be restored. That should pretty much take care of rentals.
The restaurants are complaining too. One of them has even stopped serving bread to cut costs. They’ve gotten so upscale that you practically need a microscope to see your portion of fresh Island sea bass with pesto-orange cream sauce and asparagus risotto. This has something to do with not being too rich or too thin, but I’m not sure what. Word’s out that you can get into some of these establishments without a - gasp - reservation. Suggestion number two has the MVJCCC speaking to the boat czar about playing music on the ferry with subliminal messages to make the tourists hungry for veal cheeks with poached ramps. Just don’t stand in their way as they stampede off the boat in search of a meal they will have to take out a second mortgage to pay for. This should help the food industry.
The souvenir industry tries very hard. Every year there are new T-shirts with new slogans. Unfortunately the only way to sell them is to get the celebrities to wear them (or take them back as souvenirs for their interns). Now there isn’t a self respecting celebrity who will wear a T-shirt that costs less than oh say $300. This is not good because your average day tripper will not spend more than $25 for a shirt unless the slogan is really hysterical or really dirty. The suggestion box, however, came up with a gem. The MVJCCC has made a deal with a few of our Island celebrities (you know who you are) to wear some of this year’s selections when they are out and about. That should help the economy. I can’t wait to see Spike Lee in a bad dog tee. Or maybe Diane Sawyer sporting one from the Monster Shark Tournament. When we start seeing Ag Fair shirts on the national news we’ll know business is back.
Now if they could only do something about the temperature of the ocean.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
GREETINGS!
Sometimes I think if it weren't for those vitriolic political, religious, and cheap viagra emails I wouldn't get any emails at all. I can't help wondering if instead of spending all our time on Face Book or porn sights and we were more productive maybe the economy would be better. I think I'll sit down and write a letter to someone.
GREETINGS!
Technology has taken the pleasure out of collecting the mail. Once I received chatty letters from friends and relatives. Now my mailbox is a repository for bills, catalogs and typewritten letters from people who want to sell my house. The only fun is an occasional Hallmark card with a hastily scribbled signature. At least I know someone is thinking of me.
My computer's mailbox, however, is bombarded on a daily basis with notes and jokes from friends and strangers written in espeak which, apparently, does not include capitol letters or punctuation. The spelling, except for certain homophones, is usually correct thanks to spell check. When did you turn into u and are turn into r?
I can't remember the last time I received a personal letter. Oh, you'll say, the telephone took the place of letters, but those of us who dislike talking on the phone--and there are plenty of us--continued to write letters right up until we got a computer. Now everything is e-this and e-that. Between keyboards and text messaging it's a miracle anyone uses pen and paper for anything other than a grocery list and I'm betting some people even use their laptops or Blackberries for that.
I had to pick up a birthday card the other day. As I wandered past the racks I was amazed at the number of occasions they have cards for. Besides the usual things, birthdays, anniversaries, births, deaths and holidays I found some truly unusual cards. For example there was one for someone who just bought a new car. Seems to me that one isn't worth a five cent stamp much less half a buck. Instead of congratulating someone who just got their license, a card should be sent to warn other drivers that there's a new, inexperienced driver out there on the road. There was a card for the anniversary of a bad time. I'm sure your out of work cousin really wants to be reminded that he lost his job a year ago.
The cards that really amuse me are the ones designed for relatives. The modern family has become so twisted they actually have cards for step children and other people you are related to by that tenuous thread called marriage. Step aunts, step uncles, in-laws and pseudo grandparents abound. A card commemorating a divorce will come in handy here.
I like the cards that are from the dog, or cat. I wonder if the people who send them put a pen in their little paws and trace their name like I did with my daughter before she learned how to print.
There was a card congratulating a new citizen. Unfortunately it was in English. One regarding weight loss might not be appreciated by someone who never thought of herself as fat. It's nice when someone sends you a card congratulating you on a new apartment, house or promotion. But I think sending one mentioning your vacation is going a little too far. After all, you're getting a vacation--what more do you want?
I read somewhere that Emily Post felt that sympathy cards from Hallmark were the height of crassness. She says, " A sympathy card with no personal note need not be acknowledged." We all know how Emily felt about acknowledging communications. Although I don't think she commented on the one noting the loss of your pet.
The day of the personal note is over. We don't communicate face to face any more due to technology, and the postal service is going broke because no one sends letters. Some day there will be a mass computer crash and they'll have to start up the Pony Express again.
GREETINGS!
Technology has taken the pleasure out of collecting the mail. Once I received chatty letters from friends and relatives. Now my mailbox is a repository for bills, catalogs and typewritten letters from people who want to sell my house. The only fun is an occasional Hallmark card with a hastily scribbled signature. At least I know someone is thinking of me.
My computer's mailbox, however, is bombarded on a daily basis with notes and jokes from friends and strangers written in espeak which, apparently, does not include capitol letters or punctuation. The spelling, except for certain homophones, is usually correct thanks to spell check. When did you turn into u and are turn into r?
I can't remember the last time I received a personal letter. Oh, you'll say, the telephone took the place of letters, but those of us who dislike talking on the phone--and there are plenty of us--continued to write letters right up until we got a computer. Now everything is e-this and e-that. Between keyboards and text messaging it's a miracle anyone uses pen and paper for anything other than a grocery list and I'm betting some people even use their laptops or Blackberries for that.
I had to pick up a birthday card the other day. As I wandered past the racks I was amazed at the number of occasions they have cards for. Besides the usual things, birthdays, anniversaries, births, deaths and holidays I found some truly unusual cards. For example there was one for someone who just bought a new car. Seems to me that one isn't worth a five cent stamp much less half a buck. Instead of congratulating someone who just got their license, a card should be sent to warn other drivers that there's a new, inexperienced driver out there on the road. There was a card for the anniversary of a bad time. I'm sure your out of work cousin really wants to be reminded that he lost his job a year ago.
The cards that really amuse me are the ones designed for relatives. The modern family has become so twisted they actually have cards for step children and other people you are related to by that tenuous thread called marriage. Step aunts, step uncles, in-laws and pseudo grandparents abound. A card commemorating a divorce will come in handy here.
I like the cards that are from the dog, or cat. I wonder if the people who send them put a pen in their little paws and trace their name like I did with my daughter before she learned how to print.
There was a card congratulating a new citizen. Unfortunately it was in English. One regarding weight loss might not be appreciated by someone who never thought of herself as fat. It's nice when someone sends you a card congratulating you on a new apartment, house or promotion. But I think sending one mentioning your vacation is going a little too far. After all, you're getting a vacation--what more do you want?
I read somewhere that Emily Post felt that sympathy cards from Hallmark were the height of crassness. She says, " A sympathy card with no personal note need not be acknowledged." We all know how Emily felt about acknowledging communications. Although I don't think she commented on the one noting the loss of your pet.
The day of the personal note is over. We don't communicate face to face any more due to technology, and the postal service is going broke because no one sends letters. Some day there will be a mass computer crash and they'll have to start up the Pony Express again.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
LOCAL OR TOURIST?
The summer is winding down, although you wouldn't notice it with the president here. The massive 10 day traffic jam in China is nothing compared to what it was like yesterday in Edgartown when Michele and the girls came for lunch. The weather was crappy and if you got caught behind the yellow tape when they arrived, as did my friend Dave, you were stuck there until they finished eating and got back into the caravan. At least he got his picture in the Globe!
LOCAL OR TOURIST?
Every couple of years there’s an article in one of the Vineyard publications about how to tell a native from a tourist. Sometimes it’s in the form of a list. They usually start out with something like--real Vineyarders never wear Black Dog T-shirts. Which isn’t true you know. A real Vineyarder will wear anything he can buy for a fraction of what it costs in August and loves to wear something he found abandoned on the beach, even if it’s a Black Dog T-shirt. We would be happier if it was a Medeiros Appliance T-shirt or a hat that says St. Barths but we take what we can get. Of course, for some people, the older and rattier the better.
People who move here with a full wardrobe of normal clothes find that after a few years the items that wear out are replaced with things that say Martha’s Vineyard. Which is why almost everyone on the Island during the ‘off’ season looks like they belong to the high school booster club. During the summer, of course, everyone looks like a tourist. In fact people who smile and cheerfully greet me in the winter often ask me in the summer where I come from. This used to irk me. I feel that since I have survived many an August and March on this Island I deserve credit for being a local. A ‘washashore’ local at least.
Which brings up another point. There are several types of Islanders each with their own genealogy of contact with Martha’s Vineyard. There are, of course, the real true multi generational Islanders. People who are Wampanoags or have names like Mayhew, Norton, Pease and Coffin, or are related to the aforementioned. Then there are the ‘washashores’ who were not born here but settled here sometime during the last century. I have a friend who has been on the Island since before World War II who is still considered a ‘washashore’. Then come the ‘snow birds’. People who have retired and spend close to half the year in some warm climate where they can sun, golf and do all the things you can’t do during a New England winter. Next are the summer residents. This is a subgroup unto itself. It includes people who are much like the ‘snow birds’ except they consider their off Island home their permanent residence. Then you have homeowners that come only on weekends and during their vacation. Even renters that spend more than a week or two consider themselves summer residents. And of course there is the work force that comes to the Island and lives in less than comfortable circumstances to earn an obscene amount of money on tips so they can afford their next semester at college. Last but not least are the true tourists. The people who come for a day or week. These are the people who buy the Black Dog T-shirts for full price, eat $4.50 oysters, and generally keep the souvenir stores, hotels and expensive restaurants in business. They are also the people who give the locals something to complain about; traffic, mopeds, crowded beaches and harbors, noise, long lines at restaurants and all the other annoying things that come with being a summer resort.
If someone asked me the difference between a local and a tourist I would say it’s the way we (yes, I am considering myself a Vineyarder) think. If everyone thought the way the people of Martha’s Vineyard do it would be a wonderful world to live in. The Vineyard is a community in the truest sense of the word. Community isn’t just a word. It is a state of being. The dictionary defines community as “a social group of any size whose members reside in a specific locality, share government and often have a common cultural and historical heritage”. This is only partially true about the Vineyard. It is true about the core of the community; which, much like the earth’s center, holds together a larger mass, made of unique but inseparable parts. Anyone who comes within the gravitational pull of Martha’s Vineyard is forever changed. Many come back again and again. Those lucky few who are able to live here, whether for a month or year round, find themselves drawn into the community. “Washashores” are absorbed like paint into new wood. A friend recently described this phenomenon as being like links in a chain link fence. You can’t touch one without being touched by three others; and this is how the fabric of our community has been built.
While looking up the definition of community I came upon a word that I think fits us even better. “Communitas” is an anthropological term meaning “the sense of sharing and intimacy that develops among persons who experience liminality as a group”. Living on an island is our liminality. We are all in the same boat, or rather dependent on the same boat. This insular lifestyle does not induce a feeling of isolation, however, but of independence and self reliance. We care for our own. We don’t wait for the government to do it. Every time there is something to celebrate the whole Island celebrates. Every time there is a tragedy someone organizes a fund raiser.
I’m sure there must be other communities like ours. I hope there are. Wouldn’t it be nice if they were all like ours. Then there wouldn’t be a difference between Islanders and tourists and everyone would proudly wear their own community’s name on their shirts.
LOCAL OR TOURIST?
Every couple of years there’s an article in one of the Vineyard publications about how to tell a native from a tourist. Sometimes it’s in the form of a list. They usually start out with something like--real Vineyarders never wear Black Dog T-shirts. Which isn’t true you know. A real Vineyarder will wear anything he can buy for a fraction of what it costs in August and loves to wear something he found abandoned on the beach, even if it’s a Black Dog T-shirt. We would be happier if it was a Medeiros Appliance T-shirt or a hat that says St. Barths but we take what we can get. Of course, for some people, the older and rattier the better.
People who move here with a full wardrobe of normal clothes find that after a few years the items that wear out are replaced with things that say Martha’s Vineyard. Which is why almost everyone on the Island during the ‘off’ season looks like they belong to the high school booster club. During the summer, of course, everyone looks like a tourist. In fact people who smile and cheerfully greet me in the winter often ask me in the summer where I come from. This used to irk me. I feel that since I have survived many an August and March on this Island I deserve credit for being a local. A ‘washashore’ local at least.
Which brings up another point. There are several types of Islanders each with their own genealogy of contact with Martha’s Vineyard. There are, of course, the real true multi generational Islanders. People who are Wampanoags or have names like Mayhew, Norton, Pease and Coffin, or are related to the aforementioned. Then there are the ‘washashores’ who were not born here but settled here sometime during the last century. I have a friend who has been on the Island since before World War II who is still considered a ‘washashore’. Then come the ‘snow birds’. People who have retired and spend close to half the year in some warm climate where they can sun, golf and do all the things you can’t do during a New England winter. Next are the summer residents. This is a subgroup unto itself. It includes people who are much like the ‘snow birds’ except they consider their off Island home their permanent residence. Then you have homeowners that come only on weekends and during their vacation. Even renters that spend more than a week or two consider themselves summer residents. And of course there is the work force that comes to the Island and lives in less than comfortable circumstances to earn an obscene amount of money on tips so they can afford their next semester at college. Last but not least are the true tourists. The people who come for a day or week. These are the people who buy the Black Dog T-shirts for full price, eat $4.50 oysters, and generally keep the souvenir stores, hotels and expensive restaurants in business. They are also the people who give the locals something to complain about; traffic, mopeds, crowded beaches and harbors, noise, long lines at restaurants and all the other annoying things that come with being a summer resort.
If someone asked me the difference between a local and a tourist I would say it’s the way we (yes, I am considering myself a Vineyarder) think. If everyone thought the way the people of Martha’s Vineyard do it would be a wonderful world to live in. The Vineyard is a community in the truest sense of the word. Community isn’t just a word. It is a state of being. The dictionary defines community as “a social group of any size whose members reside in a specific locality, share government and often have a common cultural and historical heritage”. This is only partially true about the Vineyard. It is true about the core of the community; which, much like the earth’s center, holds together a larger mass, made of unique but inseparable parts. Anyone who comes within the gravitational pull of Martha’s Vineyard is forever changed. Many come back again and again. Those lucky few who are able to live here, whether for a month or year round, find themselves drawn into the community. “Washashores” are absorbed like paint into new wood. A friend recently described this phenomenon as being like links in a chain link fence. You can’t touch one without being touched by three others; and this is how the fabric of our community has been built.
While looking up the definition of community I came upon a word that I think fits us even better. “Communitas” is an anthropological term meaning “the sense of sharing and intimacy that develops among persons who experience liminality as a group”. Living on an island is our liminality. We are all in the same boat, or rather dependent on the same boat. This insular lifestyle does not induce a feeling of isolation, however, but of independence and self reliance. We care for our own. We don’t wait for the government to do it. Every time there is something to celebrate the whole Island celebrates. Every time there is a tragedy someone organizes a fund raiser.
I’m sure there must be other communities like ours. I hope there are. Wouldn’t it be nice if they were all like ours. Then there wouldn’t be a difference between Islanders and tourists and everyone would proudly wear their own community’s name on their shirts.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
NO FREE LUNCH
Went for a manicure and pedicure today. My 'nail care professional' has become an old friend and she frequently uses me as a guinea pig when she's learning a new technique. I don't complain cause she hasn't raised her rates (for me) in ten years.
NO FREE LUNCH
Ya get what ya pay for. This is just as valid today as it was when my mother liked to remind me, “If it seems to good to be true, believe me, it is!”
After getting my nails done the other day my manicurist asked if I would like a free eyebrow wax. Guessing I looked a little shaggier then usual, I vowed to wear my reading glasses for any future face inspections. Now, eyebrows aren’t something I spend much time thinking about. Mine are blond and not a particularly noticeable feature so they have never been a priority. No unibrow issues. I get regular haircuts, touchups and manicures but I’m from the school that says if a woman of a certain age spends more than a couple of hours a month in a beauty parlor then she is downright vain. This said I am also from the school that says never turn down a freebie. My ‘nail technician’ assured me she was very good so without further thought I accepted her offer.
Now don’t get me wrong about my personal grooming habits, this wasn’t the first time I had gotten my eyebrows waxed. No sir. This was actually the second time, so I knew what to expect. Positioned in a reclining chair, I would feel the warmth of the wax, placement of the removal strips and a few quick seconds of tear producing pain. The whole affair would last about five minutes and for a few weeks my brow would compare to a Hollywood starlet. That’s what would happen. I thought.
I got the reclining part right. The wax wasn’t very warm so the application process pulled and jerked the hair that was destined to be removed. Instead of doing the tops and bottoms of the brow which would have cleaned up both in four painful but manageable motions, she started dabbing little globs of barely warm, very sticky wax on small areas, affixing the cloth strips to the wax then slooowly pulling the strip, wax and hair off my face. I was beginning to think this girl wasn’t as experienced as she claimed but what the heck, I reminded myself, it’s free even if she was removing one hair at a time.
By the time she finished my right brow I was hearing my mother’s early warnings about gift horses sometimes turning out to be Trojans. I blinked the tears away and took a critical look at my torturer’s eyebrows. Highly stylized, there was a collection of no more than six hairs over each eye. I remembered the time I went to Vidal Sassoon’s in New York to get what I thought would be a really good haircut. I was greeted by a ‘stylist’ with a purple and white Mohawk. You can imagine my trepidation.
Between the waxing and tweezing (I thought the waxing was supposed to make the tweezing unnecessary) the whole job took a good half hour and left me afraid to look in the mirror. When I finally got up the nerve I didn‘t look too bad although my skin stayed red for a couple of days and it took elbow grease to remove the waxy residue. Oh well. You get what you pay for.
NO FREE LUNCH
Ya get what ya pay for. This is just as valid today as it was when my mother liked to remind me, “If it seems to good to be true, believe me, it is!”
After getting my nails done the other day my manicurist asked if I would like a free eyebrow wax. Guessing I looked a little shaggier then usual, I vowed to wear my reading glasses for any future face inspections. Now, eyebrows aren’t something I spend much time thinking about. Mine are blond and not a particularly noticeable feature so they have never been a priority. No unibrow issues. I get regular haircuts, touchups and manicures but I’m from the school that says if a woman of a certain age spends more than a couple of hours a month in a beauty parlor then she is downright vain. This said I am also from the school that says never turn down a freebie. My ‘nail technician’ assured me she was very good so without further thought I accepted her offer.
Now don’t get me wrong about my personal grooming habits, this wasn’t the first time I had gotten my eyebrows waxed. No sir. This was actually the second time, so I knew what to expect. Positioned in a reclining chair, I would feel the warmth of the wax, placement of the removal strips and a few quick seconds of tear producing pain. The whole affair would last about five minutes and for a few weeks my brow would compare to a Hollywood starlet. That’s what would happen. I thought.
I got the reclining part right. The wax wasn’t very warm so the application process pulled and jerked the hair that was destined to be removed. Instead of doing the tops and bottoms of the brow which would have cleaned up both in four painful but manageable motions, she started dabbing little globs of barely warm, very sticky wax on small areas, affixing the cloth strips to the wax then slooowly pulling the strip, wax and hair off my face. I was beginning to think this girl wasn’t as experienced as she claimed but what the heck, I reminded myself, it’s free even if she was removing one hair at a time.
By the time she finished my right brow I was hearing my mother’s early warnings about gift horses sometimes turning out to be Trojans. I blinked the tears away and took a critical look at my torturer’s eyebrows. Highly stylized, there was a collection of no more than six hairs over each eye. I remembered the time I went to Vidal Sassoon’s in New York to get what I thought would be a really good haircut. I was greeted by a ‘stylist’ with a purple and white Mohawk. You can imagine my trepidation.
Between the waxing and tweezing (I thought the waxing was supposed to make the tweezing unnecessary) the whole job took a good half hour and left me afraid to look in the mirror. When I finally got up the nerve I didn‘t look too bad although my skin stayed red for a couple of days and it took elbow grease to remove the waxy residue. Oh well. You get what you pay for.
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