As mentioned in a prior entry, this is THE big summer event for this town, and over 10,000 people turned out for it last night.
Much as I like the nostalgia and charm of those parts of the Cape that are mostly Summer rentals, I’m glad I live in a year-round neighborhood.
It’s the last day of the Fair, and everyone in the Youth Building was ready for it to be over a long time ago.
Fortunately, we’ve had moderate weather for the latter part of the week, and the people and gardens are the better for it.
I’ve been involved in a big development project since the beginning of the year. It’s been, as they say, a process.
My client, a local non-profit, and I are about 2/3 of the way through Phase I, which has involved designing a database and developing a web-based data-entry application. The other major phase, where the rubber meets the road, will be reporting.
The hydrangeas in front of my house haven’t bloomed once in the time I’ve been here – until now.
Years – MANY years – ago, Peter and I spent a summer in the western part of Virginia.
It was at that time I became acquainted with cucumber sandwiches, served at luncheon by a gracious family who, although of modest means, were rich in ancestral land holdings. They were true Southern aristocrats, self-assured enough to offer hospitality with an open heart rather than begrudgingly through clenched teeth.
Sitting in Nonna’s kitchen one day, I realized with surprise that although she loved all of us, her first grandchild, Paul, had a special place in her heart.
We were grown up by then, and when Paul dropped by unexpectedly during a workday, she rushed to her stove to cook up one of her much-coveted savory meals because “Paul needs to have lunch”.
It’s a source of personal embarassment that I, with a son who is a recognized expert on video games, never play the things.
With Karl Rove sinking ever-deeper into the cesspool called the Plame scandal, and the Administration’s would-be distraction, John Roberts, stumbling over the subject of abortion in an informal meeting with Sen Richard Durbin ((D-Ill.) last week, are any of us surprised that Dubya is planning to attend a high-visibility memorial service tomorrow?
I have an alternate reality that, in a certain light or summer air, pokes a hole in this one. It’s the parallel universe in which I did graduate from Brown, married a jerk who nonetheless made a very good living that enabled the purchase of a second home, had kids driven neurotic by the fact that their parents hated each other, got a divorce by reason of (his) adultery, and received the Montauk house, my designated place of privacy and solace, in the settlement.