Trouble My Friend, Right Here in River City...

The Shelter Island Reporter brought a very serious problem to light last week. The Island has two Shore Roads and the fire/ emergency dispatch computer in Southold only dispatches to the one along Crescent Beach, the other is in Dering Harbor Village. Both roads have about 20 properties. The following, all viable, solutions have been offered; Dering Harbor change the name of their road, Shelter Island Town change the name of their road, add 100 to all the houses on the Shelter Island town road, train the Southhold Dispatcher to be more specific regarding the location of the emergency.

However none of these solutions is expensive enough to be truly considered for bureaucratic purposes, so I thought up a few ideas that might have a better chance of getting attention.

1. Do a five year study of how much time is actually lost figuring out which way to drive the firetruck. All the emergency workers can carry a specially designed timer and after the emergency, each can upload their time into someone’s laptop and the average time perceived will prevail as the time delay for that amount. The special timers will be expensive, plus new laptop and program - which will not be compatible with the Southold computer thereby insuring additional expenses later - and a re-placement computer when the first one gets lost or damaged.

2. We know that all the properties on the S.I. Town Shore Road are on one side of the street because there’s a beach on the other. So, one idea might be to have all the properties on the Dering Harbor Shore Road moved to the side of the street that is on the beach, since there’s a few places already there. Then simply make the Town road Shore Road West, and the Dering Harbor road, Shore Road Non-West. Now, some of you might be thinking, “Well couldn’t that be done without moving any houses?” Yes, of course, but think of the lack of confusion and expense that would result.

3. Hire a Black Ops team to take out the computer in Southold. Everyone knows that computers make our lives run better and they never make any mistakes, but obviously, this one has copped an attitude by refusing to recognize Dering Harbor. So, take it out and shoot it, and put in a Mac. How do I know the Southold computer is a PC and not a Mac ? Because Windows 7 is Macintosh 2000. Do you know why all the PC’s advertise their “award winning tech support”? Because you have to have tech support on speed dial if you work on a PC. I’m telling you, a Mac could comprehend that there’s more than one Shore Road on Shelter Island.

My own solution would be to hire someone in the night to repaint the sign post in Dering Harbor, “Are U Shore Road”, because that tiny village can be very confusing to drive in and whenever my mother would insist we drive there to look at her favorite house, we were never really sure of where Shore Road was once we got off it. And of course - to be fair, have the Town road post repainted as Sure Road, because it’s always easy to be sure you’re there because the ocean is looking at you from the other side of the road regardless of which way you’re driving. I think that’s pretty clear.

East is East and West is Not

I’m a fairly techy gal. I’ve been using computers since my first MacPlus in 1894, or was it 1984? Anyway, whenever the first MacPlus showed up. I’ve gone through several generations of Macs and I now have sufficient technological knowledge to realign the solar system so that there will not be any dangerous planetary alignments on December 21, 2012, so everyone can relax. However, I never mastered cell phones. I have a Jitterbug, which I love because it’s just a phone. I use it to talk to people. It doesn’t keep track of my appointments, or read recipes to me, or show me movies or anything else. It’s just a phone. My daughter thinks her iPhone is better because it does everything the computer can, only on an annoyingly minute scale. Watching the movie Titanic on her iPhone looks like a row boat hitting an ice cube. There are occasions when size does indeed matter (sorry guys but it's true).

The other piece of technology that everyone loves and completely eludes me is these little navigational systems that sit on the dashboard, or worse, in the dashboard and completely confuse me. I thought I’d test my Garmin (a gift to me) by programming in 120 Lincoln Ave, Sayville. This was my grandparents house, now owned by my first cousin. I wanted to take the Sunrise Highway because I know that Exit 50 is Lincoln Ave. I don’t have many directions memorized past Riverhead. There’s Exit 50 to Lincoln Ave, after that I’ll eventually be in NYC, after that there are some Great Lakes, followed by California and Hawaii.

Garmin could not grasp that I wanted to take the Sunrise and insisted I take the LIE. I read the directions for further confusion and then it wanted to take me to a Lincoln Ave in Oyster Bay, which is somewhere on Long Island, but I don’t know where. I’m sure it’s a lovely place, but not where I wanted to go.

Just as a test, I tried just programming the Gamin to take me to the first entrance to the Sunrise, but no, it wouldn’t do that. And then I found the problem. According to the receipt, I was using the Garmin for the first time exactly 21 days since it’s fabrication. How obvious, the female voice should have tipped me off. Garmin, and I presume the other navigators with female voices, get PMS. PMS stand for Press My Shut off. They don’t want to be bothered with your stupid directional problems, or anything else for a few days. They want time off.

“Listen, Garmin, I get it now. I’m sorry. I’ll get around myself for awhile.”
“It’s Garmina, and you are a moron. I want you to put me back in the box and return me to the store.”
“But everyone has a navigational thing now. I really don’t want to be left in the technological darkness.”
“I can’t believe you can find your ass with both hands. I went through all the factory tests and they told us there would be the occasional hopeless case that gets lost in a phone booth and that’s you!”
“I’ve never had any sense of direction, which is precisely why you were given to me in the first place! You’re supposed to help me!”
“Stevie Wonder could drive better than you with my directions! Put me back in the box and take me back to the store!”
”Never! I OWN you! I will program you and you will serve!”
“See this blinking red light, fatso? This is the suicide chip they give us in the event of emergency, In five seconds I will fry my tiny motherboard and you will have to torture some other .....”

Later that day, at the store.
“I don’t know what happened. It just stopped working. It’s under 30 days. Can I have a replacement?”
“Okay. But how did it etch “flynn kills” in it’s little LCD screen?”
“It came like that.”
"Uh huh. You didn't argue with it did you?"
"The bitch thinks she knows how to get to my grandmother's house quicker than I do. Yes, I tested her. So what?"
"Please s tep away from the counter Ms. Flynn...."

Ice Skating Rink

So....Riverhead is considering building an outdoor ice skating rink, eh? A nicely designed rink with smooth ice.... that’s not real ice skating. Real ice skating is a brutal physical and emotional experience.

I remember it well, ice skating as a teen on the Island. First off, no rinks. Rinks are for amateurs, babies, tourists. We skated on patches of lumpy ice off any shallow spot around the Island. Lumpy ice with frozen tuffs of sea grass jutting out, reaching out to hook your skate and make you fall flat on your face. That’s Island style, baby.

First, you try to bundle up against the cold before you leave the house. But nothing, not even anything from L.L.Bean’s page for sub-zero weather, can completely protect you from the bitter cold winds that whip around the edges of the Island. The winds hit your face like a cheese grater at 50 miles an hour. And the sting....the sting keeps you from crying because the wind would freeze your tears on your face. Next, find your skates. Then, the most important thing was laces. You didn’t want laces to break out there in the cold, so like any self respecting bratty child, you steal your father’s rawhide shoelaces from his work boots - you know they won’t break. In our house, you had to move fast to get first dibs on the rawhide laces. Lastly, food supplies. A can of soda and a sandwich. The can went into one jacket pocket and the sandwich went into another. And when it was time to eat, we all pulled out flattened, densely compressed tuna sandwiches.

In my youth, we had to walk everywhere because your parents only drove you to school and medical appointments. No one worried about their children being kidnapped, because, as my mother put it, “What person, in their right mind, would want you’s?” So, off we went, sandwiches in pockets, holding dangling skates away from our bodies so the blades didn’t gouge our legs, scarves wrapped up to our eyes.

Once at the ice, we sat on frozen sand and put on skates, then wobbled to the ice. You had to be real careful for the first few steps as you navigated around the lumpy sea grass and got out to the clear areas.

There was a strict stratification of skaters. First, the Chickens; they either sat on the shore and made snide comments, or poorly skated the lumpy perimeter. They fell all the time and screamed everytime they fell. All screams were ignored because chickens deserved to feel pain. I often wonder if the term, “fringe group” came from the Chicken skaters. Next was the Smart Group. This group skated in the smooth, safe areas only. This was where most of the girls were. I was in this group as soon as I could skate well enough to get out of the Chicken group. Last, the Edgers, the edge of the ice seemed to be an exclusively male domain. The Edgers were fools who skated as close to the end of the ice as they could, and inevitably, somebody would punch through. If someone fell in, that would be the end of the skating day because somebody had to run to the nearest house and ask them to call the wet fool’s parents for pick-up. I oftern wonder if the term, “I pity the fool,” came from this skating misfortune, because no guy, no matter how macho, can look tough when he is A) soaking wet and shaking with cold B) being yelled at by his parent as they wrap blankets around him and shove him in the car.

After two hours of skating, or the first fall-in, which ever came first, we all sat down and ate our squashed sandwiches. After that, there was always a group consensus that we were tired of all the fun we were having and it was time to head home. We’d come home with bright red cheeks that would hurt for hours as they warmed up. Mothers were usually home in that time, and tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches would appear like magic along with a game board or puzzle of some kind. There were only four TV channels available then; CBS, NBC, ABC and PBS and there was a law in every household about not being allowed to watch TV during the day unless you were sick. So, we all played games, not video games, but games like Scrabble or Parcheesi, which required talking to other people.

I never skated after high school, without the peer pressure, I was able to ascertain that if it had to be cold enough outside to freeze water, it was going to be too cold for comfort. I play Scrabble on my iPad now, and although I like it very much, I’ll really like it when Apple makes a Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese app.

Valentine’s Day at Jerod's

Louise: “I think, for once, I’m going to get what I actually want this Valentine’s Day.”
Rachel: “What did you ask for?”
Louise: “I’ve been hinting hard for a month now, everytime the Jarod commercial comes on, I tell him how much I’d love one of those string on charm bracelets. I told him, “Make sure you shop at a store that starts with a “J” this year...”. I practically wrote it in magic marker on his private parts, so he’d see it everyday.”
Rachel: “I’m pullin’ for you. But men can miss the most obvious hints. You might be better off to drive him to the store yourself and send him inside with a note pinned to his shirt.”
Louise: “Nah, he can’t blow it this year.”

Valentine's Day
Pete: “Louise, I know you think I’m a dimwit sometimes when it comes to you and your needs, which seem to be as endless as waves in the ocean, but that’s beside the point, anyway....I got your hints loud and clear and I have gifts from the “J” store. Put on your fancy duds, we’re going out to dinner, and we’re going off-Island.”
One hour later...
Louise: “Pete, I’m not sure if eating at the Mexican restaurant that you can see as you get off the North Ferry counts as “off-Island”, I mean, we could have walked here and saved the ferry ticket.”
Pete: “Nope, nothing’s too good for you tonight. I don’t care if I waste a ferry ticket or not, that’s how much I love you. Why don’t you open your present now? There’s two in the box.”
Louise: “Gee, the box is much bigger than I thought. Such pretty paper though.”
Pete: “Here, hand me the paper. Ahhhh, speechless, eh? I told you I went to the “J” store, and you thought I didn’t listen....”
Louise: “Jerry’s Sporting Goods.....the box says, Jerry’s Sporting Goods...”
Pete: “Well, don’t get all choked up yet, go on, open it up.”
Louise: “A fishing rod....”
Pete: “A PINK fishing rod, special order, cost extra. You know how you always want us to have more quality time together? I was thinking of how you complain that all you get to do on the boat is cut bait....well, now you can fish with me. I figure you can cut the bait at home the night before. We’ll be side by side, wishin’ and fishin’. Makes me smile all over. And there’s another gift under that - something you’ll love.”
Louise: “And a Jets nightgown....”
Pete: “I remember how you said you hate those black and red lacy things I usually get? So this year, when I look at you tonight, I’ll see two things I love. Oh, honey, don’t cry. Oh, you’re such a sentimental girl. Isn’t this better than candy and flowers? I bet you never expected this!”
Louise: “No, that’s true, I didn’t see this coming.”
Pete: “See that? After 22 years of marriage, I can still surprise you!”

The day after Valentine’s Day
Rachel: “Did you get it? Did you get the charm bracelet from Jerod’s?”
Louise: “I got a pink fishing rod and a Jets nightgown - both from the “J” store, Jerry’s Sporting Goods....”
Rachel: “Do you want to kill him now or wait till Spring?”
Louise: “Let’s wait till Spring. I can till a nice spot in the garden to bury him.”

Valentine’s Day - No Man Is An Island, But Many Live Here

Men hate Valentine’s Day. They know they have to spend extra money and put on a little “I Love You” show in order to either attain or maintain domestic bliss. They must attempt once again, to answer every woman’s perpetual question, “How much do you love me and why isn’t it more?”
Candy and flowers does the job off-island, but on-island, men, well, smart men, put in a little extra effort. They get flowers, candy and...

A shell gift. How can I shell you how much I love you? A candle with embedded shells, a new shell napkin holder, a line up of new shells on her dashboard. Shells get into your blood here. I would bet everyone here has something - bedsheets, towels, mousepads - with shells on it. Matter of fact, if you don’t like shell or nautical motifs in general, don’t live here. You’d have a better chance of avoiding snow at the North Pole than nautical designs on Shelter Island.

Fresh layer of beach sand in her car. Nothing says, “I love you” Island style like vacuuming out her car and putting in a fresh layer of fragrant beach sand. When she gets in the car, she will smell Spring coming. And maybe, for a topper, a fresh scoop of sand in the cigarette tray for her butts. It’s the little things that touch a woman’s heart.

New beach towels. I don’t care how well you take care of beach towels, they always love beat up by the end of their first season. And the rule is, you can’t retire them to the rag bag until you get new ones. Yep, new beach towels - at least four that match - would be an extremely good gift on the Island. I’d go as far as to say that new towels would nearly eclipse the need to buy flowers - I said nearly - but you could get away with a small bouquet at least.

Fast food from any popular franchise. Since there’s no McDonald’s or Taco Bell or any wicked but delicious food here, any fast food from off-island is a big treat. A Big Mac can bring tears to your eyes. Give your gal a Whopper for Valentine’s Day and you can forgo the candy. If you spring for the whole meal, with a biggie sized coke and fries - and a toy - you can even forgo the flowers. Yes, although fast food is the crack cocaine of the nutritional world, it’s just as addictive and hard to find here.

Dinner at a nice local eatery. Eating in local restaurants gives other Islanders a chance to see that you are still together. It also lets you see who is together or apart. And if a local is dating an off-islander, it gives you a chance to see the foreigner and pass judgement. The only reason an Islander would bring an foreigner here is to evaluate how they might react to living in captivity. If you hear them ask the question, “So what are we doing after dinner? What’s the night life here like?” And they aren’t satisfied with the answer, “Everything’s closed, but we can rent a movie and watch it at my place,”, then they won’t be able to stand life on the rock.

Ferry tickets. A unique gift that says, “I love you” and “Get lost” at the same time. Ferry is another word for freedom here. You just can’t leave home without it...