Shelter Island Cool...

First let me say, my hat is off to the 100,000+ people in Queens who have survived without electricity through this last heat wave for more than six days now, without any sign of mass murder. How easy and tempting it would be to get rid of an annoying person with the full knowledge that you’d probably get off.

“Look, Your Honor, it was 98 degrees, 98% humidity, I was eight months pregnant, they opened the hydrants and he didn’t wanna take the kids outside to cool off and have to watch them. He wanted me to go down four flights, cause the elevator was out, and run after kids. I didn’t even know I could throw a TV, Your Honor...”

Last week I reported that there was an osprey on Ram Island Drive that was always on the pole next to the one with his nest and mate on it and I was worried about him. Well, I’m happy to report I saw both of them in the nest recently. I guess they worked it out. Maybe she got through her PES (pre egg syndrome), maybe they got some counseling, I don’t know, but it’s nice to see a couple trying to work things out. Some couples just belong together. I mean, she could try it with a crow, but they migrate and those mixed marriages between summer and permanent residents just never work.

Keeping track of specific osprey couples is an Islander thing. If you do it, you can come across as a real local, too. Here are a few other suggestions to promote your “I am a cool local” image.

Never admit you have a Shelter Island map in the car. No matter what, you just gave your last one to a tourist, because if you live here, you can’t ever need a map, that’s the law. If you have to ask directions from a longtime local, always pretend to know the reference points they cite.

“...and then you turn left, where the old graveyard used to be, you know where that is, right?”
“Oh sure....”
“You know, they see a ghost with a long flowing dress there sometimes...”
“Oh ... ah, you mean the one with the white dress or blue dress?”
“I didn’t know there was one with a blue dress...”
“Oh ... she covers Tuesdays and Wednesdays, when the white dress ghost has off.”
“I’ve lived here all my life and never heard about the one with the blue dress...who told you that?”
“I think it was a Gibbs.”
“A Gibbs told you that? Well, my family’s been here longer than them. They’re newcomers compared to us.”

Always pretend you know people in the old families. If you’re not sure who they are, the Shelter Island map will show you. Bona fide “Olde Families” have roads named after them. Cartwright Road, Congdon Lane, Clark Lane, etc. al. The Clarks, the Congdons, the Gibbs, the Kilbs, the Klenawicus’ (the Klenawicus’s have the airport), and the other old families are all intermarried. Their family trees resemble a box of tangled Christmas lights. But they have a code that I’ve figured out. Everybody is a ‘cousin’ to everybody else. ‘Cousin’ is used as a generic link. Any family member who is out of favor is referred to as “once removed.” “Twice removed” means there’s a restraining order. “Thrice removed” means they have actually, perish the thought... moved OFF-ISLAND!

All ‘off-island’ family members must be referred to in terms of when they move ‘back on-island’.

“Well, she’s married to a nice fella in California, about seventeen years now. They have four kids. When she moves back on-island, I’ll give her that China set from her Grandmother.”

Cool locals often refer to ‘back on-island’ syndrome, “Islanditis,” I call it. It’s an infection you get that can only be cured when your car is on the ferry heading ‘island side’. Wherever I have lived in world, I kept coming back to visit family and ’the island’. I always knew someday I’d be ‘back on-island’ for good. I know many people like me here. Couldn’t wait to get “off the rock” as a teenager, couldn’t wait to “get back on-island” as a weary adult. My daughter couldn’t wait to get off the rock, either. She’s off on her journey now. It’s just a matter of years. When she moves back on-island, I’ve give her that painting she loves...

The Sports Parents Awards!

SPA's

Last week I attended the Shelter Island Varsity and Junior Varsity Sports Awards. The coaches were terrific and they were careful to say something good about each child. They even gave out MVP and special Coaches Awards. The kids were all acting extremely cool and detached on stage, like they were there just to shut their parents up. I noticed just how frivolous they thought these awards were as they all fell over themselves running up to the podium whenever their names were called...

It occured to me watching these proceedings that we really need to also acknowledge sports parents. So I have invented the SPA. The Sports Parents Award

There should be a "Mileage SPA". This SPA goes to the parent who put the most miles on their vehicle driving any number of children to sports events and practices.

The "All Practices SPA". This SPA is to be awarded to the parent(s) who watched every practice and made every game.

The "Best Face SPA". This SPA goes to the parent who was most able to look totally engrossed in any games they attended.

The "Kudo's SPA". For parents who can create a recording loop in their brains that repeats for the child over and over how great they looked out there and every minute details of every play they were involved in.

The "Grand SPA". This SPA goes to every single grandparent who attended the games of grandchildren and sat on hard benches with arthritic hips and never complained once.

The "Thankless Schlepping SPA". This SPA goes to every parent who schlepped sports equipment anywhere for the team. Often working alone and in the rain, these hearty souls truly warrant our gratitude.

The "Treats SPA". Given to the parent who brought the most treats to share to any event.

The "Cuckoo's Nest SPA". For any parent who, without a gun being held to their head, got on the bus with any team and endured teen and pre-teen stream of consciousness drivel, goofy behavior, horseplay and inane songs sung in four keys simultaneously.

The "Altruistic SPA". For parents who applauded for the other teams kids too.

The "Get a Grip SPA". For parents who actually got upset at referee calls. Not being a sports person myself, I am always amazed at how seriously some people take sports. It's not like the kids are doing cancer research, they're just playing a game, and I hope having fun.

The "Clutch SPA". For any parent who came through in a clutch. Washed a jersey just in time for the game or raced to the store to get shoelaces minutes before they closed, or ran to the store during the game and brought back water for the team. These unsung heroes deserve a SPA too.

The "Graveyard SPA". Awarded to any parent who works night shift and A) made it to any game B) remained conscious through the game.

The "Somebody Stop Me SPA". This award is given exclusively to coaches. These people have families and lives of their own and yet, they volunteer to coach our kids. Why? What drives them to do this? No one knows. Genetic researchers are speculating that they have a defectic self-preservation gene.

A special thank you to all those who coach and help the coach. A good coach should make sure every player has a turn in every game. It sounds small, but it isn't. Kids need acknowledgement and need to know that their contribution, however modest, is wanted. I have clear painful memories of being the last name called when choosing teams for any sport. Only those of us who have had the experience, know how differently our self-esteem may have developed if someone, seeing our lack of confidence, gave us some of theirs.

Playing sports in school is not about winning. It's about building character. Kids learn to be on time, they learn the value of practice. They learn patience. They learn how to help each other. They learn to handle disappointments with grace and victory with modesty. This is the value of sports in school, not the trophy on the mantle, but the trophy of accomplishment in the heart.

Turn ON the !@#%&! AIR CONDITIONER!!!

Ways to Tell It’s Time to Turn on the Air Conditioner

Everyone tries to wait till the last minute to turn on the A/C because it’s more expensive to run than the heater. We struggle to find ways to stay cool till we reach the absolute deadline, which is when homicide is imminent somewhere in the house. So I thought I’d provide a few early warning signs at the beginning of the summer, just so everyone has a clue.

While having breakfast, you notice the icing has slid off your cross bun.

When you cracked the eggs on the side of the frying pan, they dropped in hard boiled.

Your animals have passed out by their water dish.

The water in the goldfish bowl is bubbling, but you don’t have a water filter.

Your normally rambunctious children lie languid on the couch and you can easily roll them out the door.

Your normally languid husband lies comatose on the couch and you can easily remove the remote from his hand.

The rinsed clams on the counter have steamed themselves open.

You can pour the peanut butter out on the bread.

You leave spatula’s on the end tables flanking the couch to help people break the seal that leather makes when it bonds to human flesh.

You help whimpering family members peel their thighs off the leather couch cushions.

You cover your leather couches and chair with bed sheets.

If you run out of bed sheets, you rub cooking oil on your leather furniture so people at least have a chance to slide free.

You watch Christmas movies, or any move that has a lot of snow in it.

It’s 10 AM and all your makeup has slid off your face.

You’ve filled the baby bath with baby powder and you’re just rolling the whole baby through it.

The ice cube you tried to rub across your forehead melted on contact.

You are rationing ice cubes to family members and accepting bribes.

There is a frozen baby’s teething ring in your bra because it cools you down without dripping.

You keep rearranging food in the freezer just for the exposure to cold air.

You husband agrees to telepathic sex.

While talking on the phone, your ear forms a watery suction seal.

Paper money feels damp.

If feeding your family means you have to get near a stove, then they can just starve or forage on their own.

Cigarettes ignite as they are pulled out of the pack.

The personal space between family members has increased to a six foot perimeter so nobodies body heat touches anyone else’s.

You know that turning on the A/C uses energy that increases global warming and you really don’t want to do that, but the globe is so warm in your house right now that unless one of those break away icebergs shows up on your street so you can chip out an ice cave to live in, you are just going to have to turn on the A/C at some point.

Someone in the house finally breaks from the pressure and yells out, “Can we PLEASE turn on the A/C!”, followed by a chorus of agreement, ended when Dad yells, “It’s not that hot, go run some cold water on your face.”

Beer. Beer will save the family. Someone gets Dad a cold brewski, then a second. In that moment after Dad takes the first sip from the second beer, then pauses to look at the bottle - in that second when man and beer regard each other, Mom turns on the A/C. And before you know it, all is right with the world.

Father's Day Gifts

(painting by Sue McDonagh)

Father’s Day

We hear so much about mothers and their importance in our lives, we tend to dismiss the incredible positive influence that a good father or father figure plays in our lives. My stern Irish grandfather was my father figure, along with four uncles, and in spite of the scandals that have come up lately, our parish priest, was a father figure to us too. We attended St Lawrence in Sayville - the old church that burned down. Father Daum was well known to all of us and a visitor in our clan’s homes. I recall with perfect clarity being nine years old, standing in the living room, after a very traumatic event. Father Nuss was there. He gave my mother an envelope from the church and took an additional $20 from his own wallet - that was a lot of money then. He called my grandfather, because my mother was too upset. Grandpop came over and together these two fathers sat in the kitchen and made a plan for us that made all our lives better from that day forward.

Yes, fathers don’t always ask your opinion, they don’t always take your feelings into account, they just won’t allow you to get too far from the well - and would you have it any other way, really? Because when you’re stuck in the muck, Mom will bring you tea and sympathy, but Dad will bring a truck with a winch.

Here’s a list of gifts kids can give Dads everywhere...

A day with no arguing. No voices raised. Play HIS music loud and admit it is better than your (c)rappy music!

A day where you get up and mow the lawn and even do the edging, without being asked, cajoled, or threatened.

A day where the garage gets cleaned and everything gets labeled and put in it’s place.

A day without sarcastic comebacks or profanity. A day of normal, pleasant conversation. I know it will kill you, but he’ll never forget it... Twenty years from now, he’ll be saying, “Remember that day when Johnny talked nice the whole day? Who’d have known he had it in him?”

A day when his vehicle gets cleaned out, washed, hand waxed and detailed.

A day when you don’t do anything to upset your mother.

A day where you barbecue for the family according to HIS standards. Might as well get used to them now, because his standards will be yours sooner than you know....

A day of boating, fishing, or clamming, with the old man. With no arguing and no catching more than he does.

A day where you let him teach you something, without claiming you already know how to do it perfectly - you don’t! It’s hard to comprehend that now, because by age 18 you know more than you will ever know again in your life. As time goes on, you’ll see an alarming increase in the number of things you know nothing about.

A day when the phrases, “That was my fault, I’m sorry” and “Thank you” are spoken spontaneously to all members of the family!

A day where you talk to your paternal grandparents on the phone for as long as they want to talk to you without signaling to other family members to scream, “FIRE!” so you have an excuse to get off the phone.

If your Dad’s religious, go to services with him and don’t look bored. If he plays golf, play with him and believe everything he says. If your eyes see a slice and his eyes do not, believe his eyes. If he sails, go sailing, but don’t tell him what canvas to put up, and after the sail, coil all the ropes without complaint.

You abuse him for 364 days a year and he takes it on the chin. On Father’s Day, just let him have one day where he’s right the whole day! Don’t worry about sacrifing your standards, you can aggravate him twice as much the next day to get caught up.

Raccoon Recon...

Raccoons... what’s next?

Laying in bed being brought into a level of consciousness I don’t usually have to deal with till 7 AM, I opened one eye enough to see that the clock read 1 AM. I could hear the sound of plastic bakery containers being opened in the kitchen. My son was in bed, it wasn’t him. I was in bed, it wasn’t me. The cats can’t open plastic bakery containers because they don’t have opposable claws, so it wasn’t them.

I had no choice, I was going to have to get up and find out who was after my blueberry muffins.

She was small with a gray brindle coat, a lovely ringed tail, and black outlined eyes filled with a pititful expression. I reached for a broom to swish the raccoon out of my kitchen, only to realize, I have an electric broom now and they’re no good for raccoon swishing. I grabbed a spatula and chased her, but she didn’t run. She ambulated slowly to the cat door and left. My two cats only looked up as she passed within inches of them. They didn’t even try to protect me, me the provider of food, treats, toys, gee thanks guys....I locked the cat door so she couldn’t get in again.

I realized she was kinda thin for a raccoon and then it hit me. She was probably a nursing mother who had just gotten the pups to sleep long enough to get out of the den for awhile. I wondered if she used Tylenol to knock them out like I used to do with my pups.

I returned to bed and fell asleep until about an hour later when the sound of cabinets being opened in the kitchen woke me up. Yes, she was back. My muffins weren’t enough I guess.... She tore the window screen to get in. This time I was doing that thing where you’re trying to yell at someone without waking up the rest of the house, that super charged whisper. I told her, “Listen, you, you can’t come in my house and shop! You have to find food outside!” I shushed her out my front door and swatted her bottom with the spatula. I was sure I had handled that dinfinitively.

4 AM......only our children, when they are babies and can’t understand threats, are allowed to wake us up multiple times in the night and still be alive in the morning. I knew it was her moving dishes on the counter.....I went to the kitchen, she stayed on the counter, eating tidbits and just looked up at me. I thought raccoons were supposed to be shy and timid. She was neither. I wasn’t sure if she was brave, too tired to run, or learning disabled. This time I used a spatula and a hand towel to shush her out, like a lion tamer with a whip and chair, I shushed her toward the door and she kept turning around looking at me like, “What? What did I do?”

This time I was going to beat her. I got my pillow, blankie, and water and set up camp in my recliner. I turned on the TV to create light and sound to keep her out. I had the spatula at the ready. My plan worked. She did not return that night....

But after three breaks in my sleep, I was up for the rest of the night. My conscious began to work on me. I started to feel guilty, what if she was starving, what if she didn’t have enough milk, what if this was the only time she was going to get out this week? What if I hurt her when I swatted her? As the time wore on, I felt terrible, exhausted, but terrible.

The next night she was back. At 11 PM I saw her face peering in through the cat door. I took her a bowl of Friskies Seafood Mix dry food. I thought she could carry pieces in her cheeks back to the kids. I soon realized that wasn’t necessary... because she had no trouble dragging the whole bowl in the woods. The kids must have been thrilled, Mom brought home 'take out' !

We’ve named her Rachel. So now I feed three indoor cats, two feral cats, seed for the birds, nuts for 'Al Byneau', our white squirrel, green scraps for the deer and now extra kibble for Rachel.

40% of the grocery budget goes to animal food now. It’s not so bad I guess, unless I have company and they ask for something to eat.

“Sure! What would you like? I have Kal Kan, Friskies -wet or dry, Song Bird Mix, walnuts, squash scraps....what would you like?”

Getting Your Madonna to Lighten Up!

“There’s a million stories in the naked city....”

I went to The Dory, a local bar on Shelter Island, to celebrate my 400th column last week. I had their incredible stuffed clams. Jack Keiffer, the owner, always makes them with clam pieces big enough to actually see. I was knockin’ back Shirley Temples with three cherries like there was no tomorrow - because danger is my middle name....

I love meeting new people. Ed and Dave, were the two new people I met at The Dory that night. They were both very handsome and both too sober to go home with me of their own free will....damn! They are contractors, and as I do with nearly every one I meet, I asked them to tell me a funny story.

Ed related how he had this guy that worked for him once upon a time. I don’t recall the guy’s name so I’ll call him James because I hate the name James, it’s a bad luck name for me. All the James’ I have ever met have been bad luck for me and created havoc in my life. I finally decided a few years ago that God created the name James just for me, as a way to tag and identify men I should avoid. When I meet men named James, I picture them surrounded with orange caution cones, then I get away from them as fast as I can. I don’t know if Ed’s worker was named James, but he might as well have been because he was bad news.

So back to the story. Hard worker, reliable, all was well with James it seemed, until one day. One day James had a minor electrical problem so he called Ed on the chance that Ed had enough electrical knowledge to solve the problem, which it happened he did. James was so thrilled that he made Ed his expert for everything. He called Ed for every problem he had, great and small; electrical, plumbing, computer, women, choosing lotto numbers, everything.

We’ve all known someone like that at least once. Someone who has made us their expert and annoyed us to death with the minutiae of their lives. Killing them is out of the question because they are usually pretty social and someone would actually miss them. It’s impossible to hand them off to anyone else once they’ve latched onto you like a lemora, so that's out. You don’t want to hurt their feelings, but in the end you have to tell them that you have a brain tumor that grows from the sound of their voice, or move out of state in the middle of the night.

Yes, James drove Ed to distraction. But one night was the coup de gras. James had purchased a statue of the Madonna for his mother. The statue was in the yard and James was having trouble getting the Holy Mother to light up, so who did he call? Ed. Ed the all knowing.

“Did you check the wiring, James? Is it frayed anywhere?”

“No, wiring’s good.”

“Are the connections wet? Are the plugs laying in damp grass?”

“Nope. Plugs are above ground. Everything’s dry but she’s still not lighting up.”

“Okay, did you check your fuse box?”

“No.”

“Alright. Go to the fuse box and just to be sure, slowly flip each switch back and forth.”

“Okay, but hang on, I gotta put new batteries in my flashlight.”

“Is the fuse box is in a dark location?”

“No, all the lights are off.”

“All the lights in your house?”

“No, all the lights on the block. I called the power company a little while ago, power should be back on in a few hours.”

I can’t relate the words Ed spoke to James next. But it was a string of profanities that melted the wires. The diatribe ended with Ed telling James never to call him again. Then, right at the end of Ed’s yelling - the Madonna lit up in the yard! Ed told me, “I couldn’t believe it! The guy took it as some kinda sign that I was his mentor for life!”

Never mind the naked city. There’s a million stories right here on the naked island...

Woman Shoots 'Gator in Living Room!

What’s good for the goose is good for the gator...

“Bradenton woman shoots alligator: Tampa Bay's 10 News 5/16/2006
The alligator was only four feet long, but a Bradenton woman says she wasn't taking any chances. When the reptile came into the lanai of her home Saturday and attacked her golden retriever, Candy Frey went and got her gun. After Frey and her daughter managed to push the gator out of the lanai through the dog door, she blasted away at it four times. ..
Frey says the alligator barely bled from gunshots to its neck and shoulder. The wildlife officer put it back in the lake. Frey was given a warning citation for hunting without a license.”

“You’re writing me up??? Are you insane? The alligator was in my house! Threatening my child!”

“It’s illegal to hunt gator in Florida, don’t matter where they are ma’am.”

“I wasn’t “hunting gator” on my front porch! He was coming towards us and snapping his jaws!”

“Why didn’t you just jump behind him and pull him out by the tail? It would have been safer.”

“Oh, let’s see.... because he could swing around and clamp onto my arm?”

“Not if you’re fast ma’am.”

“You’re right... what was I thinking? It must be my fault! My "gator management" skills just aren’t up to speed. I missed the ‘Wrestling Reptiles’ part of my Welcome to Florida life skills classes.”

“There you go ma’am. See how easy that was? A little education could have helped this whole thing. This little feller wasn’t trying to hurt you. He was wantin’ yer dog. You was safe the whole time.”

The lady in Florida calls her friend Sally, on Shelter Island....

“He gave you a ticket for hunting alligator in your house?”

“Yes! I’m going to fight it. These people are crazy.”

“If you killed it, can you keep it and make a nice bag?”

“Oh...I never thought of that...silver lining in every cloud.”

“How’d it get in?”

“Through the dog door.”

“Through the doggy door... really.... that gives me an idea.....”



A police car pulls up in my yard.

“Ms Flynn, the bluefish did not come in through your cat door...”

“Yes they did ! All of them! Look at them, they’re huge! They were surrounding me to attack. That's how they attack you know... in schools....”

“Ms Flynn, the bluefish did not come in through the cat door. It’s not bluefish season yet. Now how did you get eight big bluefish?”

“Listen, an alligator in Florida just attacked my friend in her house and alligators live in the water too, so being from the water does not prevent them from attacking land mammals, like me.”

“And how did they get gutted and cleaned?”

“It was an act of self defense.”

“And the grill is going in the back yard because?”

“Okay, you got me there. I was tampering with the evidence.”

“Tampering.....or destroying?”

“Just tampering. I’d never destroy evidence.”

“So what’s the tartar sauce for... in the quart size?”

“It’s bluefish repellent. As soon as they came in, I grabbed it and started smearing it on the floor in a circle around me.”

“And the basil, oregano and lemon juice?”

“I confess. The repellent didn’t work. I had to kill them. I was afraid someone would get the wrong idea, like I enticed them in, so I was going to sprinkle lemon juice around the yard to throw the dogs off the scent of the fish.”

“You really need professional help Ms Flynn. We’ll have to take the bluefish in for evidence. We’ll need the tartar sauce and lemon juice too.”

“Hey, wait a minute.....”

“You have a problem with that Ms Flynn?”

“Ah.... no.... no... of course not....I guess you want the white wine too?”

“Oh yeah.... we’d better take that....best to be on the safe side.”

“Napkins? Forks? Place cards?”

”No, we have all that at the station.”

“Right....from the other fish poachers.”

“Naturally.”

Gardening Takes Guts!

Choose Your Weapon....

In the process of choosing young veggie plants for my garden in recent weeks, I have had several conversations about garden security with other garden store patrons.

Over planting: Planting all you want and extra for the deer on the theory that even after the deer eat all they want, you’ll have enough left for yourself. Excellent theory, but when the deer find a a nice big cache of food, they don’t keep the location to themselves, no, no, no...deer are stupid, they tell their friends and soon you have three times the number of deer coming through your yard.

Fencing: The obvious and easy answer, but... many towns have so many rules and regulations about what kind of fencing you can use, it’s like trying to understand the federal tax codes. The fence can’t injure the animals it’s trying to keep out and it can’t be too high it case it looks offensive to absolutely anyone driving by. The best fence would be about five foot high with razor wire on the top, or nasty poison tipped spikes, but noooooo...... somebody, who shouldn’t be near your garden stealing squash in the first place, might get injured, so no razor wire or poison tipped spikes.....picky, picky, picky....

Wagon planting: My mother-in-law does this. You buy old kiddie wagons and plant your veggies in them. This gives you a mobile garden! You can bring the garden in at night. Or hide your plants anyway you want. The added benefit is you can garden from your lawn chair. Just wheel the wagon up and start digging.

Hanging Gardens: You can plant almost anything in hanging baskets. Not a bad idea if you have a big porch. You can hang your garden all around and sleep on the porch with a shotgun in case the deer try to come up the steps. The two positive side effects are; 1] you could get a freezer full of venison, 2] neighbors will never bother a man crazy enough to guard his zucchini with a shotgun.

Roof Top Gardening: I haven’t seen this yet, but it’s a matter of time. If you have a flat section of roof, with a little partial shade, what better location for a deer and rabbit proof garden? The roof isn’t doing anything but covering your house, so why not put it to some real good use with a roof top garden? If the deer and bunnies are smart enough to get a ladder and get onto a roof top garden then you'd better move out of that area as soon as possible.

El Camino Gardening: After roof top gardening, this is probably the best option for critter proof gardening. Buy an old El Camino and plant your garden in the back. This way you can keep an eye on your tomatoes wherever you go. Plus, how easy it will be to show off your garden if it’s right there with you at the hardware store.

Seawall Gardening: Popular in the coastal towns, but only for locals. Pile clam shells and seaweed in three foot high walls around your garden with strings of decorative fly strips overhead. The smells of the sea products will obfuscate the smells of tender pea shoots and the confused deer will leave feeling foolish that they mistook a clambake for a garden. Naturally they won’t mention it to their friends because that’s just downright embarrassing for a deer to mistake the smell of seaweed for pea shoots.

Sherlock Holmes Garden: Sherlock Holmes said, “The best place to hide something is in plain sight.” I believe that. I have a theory, not in any book, that deer can find gardens not only by smell, but by pattern recognition. When they see straight lines of vegetation, they see buffet dinner. This year, I will be staggering my plantings to make them appear random. Plus, I’m surrounding my garden with big cat poop. Yes, you heard right.... ‘google’ it yourself, it’s proving out in gardens across America. Deer instinctively avoid areas where they smell evidence of a natural predator like a big cat. Cougar poop is selling like hot cakes in California. I will be making my first poop purchase soon. I’m not sure about Cougar poop because the deer here on Shelter Island are pretty smart and I know they’ve never seen a cougar, so I’m thinkin’ Lion or Tiger....

Mother's Day: Priceless

Drive to the beach with kids: gas $1.00
Equipment for Beach: blanket, towels, cooler, soda’s, sandwiches, sunscreen, beach toys, umbrella, chair, book you won’t get to read, sunglasses $400
Your toddler gleefully putting a shell she picked in your hand, priceless.

Drive to restaurant: gas $1.00
Mother’s Day Lunch with friends who are real mothers: $40
Making detailed plans to escape to Vegas without hubbies and kids: priceless.

Reminding boss Mother’s Day is coming: $0
Ordering flowers sent to his mother for him so he doesn’t look like a fool: $150.
Him knowing you saved his ass again and he owes you big time: priceless.

Cost of pregnancy test: $15
Cost of making a nice dinner at home so you can tell him the news: $80
Look on his face when you tell him that, not only are you pregnant, but you’re sure he’s the father: priceless.

Cost of materials for your Mother’s Day card in your fourth graders art class: $1
Time it took him to make it: half hour.
Look in his eyes when you carry it in your purse and show it to everyone: priceless.

Cost of four roses bushes for Mother’s Day: $150
Time to plant them: 2 hours
Being attacked in the shower by a happy wife: priceless.

Cost of Dr Spock Baby Care book: $4.50
Cost of telephone call home: $1.00
Hearing your daughter say, “Mom, I can’t find it in the book. What do I do now?” : priceless.

Sentimental Mother’s Day card $3.50
Time it took for your teenage son to choose it: one tenth of a second
Reading the card out loud in front of as many of your son’s peer’s as you can manage: priceless.

Sentimental Mother’s Day card, one dozen roses: $75
Time it took your husband to choose card: five tenths of a second.
Reading the card over and over again in private and crying: priceless.

Stupid "humorous" Mother’s Day card and one crummy rose $10
Time it took your husband to choose card: three minutes.
Look of "enlightenment" on his face as he ducks the flying lasagna pan: priceless.

Sentimental Mother’s Day card, one dozen long stem roses, one romantic dinner: $300
Money he gave you for new dress, shoes, salon nails and hair: $800
Look of shock on his face when you say, “Absolutely anything you want, anyway you want it tonight,” : priceless.

Cost of ambulance to Emergency Room: $1000
Cost of cardiac workup on your husband: $12,000
Look on his face when he turns to you and says, “Yea, baby, but it was worth it...” : priceless.

Slalom Driving for Deer

Driving Instructions for Shelter Island

Tourist season is upon us now and I thought it would be beneficial to review the driving regulations on Shelter Island.

1. Never use turn signals, it gives away your next move.

2. If you’re a tourist, don’t bother maintaining a safe distance between you and the car in front of you, because the space might be filled in by somebody else, putting you in an even more dangerous situation. We know you need to get where you’re going before anybody else does.

3. If you’re a tourist and want to think like an Islander, start by allowing one deer length for every ten miles per hour of speed. It doesn’t matter if there’s a car in front of you or not, just imagine that there is. The deer however, will not be imaginary.

4. It is suggested that you keep a change of underwear in your vehicle at all times in the event you miscalculate #3.

5. Learn to swerve abruptly without fishtailing. Shelter Island is the home of high-speed deer slalom-driving.

6. Never come to a complete stop at a stop sign. No one expects it and it will result in your being rear-ended.

7. Give Right of Way to any car that needs extensive or expensive bodywork.

8. Allow truck occupants that stop traffic in both directions so they can have a conversation, 15 seconds before you lay on your horn.

9. Braking is to be done as hard and late as possible to ensure getting a vigorous ab workout and foot massage as the brake pedal violently pulsates.

10. Never pass on the left when you can pass on the right. It's a good way to prepare other drivers for off island driving.

11. The top speed limit on Shelter Island is 40 mph. This limit applies even if no one is looking, even if it’s the middle of the night, even if you have a BMW, Porsche, Mercedes or any exotic car, even if you're an illegal alien with a phony license, even if you drive a truck and think you own the place.

12. Just because it’s obvious that you have no room to speed up or move over, doesn't mean that a tourist flashing his high beams behind you doesn't think he can go faster in your spot.

13. Always brake and rubberneck when you see an accident or even someone changing a tire on Shelter Island. No much goes on here and we need all the news we can get.

14. The faster you drive through a stop sign, the less chance you have of getting hit.

15. Don’t bother wearing your seat belt on Island. This way you can avoid injury in the event of a collision by exiting your vehicle immediately, straight through the windshield. Wearing your seat belt will only impede your hi-velocity escape from danger.

16. Remember that the goal of every tourist driver is to get where you’re going before you do.

17. You are not allowed to tie your annoying teenager to your front bumper. You must tie them to the top of the vehicle and be sure the head is securely tied down so it doesn’t flap as you drive.

18. There’s so much conflicting information about the safest place to put the toddlers in car seats, we suggest securing them in the car seat first, then placing them in the trunk and securing the car seats with your jumper cables.

19. Racing to the ferry doesn’t get you off the island any quicker. You still have to wait for the boat.

20. Do not balance your checkbook while in line at the bank’s drive thru window. If you do this, it is legal on Shelter Island for the driver behind you, to push your car gently into traffic.

21. If you cut ahead in a ferry line, be prepared to have your car pushed off the dock. The amount of money you have, what you own, who you own, your level of affluence means nothing here, cut that line and you’re dead.

Naked Door to Door Exams

Lyme Away

Somewhere in a New England resort town where Lyme Disease flourishes...

Bob: “Joe, you read about this? Some 76 year old guy in Florida posed as a doctor, went door to door giving free breast exams. Got away with it for a while...”
Joe: “Wow! What a great idea man, we shoulda’ thought of that.”
Bob: “Yea. Hey....wait a minute... what about Deer Tick Inspector?”
Joe: “Deer ticks...lyme disease... damn, Bob, that could work.”
Bob: “I got a doctor’s coat, stethoscope, I got a clip board too.”
Joe: “How come you got a doctors coat?”
Bob: “Ah..... Betty, she likes to play doctor - patient....it's one of her sex fantasies. I just put up with it....you know, just to keep her happy....”
Joe: “Oh, she likes to play doctor - patient now? Cool.... So, ah... can I have your old pirate and slave girl costumes for Lucy and me?”
Bob: “Oh sure, Joe. Anyway, we could give it try... Deer Tick Inspector Lyme Prevention Team... I like it...”
Joe: “ It won’t work... the local girls won’t go for it.”
Bob: “Yea, too smart, too bad.”
Joe: “But the tourists are coming...”
Bob: “Tourists...yea...what do they know?”
Joe: “This could really work, Bob.”
Bob: “We only got one coat.”
Joe: “We’ll take turns.”
Bob: “What’ll we tell them?”

A tourist answers the knock at the door of her summer cottage.
Joe: “Good afternoon Ma’am. Dr. Joe Smith. There’s a severe deer tick infestation in this area. I’m here from the Lyme Disease Prevention Board to give you a free inspection.”
Lady: “How nice, come in, look around.”
Joe: “I’m not here to inspect the house ma’am. I inspect your person. Please remove your clothes.”
Lady: “What? Are you crazy?”
Joe: “Lyme disease causes premature aging ma’am.”
Lady: “It does? Well, I’m sure it’s not that bad...”
Joe: “And it causes the reversal of any plastic surgeries you may have had. Like if you had a nose job, and got Lyme’s, you’re nose would grow back into it’s original form plus a half inch.”
Lady: “Oh my gawd!!!”
Joe: "And it has a strange effect on silicone, causing it to either shrink or explode....we can't figure it out..."
Lady: "Oh jeez!"
Joe: “Take it easy ma’am, no need to tear off your clothes, I can help you get them off. I’m a trained professional.”

Overheard in the neighborhood grocery store.
Lady 1: “...and they send out Lyme tick inspectors too. Such a nice place.”
Lady 2: “Did you pass inspection?”
Lady 1: “Yes. I passed once last week and twice this week.”
Lady 2: “How often do they have to check?”
Lady 1: “Frequently I guess. This lyme thing is a big problem here.”

In a doctor’s office in that New England resort town...
Doctor to patient: “What Deer Tick Inspection doctor?”

Jail cell in that same resort town...
Joe: “Damn, Bob, that was fun...”
Bob: “Are they gonna charge us or not?”
Joe: “Only if they can find a woman willing to testify in court against us.”
Bob: “Well, none of my ‘patients’ are gonna complain. If that cop hadn’t seen you in the white coat at that lady’s door, we wouldn’t be here now for trespassing...”
Joe: “Yup, you’re right. “
Bob: “So, is that lady gonna press charges now that she knows the truth?”
Joe: “No, she likes me. I inspected her quite a few times... in depth inspections.... I dont' think she'll press charges, but let’s just say, I’m definitely gonna need those pirate and slave girls outfits...”

Spring, right on time...

Signs of Spring in Resort Areas, like Shelter Island

Well that’s it....the clocks have been turned forward, Easter and Passover are over, we’re all eating pastel colored egg salad sandwiches and leftover matzoh which means Spring is officially here!

Here's some signs of Spring where I live...

Daffodils and tulips are trumpeting their colors all over.

Tourists are already showing up. You can spot them on the ferries very easily, they hit their brakes when the ferry docks and race the gate to get off the ferry. But that sorta works out well, because when they race the gate, the ferry worker gets to hold up that all powerful hand and stop them with a face that says, “I don’t care if your car costs more than my house, this is Shelter Island and we all take turns and play nice, you moron.”

There’s tiny piles of dirt all over the lawn, new dirt means, the worms are building below.

Soon they’ll be big piles of new dirt above ground as we watch the new crop of McMansions spring up.

There''ll be new bunches of illegal aliens all over to build the McMansions.

Soon, we’ll hear the iron songbird of Spring, the John Deere riding lawnmower.

We’ll start hearing the latest round of “I don’t give a damn how they do it in the city....” stories of locals dressing down arrogant city people.

We’ll stand in line silently at the post office listening to someone from Florida demanding something impossible from our long suffering postal folk. We’ll wish that there was a separate line for locals, and knowing that it can’t be that way, we’ll size up the offending irritant as to whether we can fit their body into a small town bag because the large once cost more...

Men coated with spackle and paint will show up at deli’s with sandwich orders written on blocks of wood. I always wonder if their wives give them grocery shopping lists on planks...

The teenagers of Shelter Island increase the volume of their unceasing bain, “There’s nothing to do here” and “I’m bored.” My daughter always thought that these phrases constituted justification for drug indulgence. She didn’t realize that these phrases conjure up long lists of house and yard chores in the parental mind. These lists, coupled with the knowledge that they need our money for everything including drugs, gives us the leverage we need to get them to do anything at all, even though they can only do it halfway and half ass. It’s just as well. If they did anything start to finish, correctly, and the first time - the shock would kill us.

For me the greatest sign of Spring showed up on the side of my brother’s house. Clam rakes...two of them....nestled gently together in the morning sun. Their rusty baskets seemed to cry out, ”Clams...clams...give us clams....”

Oh yes, the best signs of Spring on Shelter Island, are the ones we can dip in butter.

Chocolate Tax?

Easter Form 1040

Saturday, April 13, somewhere in America...

“Margaret, you can’t dye Easter eggs here. I need this table to do taxes.”
“You should’ve had the taxes done already, I need this table to dye eggs.”
“This is the only table and I need it for taxes. Taxes take precedence over Easter eggs.”
“Not to me and three kids it doesn’t. See the line in the middle of the table? You stay on your side, we’ll stay on ours.”
“Be careful with those cups of dye, will ya? I don’t want anything on these forms.”
“Okay kids, after we dip the eggs, let’s put them on the paper towels to catch the drips.”
“HOLY---! Margaret! The egg rolled over the 1099’s! Now they’re purple!”
“The table’s not level. Remember I told you that.”
“Yea, yea.... gimme some paper... I’ll fold a wedge and stick it under this leg... there.... no more eggs over the line, okay?”
“Okay, we’ll try. “
“And keep it down.”
“They’re kids, Joe. We’re doing the Easter eggs, they’re going to make noise.”
“Isn’t there some religious teaching about dying eggs in silence?”
“I don’t think there’s anything in the Bible that covers egg dying, Joe. I think that’s in your thin book series...Activities I’ve Done With My Children.”
“HEY! HEY! NO THROWING EGGS, GUYS! Margaret, make them stop that!”
“Okay, settle down, no throwing eggs! BRIAN!”
“OH @&#$)!! Margaret! Perfect! That egg just hit the 1040, and it’s my last one! Now it has a pink stripe and yolk on it. Get me a tissue.. geez... “
“Just wipe it off. The IRS doesn’t care if they get a return with a pink stripe, as long as they get the money. Besides, it’s their own fault for scheduling April 15th so close to Easter.”
“It’s an IRS tradition Margaret, they schedule April 15th around this time every year....”
“Well they should check the calendar first. Tax day should not collide with Easter.”
“Pass me a chocolate bunny.”
“Okay.”
“How come you got solid ones? I hate solid bunnies. Like trying to bite through rebar.”
“I’ll get you a knife.”
“No, then I’ll have little chocolate shavings all over. Next time get hollow bunnies.”
“I get what’s on sale, Joe.”
“Well find hollow bunnies on sale next year....the ones with the blue candy eyes...”
“Yellow bow or pink bow?”
“Don't start Margaret, just get the hollow ones. Everybody keep quiet. Color your eggs quietly or the Easter Bunny won't come.”
"Nice Joe. I can't tell you how much fun it is co-parenting with you."


Friday, April 21, in an IRS office....

“Oh man, Tom! This one is a real stinker....damn egg yolks. How are we supposed to get these returns done with all these egg smears and color streaks?”
“I don’t know what’s worse, Bob, the ones with the egg stink or the ones with the watercolor abstracts on them.”
“We can’t keep doing this. We have to come up with a solution.”
“Management is on it. They’re either banning Easter from April or moving the eggs and bunnies stuff to another holiday. They’re thinking of Memorial Day. Start a new tradition of dying eggs red, white and blue. And have chocolate flags.”
“How can they pull that off?”
“Hey Bob, we’re the IRS, the only government agency that audits itself. We can do anything we want. Shouldn’t take long to push an new bill through Congress making the change official. No more tie dyed Tax forms.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to change the tax deadline date to February or May to avoid the Easter collision?”
“We’re the Internal Revenue Service, Bob. We’re not here to serve the people.”
“I’m sorry Tom, what was I thinking?”
“It’s the sulfur fumes from the eggs. Happens to the best agents.”

The Untuckables

The Untuckables

I live on an island. There are hundreds of islands off of both coasts of the Unitied States. Some have bridges, but most use ferries.

One of our ferry's has a new ticket system. It used to be that you exchanged money for a nice 3”x 4” postcard paper ticket (I scanned an actual ticket above) with the date and your trip choices punched out. Now they’re testing a new system, with a computerized handheld ticket machine about the size of a small tissue box, which is appropriate because it prints out a tissue thin ticket. If it were any thinner, it would be spray....

I watched the tickettaker punch in the codes for a round trip and then use a separate little printer on his belt to print out the tiny 2” square ticket. It took longer for him to enter the codes and wait for the ticket to be printed than it used to take to hand over cash and get a torn off ticket with your change. What’s going to happen when these little electronic machines gets hit with salt spray? Or are dropped? Not that either of those two things would happen on a ferry...

But here’s the real problem.... the tiny tickets!

Everyone on Shelter Island has a specific spot where they tuck their ferry ticket. Most people tuck it above the driver’s window where the frame joins the headliner. Some have elastic straps on their sun visors and tuck it there. Everybody has a spot and can ticket tuck by feel, in the dark, half asleep, while holding hot coffee, while arguing, anything, but the ticket has to be big enough and stiff enough to tuck. These new small, flimsy ones are untuckable tickets.

They wouldn’t tuck in my usual spot, so I had to drive with one hand while I searched for alternative ticket tucking locations. I’m an experienced ticket tucker, but I couldn’t secure this ticket anywhere. Plus, I could see that from my handling, the print — with my round trip fare on it — was smearing. It finally ended up in my wallet. Then I had to dig it out for the return trip.

But the problem is even bigger than that. You see, loose ferry tickets in the car serve a multitude of purposes in Island life:

You can write a note on a ferry ticket and wedge it in someone’s house door or car door, or leave it under the windshield wiper.

If it’s a long note, you can put a “1”, “2”, “3”, at the top of each ticket. You could write a novel if you have enough tickets.

You can write short grocery lists on the back of tickets.

In desperation, you can use the corner of a ferry ticket as a toothpick.

I have written absence excuses on the back of ferry tickets for the school because the nice note I wrote is still on the kitchen table.

You can play three games of ‘tic tac toe’ with bored kids on the back of each ticket.

As you’re driving and hear something on the radio you want to remember, you reach for a ferry ticket and pen and the ticket is just the right size to lay on the center of the steering wheel and write while you drive.

A ferry ticket can flatten and remove spiders from the car.

All of my bookmarksers are ferry tickets.

I asked a fellow school mom for an easy recipe she mentioned. She gave it to me on the back of a ferry ticket while we were in the parking lot.

It's not uncommon here to get in your car and find a note written on a ferry ticket waiting for you on the dashboard.

We can amuse ourselves on the ferry by looking at the shapes of the punches.

The old tickets could survive rain or coffee spills, but not the new ones. Three rain drops and you will be handing the ticket taker a lump of mush for a return ticker.

I know there’s no stopping progress. I know that computers make our lives better. I know that a computerized ticket is better for me than a tear off, I guess. I know all this, but I will sure miss those multipurpose ferry tickets.

Did I mention you can wallpaper with ferry tickets?

The Bar is Closed

“Thursday, March 23, 2006; SAN ANTONIO, Texas (Reuters) -- Texas has begun sending undercover agents into bars to arrest drinkers for being drunk, a spokeswoman for the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission said Wednesday.”

I knew this was coming! Last year, in this column, I said that I was opposed to banning smoking in bars because it’s part the bar scene and we all know it. Even though I’m a non-smoker, I felt that smokers have the right to smoke. If you can’t smoke in a bar, where can you smoke? I said pretty soon there’d be no drinking in bars and look.... it’s happening!

If they can ban getting drunk in a BAR in TEXAS then there’s no hope for the rest of the country! First no smoking, now no drinking, soon no chewing gum and no talking! Then no flirting and no dancing! Next, bars will serve only coffee so they don’t get sued for anything and then somebody will be sitting on a tiny stage playing acoustical guitar singing ‘Kumbaya’.

People go to bars to achieve some level of inebriation. They say and do stupid things to blow off steam. Sometimes there’s a fight, sometimes a woman takes off her top, sometimes people cry on you. It’s a bar! Bar things happen in a bar. As long as you don’t drive drunk, what is the problem?

Summer 2006, in a bar somewhere in America

“I’m sorry sir, you’ve already had your two beer limit this evening. I can serve you coffee. We have a nice line of expressoes.”
“I want another beer! I’m not driving. I walked here from my hotel. I will be walking back.”
“I’m sorry. It’s our new policy. No drunks in the bar.”
“Can I buy a bottle and take it with me?”
“No, you’ll drink it once you get back.”
“No I won’t, I swear. Besides...uh.... it’s not for me. It’s for my mother. She came all the way from Italy on this vacation with me, sweetest woman in the world. It’s for her. She was going to come with me tonight, but she’s not feeling well. You wouldn’t want to punish her just because I’ve had my quota, would ya?”
“I can’t. I’m real sorry. But you know, you can take a cab from here and go to Lefty’s Elbow Room. You can have two more beers there. That’s what most customers do.”
“Oh, I get it.... I can go from bar to bar and have two beers in each bar...”
“Yup. The cab has a shuttle service going in a loop to every bar on the Island. Just sit out front and wait.”

Two men sitting in front of a bar waiting for a cab...

“Damn this is getting expensive! This cab is making a fortune off of me.”
“How many bars you been to so far?”
“Lets see, six beers.... three bars.”
“When did you start?”
“I started at seven o’clock. It’s ten now. The problem with this bar shuttle system is that you can’t drink your beers close enough together to get a buzz on, you know what I mean?”
“Do what I do. I start drinkin’ much earlier in the day now. That way you stay a head of the crowd and the cab can get you to the next stop much quicker.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. I started at four o’clock today. It’s ten now. I’ve been to four bars and I feel great.”
“You’re not worried about the cab getting all your money?”
“Nah. I just took out my cash and gave him my wallet after the second bar. He takes my ATM card and gets cash from the bank and pays himself for me between pickups.”
“That’s very considerate of him.”
“It’s the new way to drink now. It’s not so bad really. Most of the women stay put and get better lookin’ everytime you loop through their bar.”
“Tomorrow night, I’m just gonna get me a bottle and drink at home on my sofa.”
“Can’t do that.”
“What? Why not?”
“Fire ordinance. No sitting at home and drinking. You might get impaired judgement and start smoking and set the sofa on fire. Or worse, you might drink and dial, and bore someone with a drunken rant.”
“Man, what has happened to this country? Used to be a man could have a couple beers with friends, smoke, flirt and maybe even score. Now, we’re being protected to death from things we don’t want protection from and another thing my friend....”
“Cab’s here.”
“Oh yeah... let’s go.”

Cyclone Larry

AP: Mon., March 20, 2006 SYDNEY, Australia -- The worst storm to hit Australia in decades, Cyclone Larry - a category five storm ... mowing down sugar and banana crops and leaving thousands of people homeless ... the airport was cleared to house thousands of people in tents. ... Snakes and Crocodiles Alerts; ... volunteers to help with the cleanup, were warned to be on their guard for deadly animals stirred up by the storm, AP reports. "Keep your kids away from flooded drains, be aware of snakes and crocodiles,".. "Those guys will have had a bad night too."

A Hurricane, a Typhoon and Cyclone are all the same kind of storm, just in different locations; hurricanes in the Atlantic, typhoons in the Pacific and cyclones in the southern hemisphere for Australia. Australia, of course, has to be different, so their storms spin clockwise. They reverse their seasons, drive on the wrong side of the road, speak english with the thickest accent they could possibly develop, they just go out of their way to be different than the rest of the world. We have normal names for our hurricanes; Alice, Louise, Nathan; they have stupid names for their storms; Larry, Dick, Bud....BUD? YES! They had Cyclone Bud! It was only a category two, so they called it - what else? Bud-lite!

Australians visit Shelter Island all summer. The Hamptons won’t let them in because they’re too redneck, so they all have to come here for their east coast experience.

I ran into a big clutch of them last summer at Wades Beach. They were talking loud, but I hardly understood a word. I was worried because they were drinking, (yes, it’s true) and I was sure somebody was going to drive on the wrong side of the road. So I stayed and monitored them for as long as I could. They lured me to their picnic with a plate of shrimp. I only ate the shrimp to be polite and to give me an excuse to get in close and find out what they might be up to. They were planning a trip to Las Vegas and trying to determine what ‘territory’ it was in. I told them it was in Indian territory, so they’d better be armed. A couple of the men were wearing calvary style straw hats with one side up, so I told them they could lead the charge since they already had the hats. Someone said something to which there was much laughter, if I had my Australian to English Dictionary with me, I’ve have gotten the joke. What I did discover, when they threw their heads back to laugh, is that there are no orthodontists in Australia, so if anyone wants to corner a market, I think there’s one waiting in the outback.

We got into a conversation about deer and they asked me what predators we had here for population control. I said just guns and cars. They were very excited that there was hunting on the island and I suddenly realized I’d said the wrong thing. So if anyone on the Island thinks they had a dream last August of Australians hunting among their hydrangeas, I apologize. They advised me that one wolf pack could take control our deer population. I promised to pass that along to our Town Board. I’m sure Wolf Pack Importation would go over really good on the agenda.

I pointed out that wolves present their own danger and might eat children. No one seemed alarmed, one man said, “Maybe a few.” Like that was an acceptable loss. But now I know how stupid I was to discuss dangerous predators with people who just advised the Cyclone Larry victims to "Keep your kids away from flooded drains, be aware of snakes and crocodiles,".. "Those guys will have had a bad night too.". Are they kidding?

“What ‘appened to yer little boy Johnny, Mavis?”
“Ow, lost ‘im to croc after Larry, we did. ‘e was standin’ too close to a flooded ditch and I yells out to ‘im, “Johnny, watch for crocs!” But ‘e didn’t ‘ear me.”
“I’m sorry Mavis.”
“Well, we ‘ave ‘is twin. So it’s just like ‘e’s ‘ere, except I don’t have to buy in doubles no more. So it all worked out in the end you might say.”
“Well, all’s well that ends well, cheerio!”

I don’t know if it’s all the sun, something in the kangaroo meat, the isolation from the rest of the world, or what, but Australians have a very different comprehension of ‘normal’ compared to the rest of the world. Just be prepared in case you need to fend them off this summer... I found the best thing is to tell them that beer in the Hamptons is half the price of Shelter Island’s, since ours is all imported...

St Patrick's Day SEASON?

St. Patrick’s SEASON???

[Disclaimer: The St Patricks celebration photo on the right is not of me. I'd need much bigger shamrocks....]

Wow! What news! All over the media, they’re saying “St. Patrick’s Season”, not St. Patrick’s Day! Sure ‘n begora....when was the day expanded to a season? I mean, it’s always been that way for my family, we start drinking on the15th just to get a head start, but we didn’t want to force the rest of the country into it. And yet... here it is....

But why, why was the day expanded into a season?

Is it because we won the Civil War for the North? General Robert E. Lee was quoted saying to Grant, “The only reason your side won was because you had more Irishmen.” Is it because we build old New York, especially the Brooklyn Bridge? Is it because we brought River Dance here? Is it because we brought The Three Tenors?

Is it because we added colorful language to American english? Like, the Paddywagon = a police wagon to transport groups of unruly people; Donnybrook = a fight, usually followed by a paddywagon; Bushnells’ = Irish water of life, usually followed by a donnybrook and a paddywagon, Irish Flu = a hangover, usually preceeded by Bushnells, a donnybrook and a paddywagon.

Is it our colorful linguistic contradictions? A unique feature in the Irish and Irish American patois is our contradictions, everybody loves them. Here’s some I remember hearing growing up: “He’ll regret it to his dyin’ day, if ever he lives that long.” [translation - he is in soooo much trouble] “Don’t be in such a hurry that you arrive before you get there.”[translation - don’t rush] “If you get there first, leave a chalk mark in an obvious place. If I get there first, I’ll erase it.”[translation - whoever arrives first, just wait for the other one] “He’s on the wagon now... barely a bottle a week.” [translation - court ordered AA meetings] “Well, do your best to end up there in the first place.”[translation - give it your best shot]. I thought everyone understood this way of speaking until I saw “Waking Ned Divine” (a great movie by the way) with a southern friend and we were hitting “pause” every thirty seconds so I could explain to her what was just said!

Is it because we brought Marion Morrison (aka John Wayne), Bing Crosby, Maureen O’Hara? Grace Kelly, Gene Kelly, Spencer Tracy, Jimmy Cagney? Bill Murray, Ryan Stiles, Drew Carey? Jackie Gleason, Mickey Rooney, Art Carney? Daniel Doone, Davy Crockett? Henry Ford, John F. Kennedy, Ronald Reagan? How about Matthew McConnaghey, Liam Neeson, Pierce (my heart) Brosnan? And Sean Connery?.... I don’t care if he was raised in Scotland, he’s ours....

Is it our Irish Coffee? Alex Levine the writer said, “Only Irish coffee provides in a single glass all four essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar, and fat.” Is it our corned beef and cabbage? Our soda bread? Our terrific tea? And of course, our greatest contribution to mankind... beer. I know the ancient Egyptians brewed it and many other cultures as well, but nobody got it right till Guiness did. And there isn’t an Irish American family in this country that doesn’t have it’s own panel of experts to verify this.

Maybe it was our movies that got us a whole season of recognition.....The Quiet Man, Going My Way, The Bells of Saint Mary’s, Angela’s Ashes, My Left Foot, Finian’s Rainbow, Ryan’s Daughter, Michael Collins, Far and Away, and many more.

Our music perhaps? American blue grass is right out of Irish folk music. Danny Boy alone had to get us a few points... everyone thinks it’s a girl/boy love song. It’s not. It’s a father singing to his son whom the British conscripted into a far off war. That’s why it’s sung at police and firemen’s funerals, it’s a ballad for a fallen son in uniform. What about MacNamara’s Band? Everybody knows those words!

Maybe America is just tired of the party pooper atheists trying to squelch any holiday that has any religious connection. This could be just the beginning of an antipooper movement. There’s plenty of tragedy and suffering to go around, we need all the excuses to celebrate life we can get!

But, whatever the reason, we thank ‘e for the season, we’ll do a little drinkin’ and talk a little treason’ [translation - thanx for the party expansion, we’re gonna have a few extra and argue over everything].

May the road rise up to meet you and the wind be at your back... Happy St. Patrick’s Season!

Dachshunds, Worlds Most Annoying Dog...

My mother, who has three cats, decided she didn't have enough to do, so she adopted two young Dachshunds. They bark at everyone and anything that moves. They scare easily and pee when ever they get scared, which is often. I know that many people are dedicated to this breed, but I don't know why. They just pee and bark. They're cute, but so is a daffodil...

My mother says they're angels when no one is around and it's just the three of them. But this is the same woman who told me that fairies would pay money for my teeth, so her credibility is questionable.

But in fairness, there's nothing wrong with these two noisy little pee bags that couldn't be fixed by a taxidermist. I think they'd make wonderful bookends.

Here's my list of uses for a dachshund, stuffed or live, I don't really care:

Neck roll: If you have them stuffed with a nice latex foam, they'd make a great neck roll for lying on the couch.

Doorstop: How cute would this be? A dachshund, with that goofy little smile, filled with about five pounds of buckshot would hold open just about any sized door.

Coat collar: I know the fox collars of the 40s and 50s are out of style, but that's because foxes live in the wild and are hard to catch. Dachshunds live in people's houses and are relatively easy to catch with just a few doggie treats and a net. Dachshund collars could make an adorable fashion statement and I bet little kids would love to pet the doggie wrapped around Mommy's neck.

Tire Stop. Both ferries use chock blocks to push under your tires to limit movement on the ferry. A sand filled dachshund would make a perfect tire stop. Plus it's long enough that you could have "Welcome to Shelter Island" shaved into its fur.

Fair Event: They have Taber Tosses at some fairs, why not a Hound Hurl? Big men could swing dachshunds overhead by their tails and hurl them in a distance contest. For an extra challenge, live dachshunds could be used because they'd run as soon as they hit the ground and add the dimension of chase to the contest!

Fireman's Wiener Dog Roast: Firemen have barbecues, how great to add a wiener dog roast? I estimate the average roasted dachshund could feed a family of six. And why not? This is the Year of the Dog and dog is a favorite meal in Communist China. We're importing everything else Chinese, why not a few more cultural recipes?

Water Toys: An air-filled dachshund, with sand in its feet for ballast will float in a standing position and look just adorable in your pool. Cup holders can be strapped to the back for drinks.

Moorings: I can't really recommend dachshunds for mooring. They're too squishy and wouldn't even last half a season.

Lawn Decor: Here's something dachshunds were born for! Imagine purchasing several stuffed doxxies from the garden shop and placing them all around your lawn. You can position them chasing a ball, jumping in the air, put one in a tree looking down and forlorn. You could change their positions every week and give the neighbors a treat every time they drive by.

Slippers: I had a pair of slippers once that were stuffed parrots. Why not dachshund slippers? Cute, warm... and silent! You can put them on the bed if you feel like you need four beady eyes staring at you in the morning. If you miss the sound of them, just go to annoyingdogbarks.com and download their sharp, nerve grating barks. If you play them at a slower speed, they sound like St. Bernards, speed it up and they sound like Chihuahua's.

Races: Dachshund races would be fun to watch. They look stupid when they run and they're so easily distracted, they'd never stay in their lanes... the races would quickly disintegrate into a dachshund donnybrook funny enough to rival Animal Planet's Puppy Bowl.

Speed Bumps: Everyone struggles to slow down people on their streets or even in their driveways. What better way than to install cement filled dachshunds? Everybody will brake, thinking they are about to hit some sweetie pie wiener dog. Only it will turn out to be the wiener dog from hell as it takes out their oil pan!

But... all kidding aside... I really do find these dogs annoying.

Greenport, NY Tourist Trap

Fish or cut bait

Whaling was a noble and necessary industry for centuries. It would still be today without the discovery of oil in the ground. Whaling provided lamp and heating oil, corset struts, perfume essence, ivory, and myriad other products. We butcher, eat and wear cattle and pigs and think nothing of it, but now whales are sacred cows. Greenport and Sag Harbor, New York, were famous whaling ports, but it looks to me like Greenport is a little embarrassed about its whaling past. But why?

Every time I take the ferry and look at Greenport, it gets a little more kitschy and a little less whaley. First they got rid of their only tall ship, the beautiful Regina Maris. A great symbol of the town, it could be seen from almost any point along the wharf or channel. Too whaley, it had to go. Then they installed this tourist trap glitzy carousel to give the place an amusement park atmosphere. What schlock! They spiffed up the area around it and that’s nice. Then they replanked the long fishing dock and that was great, until they went too far...

The fishing dock has these dunce cap white cones on the top of each mooring post, all the same height. Looks like a work by Christo, or a long row of white Hershey’s Kisses. I know why they did it.... to keep the seagulls from standing on the posts. The gulls can’t land on the cones. I guess the gulls had to go because they go with the whole whaling theme, ergo they-go.

It was always nice to come across on the ferry and see one seagull perched atop each post. Twenty or thirty in a row. All watching the ferry, thinking about where they can find French fries today, where should they have their taxes done, and all the other things seagulls think about while watching ferries. Now instead of a line of bird brains, I see a line of cone heads.
The cones have to go.

Mooring posts aren’t just for seagull perching, they are also essential for fishing. You cut bait on the top of the post. You jam your bait knife in the post so you know where it is. You stick hooks into the top so they don’t fall on the deck and get in somebody’s foot. The top of the post can hold two or three beers, or one sandwich and a coffee. When the top of the post splits a little, it increases the surface area and you can put a little cooler there.

But don’t the seagulls try to eat the bait and steal your sandwich? Absolutely! Battling seagulls for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is one of the first skills developed by shore line kids. It’s a developmental marker like learning to walk or talk. Even the smallest child quickly — and intuitively — learns how to wave his arms to protect his Oreo’s!

Bait Theft Prevention is a native skill for everyone who has ever dropped a line off a dock. The gulls circle and wait for any opening to get that bait! It adds to the challenge of dock fishing. A dock fisherman can catch the critters below the sea while fending off attackers from the sky! It’s all part of the thrill of the hunt!

But don’t the gulls poop on the dock? Of course they do. But fishermen love the smell of salty air and gull poop on the deck. Smells like....victory.

Maybe Greenport could uncap half of the posts as a compromise. Then, the tourists could have their pictures taken by the pointy cones that match their pointy heads and the fisherman could still enjoy fishing and cutting bait atop the posts.

It’s heart warming to see guys fishing off the dock in summer. People on the ferry wave to them and they wave back. Every one of them used the post for something. Now.... when they fish, the bait they cut will slide off the side of the cone. Their sandwiches will slide off and be eaten by gulls that can swoop faster than a man can catch. They’ll all kick their coffee over because it’s on the deck and not a post.

And there the fishermen will stand.... coffeeless, starving, baitless, with hooks in their feet, surrounded by an army of giant white kisses, looking lost and bewildered. The people on the ferry will point and laugh. Only the gulls will understand. Because the gulls know, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And in a rare alliance of nature, gull and man will stand side by side as man gets out a screwdriver and pries off the killer kones of kitsch...

Betty Friedan Please don't go...

How could you leave us?

What a sad week... losing both Coretta Scott King and Betty Friedan, two of my personal heroes. I always loved Coretta for being a class act. She was definitely the strong, silent type, with opinions that would surprise you. She hated Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton. She saw them as self serving opportunists who increased racial tensions. I agree with her on that. She challenged the finding of the court in her husband murder trial and sought to free the man whom she believed was innocent of the assasination of Martin Luther King, Jr. In my opinion, there’s no better role model for any woman who seeks truth than Coretta Scott King.

I heard Betty Friedan speak many times over the years. She is personally responsible for much of the aggravation I have caused my loved ones in the course of my life.

I was seventeen and about to become only the second person in my whole family who would graduate from high school. I wanted to go on to college. When I announced this to my family, they looked at me quizzically and my grandfather asked, “But don’t you want to get married?” I recall being dumbfounded at the realization that these two ideas were incompatible in their minds.

The Army recruiter had been to our school, and say what you will, it really it a great place for young people to get started. My stepfather blocked my scholarship to Oswego (but that’s another story). So one day, I found myself deep in a very bad section of Queens at a wig factory. They cut 38 inches of hair off my head and paid me $300. I bought two suitcases, clothes, new shoes, and then I enlisted to get the GI bill so I could get my education.

Fast forward one year. I’m serving at Fitzsimons Army Medical Center Psych Unit in Denver. Sergeants and officers make inappropriate comments and advances all the time. Cornering me in the linen room was a regular pastime for the married 40-something Major who ran the psych unit. Finally he said he was putting me on night shift and keeping me there (ignoring the six month rotation) until I was “nice” to him.

Fast forward eighteen months on night shift. I can’t get any quality sleep in the noisy barracks during the day. I’m punchy all the time. I worry about making mistakes constantly. Somebody leaves a copy of The Feminine Mystique in the lounge. I know it was God.

When I picked up the book, I’d never heard of sexual harassment and just accepted that this was how it was for women. By page 87, Betty said, we shouldn’t tolerate sexually manipulative behavior, and the Major is looking very bad. By page 192, Betty said, we have to speak up, so I went to the JAG (Judge Advocate General) to complain. They said I couldn’t prove what I claimed, so go away. By page 258, Betty said, we are not responsible for how men react to us, so I went to the Chaplain. He was nice, but told me it must be the way I dress (I’m in fatigues! We’re all in fatigues!) that’s provoking the Major. By page 317, Betty said, women must reach out to help and support each other, so I take a Chinese cooking course on post. Coincidentally, I noticed a Mrs. Weir on the sign up sheet. She turns out to be a great gal who, coincidentally, is married to General Weir who, coincidentally, is the General of the post. Gee... it was almost like I planned it....

Fast forward two months. I’m off nights. I have a new assignment as an aide in General Weir’s office. He makes me an editor of the post paper because he thinks I write “pithy humor” and he loves it! He insists I should become a writer, but I can’t imagine aspiring to anything so lofty. I do think of that pesky Major sometimes ...and wonder how’s he’s doing since he got reassigned to Guam...

Ever since reading The Feminine Mystique, I’ve been an irritant to any female friend or relative whom I think is tolerating mistreatment based on gender. I’ve caused marital arguments. I’ve gently enlightened male bosses. I’ve called women on seductive behaviors to manipulate bosses.

The feminist movement seems to be dormant these days. All the opportunities we marched for are here, yet young women today tolerate being called “ho’s” and “bitches”. Despite a plethora of birth control, abortions and illegitimate births are on the rise. There's absolutely no excuse for it. A woman must be responsible for her own fertility. And abortion is not to be taken lightly or casually used as birth control.

Psychologists document a steady increase in “battered girlfriend” syndrome where young women are being controlled by guys they are just dating! They all need to read The Feminine Mystique, because Betty said, one generation must teach the next.

Fond farewell Betty and Coretta, I’ll see you on the other side.