It was a fine day last week when my handsome single brother David bought a new crab net. He took it the nearby dock to test it. He scooped up two crabs who were ...busy.... threw the female back (the one with the earrings) and brought the male home to my kitchen sink and left it there.
After my two perfect children, the three things I love most in life are; old movies, the look of new snow at dawn, and crabs in the sink....
I love any crustaceans in the sink, but crab is my favorite. This one had "sandwich" written all over him. He reached his claws high up to threaten me as he ran back and forth across the rubber mat on the bottom of the sink in a pitiful attempt to attack the pot that was being filled with water.... his eyes were wildly rotating in different directions while his crablife passed before him. I looked him right in the eye that was looking at me and laughed sinisterly, " Arr, harr, harr...". And then it happened.
My beautiful daughter (then just eleven), came into the kitchen. She sized up the situation and began intervine to save marine life.
"Oh, Mom, he's so cute. You can't eat him. That's too cruel! You can't boil him alive! What did he ever do to you ?"
I pleaded my case. "He's part of the food chain, and tonight he's coming in just ahead of franks and beans."
Hey, I am sensitive to the preservation of marine life... I give money to Greenpeace, I always cut up the plastic rings that hold soda's so that mantees won't get them wrapped around their noses. I pointed out to her that no manatee has EVER drowned in my kitchen!
She engaged every eleven year old strategy she had. She would brush her teeth everyday without being nagged, she'd stop calling the Pound to come and put her brother to sleep, she'd shower using soap and the coute d'gras - she'd clean her room ! She was good...very good, but I held my ground as I decided whether to eat him on white or rye.
She stood at the sink between me and my crab. Like a Greenpeacer between a humpback and a harpoon. In the reflection of her steely blue eyes, I saw every crab salad I ever made. Every softshell sandwich, every cracked crab, crab cake, the Blueclaws and the Dungeness, the gallons of melted butter, it all came back to me in an overwhelming rush of memories. Surely, she implored, for all the crabs I have eaten, I could let this one go.
I was alone in a house with a nagging pre-teen. I held on as long as I could. But the parental mind can only take so much, then, like a crabshell, it cracks. Without another adult to help me hold onto reality, I lost it.
I reached for a tupperware container. Using a nearby sneaker I gave this very lucky crab something to hold onto while I lowered him in the container. He began to speak to me. He told me he was recently separated from his mate. She was special because it was his first female since Lois. Lois was a young lobster he loved. They tried to make a go of it. Their families objected because crabs walk sideways and lobsters walk straight and what of the offspring, they might walk diagonal... it was a moving moment.
I watched my girl put him in the basket of her bike and take off down the road to the boat launch to free him. I made some tea and sat down to collect myself after the ordeal. Then I heard the sound of a pickup truck in the driveway and shortly thereafter the sound of a man's boot's in the kitchen and the words, " Hey Sissy, where the hell's the crab ?"
Since then, I've gotten one letter from the crab. He's doing well. He has written a book about being the only crab to have ever escaped a kitchen. He has a new job as spokescrab for the new Adjustomatic Kelpbeds. Disney has purchased rights to his story and is planning a summer blockbuster movie. The titles being considered are ; Claw Wars, or maybe The Man Who Caught Liberty Crab, or my personal pick, Gone With the Tide.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Clams: Friend or Foe?
Happy as a Clam!
[A.P. July 24; BRANFORD, Conn. - An 82-year-old man who went clamming in the Long Island Sound says he made the ultimate catch: the wedding ring he lost two years ago. Stewart Petrie says he found an encrusted ring mixed in with his clams Tuesday while he was clamming at the same spot where his ring slipped off his finger in July 2003. After his wife, Mary, scrubbed it with jewelry cleaner, they were able to read the inscription: "MPS to SJP 9-10-67." Her husband's eyes began to tear, she said.
"It was an absolutely stupendous feeling," Stewart Petrie said.
....The Petries say they eventually plan to have jeweler restore the ring. But in the meantime, it isn't leaving his finger.
"I treasure that ring," he said.]
For years I have maintained that clams are smarter than people think. I believe they can communicate, herd, migrate and act like any other intelligent group of beasties. They plot and plan against us and that's why they deserve t be eaten alive with a dab of cocktail sauce! And if this story about them stealing Mr. Petrie ring doesn’t prove my point, then I give up.
Two Year Earlier, the morning of July 24, 2003...... a clambed in Long Island Sound...
“It’ s just that we’ve changed Clarice....”
“Changed nothin’! It’s that scallop isn’t it? Her ruffled shell, huh? What’s her name? Dawn?”
“Leave her out of this.”
“Is it because I’ve gotten so wide? Gee, I’ve only given you a few thousand seed clams! I’m a Mama Clam, and now that the kids are grown and caught, you’re just gonna move on?”
“How’d it go Joe?”
“Ah, Lou, she didn’t take it well. I left her crying in her silt. But she a tough old chowder, she’ll get over over it. Meanwhile, you gotta help me get a ring for Dawn.”
“Okay buddy, anything for my future brother in law. What’s the plan?”
“Can you pump yourself up on top of that conch to get a good look over the clambed?”
“Geez Joe... I dunno, that conch’s gotta be.. two....maybe three inches high...I’ll do my best.”
“You up there okay, Lou?”
“Joe.. I can see your old spot from here!”
“Watch for legs.”
“Hey, lucky day! I see a pair comin’.”
“What’s the hair pattern? I brought the Blue Claw Book for Long Island Legs.”
“Legs are bright white..... with patches of blue streaks. Look’s like a little hair around calf and shins, not much towards the ankles. Knees....movin’ slow...old and arthritic.”
“That’s a classic set. Blue Claw Book value of one gold ring likely. Get down now Lou. When he reaches down I’m gonna open wide and he’ll think he reached into muck, then I clamp down with imperceptible delicacy and hold the ring while he pulls back. Watch.”
“WOW! He didn’t even pause. He doesn’t know you got his ring. He’s still reaching around!”
“Tell Dawn to meet me by the Smirnoff bottle on the sand bar at high tide.”
That evening at the Stewart Petrie home:
“I don’t know where it is. Must’ve come off in the shed. I’ll go look out there.”
“Well you better find it, Stew.”
“I’m 80 years old, what are you worried about?”
“Viagra and that new widow down the street....it ain’t over till it’s over babe....”
The evening of July 23, 2005
“So, she left you for a big oyster with an nine millimeter pearl did she? And you got nothin’ that’s nine millimeters, do ya? So you wanna just wiggle your way home. “
“I brought you a gold ring.....please Clarice, I’m begging you. I wasn’t happy with that scallop. You were right, mixed mollusks don’t work.”
“Isn’t that the ring you gave her? Oh... I don't think so mister..... you ditch that thing where you found it. I want something better than that!”
The morning of July 24, 2005
“I can’t believe it! It IS your ring Stewart!”
The morning of July 25, 2005
“How’d it go, Joe?”
“Ah, Pauly , I think it’s gonna be okay. But you gotta help me her a ring.”
“Okay buddy, anything for an old friend. What’s the plan?”
“Listen, Pauly, you’re a razor clam, can you pump yourself up on top of that conch to get a good look over the clambed and watch for legs?”
“I see a pair comin’ already, moving fast.”
“What’s the hair pattern? I got the Blue Claw Book right here.”
“Legs are tan. Look hairy all over. Knees....fast and flexible.”
“That’s a newer model. Blue Claw Book value of one thick gold ring with a big stone and writing. Watch this, I’m gonna use the old clamp and grab trick.”
“WOW! He didn’t even pause. He doesn’t know you got his big ring!”
“Check this out Pauly! It’s got a faceted stone, ooooo.....lobster red, her favorite color. Got the year... 2005 right around the stone...that will be our new anniversary year. Ohhhh, she’s gonna love this!
[A.P. July 24; BRANFORD, Conn. - An 82-year-old man who went clamming in the Long Island Sound says he made the ultimate catch: the wedding ring he lost two years ago. Stewart Petrie says he found an encrusted ring mixed in with his clams Tuesday while he was clamming at the same spot where his ring slipped off his finger in July 2003. After his wife, Mary, scrubbed it with jewelry cleaner, they were able to read the inscription: "MPS to SJP 9-10-67." Her husband's eyes began to tear, she said.
"It was an absolutely stupendous feeling," Stewart Petrie said.
....The Petries say they eventually plan to have jeweler restore the ring. But in the meantime, it isn't leaving his finger.
"I treasure that ring," he said.]
For years I have maintained that clams are smarter than people think. I believe they can communicate, herd, migrate and act like any other intelligent group of beasties. They plot and plan against us and that's why they deserve t be eaten alive with a dab of cocktail sauce! And if this story about them stealing Mr. Petrie ring doesn’t prove my point, then I give up.
Two Year Earlier, the morning of July 24, 2003...... a clambed in Long Island Sound...
“It’ s just that we’ve changed Clarice....”
“Changed nothin’! It’s that scallop isn’t it? Her ruffled shell, huh? What’s her name? Dawn?”
“Leave her out of this.”
“Is it because I’ve gotten so wide? Gee, I’ve only given you a few thousand seed clams! I’m a Mama Clam, and now that the kids are grown and caught, you’re just gonna move on?”
“How’d it go Joe?”
“Ah, Lou, she didn’t take it well. I left her crying in her silt. But she a tough old chowder, she’ll get over over it. Meanwhile, you gotta help me get a ring for Dawn.”
“Okay buddy, anything for my future brother in law. What’s the plan?”
“Can you pump yourself up on top of that conch to get a good look over the clambed?”
“Geez Joe... I dunno, that conch’s gotta be.. two....maybe three inches high...I’ll do my best.”
“You up there okay, Lou?”
“Joe.. I can see your old spot from here!”
“Watch for legs.”
“Hey, lucky day! I see a pair comin’.”
“What’s the hair pattern? I brought the Blue Claw Book for Long Island Legs.”
“Legs are bright white..... with patches of blue streaks. Look’s like a little hair around calf and shins, not much towards the ankles. Knees....movin’ slow...old and arthritic.”
“That’s a classic set. Blue Claw Book value of one gold ring likely. Get down now Lou. When he reaches down I’m gonna open wide and he’ll think he reached into muck, then I clamp down with imperceptible delicacy and hold the ring while he pulls back. Watch.”
“WOW! He didn’t even pause. He doesn’t know you got his ring. He’s still reaching around!”
“Tell Dawn to meet me by the Smirnoff bottle on the sand bar at high tide.”
That evening at the Stewart Petrie home:
“I don’t know where it is. Must’ve come off in the shed. I’ll go look out there.”
“Well you better find it, Stew.”
“I’m 80 years old, what are you worried about?”
“Viagra and that new widow down the street....it ain’t over till it’s over babe....”
The evening of July 23, 2005
“So, she left you for a big oyster with an nine millimeter pearl did she? And you got nothin’ that’s nine millimeters, do ya? So you wanna just wiggle your way home. “
“I brought you a gold ring.....please Clarice, I’m begging you. I wasn’t happy with that scallop. You were right, mixed mollusks don’t work.”
“Isn’t that the ring you gave her? Oh... I don't think so mister..... you ditch that thing where you found it. I want something better than that!”
The morning of July 24, 2005
“I can’t believe it! It IS your ring Stewart!”
The morning of July 25, 2005
“How’d it go, Joe?”
“Ah, Pauly , I think it’s gonna be okay. But you gotta help me her a ring.”
“Okay buddy, anything for an old friend. What’s the plan?”
“Listen, Pauly, you’re a razor clam, can you pump yourself up on top of that conch to get a good look over the clambed and watch for legs?”
“I see a pair comin’ already, moving fast.”
“What’s the hair pattern? I got the Blue Claw Book right here.”
“Legs are tan. Look hairy all over. Knees....fast and flexible.”
“That’s a newer model. Blue Claw Book value of one thick gold ring with a big stone and writing. Watch this, I’m gonna use the old clamp and grab trick.”
“WOW! He didn’t even pause. He doesn’t know you got his big ring!”
“Check this out Pauly! It’s got a faceted stone, ooooo.....lobster red, her favorite color. Got the year... 2005 right around the stone...that will be our new anniversary year. Ohhhh, she’s gonna love this!
Monday, July 18, 2005
We Need A Bigger Boat...
Some people think a boat is private property on the mere basis that if a person pays for the boat, gas, mooring, license, insurance and beer, they own the boat and can make all the rules, but it just ain’t so. If a man owns a truck, he knows before he gets that truck, that he has to help his relatives move things. Because we all say, “Well, Gerry has a truck. He can haul the old refrigerator to the dump.” If a man owns a boat, he knows before he gets that boat, that he has to take relatives out. Because we all say, “Call Gerry, see if he’s going out today.”
Last week I shared that one of the ways to tell if one of your relatives has gotten a boat but they’re holding out on telling you is to check for sunburn under their arms or chin, places where the sun reflects up off the water and finds new skin to burn. But there are some other ways to tell if they’ve gotten a boat:
Have you spotted them a little too often at the ice machine very late at night, or very early in the morning?
Have you noticed any changes in their parking techniques? Do they park normally, or do they cut the car engine and coast in at a shallow angle until the tires bump the curb?
When your cousin visits, does she instinctively jam her purse between your couch cushions?
When you have them to dinner, do they all hold onto their drinks and never put them down until the drink is drunk?
When they go down your hall to the bathroom, are they reaching for handrails that aren’t there?
Any there any linguistic changes? When your cousin is doing a few dishes in your sink and her hubby comes up behind her, as all men do when we are washing dishes, does she firmly tell him, “Honey, you better throttle back....”.
Have any of your relatives shown a sudden interest in UFO abductions? Are any of them claiming that they are “missing time” ? Some of you are thinking, “How stupid. Who wants to thought of as a nut just to avoid telling their family they got a boat?” Answer: It all depends on how nice the boat is. If I had a gorgeous mahogany launch, I’d want my relatives to think I was serial killer who used my victims for chum...
Did any of your relatives give you the JAWS 3 DVD set for a gift recently? Are they sending you clippings of all the sharks attacks they can find? Do they like to cite the fact that all the record breaking Great Whites are caught off of Montauk? Any reason they’d want you to fear salt water?
When you have lunch at their house, do they serve you a smashed sandwich that smells like fish, but it’s ham salad?
When you take the ferry with them, do their children ask, “How come we don’t have to wear preservers on this boat? You said we have to wear preservers whenever...” and you turn to see someone has jammed three oreo’s into that kid’s mouth.
Is your male relative is wearing a St. Christopher medal (Patron Saint of Mariners), but he’s not Catholic?
You look out into his backyard and the garden hose isn’t looped carelessly over a hook on the garage, it’s coiled neatly on the ground.
You go with your female cousin to Jack’s Marina & Toy Emporium (on Shelter Island) for some new games and toys, and you notice that she’s tied off her cart to the counter with a jump rope in a half hitch knot. And for some reason she’s now wandering around in the marina section...
If you’ve figured out someone has a boat, do what I do. Get to their dock early with a cooler of beer. I like to drape my body over the cooler, clutching my crabnet and breathing shallow. When they see me, they’ll see I’m wasting away to practically nothing and sometimes take me out fishing for pity sake. Or the man will just throw the cooler in the boat and not notice the cord from the cooler to my ankle. When he pulls out, I let myself flop in the water, then I use the crabnet to catch to some rigging and pull myself up and in. By the time he makes speed, I’m in like Flynn...
Last week I shared that one of the ways to tell if one of your relatives has gotten a boat but they’re holding out on telling you is to check for sunburn under their arms or chin, places where the sun reflects up off the water and finds new skin to burn. But there are some other ways to tell if they’ve gotten a boat:
Have you spotted them a little too often at the ice machine very late at night, or very early in the morning?
Have you noticed any changes in their parking techniques? Do they park normally, or do they cut the car engine and coast in at a shallow angle until the tires bump the curb?
When your cousin visits, does she instinctively jam her purse between your couch cushions?
When you have them to dinner, do they all hold onto their drinks and never put them down until the drink is drunk?
When they go down your hall to the bathroom, are they reaching for handrails that aren’t there?
Any there any linguistic changes? When your cousin is doing a few dishes in your sink and her hubby comes up behind her, as all men do when we are washing dishes, does she firmly tell him, “Honey, you better throttle back....”.
Have any of your relatives shown a sudden interest in UFO abductions? Are any of them claiming that they are “missing time” ? Some of you are thinking, “How stupid. Who wants to thought of as a nut just to avoid telling their family they got a boat?” Answer: It all depends on how nice the boat is. If I had a gorgeous mahogany launch, I’d want my relatives to think I was serial killer who used my victims for chum...
Did any of your relatives give you the JAWS 3 DVD set for a gift recently? Are they sending you clippings of all the sharks attacks they can find? Do they like to cite the fact that all the record breaking Great Whites are caught off of Montauk? Any reason they’d want you to fear salt water?
When you have lunch at their house, do they serve you a smashed sandwich that smells like fish, but it’s ham salad?
When you take the ferry with them, do their children ask, “How come we don’t have to wear preservers on this boat? You said we have to wear preservers whenever...” and you turn to see someone has jammed three oreo’s into that kid’s mouth.
Is your male relative is wearing a St. Christopher medal (Patron Saint of Mariners), but he’s not Catholic?
You look out into his backyard and the garden hose isn’t looped carelessly over a hook on the garage, it’s coiled neatly on the ground.
You go with your female cousin to Jack’s Marina & Toy Emporium (on Shelter Island) for some new games and toys, and you notice that she’s tied off her cart to the counter with a jump rope in a half hitch knot. And for some reason she’s now wandering around in the marina section...
If you’ve figured out someone has a boat, do what I do. Get to their dock early with a cooler of beer. I like to drape my body over the cooler, clutching my crabnet and breathing shallow. When they see me, they’ll see I’m wasting away to practically nothing and sometimes take me out fishing for pity sake. Or the man will just throw the cooler in the boat and not notice the cord from the cooler to my ankle. When he pulls out, I let myself flop in the water, then I use the crabnet to catch to some rigging and pull myself up and in. By the time he makes speed, I’m in like Flynn...
Monday, July 11, 2005
But What If Sunscreen Causes Cancer?
I read recently that the American Cancer Society recommends you use sunscreen if you are going to be exposed to the sun for more than four minutes. So it’s down to walk around with an umbrella like Michael Jackson, or stay in your house and live like a mole. You wanna see the sun? Turn on the nature channel.
Sunscreen is in everything; chapstick, make-up, anti-bug spray, body lotion and, oh yeah, in bottles of sunscreen. Sunscreen is saturating our society and having a negative impact on our culture that no one is talking about.
Stone Age man did not have sunscreen, nor Iron Age people, nor Bronze Age, nor Classical, nor Roman, nor the Dark Ages people (heck they got a break since the dark ages actually were dark), nor the Medieval people, nor the Renaissance folks, nor Industrial Age people, nor the Tupperware Age people, and they all lived. But all of a sudden, in the Microchip Age, we’re all gonna die if we go outside without sunscreen...The makers of sunscreen and ‘Tan in a bottle’ stuff are making a fortune!
Sunburns have a place and purpose in society. You went to the beach, you got a sunburn, you went to a barbecue, you got a sunburn, you went boating, you got a bad sunburn.
When you went to work on Monday with a sunburn, it showed everyone that you actually did something that weekend. It shocked your boss to realize you had a life outside of work. It made an old office love wonder who you were with when you got the burn. You got lotsa extra attention.
“Man, you are fried....”
“Yea, but I had a great time. We went to the beach.....”
Sunburn has the side effect of severe exhaustion. Your pajama’s on your skin never felt as soft and wonderful as when you come home toasted from the beach, take a cool shower, lather on the Noxema and get in your jammies. You slide into bed and are asleep before your head hits the pillow. Try that with SPF 50.
If you had an enemy at the office, there was nothing better than knowing they had a sunburn. Not only could you enjoy each little “ouch” and whimper as they sat down and tried to move around without pain, you could increase their pain with a little careful planning. It might take you awhile to think of something you could congratulate them for, but you’d come up with it eventually. Then, as you’re on your way to get coffee, you come up behind them in their chair and pause to give them a good natured slap on the back, right at the epicenter of their burn, and say, “So, Jerry, heard you got a new electric stapler. Cool. Wish I had one.” And as they look up at you with eyes of agony that ask, “Are you are the anti-Christ?”, you walk your victory lap to the coffee pot.
Sweet.....
In boating communities, sunburn analysis is part of our forensic technique to determine if a relative is lying about having gotten a boat just to keep it to themselves.
“So when were you going to tell us you got a boat, Herb?”
“I don’t have a boat.”
“You have a boat sunburn, you have a boat.”
“Nah, I was at the beach.”
“Nope, I saw you and Janet in the grocery store parking lot. Her hair looked like she stood behind a jet engine.”
“Okay, we went camping.”
“Nope, she walked right by me and didn’t smell like smoke and she wasn’t scratching any bug bites.”
“Look, I didn’t buy a boat. And if I did, I wouldn’t have to announce it to the world!”
“Uh huh. So..... you bought a big boat....”
“There’s no boat I tell you!”
“Hold up your arms, Herb.”
“Ow!”
“You’re sunburned under the arms, that’s a boat burn.”
“Do I look like I have money for a boat?”
“And when you walked by me in the parking lot Herb, you smelled like spilled martini and had dried pimento on your tee-shirt. You wanna continue with this charade, or come clean and tell the family?”
“It’s a very small boat, just fits two people and a cooler. It’s just a floating bathtub really. It folds up and fits into the backseat of the car. You’re not going to tell everyone are you?”
“What’s the boat’s name?”
“It’s..... it’s.... damn......it’s ‘The Grand Poobah’.”
“You are soooo busted..........”
Sunscreen is in everything; chapstick, make-up, anti-bug spray, body lotion and, oh yeah, in bottles of sunscreen. Sunscreen is saturating our society and having a negative impact on our culture that no one is talking about.
Stone Age man did not have sunscreen, nor Iron Age people, nor Bronze Age, nor Classical, nor Roman, nor the Dark Ages people (heck they got a break since the dark ages actually were dark), nor the Medieval people, nor the Renaissance folks, nor Industrial Age people, nor the Tupperware Age people, and they all lived. But all of a sudden, in the Microchip Age, we’re all gonna die if we go outside without sunscreen...The makers of sunscreen and ‘Tan in a bottle’ stuff are making a fortune!
Sunburns have a place and purpose in society. You went to the beach, you got a sunburn, you went to a barbecue, you got a sunburn, you went boating, you got a bad sunburn.
When you went to work on Monday with a sunburn, it showed everyone that you actually did something that weekend. It shocked your boss to realize you had a life outside of work. It made an old office love wonder who you were with when you got the burn. You got lotsa extra attention.
“Man, you are fried....”
“Yea, but I had a great time. We went to the beach.....”
Sunburn has the side effect of severe exhaustion. Your pajama’s on your skin never felt as soft and wonderful as when you come home toasted from the beach, take a cool shower, lather on the Noxema and get in your jammies. You slide into bed and are asleep before your head hits the pillow. Try that with SPF 50.
If you had an enemy at the office, there was nothing better than knowing they had a sunburn. Not only could you enjoy each little “ouch” and whimper as they sat down and tried to move around without pain, you could increase their pain with a little careful planning. It might take you awhile to think of something you could congratulate them for, but you’d come up with it eventually. Then, as you’re on your way to get coffee, you come up behind them in their chair and pause to give them a good natured slap on the back, right at the epicenter of their burn, and say, “So, Jerry, heard you got a new electric stapler. Cool. Wish I had one.” And as they look up at you with eyes of agony that ask, “Are you are the anti-Christ?”, you walk your victory lap to the coffee pot.
Sweet.....
In boating communities, sunburn analysis is part of our forensic technique to determine if a relative is lying about having gotten a boat just to keep it to themselves.
“So when were you going to tell us you got a boat, Herb?”
“I don’t have a boat.”
“You have a boat sunburn, you have a boat.”
“Nah, I was at the beach.”
“Nope, I saw you and Janet in the grocery store parking lot. Her hair looked like she stood behind a jet engine.”
“Okay, we went camping.”
“Nope, she walked right by me and didn’t smell like smoke and she wasn’t scratching any bug bites.”
“Look, I didn’t buy a boat. And if I did, I wouldn’t have to announce it to the world!”
“Uh huh. So..... you bought a big boat....”
“There’s no boat I tell you!”
“Hold up your arms, Herb.”
“Ow!”
“You’re sunburned under the arms, that’s a boat burn.”
“Do I look like I have money for a boat?”
“And when you walked by me in the parking lot Herb, you smelled like spilled martini and had dried pimento on your tee-shirt. You wanna continue with this charade, or come clean and tell the family?”
“It’s a very small boat, just fits two people and a cooler. It’s just a floating bathtub really. It folds up and fits into the backseat of the car. You’re not going to tell everyone are you?”
“What’s the boat’s name?”
“It’s..... it’s.... damn......it’s ‘The Grand Poobah’.”
“You are soooo busted..........”
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Some of a Beach......
Beach Baskets - Back to the Future
If you decide to live anywhere on the New England coast, you must learn about beach baskets, not to be confused with the high tech “beach carriers” of the west coast. The west coasters have trollies for all their beach stuff with cup holders, picnic tables that fold to the size of a paper plate and somewhere on all their stuff is a digital clock that will work till the first drop of water hits it. No, I'm talkin' good old fashioned wicker beach baskets.
The rule in my family was, if you’re going to the beach, you have to let everyone else know so they can join you if they want. I don’t recall ever being at the beach with just my mom and brothers, there was always assorted family members that showed up and everyone brought their official beach basket or cooler.
The 1950’s: My grandmother had a big wicker beach basket with sides that flipped up. The contents were always the same: sandwiches in tin foil; Peanut Butter and Jelly (P&J's) for the kids, baloney for the men, Noxema, Entenmann’s Crumb Cake, YooHoo’s, floppy hats, Brownie camera, and a bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. My grandfather packed the cooler, contents: beer and bait. Whether or not we were going fishing, the bait always stayed in the cooler. Bait served a dual purpose as bait and a biochemical beer protection barrier to keep the women and children from opening that stinky cooler, and worked every time.
The 1960’s: My mother had a nice wicker beach basket too. She was a single mother of four. Her contents were: sandwiches in unmanageably clingy saran wrap; just P&J’s, Noxema, Entenmann’s Crumb Cake, YooHoo’s, sunglasses replaced floppy hats, kodak camera, tee shirts for sunburn protection, plastic shovels, old kitchen spoons or plastic scoops from the Chock Full of Nuts cans, a magazine for reading which could also be used for shooing flies, swatting children - which could be your kid or some stray kid who wandered into your strike zone, and a bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. The men brought the cooler, contents: beer and bait.
The 1970’s: My mother got remarried and had another child. As teenager, I convinced her to ditch the old basket for a new insulated plastic beach tote with a flower power design by Peter Max and an easy-tear plastic lining..... The contents were: sandwiches in fold over sandwich bags; P&J for Mom and kids, yogurt for me, sunglasses, sunscreen replaced Noxema, baby oil for me (so I could roast my skin in my string bikini), a transistor radio so Cousin Brucie on 77WABC could turn me over every 15 minutes (all I needed was skewer going through my body), Kodak 110 slim camera, and a can of Bactine spray to replace the bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. It worked just as good, only modern and more expensive. My stepfather packed the cooler, per instructions he received, with beer and bait. But he used to sneak in cokes for my mother which wasn’t really allowed, but the men in the family looked the other way because he was new.
The 1980’s: I had left home, but on my return visits to New York to renew my attitude and accent, I noticed that mother had backslid. The flower power beach tote was mysteriously missing and she had a new wicker beach basket. The contents were: sandwiches in unsealable zip lock bags that could be sealed if you had an extra half hour to line up two skinny white lines and slowly compress with two fingers from one corner to the other; P&J for kids, baloney for men, fruit roll ups, juice boxes, orange drink, sunscreen, sunglasses, a crossword puzzle magazine, Polaroid camera, and Solarcaine spray for jellyfish stings. My stepfather packed the cooler with beer and bait - he was with the program now....
The 1990’s: I returned home as a single mom. I bought a wicker beach basket. Why? Because I understood the wisdom of the New England woman.... you can shake the sand out easier, it’s sturdy, it floats and has enough weight to it so you can discreetly bump your kids along as they walk back to the car. The contents: sandwiches in zip lock bags with "blue and yellow make green" color stripes; P&J for kids, baloney sandwiches for brothers, gummy bears, juice boxes, bottled water, polarized sunglasses, sunscreen spray and tee shirts, some light reading; "101 Ways to Axe Your Ex for Beginners", Noxema, and vinegar for jellyfish stings. Vinegar’s cheaper and effective and you can locate your child by smell, just like a mother seal, which makes you feel closer to nature in case sand in your bathing suit crotch isn’t close enough. The men brought coolers, contents: beer and bait. I had a discussion with my brothers about bringing soft drinks instead of beer but they said, “Then what’s the point of going to the beach?” I had one of those, “If I had testosterone, I’d understand this”, moments, so I left it alone.
The 2000’s: My daughter is grown and gone, so now I’m only one kid away from 'Empty Pest Syndrome'. I bought a sturdy wicker beach basket with sides that flip up. The contents - My new classics: delicious sandwiches in zip lock bags, Noxema, Entenmann’s Ultimate Crumb Cake, YooHoo’s, Sobe’s, sparkly visor, book of crytogram puzzles, digital camera and a bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. Gee, I wonder what my brothers will bring.....
If you decide to live anywhere on the New England coast, you must learn about beach baskets, not to be confused with the high tech “beach carriers” of the west coast. The west coasters have trollies for all their beach stuff with cup holders, picnic tables that fold to the size of a paper plate and somewhere on all their stuff is a digital clock that will work till the first drop of water hits it. No, I'm talkin' good old fashioned wicker beach baskets.
The rule in my family was, if you’re going to the beach, you have to let everyone else know so they can join you if they want. I don’t recall ever being at the beach with just my mom and brothers, there was always assorted family members that showed up and everyone brought their official beach basket or cooler.
The 1950’s: My grandmother had a big wicker beach basket with sides that flipped up. The contents were always the same: sandwiches in tin foil; Peanut Butter and Jelly (P&J's) for the kids, baloney for the men, Noxema, Entenmann’s Crumb Cake, YooHoo’s, floppy hats, Brownie camera, and a bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. My grandfather packed the cooler, contents: beer and bait. Whether or not we were going fishing, the bait always stayed in the cooler. Bait served a dual purpose as bait and a biochemical beer protection barrier to keep the women and children from opening that stinky cooler, and worked every time.
The 1960’s: My mother had a nice wicker beach basket too. She was a single mother of four. Her contents were: sandwiches in unmanageably clingy saran wrap; just P&J’s, Noxema, Entenmann’s Crumb Cake, YooHoo’s, sunglasses replaced floppy hats, kodak camera, tee shirts for sunburn protection, plastic shovels, old kitchen spoons or plastic scoops from the Chock Full of Nuts cans, a magazine for reading which could also be used for shooing flies, swatting children - which could be your kid or some stray kid who wandered into your strike zone, and a bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. The men brought the cooler, contents: beer and bait.
The 1970’s: My mother got remarried and had another child. As teenager, I convinced her to ditch the old basket for a new insulated plastic beach tote with a flower power design by Peter Max and an easy-tear plastic lining..... The contents were: sandwiches in fold over sandwich bags; P&J for Mom and kids, yogurt for me, sunglasses, sunscreen replaced Noxema, baby oil for me (so I could roast my skin in my string bikini), a transistor radio so Cousin Brucie on 77WABC could turn me over every 15 minutes (all I needed was skewer going through my body), Kodak 110 slim camera, and a can of Bactine spray to replace the bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. It worked just as good, only modern and more expensive. My stepfather packed the cooler, per instructions he received, with beer and bait. But he used to sneak in cokes for my mother which wasn’t really allowed, but the men in the family looked the other way because he was new.
The 1980’s: I had left home, but on my return visits to New York to renew my attitude and accent, I noticed that mother had backslid. The flower power beach tote was mysteriously missing and she had a new wicker beach basket. The contents were: sandwiches in unsealable zip lock bags that could be sealed if you had an extra half hour to line up two skinny white lines and slowly compress with two fingers from one corner to the other; P&J for kids, baloney for men, fruit roll ups, juice boxes, orange drink, sunscreen, sunglasses, a crossword puzzle magazine, Polaroid camera, and Solarcaine spray for jellyfish stings. My stepfather packed the cooler with beer and bait - he was with the program now....
The 1990’s: I returned home as a single mom. I bought a wicker beach basket. Why? Because I understood the wisdom of the New England woman.... you can shake the sand out easier, it’s sturdy, it floats and has enough weight to it so you can discreetly bump your kids along as they walk back to the car. The contents: sandwiches in zip lock bags with "blue and yellow make green" color stripes; P&J for kids, baloney sandwiches for brothers, gummy bears, juice boxes, bottled water, polarized sunglasses, sunscreen spray and tee shirts, some light reading; "101 Ways to Axe Your Ex for Beginners", Noxema, and vinegar for jellyfish stings. Vinegar’s cheaper and effective and you can locate your child by smell, just like a mother seal, which makes you feel closer to nature in case sand in your bathing suit crotch isn’t close enough. The men brought coolers, contents: beer and bait. I had a discussion with my brothers about bringing soft drinks instead of beer but they said, “Then what’s the point of going to the beach?” I had one of those, “If I had testosterone, I’d understand this”, moments, so I left it alone.
The 2000’s: My daughter is grown and gone, so now I’m only one kid away from 'Empty Pest Syndrome'. I bought a sturdy wicker beach basket with sides that flip up. The contents - My new classics: delicious sandwiches in zip lock bags, Noxema, Entenmann’s Ultimate Crumb Cake, YooHoo’s, Sobe’s, sparkly visor, book of crytogram puzzles, digital camera and a bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. Gee, I wonder what my brothers will bring.....
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