They say that all good things come to those who wait. I’m not certain who they are, but they are correct when the waiting applies to returning columnists. Good things abound whilst I am at the keyboard writing about all things Chappy. I feel bad for Thursdays and Fridays. They are sorely neglected by the Gazette town columns. Columns are written before Thursday or Friday transpire, and after the limits of memory. They are passed over like towns between exits off the pike. I would like to be their savior, sure, and relish my readers with tales of the hours of the fourth and fifth days, but I am not the man for the job. I can barely recall the affects and effects of 24 hours past, let alone several days in my mind’s rearview. So perhaps the Gazette will consider dedicating itself to just the town news of Thursdays and Fridays. But until such a position is filled, it will be incumbent on each of us to honor these days with individual memory.
This past Monday the dump trucks and cement mixers that make their own line on Dock Street (like the days of yore) were of such great numbers that they stretched all the way back up to the rotary. Not really, but there were lots of them. Waiting in line while these more important vehicles filed onto the ferry before me reminded me of a very brief period of my life while I queued up for entrance at nightclubs in L.A. There, like here, I would watch as the more important (and perhaps more beautiful) people were allowed entrance past the ropes while I idled in line. Then, like now, I never took umbrage at this prioritizing — I wasn’t conditioned to feel inordinately important, and thus wasn’t much surprised when passed over for others. But I’ve noticed that in both the “then” and “now” lines there are others that do not share my humility and do take rather great offense to the perceived slight. “Why do they get to go?!” What I know is this: there will be a time when I will need cement, or fill, or stuff taken away, or packages delivered, and I will be glad that the purveyors of those services are not unduly discouraged from completing their time-sensitive task. Plus, I do enjoy watching Peter (the hardest working man in showbiz) act as bouncer at the pearly gates of the exclusive club that is the Chappy Ferry. Like his counterpart Pierre from the Viper Room, Peter performs his job with grace, good humor and fairness. Thanks, Pete.
The/my golf course is open for business and play. I mention this here because I believe that there is understandable confusion regarding the status of the club. Simply put: members play for free, Chappy year-rounders pay $10, Islanders pay $20 and everyone else pays $40. So, come play. Enjoy.
My constant companion, the weather, has been particularly fickle of late. Like a lady preparing for a night on the town, the weather has had some trouble deciding on an outfit. Should it don some heavy rain? Sure, sounds good — go for it, the grass can use it. Or maybe no rain but some sunny wind? Yes, yes, that sounds great, it will keep the gnats away. Hmmm, maybe some quiet humidity? Sure, why not, but just pick one and stick with it and let’s get on our way. But the weather just isn’t sure. And the rain makes it look fat.
Melinda Fager’s book Living Off The Sea is on bookshelves as we speak. Her book is an homage to all the elements that make Chappy special to us. Filled with recipes that make use of Chappy’s natural resources, and pictures that evoke not just a season or a day but an hour, the book is a wonderful read that brings to life the sights, sounds, tastes and essence of Chappy. My essays are peppered throughout as well, which only adds to its tremendousness. A truly authentic recounting of one family’s living the Chappy life, this book will endure many seasons and be a staple of kitchens and bedside tables.
In last supper news, the Chappy Community Center will bear witness to the final potluck of the season this Wednesday, June 19. It will be hosted by the near incomparable Martha Weston. Hope to see you there if I’m there.
Thanks for having me back. We’ll always have Paris.