I broke the last of my 2013 New Year’s resolutions yesterday: I waited to the last moment to drain our summer house pipes. But where is the adventure in battling with wrenches and pliers with hands that have feeling in them? No, I choose to live the frontier life . . .  and then go inside to watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

I thought I had found a rather large and sparkling diamond on my lawn this morning, but it was only a chunk of ice left over from yesterday’s sleet. Oh nature, why must you taunt me so?

The spectacle of the departure of the Schifter Industrial Moving Company made for good theatre at the Point. If only I was a bit more creative and a bit less lazy, I would have documented the whole ordeal on film. When the klieg lights were lit on the lot, the scene reminded me of a Fellini film (the one that I didn’t sleep through in film class). I expected to see the clown from Pagliacci appear atop the ferry slip stanchion and yell something unintelligible (to me) in Italian. No such luck. Ultimately, it all appeared to go off without a hitch — as much as can be expected with I-beams being welded on-site from a 100-foot crane. Makes the repair of my beach steps seem a little more doable now.

I am happy for the Schifter family that their ordeal appears to have reached at least one conclusion. For all the press, commenting and speculation, I imagine that the family endured the greatest hardship with the move.

I took a walk out toward the old Self/Heywood/Wasey property, near the Chappy cemetery and said hi to the spirits of my deceased family and friends. What a spectacular spot. I reflected on my good fortune to have this place as part of my catalogue of memories of sights, sounds and smells. I have taken visitors from Denmark, Russia and New Jersey to this particular space, and each one has remarked upon how the landscape reminds them of home, but no matter it’s evocative quality, I find it so uniquely Chappy. The browns and yellows and blues of the salt marsh that Virginia Packard always captured so beautifully in canvas, seem to reach out beyond their physical limits and touch my person. And I am grateful to the efforts of the Chappy open space committee and the Martha’s Vineyard Land Bank for creating a wonderful system of walking trails that allows all access to this magnificence. Of course, the Heywoods, Selfs and Waseys deserve thanks as well. For me, they will always be there.

I don’t know if it’s true elsewhere, but the days are getting shorter on Chappy — I think we’re getting about four hours of sunlight. Or maybe I’m just getting out of bed too late.

Finally, and I’m not one to start rumors, but my friends in Fiji tell me that they’ve seen the On Time III plying the Pacific as a luxury party boat for Richard Branson. Repairs, my fanny!