Big week for this author and, by obvious extension, Chappy itself. Firstly, I turned 51 — a glorious affair replete with my usual vacant stares and wistful yearnings, but with room left over along the edges of my psyche for hopeful anticipation of life to come. My birthdate coincided with wife Arlene’s 20-week ultrasound. Baby Woodger is an active boy, and though the images were a bit clouded, I believe that he was waving 
. . . though it’s possible that it was another gesture altogether. Note to husbands: No matter how insistent you may be, the radiologists are steadfast in their refusal to offer sympathetic pregnancy ultrasounds . . . something about insurance and relative sanity thresholds.

This past Saturday night, we were blessed to attend a baby shower at Lucy Whittemore’s Edgartown home, chaired by Lucy, Morgan O’Brien-Coffee and Tuna Kiersted. Great fun was had by all, even though I can imagine (if people share any of my same grouchy sentiments) there was some questioning, strongest amongst the male members, of exactly why they had to go to a dumb old shower for that impossible Brad Woodger. I think this is when Arlene’s name was invoked and people got nicer. Very much so. So, many thanks for a spirited and warm welcome to the womb resident, and for all the awesome swag. We really didn’t expect anyone to buy the $400 stroller . . . but glad you did! If I was not married, I’m pretty sure that the stroller coupled with baby Boss would score me some decent dates! Inappropriate?

My dear cousin Annie Heywood was at the shower, so I had the opportunity to finally catch up on how many people find me distasteful. Annie does qualify her reports with other reports of people that find me tolerable, but the overriding flavor smacks of rather tart bitterness. Apparently, chief amongst complaints is my treatment of Annie within the walls of these columns (this paragraph may do little to temper this outrage). I do admit that I do tease Annie a bit with my words, but I come from a family of all boys and we consider such ribbing high praise. Annie herself admits a certain pride in being included in the circle of jabs. So, while I apologize for perceived offense, I don’t think that I’ve been persuaded to cease giving Annie the attention she so richly deserves. She’s a wonderful lady who just happens to provide a wealth of material. I love you, Annie.

The harbor tide has seemed a touch high lately. Either the moon is doing something special or the entire cast of A Chorus Line decided to take a group dip off Lighthouse Beach. Whatever the case, I’ve enjoyed the extra thrill of riding up and down the steepened Chappy ferry slip ramps. Little pleasures of Chappy life.

I’ve been going through old golf course and Chappy memorabilia that I keep in bins beneath my good but unused clothing in one of my broken down sheds. I’ve undertaken this project because I am attempting to provide a bit more documentation to my claims of the golf course’s history. To wit, it is one of (if not THE) oldest courses in the country. Seeing as how I’ve been asked to prove far less bold statements (i.e. I mowed your lawn last Tuesday), I expect there to be a demand for proof with this claim.

I did find an article detailing Foster Silva’s bid for office and the accompanying soirée at the Beach Club circa 1960. Apparently neither President Kennedy nor Senator Kennedy was able to attend despite invitations (though one would visit at a later date).

I also found a press release for RCYC (the Royal Chappaquiddick Yacht Club) in which RCYC’s efforts to enter the America’s Cup and the subsequent snubbing by the NYYC was reported. Finally, I should note that Colin Johannesson (a frequent golfer at the RACL) scored not one, but two, holes in one in a span of two weeks. However, I only credit him with the one that I witnessed on the 8th hole. I believe nothing a golfer says unless my eyes can corroborate the story. Congrats Colin, taking that sabbatical from the finance world really paid off . . . and best of luck on your impending re-immersion. We’ll still be here if and when you get fired.

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