|The weather is still chilly, so the waiters at the Oar let down the shades.|
|Roberta and I enjoyed a lady's lunch at the Oar.|
And Islanders are checking out the new season's just-opened restaurants. Me, I stuck with the sushi at the Oar and the last free clam night at the Yellow Kittens. And one night the thought "ice cream!" popped into my head. Maybe Aldo's is open, I thought. Drove down to town and not only was Aldo's open for the first time, it was free ice cream night. Ah, some people are the fortunate ones.
|The Yellow Kittens is still deserted but for a gaggle of old-timers clustered around free clams at the bar.|
Then there's nephew Noah. He was helping me put down hay bales to build Hannah's Hideaway nine or ten years ago. And now, as of yesterday, he is a college grad.
Mazel to all!
|From left: Hannah's; Claudia's; John's Big Barn, Little Barn, Big House and Kite Store; Douglas's Little Brown Jug and shed (rear).|
|Former tool shed behind the Kite Store, emptied|
John had vision, and he dug a pond and built and helped us build. Douglas built Claudia's and Claudia built Hannah's, and here we are—until last month, when John sold the tiny corner of the property that has the Big House and the Kite Store. Not visible in this aerial are the two brand new mansions that bracket the former compound (known to the locals with deep political incorrectness as The Gaza Strip). The new owner plans for the Big House to continue as a summer rental. The Kite Store will become a flower shop.
|Big House and Kite Store on right, from Claudia's.|
So yesterday I received the following from that perennial thorn in my side, Nose Bite Kitty, Esq.—or as I prefer to think of him: Many Spurious Suits Pain-in-the-ass Esquire. The message was in French, of course, and I have translated it for you. What I really take it to mean is that I can whack carpenter bees with a badminton racket, pour hot water into anthills, pay a dime to young children to swat flies, kick dogs, chase cats and do whatever I want to members of the animal kingdom—with impunity—for the next four months. I'm goin' in. . .
Dear Madame Dowling: Thank you for your kind testimonial about my human benefactor, Ms. Andrews. She indeed has many fine qualities, and I am glad you appreciate her as I do.
Since you have been so thoughful and expressed your sentiments so publicly, I and my firm, Les Felins por la Justice, grant you immunity from proscution for the period of four months. Sincerely yours, Nose Bite Kitty, Esquire
|Sisters in crime|
I forget how old she's turning today, but I know she's a hair older than me, and I'm 65. In any case, we've been clowning around for almost 40 years. That's a long fucking time. She can still make me laugh—so hard—which is about the best thing I can say about anyone. I also don't know anyone else who would spend hours composing the perfect response to a scamming email, seek for buried treasure in adulthood, ask her psychic what color truck I should buy (you should have seen the poor Ozarker salesman's face when she made the call) or spend all night watching a serial about mass murder and then all day composing a review to post on Amazon about how bad it was.
One of a kind. Love you, B!
|Sam Savage (his real name!) installs.|
|From Holliston, Mass.|
|to Block Island, RI|
|By dawn's early light|
|David Grogan and Holly Poindexter discuss.|
|Joe and Holly Poindexter|
|Good luck, Camilla! (photograph by Mira Silverman, San Miguel de Allende, 2012)|
Also, Daniel Berrigan, the radical Catholic priest who was captured on Block Island has died. NYT obit here.
A lovely takeout on old-style Block Island, and my sister-in-law's great great grandfather (or something's) house. His name was Amazon Littlefield. Don't you wish that was your name?
And I don't have time for more. Going to try to get the hell off the rock.
|Yes, that's the ferry. Hard to see, right?Got the curtains up, though.|
And of course I am especially sick of it right now, when the propane fireplace that heats my house is broken, and it's 45 degrees indoors. And it's pouring rain. Fortunately I managed to wrestle the 7x4-foot bookcase into the house before the skies opened. By myself. At times like these I could almost wish I was married. Almost.
My mantra is one room at a time. So far I have nearly finished one room. Mine. Better call the freaking gas guy. Again.