Check out these summer photos submitted by Shawn Larsen, Priscilla Rd.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Post Office Announcement
Every year the Orleans post office has a tree with wish lists from children
identified by the MA Dept. of Social Services. The boys and girls share the
hope that someone will read their wish list and help make them come true.
For those who are on Cape at that time, please consider stopping by the tree
in early December and choose a gift tag to fulfill. For neighbors who are
not in Orleans during Christmastime I would be happy to help coordinate gift
tags(send them to you at your winter addresses) and/or shop locally with
your contributions, send you the store receipt and deliver the gift bags to
the post office. Last year when I sent this out, some people asked me to
remind them about this earlier so I know this is very early but I thought
I'd plant a seed :) If anyone would like to shop and coordinate this with
me, I'd love to collaborate on helping these kids feel someone cares. My mom
was one of the kids who received kindness in her impoverished childhood so I
honor her memory this way.
Thank you~
Shawn Larsen
13 Priscilla Rd.
szlarsen@comcast.net
identified by the MA Dept. of Social Services. The boys and girls share the
hope that someone will read their wish list and help make them come true.
For those who are on Cape at that time, please consider stopping by the tree
in early December and choose a gift tag to fulfill. For neighbors who are
not in Orleans during Christmastime I would be happy to help coordinate gift
tags(send them to you at your winter addresses) and/or shop locally with
your contributions, send you the store receipt and deliver the gift bags to
the post office. Last year when I sent this out, some people asked me to
remind them about this earlier so I know this is very early but I thought
I'd plant a seed :) If anyone would like to shop and coordinate this with
me, I'd love to collaborate on helping these kids feel someone cares. My mom
was one of the kids who received kindness in her impoverished childhood so I
honor her memory this way.
Thank you~
Shawn Larsen
13 Priscilla Rd.
szlarsen@comcast.net
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Cape Cod Memories
Sadly, summer is drawing to a close. The number of cars plowing down Callanan's Pass is reduced, the line at Sundae School is shortened and the air is slowly becoming crisper. The memories of summer are fresh, so please share them with us.
Send your favorites to nausetfaucet@aol.com
Send your favorites to nausetfaucet@aol.com
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Quandry Poems
What am I?
#1
My fifty steps will take you up or down
Between hot sand and gorgeous ocean view -
The unconditioned have a place to rest
Or shake a stone from out a gravelly shoe.
#2
The ice age left me where I stood beguiled
In waters deep - I kept apart from land -
You swam to climb me when you were a child -
Now time and tide imprison me in sand.
#3
Deep in the muck
Where rake or beak intrude
Down in the dark
I lurk, a luscious food.
Anonymous
#1
My fifty steps will take you up or down
Between hot sand and gorgeous ocean view -
The unconditioned have a place to rest
Or shake a stone from out a gravelly shoe.
#2
The ice age left me where I stood beguiled
In waters deep - I kept apart from land -
You swam to climb me when you were a child -
Now time and tide imprison me in sand.
#3
Deep in the muck
Where rake or beak intrude
Down in the dark
I lurk, a luscious food.
Anonymous
Monday, August 16, 2010
New Ask Aunt Polly!
Have a qustion? E-mail Aunt Polly at Nausetfaucet@aol.com
Dear Aunt Polly,
People say they love my son's name (which I withhold because it's
distinctive). Since it's my name too, and my father's, should we call
our son "The Third"? This seems so formal for a two-year-old. Will he
grow into it, or should we just drop the numeral? American society is
now so pluralistic that using a numeral seems sort of
snooty. Man-of-the-People.
Dear Man-of,
People handle this important problem different ways. While Jr. is
still an active add-on, "The Third" has fallen from fashion unless a
family corporation is involved. In such cases, some nickname the
youngest name-bearer "Trey" or "Tri," while females in a similar
sequence just ignore the tradition completely. Have you ever met an
Agnes, Jr., let alone Priscilla, III? It comes down to personal
preference influenced by family circumstances.
Dear Aunt Polly,
How much should one tip a toll-taker. Is 10% considered fair, or am I
being chintzy? New Jersey Turnpiker.
Dear Piker,
Tip a toll-taker? Are you kidding? Those guys and gals who pick
Easter Weekend to go on strike? Ever been in that line? Toll-taking
is a national privilege; anyone lucky enough to get a job sitting in
one place for 8 hours collecting cash should be grateful if you hand
him or her the right change. 'Nuff said.
Dear Aunt Polly,
My husband and I were both widowed when we married five years ago,
and our new life together has been rewarding except for one thing. He
can't forget his first wife. Everywhere we go he's reminded of her;
he misses the dishes she used to cook; he has her keepsakes lined up
on our mantle; if we have guests he tells stories about her. It feels
like a menage-a-trois, only the third party has been gone for over a
decade. Isn't it time she moved out for good? Feeling Crowded in MD
Dear Crowded,
Yes, I would say it's time for someone to vamoose, but if you don't
want it to be your husband, find a counselor who will help him
realize he's living in the past. His problem can also be overcome by
creating a more exciting present - have you thought of taking tango
lessons together, or going on an exotic cruise? A purchase or two
from Victoria's Secret has been known to do the trick as well. Good luck.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
People say they love my son's name (which I withhold because it's
distinctive). Since it's my name too, and my father's, should we call
our son "The Third"? This seems so formal for a two-year-old. Will he
grow into it, or should we just drop the numeral? American society is
now so pluralistic that using a numeral seems sort of
snooty. Man-of-the-People.
Dear Man-of,
People handle this important problem different ways. While Jr. is
still an active add-on, "The Third" has fallen from fashion unless a
family corporation is involved. In such cases, some nickname the
youngest name-bearer "Trey" or "Tri," while females in a similar
sequence just ignore the tradition completely. Have you ever met an
Agnes, Jr., let alone Priscilla, III? It comes down to personal
preference influenced by family circumstances.
Dear Aunt Polly,
How much should one tip a toll-taker. Is 10% considered fair, or am I
being chintzy? New Jersey Turnpiker.
Dear Piker,
Tip a toll-taker? Are you kidding? Those guys and gals who pick
Easter Weekend to go on strike? Ever been in that line? Toll-taking
is a national privilege; anyone lucky enough to get a job sitting in
one place for 8 hours collecting cash should be grateful if you hand
him or her the right change. 'Nuff said.
Dear Aunt Polly,
My husband and I were both widowed when we married five years ago,
and our new life together has been rewarding except for one thing. He
can't forget his first wife. Everywhere we go he's reminded of her;
he misses the dishes she used to cook; he has her keepsakes lined up
on our mantle; if we have guests he tells stories about her. It feels
like a menage-a-trois, only the third party has been gone for over a
decade. Isn't it time she moved out for good? Feeling Crowded in MD
Dear Crowded,
Yes, I would say it's time for someone to vamoose, but if you don't
want it to be your husband, find a counselor who will help him
realize he's living in the past. His problem can also be overcome by
creating a more exciting present - have you thought of taking tango
lessons together, or going on an exotic cruise? A purchase or two
from Victoria's Secret has been known to do the trick as well. Good luck.
Aunt Polly
Bicycle Helmet
As I drive along the Beach road from Nory's to Nauset Heights road I see many bicyclists, often adults and chldren, presumably mothers and fathers and their precious offspring. Too often, the children wear bicycle helmets and the parents do not. This seems to assume that the kids are more in peril than their fathers and mothers. Not true! A bicycle accident does not respect age or experience. Many people of all ages are seriously injured or killed in bicycle accidents in this country every year. Helmets are an absolute necessity to help avoid serious injury. Take it from one who knows. Years ago, before helmets were common, I collided with a dog in Rochester, Massachusetts, and crashed to the pavement on my head and shoulder. I fractured my shoulder and had a serious concussion. I was unconscious for 45 minutes while the rescue squad took me to the hospital. Although there have been no serious side effects, I am fortunate. I never mount a bike today without wearing a helmet. Neither should you.
Chuck L.
Chuck L.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Orleans Clinic
I'm writing to highly recommend Dr. Whelan at the medical clinic in
East Orleans. A small child recently obtained two nasty splinters on
a wooden deck. Her mom and very patient cousin fed her
cookies and a juice box and let her watch Curious George for two
hours, but in that time could only coax one of the splinters from her
foot. It hurt! When we finally gave up on the home surgery and
went to the clinic it was closed. Dr. Whelan saw us in the parking
lot in the rain and unlocked the back door. He used special light-up
goggles and two pairs of special pointy tweezers to remove the
remaining splinter and then an extra bit that was really way down in
that foot. The little girl cried quite a bit, but then she got a toy
car from the pirate chest, a balloon and two stickers! Dr. Whelan
didn't even charge us!
Laura L.
East Orleans. A small child recently obtained two nasty splinters on
a wooden deck. Her mom and very patient cousin fed her
cookies and a juice box and let her watch Curious George for two
hours, but in that time could only coax one of the splinters from her
foot. It hurt! When we finally gave up on the home surgery and
went to the clinic it was closed. Dr. Whelan saw us in the parking
lot in the rain and unlocked the back door. He used special light-up
goggles and two pairs of special pointy tweezers to remove the
remaining splinter and then an extra bit that was really way down in
that foot. The little girl cried quite a bit, but then she got a toy
car from the pirate chest, a balloon and two stickers! Dr. Whelan
didn't even charge us!
Laura L.
Editorial: The Stairs
After enjoying a relaxing swim on Nauset Beach, I experienced a shocking walk home. As the summer heats up in August, Nauset Heights sees an increase in residents and tourists, all of whom are beach-bound. Many of these are off-Heights vistitors who are unaware of the various rules enforced around the Heights, such as that paying Nauset Heights Association members, their guests and renters only are permitted to use the stairs. Therefore, on our walk home we saw a long line of cars parked along the side of Iyanough Road, spilling into the actual roadway. This created not only a traffic hazard, but also a seemingly endless stream of people walking along Priscilla headed to use the stairs for beach access. Although I am not trying to make a generalization, I have also seen a huge increase of trash around the stairs, especially placed in the bucket intended for cigarette disposal. So, what to do? Several people I have talked to think that we should install a regulator to ensure that each person using the stairs is a paying member or guest. I believe that this sounds fair, as Nauset Heights Members pay for the upkeep of the stairs, however this will not go over easily. The regulator will have to deal with stressed out parents, lugging along coolers, buckets and toddlers who only want to get to the water but find that they are not allowed to use the stairs because they are not NHA members. Therefore, I think one of the many police officers I see sitting at the top and bottom of Callanan's Pass should be dispatched to regulate this. Through the regulation of the stairs, I hope that Nauset Heights keeps its tidy reputation and the maintenance of the stairs that we pay for.
Lydia H.
What are your thoughts?
Lydia H.
What are your thoughts?
July 4th Traditions
Our July 4th celebration is now a pleasant institution displaying more music and food than fireworks.
On that evening, young people, barefoot and in fresh attire swoop in across the lawn from all directions. Rabbits previously peacefully nibbling grass begin to scatter. Everyone slips into and out of the continuous croquet game depending upon athletic success or a sudden need for more serious conversation. Only those who have the daring to “send” an opponent’s ball, while holding theirs barefoot, really lasts well into the darkness. Finally, at some point, only the click of the balls is evidence that a game is still in progress.
Pods of the others ply between the salad bar and the cold drink wash tub, which has blocks of ice frosting the bottles. As they face the setting sun the long rays pick up the rose colors on their faces.
Even pinker is the serious lobster group seated across the lawn. With buttered fingers they propel chunks mouthward, emitting only happy, muffled grunts. Alternately they lean forward, like turkeys, from time to time so the juices don’t drip on their knees.
At another spot the traditional “Moose Meat” kabob roast is attracting attention. Alternate chunks of tenderized beef, tomatoes, onion, sausage slices and green pepper are sizzling to perfection. About half the inquirers still believe it’s “moose” but all agree it makes a hearty sandwich as each one pulls an assembly off a hot skewer clamped between two slices of Portuguese bread.
As darkness settles in and the stars and moon become visible, the music from twin speakers across the yard escalates in tempo and dancers fill the croquet space. Contorting and twisting, they somehow miss the hidden wickets. Flashes of illumination from the porch light catch the action in the foreground only. Fireflies make it all seem like “Midsummer Night’s Dream”.
Having worked off some energy, the whole enormous group spontaneously settles around several guitarists and an impromptu percussion section. In full cry this joyful noise must carry miles. No doubt it carries across the water to the beach where occasionally a rocket or Roman candle burst show where others are having their party.
It seems that with each song the bass electric guitar volume is advanced a notch until the rabbits must have their paws over their ears.
Then, as the fireworks run out, suddenly the music stops too. The mood is fulfilled and happy tired people ease toward the Little House to variously say farewell, express their thanks, escape the bugs or merely crowd their bodies together in the tiny kitchen and pick at the leftover dip.
Two by two they eventually make their way across the dark lawn – again in all directions – and disappear into the night.
It’s over. So much fun and preparation and it’s over. The moon is very orange and low in the Western sky and there’s a sense of nostalgia that there can hardly ever be a duplicate performance of such a grand institution as the “Rabbit Bluff” July 4th celebration.
Ted Tucker
9 Standish Rd.
On that evening, young people, barefoot and in fresh attire swoop in across the lawn from all directions. Rabbits previously peacefully nibbling grass begin to scatter. Everyone slips into and out of the continuous croquet game depending upon athletic success or a sudden need for more serious conversation. Only those who have the daring to “send” an opponent’s ball, while holding theirs barefoot, really lasts well into the darkness. Finally, at some point, only the click of the balls is evidence that a game is still in progress.
Pods of the others ply between the salad bar and the cold drink wash tub, which has blocks of ice frosting the bottles. As they face the setting sun the long rays pick up the rose colors on their faces.
Even pinker is the serious lobster group seated across the lawn. With buttered fingers they propel chunks mouthward, emitting only happy, muffled grunts. Alternately they lean forward, like turkeys, from time to time so the juices don’t drip on their knees.
At another spot the traditional “Moose Meat” kabob roast is attracting attention. Alternate chunks of tenderized beef, tomatoes, onion, sausage slices and green pepper are sizzling to perfection. About half the inquirers still believe it’s “moose” but all agree it makes a hearty sandwich as each one pulls an assembly off a hot skewer clamped between two slices of Portuguese bread.
As darkness settles in and the stars and moon become visible, the music from twin speakers across the yard escalates in tempo and dancers fill the croquet space. Contorting and twisting, they somehow miss the hidden wickets. Flashes of illumination from the porch light catch the action in the foreground only. Fireflies make it all seem like “Midsummer Night’s Dream”.
Having worked off some energy, the whole enormous group spontaneously settles around several guitarists and an impromptu percussion section. In full cry this joyful noise must carry miles. No doubt it carries across the water to the beach where occasionally a rocket or Roman candle burst show where others are having their party.
It seems that with each song the bass electric guitar volume is advanced a notch until the rabbits must have their paws over their ears.
Then, as the fireworks run out, suddenly the music stops too. The mood is fulfilled and happy tired people ease toward the Little House to variously say farewell, express their thanks, escape the bugs or merely crowd their bodies together in the tiny kitchen and pick at the leftover dip.
Two by two they eventually make their way across the dark lawn – again in all directions – and disappear into the night.
It’s over. So much fun and preparation and it’s over. The moon is very orange and low in the Western sky and there’s a sense of nostalgia that there can hardly ever be a duplicate performance of such a grand institution as the “Rabbit Bluff” July 4th celebration.
Ted Tucker
9 Standish Rd.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
1974 Rescue at Nauset Inlet
During hurricane season I am always reminded of a scary incident that took place during a storm in 1974. It taught me a good lesson about how fierce Nauset Inlet can be, even deadly.
My brother and I were boating around Nauset Harbor during a September Nor’ Easter and saw flashing headlights at the Point through the driving rain. As we got near we saw that several fishermen were drawing our attention to a small Whaler overturned in the mouth of the Inlet on an outgoing tide. The waves were 10 feet tall and right in the middle of it all was an upside down boat with the propeller sticking straight up. It had flipped over in the big waves and the anchor had escaped the bow compartment and secured it in place on the sandy bottom. As we got closer we saw a man in his 70’s and a young boy and a dog hanging on for dear life. The man had one arm around the outboard motor and the other arm around the boy, and had the dog by the collar. It was a desperate situation and they were 200 feet from shore. The water was ice cold.
I maneuvered my boat close enough so that my brother could throw them a line which the man tied around the boy. My brother pulled the boy into the boat with the dog but the man was losing his grip. Quickly, we threw the line out again and the man tied the rope around his waist and was saved. He almost didn’t make it. The outgoing current was extremely strong and the Whaler was stuck in the trough of a 10 foot standing wave.
The man, the boy and the dog were delivered to the beach and some fishermen wrapped them in blankets and took them directly to the hospital in Hyannis. The Harbormaster arrived and tried to save the boat but as soon as he uprooted the anchor the bow of the Whaler dug deep into the water like a wedge and began to pull outward. The Harbormaster’s boat was no match for Mother Nature. The line snapped and the Whaler and all of its gear traveled quickly out the Inlet through the storm surf. The boat was a total loss. The crew was saved.
I found out later that they were renting a cottage on Nauset Heights and the Whaler came with the property. They must have had no idea what they were getting into. On more than one occasion Nauset Inlet has “swallowed” up fishing boats and even taken lives. It can be a dangerous place.
Jess Tucker
9 Standish Rd.
My brother and I were boating around Nauset Harbor during a September Nor’ Easter and saw flashing headlights at the Point through the driving rain. As we got near we saw that several fishermen were drawing our attention to a small Whaler overturned in the mouth of the Inlet on an outgoing tide. The waves were 10 feet tall and right in the middle of it all was an upside down boat with the propeller sticking straight up. It had flipped over in the big waves and the anchor had escaped the bow compartment and secured it in place on the sandy bottom. As we got closer we saw a man in his 70’s and a young boy and a dog hanging on for dear life. The man had one arm around the outboard motor and the other arm around the boy, and had the dog by the collar. It was a desperate situation and they were 200 feet from shore. The water was ice cold.
I maneuvered my boat close enough so that my brother could throw them a line which the man tied around the boy. My brother pulled the boy into the boat with the dog but the man was losing his grip. Quickly, we threw the line out again and the man tied the rope around his waist and was saved. He almost didn’t make it. The outgoing current was extremely strong and the Whaler was stuck in the trough of a 10 foot standing wave.
The man, the boy and the dog were delivered to the beach and some fishermen wrapped them in blankets and took them directly to the hospital in Hyannis. The Harbormaster arrived and tried to save the boat but as soon as he uprooted the anchor the bow of the Whaler dug deep into the water like a wedge and began to pull outward. The Harbormaster’s boat was no match for Mother Nature. The line snapped and the Whaler and all of its gear traveled quickly out the Inlet through the storm surf. The boat was a total loss. The crew was saved.
I found out later that they were renting a cottage on Nauset Heights and the Whaler came with the property. They must have had no idea what they were getting into. On more than one occasion Nauset Inlet has “swallowed” up fishing boats and even taken lives. It can be a dangerous place.
Jess Tucker
9 Standish Rd.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Circus Smirkus Review
WHEN CIRCUS SMIRKUS CAME TO WALTHAM
Well, what would you do? What would you do if you happened to be in Waltham, Massachusetts on an ordinary afternoon in July and you discovered, just off Gore Street, on the grounds of a beautiful estate, inside a pointy-top tent from a fantasy coloring book, under stage lights, in a ring, dancing like dervishes, dozens of jugglers, tightrope walkers, trapeze artists, rope tricksters, clowns, and acrobats -- all of them young people who had run away to join the circus? I’ll tell you what I did. As a responsible adult, I immediately got out my cell phone and began to dial child protective services, but before I could get through, the ringmaster told me to sit down, the show was about to begin.
And what a show it was – for 90 minutes the troupe of teens known as Circus Smirkus enchantingly enacted four seasons around the year by somersaulting through snowflakes, log-rolling on unicycles, dangling by one foot from ropes over the campfire, and twisting in brilliant silk hammocks high up under the moon. The athleticism was amazing, but even more so the spirit – serious and joyous at once. All the while, the live band kept a brisk tempo and provided skin-crawlingly perfect sound effects, such as the crack of ice on a frozen pond – the very frozen pond that you and your friends are, in fact, standing on, way, way out in the middle. Fortunately, the four clownish winter campers were able to tiptoe to shore without falling in, staying alive for another foolish outdoor misadventure.
The small tent created an intimate atmosphere and a chance to observe the complexity and profundity of young bodies in motion – have you ever realized how much muscle movement is required to stand still? Maybe standing still on a tightrope has something to do with it.
Stars included Nauset Heights’s own Nick Zelle, 15, who, clad in devil-red, ascended a long, thick rope with the agility of a lemur, then proceeded to twist, hang, fall and catch, and hold himself in a variety of rigid positions at serious odds with gravity. His finale was a rotating tumble down the rope, like a slinky down a staircase, a blur of crimson in total control of his destiny.
The youngest trouper, five years old and deliciously tiny – was tossed about like a feather throughout the show. It looked like a lot of fun, and she might have been the reason why, when asked if they wanted to run away and join the circus, some 75 kids from the audience jumped eagerly into the ring and pranced about with stars in their eyes. And their parents all seemed ok with it. What is the world coming to?
Circus Smirkus is a show for all ages, especially children 4-12. The Circuit tours New England this summer through August 15. For schedule, tickets, and more information visit: http://www.circussmirkus.org/htm/tour/index.html
Amy L.
Well, what would you do? What would you do if you happened to be in Waltham, Massachusetts on an ordinary afternoon in July and you discovered, just off Gore Street, on the grounds of a beautiful estate, inside a pointy-top tent from a fantasy coloring book, under stage lights, in a ring, dancing like dervishes, dozens of jugglers, tightrope walkers, trapeze artists, rope tricksters, clowns, and acrobats -- all of them young people who had run away to join the circus? I’ll tell you what I did. As a responsible adult, I immediately got out my cell phone and began to dial child protective services, but before I could get through, the ringmaster told me to sit down, the show was about to begin.
And what a show it was – for 90 minutes the troupe of teens known as Circus Smirkus enchantingly enacted four seasons around the year by somersaulting through snowflakes, log-rolling on unicycles, dangling by one foot from ropes over the campfire, and twisting in brilliant silk hammocks high up under the moon. The athleticism was amazing, but even more so the spirit – serious and joyous at once. All the while, the live band kept a brisk tempo and provided skin-crawlingly perfect sound effects, such as the crack of ice on a frozen pond – the very frozen pond that you and your friends are, in fact, standing on, way, way out in the middle. Fortunately, the four clownish winter campers were able to tiptoe to shore without falling in, staying alive for another foolish outdoor misadventure.
The small tent created an intimate atmosphere and a chance to observe the complexity and profundity of young bodies in motion – have you ever realized how much muscle movement is required to stand still? Maybe standing still on a tightrope has something to do with it.
Stars included Nauset Heights’s own Nick Zelle, 15, who, clad in devil-red, ascended a long, thick rope with the agility of a lemur, then proceeded to twist, hang, fall and catch, and hold himself in a variety of rigid positions at serious odds with gravity. His finale was a rotating tumble down the rope, like a slinky down a staircase, a blur of crimson in total control of his destiny.
The youngest trouper, five years old and deliciously tiny – was tossed about like a feather throughout the show. It looked like a lot of fun, and she might have been the reason why, when asked if they wanted to run away and join the circus, some 75 kids from the audience jumped eagerly into the ring and pranced about with stars in their eyes. And their parents all seemed ok with it. What is the world coming to?
Circus Smirkus is a show for all ages, especially children 4-12. The Circuit tours New England this summer through August 15. For schedule, tickets, and more information visit: http://www.circussmirkus.org/htm/tour/index.html
Amy L.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Concern
TRAFFIC
The Nauset Faucet is very concerned with the flow of pedestrians and bikers along Main Street. The Nauset Faucet has noticed a pattern of pedestrians who seem to be traveling in the wrong direction. Here are the rules:
1. Bikers bike with traffic
2. Walkers/Joggers travel against (facing) the flow of traffic so that they can see oncoming cars.
Thank You.
The Nauset Faucet
The Nauset Faucet is very concerned with the flow of pedestrians and bikers along Main Street. The Nauset Faucet has noticed a pattern of pedestrians who seem to be traveling in the wrong direction. Here are the rules:
1. Bikers bike with traffic
2. Walkers/Joggers travel against (facing) the flow of traffic so that they can see oncoming cars.
Thank You.
The Nauset Faucet
Review
CLOUD 9
On these cold and rainy Cape Cod nights, all one wishes is to curl up watching a good movie and to forget your troubles (i.e. a sinking boat out in Bixbys that desperately needs to be bailed). So now to head over to that Blockbuster, right? Wrong. After Blockbuster closed down its Orlean's branch (along with many other stores nation-wide), we have been left movie-less, turning to driving to Wellfleet to go to a drive-in movie you can half hear. However, don't fear! Cloud 9, a new movie rental store running in the same space as the old Blockbuster, offers a wide variety of classics, "hot new rentals," Sundance movies and seasons of popular TV shows. Cloud 9 uses about half of the space that Blockbuster used (the extra space is curtained off) as it removed all those terrible movies nobody rented. After picking three rentals (The Blind Side, Sex and the City and The Private Lives of Pippa Lee), I was instructed to fill out a lengthy form to create an account. The form designates only three people in a family who are allowed to rent a movie using the same account and offers restrictions on what kind of movie each person is allowed to rent (i.e. you could say your daughter is not allowed to rent anything over a PG-13 rated movie). Finally at checkout, my total came to over $12, a little steep for three movies. I was then informed that because The Blind Side was a "hot new rental," it would be due back tomorrow at 6pm. It was 8 pm when I rented it. We therefore returned The Blind Side to the shelf and continued home with two movies that cost $8. I would recommend checking out Cloud 9 and maybe renting a older movie, so you can have it for more that 22 hours.
Lydia H.
On these cold and rainy Cape Cod nights, all one wishes is to curl up watching a good movie and to forget your troubles (i.e. a sinking boat out in Bixbys that desperately needs to be bailed). So now to head over to that Blockbuster, right? Wrong. After Blockbuster closed down its Orlean's branch (along with many other stores nation-wide), we have been left movie-less, turning to driving to Wellfleet to go to a drive-in movie you can half hear. However, don't fear! Cloud 9, a new movie rental store running in the same space as the old Blockbuster, offers a wide variety of classics, "hot new rentals," Sundance movies and seasons of popular TV shows. Cloud 9 uses about half of the space that Blockbuster used (the extra space is curtained off) as it removed all those terrible movies nobody rented. After picking three rentals (The Blind Side, Sex and the City and The Private Lives of Pippa Lee), I was instructed to fill out a lengthy form to create an account. The form designates only three people in a family who are allowed to rent a movie using the same account and offers restrictions on what kind of movie each person is allowed to rent (i.e. you could say your daughter is not allowed to rent anything over a PG-13 rated movie). Finally at checkout, my total came to over $12, a little steep for three movies. I was then informed that because The Blind Side was a "hot new rental," it would be due back tomorrow at 6pm. It was 8 pm when I rented it. We therefore returned The Blind Side to the shelf and continued home with two movies that cost $8. I would recommend checking out Cloud 9 and maybe renting a older movie, so you can have it for more that 22 hours.
Lydia H.
Ask Aunt Polly
NEW ASK AUNT POLLY!
Send all Ask Aunt Polly Questions to nausetfaucet@aol.com which will be then forwarded to Polly.
Dear Aunt Polly,
My wife is a terrific reader, but loves to nibble while she reads.
Our house is littered with her half-eaten snacks and
lost-in-the-cushions candies, which attract ants and worse. If I
complain about sticky surfaces and crumbs everywhere, she says I know
where the vacuum is. She's hard to share a house with - even our bed
is salty. I'm glad she likes books, but what can I do about her messy
habit? It's my house too.
Tired of Fritoes in my Bed, Los Angeles
Dear Frito,
Your wife is truly lost in books. She is an unconscious consumer,
orally fixated on words and food in unhealthy ways. Speak with your
family doctor and hire a good cleaning person are my suggestions.
-Aunt P.
Dear Aunt Polly,
Our divorced uncle always brings his latest girlfriend to family
gatherings. This usually works fine, but his new amour is a bossy,
bleach-blonde know-it-all who offends my mother (his sister) and the
other females with her insensitive remarks and her moves on all males
attending, age no matter. Uncle T. is oblivious to the disharmony his
lady-love causes - he's nuts about her. As I plan our Labor Day
barbecue, I'm worried how to prevent family warfare. Can I not invite them?
Family hostess in West Texas
Dear Hostess,
Do you want to prevent or start a war? I suggest a private chat with
Uncle T. Maybe he'll find something else to do Labor Day weekend.
Maybe he'll think twice about his girlfriend's imperfections. If he
decides to attend, maybe he'll supervise her better. Should all else
fail, give the family get-togethers a rest till the next gal.
Aunt P.
Dear Aunt Polly,
My husband Larry loves watching birds at our kitchen feeding station.
He's bought over a dozen feeders of different kinds, but won't keep
them filled. The amazing birds he attracts find either feast or
famine. He says I should keep them filled if it bothers me, but I
don't even like birds. Last spring he left his feeders out so late in
the season we had three different bear visits. This is scary because
of our young children. How can he become a more responsible hobbyist?
Anxious in Appledore, Wis.
Dear Anxious,
Face it, some people are for the birds. I'd look out another window
and ignore Larry's erratic animal husbandry. But bears...that's no
joke. Find a good storage bin and dismantle his hobby shop for him
every April 1st. It's the law where I live.
Aunt P.
Send all Ask Aunt Polly Questions to nausetfaucet@aol.com which will be then forwarded to Polly.
Dear Aunt Polly,
My wife is a terrific reader, but loves to nibble while she reads.
Our house is littered with her half-eaten snacks and
lost-in-the-cushions candies, which attract ants and worse. If I
complain about sticky surfaces and crumbs everywhere, she says I know
where the vacuum is. She's hard to share a house with - even our bed
is salty. I'm glad she likes books, but what can I do about her messy
habit? It's my house too.
Tired of Fritoes in my Bed, Los Angeles
Dear Frito,
Your wife is truly lost in books. She is an unconscious consumer,
orally fixated on words and food in unhealthy ways. Speak with your
family doctor and hire a good cleaning person are my suggestions.
-Aunt P.
Dear Aunt Polly,
Our divorced uncle always brings his latest girlfriend to family
gatherings. This usually works fine, but his new amour is a bossy,
bleach-blonde know-it-all who offends my mother (his sister) and the
other females with her insensitive remarks and her moves on all males
attending, age no matter. Uncle T. is oblivious to the disharmony his
lady-love causes - he's nuts about her. As I plan our Labor Day
barbecue, I'm worried how to prevent family warfare. Can I not invite them?
Family hostess in West Texas
Dear Hostess,
Do you want to prevent or start a war? I suggest a private chat with
Uncle T. Maybe he'll find something else to do Labor Day weekend.
Maybe he'll think twice about his girlfriend's imperfections. If he
decides to attend, maybe he'll supervise her better. Should all else
fail, give the family get-togethers a rest till the next gal.
Aunt P.
Dear Aunt Polly,
My husband Larry loves watching birds at our kitchen feeding station.
He's bought over a dozen feeders of different kinds, but won't keep
them filled. The amazing birds he attracts find either feast or
famine. He says I should keep them filled if it bothers me, but I
don't even like birds. Last spring he left his feeders out so late in
the season we had three different bear visits. This is scary because
of our young children. How can he become a more responsible hobbyist?
Anxious in Appledore, Wis.
Dear Anxious,
Face it, some people are for the birds. I'd look out another window
and ignore Larry's erratic animal husbandry. But bears...that's no
joke. Find a good storage bin and dismantle his hobby shop for him
every April 1st. It's the law where I live.
Aunt P.
Friday, July 9, 2010
News
JULIE'S FINGER
Today, while riding my bike to meet Charlotte for a relaxing day on the beach, I came across the infamous Zelle Lexus parked just outside the walkway to the Gaze. Julie was sitting in the passenger seat with Charlotte behind the wheel, clutching a makeshift bandage of a dishtowel and a ziplock baggie full of ice around her finger. "I cut my finger in the blender", shouted Julie, "hop in!" Apparently, while blending Charlotte's breakfast food (Charlotte's recent jaw surgery prohibits her from chewing for awhile), Julie reached in the blender to get a lump out while simultaneously turning the blender on. Her index finger had a small cut which was described as "the length of a fingernail and almost to the bone". Although the experience was extremely painful at first, the pain subsided and her finger was "throbbing" and the incident became more "shocking". After Charlotte, anxious about the state of her mother's finger, missed the exit 11 turn and instead continued through exit 9, everyone took a few calming deep breaths and Charlotte pulled a couple of U-ies. Finally, the gold Lexus took a turn into the Fontaine Medical Center, eager to receive care for Julie. After waiting for about half an hour, Julie's name was finally called. Might I add that I was the only one in a bathing suit, meaning I stalked into the Center wearing no pants and a half buttoned shirt with a bright green bikini popping through, resulting in many disapproving looks from the fellow patients. After a 15-minute wait, Julie emerged from her room sans stitches but rather with a finger doused in Derma Glue (ointment that pushes the split skin back together) and wrapped generously in Steri Strips. All were relieved that stitches were not required, however the patient seemed more concerned about how in the world could she wash her spray tan off after specific instructions not to get her finger wet for a few days. Julie says she is doing fine, and that she is "so grateful because it could have been so much worse." She also adds that she "saw God". We are so happy that Julie is fine and we advise her to maybe stay away from blenders for a little while.
Lydia H.
Today, while riding my bike to meet Charlotte for a relaxing day on the beach, I came across the infamous Zelle Lexus parked just outside the walkway to the Gaze. Julie was sitting in the passenger seat with Charlotte behind the wheel, clutching a makeshift bandage of a dishtowel and a ziplock baggie full of ice around her finger. "I cut my finger in the blender", shouted Julie, "hop in!" Apparently, while blending Charlotte's breakfast food (Charlotte's recent jaw surgery prohibits her from chewing for awhile), Julie reached in the blender to get a lump out while simultaneously turning the blender on. Her index finger had a small cut which was described as "the length of a fingernail and almost to the bone". Although the experience was extremely painful at first, the pain subsided and her finger was "throbbing" and the incident became more "shocking". After Charlotte, anxious about the state of her mother's finger, missed the exit 11 turn and instead continued through exit 9, everyone took a few calming deep breaths and Charlotte pulled a couple of U-ies. Finally, the gold Lexus took a turn into the Fontaine Medical Center, eager to receive care for Julie. After waiting for about half an hour, Julie's name was finally called. Might I add that I was the only one in a bathing suit, meaning I stalked into the Center wearing no pants and a half buttoned shirt with a bright green bikini popping through, resulting in many disapproving looks from the fellow patients. After a 15-minute wait, Julie emerged from her room sans stitches but rather with a finger doused in Derma Glue (ointment that pushes the split skin back together) and wrapped generously in Steri Strips. All were relieved that stitches were not required, however the patient seemed more concerned about how in the world could she wash her spray tan off after specific instructions not to get her finger wet for a few days. Julie says she is doing fine, and that she is "so grateful because it could have been so much worse." She also adds that she "saw God". We are so happy that Julie is fine and we advise her to maybe stay away from blenders for a little while.
Lydia H.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
The Last Word
NEW YORK
The day after school ended I went to New York on a plane. We visited the Statue of Liberty. We got there on a boat. The lines were very, very long. We went up 168 steps to the top of the base. It was very, very high. Ma maman dit “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH.” (She’s afraid of heights.)
Johnny D.
The day after school ended I went to New York on a plane. We visited the Statue of Liberty. We got there on a boat. The lines were very, very long. We went up 168 steps to the top of the base. It was very, very high. Ma maman dit “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH.” (She’s afraid of heights.)
Johnny D.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Recipes
SUMMER DEE-LITE PASTA
serves six people (or two people for a couple of days)
1 lb bag of whole wheat pasta corkscrews
1 bag baby spinach, washed and de-stemmed
1 6 oz container of feta cheese
olive oil
balsamic vinegar
1 package chicken sausage (4 or 5 to a pack)
1 6 oz container of pesto
cook pasta and rinse
cut chicken sausages into thin slices (like quarters) and cook in olive
oil and vinegar until brown
wash spinach and cut stems off, chop spinach into bite size pieces
cook spinach lightly until wilted (only a minute or two) in chicken pan
with more oil
put pasta, sausage, feta and pesto together in a salad bowl and stir
serve warm
eat leftovers the next day
Oona M.
serves six people (or two people for a couple of days)
1 lb bag of whole wheat pasta corkscrews
1 bag baby spinach, washed and de-stemmed
1 6 oz container of feta cheese
olive oil
balsamic vinegar
1 package chicken sausage (4 or 5 to a pack)
1 6 oz container of pesto
cook pasta and rinse
cut chicken sausages into thin slices (like quarters) and cook in olive
oil and vinegar until brown
wash spinach and cut stems off, chop spinach into bite size pieces
cook spinach lightly until wilted (only a minute or two) in chicken pan
with more oil
put pasta, sausage, feta and pesto together in a salad bowl and stir
serve warm
eat leftovers the next day
Oona M.
Features
WHAT IT’S LIKE TO WRITE A BOOK
Here I am at my computer, 6 a.m. The birds (crows) are “singing,” the air is as cool as it will ever be today, the house is silent – husband still sleeping. Yes, I have left my comfortable bed because I’m stark wide awake thinking about Emily Dickinson.
I’ve thought about her nearly every morning for 47 years now – and she always gets me to my feet, hoping I can capture swiftly those electric, fleeting insights that filled the space between being asleep and awake. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t; sometimes I can’t read my scrawled notes once I get a light on them.
Here’s cheering news: I’ve only been working on this particular book, my opus on E.D. (cradle-to-the-grave treatment), for 16 of those 47 years. For over two years I’ve been stuck in chapter 8 – the first year planning it, the second year writing it; it’s almost done. Of course there have been some diversions along the way – starting a museum, traveling, operations, giving talks, doing other writing assignments.
How many chapters will there be, people ask warily, hoping I’ll say nine. But I can’t say anything, because I don’t know. The truth is, as many as it takes.
So far she’s through her childhood, she’s through Mount Holyoke, she’s through her first couple years back home – these are crucial years, which is why it takes so long to wrestle them to the ground – but everything really BIG (and I mean BIG) still lies ahead: the writing of 1800 poems, a major breakdown of some kind, the Civil War, her anxiety condition that nobody but me believes she suffered, her hide-and-seek game with Mr. Higginson (another pet theory all mine), her loves, her heartbreaks – and of course her death. Then all hell breaks loose over the publication of the poetry (should I deep-six that part, as other whimps have done – but it’s a huge part of the story, if one is opusing).
Well, here I am, it’s 6:15 already (phone hook-up here in the country is slow). I can check my email, but if two or three people are seeking Dickinson advice, as they usually are, that can divert the morning. Best go right to work adding my early-morning thoughts to the richly textured forty pages of chapter 8. Not counting pages of endnotes, of course – that’s a story in itself.
Endnotes are a sort of parallel text in my book. No “Op. Cit.” and “ibid” for me – it’s all the stuff that’s fascinating, that’s been gleaned over 50 years, that doesn’t belong in the text proper. It’s what’s currently called the “back story,” paralleling the real chapter, filling the reader in on the “connections” that make this woman’s life so fascinating. I can spend hours among the endnotes, keeping them succinct but informative (juicy). Trouble is, over the 18 years I’ve been writing and not writing this book, I’ve sort of lost track of the form in which the endnotes began – there are numerous styles for footnotes and endnotes (publishers don’t “do” footnotes any more – too expensive – just stuff ‘em all in the back, and whose who don’t read them miss half the experience. Oh well.) Anyway, sometime late in this manuscript’s life will come a grand “regularize the footnotes” week, or month, that won’t be much fun.
I’m wondering these days why I began an opus. Why not a swift overview, a sparkling slender stunning summary of my 50 years with Dickinson, done and over? I guess cuz I didn’t know it would take so long to let it all hang out. One learns so much in turning over 50 years worth of stones and examining the bug life beneath. Yet never enough. We’ll never know enough about E.D. - she hid her tracks too well.
I do begin to wonder, tho, if I’ll finish in this lifetime, moving at a snail’s pace through her life, and mine. She’s sort of my “endnotes” in the sense of a parallel and different existence of the imagination that I carry along at all times. It means that I live simultaneously in three centuries. This one and the last, and the one before that.
There are other questions – why has my publisher hung in there waiting for this book? Why has my wonderful, patient husband not left in favor of someone who will accompany him anywhere at the drop of a hat?
Let’s see, we can slide this morning’s insight in right here, and adjust for it there and there. O.K. But is this book boring? Have my writing skills deteriorated? Have I lost mental track of a thousand details squirreled away in my brain and in my files over the decades? How does one know if what one’s doing is any good, or necessary (given all the stuff constantly being written about this poet)? And how much headway am I challenging myself to make today?
The chapter’s almost done. Hurray! Only three major incidents to put to bed to wind it up. Then E.D. can suffer the losses of many friends from TB in 1851 – there were a slew of them, and she feared she had consumption herself through the ordeal. That’s what’s next – chapter 9, along with beginning to write the poetry at last, and moving back to the Homestead, and starting to suffer from social phobia.
Whee – writing sure is fun.
POL
Here I am at my computer, 6 a.m. The birds (crows) are “singing,” the air is as cool as it will ever be today, the house is silent – husband still sleeping. Yes, I have left my comfortable bed because I’m stark wide awake thinking about Emily Dickinson.
I’ve thought about her nearly every morning for 47 years now – and she always gets me to my feet, hoping I can capture swiftly those electric, fleeting insights that filled the space between being asleep and awake. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t; sometimes I can’t read my scrawled notes once I get a light on them.
Here’s cheering news: I’ve only been working on this particular book, my opus on E.D. (cradle-to-the-grave treatment), for 16 of those 47 years. For over two years I’ve been stuck in chapter 8 – the first year planning it, the second year writing it; it’s almost done. Of course there have been some diversions along the way – starting a museum, traveling, operations, giving talks, doing other writing assignments.
How many chapters will there be, people ask warily, hoping I’ll say nine. But I can’t say anything, because I don’t know. The truth is, as many as it takes.
So far she’s through her childhood, she’s through Mount Holyoke, she’s through her first couple years back home – these are crucial years, which is why it takes so long to wrestle them to the ground – but everything really BIG (and I mean BIG) still lies ahead: the writing of 1800 poems, a major breakdown of some kind, the Civil War, her anxiety condition that nobody but me believes she suffered, her hide-and-seek game with Mr. Higginson (another pet theory all mine), her loves, her heartbreaks – and of course her death. Then all hell breaks loose over the publication of the poetry (should I deep-six that part, as other whimps have done – but it’s a huge part of the story, if one is opusing).
Well, here I am, it’s 6:15 already (phone hook-up here in the country is slow). I can check my email, but if two or three people are seeking Dickinson advice, as they usually are, that can divert the morning. Best go right to work adding my early-morning thoughts to the richly textured forty pages of chapter 8. Not counting pages of endnotes, of course – that’s a story in itself.
Endnotes are a sort of parallel text in my book. No “Op. Cit.” and “ibid” for me – it’s all the stuff that’s fascinating, that’s been gleaned over 50 years, that doesn’t belong in the text proper. It’s what’s currently called the “back story,” paralleling the real chapter, filling the reader in on the “connections” that make this woman’s life so fascinating. I can spend hours among the endnotes, keeping them succinct but informative (juicy). Trouble is, over the 18 years I’ve been writing and not writing this book, I’ve sort of lost track of the form in which the endnotes began – there are numerous styles for footnotes and endnotes (publishers don’t “do” footnotes any more – too expensive – just stuff ‘em all in the back, and whose who don’t read them miss half the experience. Oh well.) Anyway, sometime late in this manuscript’s life will come a grand “regularize the footnotes” week, or month, that won’t be much fun.
I’m wondering these days why I began an opus. Why not a swift overview, a sparkling slender stunning summary of my 50 years with Dickinson, done and over? I guess cuz I didn’t know it would take so long to let it all hang out. One learns so much in turning over 50 years worth of stones and examining the bug life beneath. Yet never enough. We’ll never know enough about E.D. - she hid her tracks too well.
I do begin to wonder, tho, if I’ll finish in this lifetime, moving at a snail’s pace through her life, and mine. She’s sort of my “endnotes” in the sense of a parallel and different existence of the imagination that I carry along at all times. It means that I live simultaneously in three centuries. This one and the last, and the one before that.
There are other questions – why has my publisher hung in there waiting for this book? Why has my wonderful, patient husband not left in favor of someone who will accompany him anywhere at the drop of a hat?
Let’s see, we can slide this morning’s insight in right here, and adjust for it there and there. O.K. But is this book boring? Have my writing skills deteriorated? Have I lost mental track of a thousand details squirreled away in my brain and in my files over the decades? How does one know if what one’s doing is any good, or necessary (given all the stuff constantly being written about this poet)? And how much headway am I challenging myself to make today?
The chapter’s almost done. Hurray! Only three major incidents to put to bed to wind it up. Then E.D. can suffer the losses of many friends from TB in 1851 – there were a slew of them, and she feared she had consumption herself through the ordeal. That’s what’s next – chapter 9, along with beginning to write the poetry at last, and moving back to the Homestead, and starting to suffer from social phobia.
Whee – writing sure is fun.
POL
Ask Aunt Polly
ASK AUNT POLLY (from old issue)
Dear Aunt Polly,
My nephew Hank married a woman who's very aquisitive. Both of them
have good jobs and no children, so are well off. The live in a
beautiful home, can buy just about anything, and go on nice trips.
But Hank's wife (I'll call her Nancy) is never satisfied. She's
always acquiring more things - expensive things, like lap pools and a
major entertainment center, and another car (just to review this year
so far). It bothers me Nancy can't enjoy what she has. She also seems
to want what I've got. Once I told Hank I would leave him some family
furniture, but now I'm not so sure.
In a quandry, NM
Dear Quandry,
You don't mention Nancy's background. Sometimes people who suffered
economically deprived childhoods can't get over the feeling of being
without. It's like a person who has starved not being able to control
his greediness once food becomes plentiful. If my intuition is
correct, Nancy may never adjust to her current riches without help.
Unless you feel comfortable talking with your nephew about your
observations, it would be best to MYOB.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
In my husband's family, no one ever raised his or her voice. Disputes
were settled by "reasonable discussion," although if I do say so, my
mother-in-law mostly does what she's told by her husband and sons. My
family is scrappy. My sisters and I learned to fight and argue for
what we thought were our rights. This behavior disturbs my husband,
so that he leaves the house when he meets with an argument or a
raised pitch or tone. He says I'm hysterical; I say he's so
reasonable he's unreasonable, which gets under my skin. He wasn't
like this before we married. What's happened?
Give me a break, in Peoria
Dear Breaker,
Your husband may have been attracted to your feistiness when he met
you, but doesn't enjoy living with behavior that always goes against
the grain of his upbringing. You can try talking reasonably about the
problem with him, or with a counselor, but you will both have to give
some to make this marriage work. It's especially important your
husband not walk out on the discussion. Good luck. I'm in your corner.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
This week in the youth section of our public library I found and
brought home a book for 14-18 year olds on date rape. I am 15. My
mother is horrified the library has this book on its shelves, and
won't let me read it. She doesn't know that some kids my age in
school already are drinking and having sex, but it's true. I'm not
doing either and don't plan to, but I think it's good to know what to
watch for. How can I help my Mom get more with it?
Not too young to know
Dear Not To,
One way would be to send for my booklet, "What Parents need to know,"
which contains some frank information on what teenagers encounter in
today's social culture. It's designed to open the eyes of people like
your mother who think the world hasn't changed since the eighties.
Young people now can find themselves in scary situations at
surprisingly young ages. "Forewarned is forearmed" was never more
pertinent. Send $2.50 to Ask Aunt Polly, PO Box 567, Athol, MA 01331.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
My nephew Hank married a woman who's very aquisitive. Both of them
have good jobs and no children, so are well off. The live in a
beautiful home, can buy just about anything, and go on nice trips.
But Hank's wife (I'll call her Nancy) is never satisfied. She's
always acquiring more things - expensive things, like lap pools and a
major entertainment center, and another car (just to review this year
so far). It bothers me Nancy can't enjoy what she has. She also seems
to want what I've got. Once I told Hank I would leave him some family
furniture, but now I'm not so sure.
In a quandry, NM
Dear Quandry,
You don't mention Nancy's background. Sometimes people who suffered
economically deprived childhoods can't get over the feeling of being
without. It's like a person who has starved not being able to control
his greediness once food becomes plentiful. If my intuition is
correct, Nancy may never adjust to her current riches without help.
Unless you feel comfortable talking with your nephew about your
observations, it would be best to MYOB.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
In my husband's family, no one ever raised his or her voice. Disputes
were settled by "reasonable discussion," although if I do say so, my
mother-in-law mostly does what she's told by her husband and sons. My
family is scrappy. My sisters and I learned to fight and argue for
what we thought were our rights. This behavior disturbs my husband,
so that he leaves the house when he meets with an argument or a
raised pitch or tone. He says I'm hysterical; I say he's so
reasonable he's unreasonable, which gets under my skin. He wasn't
like this before we married. What's happened?
Give me a break, in Peoria
Dear Breaker,
Your husband may have been attracted to your feistiness when he met
you, but doesn't enjoy living with behavior that always goes against
the grain of his upbringing. You can try talking reasonably about the
problem with him, or with a counselor, but you will both have to give
some to make this marriage work. It's especially important your
husband not walk out on the discussion. Good luck. I'm in your corner.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
This week in the youth section of our public library I found and
brought home a book for 14-18 year olds on date rape. I am 15. My
mother is horrified the library has this book on its shelves, and
won't let me read it. She doesn't know that some kids my age in
school already are drinking and having sex, but it's true. I'm not
doing either and don't plan to, but I think it's good to know what to
watch for. How can I help my Mom get more with it?
Not too young to know
Dear Not To,
One way would be to send for my booklet, "What Parents need to know,"
which contains some frank information on what teenagers encounter in
today's social culture. It's designed to open the eyes of people like
your mother who think the world hasn't changed since the eighties.
Young people now can find themselves in scary situations at
surprisingly young ages. "Forewarned is forearmed" was never more
pertinent. Send $2.50 to Ask Aunt Polly, PO Box 567, Athol, MA 01331.
Aunt Polly
Monday, June 28, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)