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
Sunday, August 29, 2010
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.
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