BRAD WOODGER

508-627-4216

(ibwsgolf@aol.com)

I heard from Eck Wolff, who is celebrating his 39th birthday in Chappy this week, 44 years late. Why does Eck get a birthday mention and not you? Because Eck and I share a common affinity, and we Lady-lovers need to stick together and support one another.

Speaking of Lady, no response to my query for a reunion date. At first, I admit that I was disappointed and chagrined (a truly dreadful combo), but then I realized that perhaps it is best that I attend my reunion unencumbered by celebrity. Why darken my star with the light of another? And I can only imagine that the sweet-and-sour meatball fare might be shockingly below the standard of what is to be expected by famous folk. And the last thing I need is another scene at another reunion — that’s for me to create alone!

A couple new yachts have appeared in the outer harbor waters in front of our Big Camp. Perhaps last night’s storm blew them in. I wonder if the yacht occupants ever sit on their becushioned mahogany benches, looking at the bluffs of North Neck, and dream of simpler times. Maybe not, since North Neck isn’t so simple these days anyway.

Speaking of yachts, I never really noticed the EYC junior yacht club presence on Chappy (next to the Chappy Beach Club), until I got stuck behind a group of the young sailors walking two lanes of tar abreast toward the ferry. My truck is not loud, but it’s not mousey either, yet it’s proximity to youngsters didn’t seem to sway their decision as to whether the side of the road might be more suited to their stroll. Eventually the sea of youth parted enough to allow my passage farther down the road but not without the retribution of several icy stares and a few mocking scoffs. My poor truck is sensitive enough, having been brought up on an island of Lexuses and Mercedes, that it really didn’t need this further humiliation. Oh, well, at least we now know our place.

Speaking of the Beach Club, my grandfather, Ham Kelley, was once the manager there, and our tenants, the Warrens, were part of its ownership, I believe. Under these circumstances, we Pittsfieldians (my two brothers and I) were allowed passage through its Cuprinolled pearly gates on special occasions. I recall that my first dive off the board at dock’s end was accompanied by some questions about the wisdom of my particular fashion statement of cut-off jean shorts bathing suit. Not the bearer of skin of great thickness, I decided to keep my shorts (and entire person) under water from entrance into water to beach front ... and then into the backseat of my grandparents Beetle. Eventually I overcame this hurt (Ham wasn’t a real softee when it came to matters of the heart and soul: “What the heck is his problem now?”), and I thoroughly enjoyed my Skybars from the vending machine, the sight of French fries on a beach, and the sublime smell of sand-wetted concrete. But the message was as clear then as it is now, passed down through generations. You are not us. I’m okay with that.

I’ve noticed three new gulls dropping mollusks from up on high above the ferry point. Apparently, there is a sort of surfers’ code amongst gulls when it comes to prime real estate. The best pavement/waves are left to the boldest and strongest. Thus the older fellows (Roger, Stephen and Saul) have been ousted by some young bucks whose names I am yet to learn. And typical of the dynamic, there’s always a couple of young girl bobwhites hanging out to ooh and coo at the daring feats of bravery.

Kim, her brother, her nephews and I all took part in the stand-up paddleboard (SUP) race off of State Beach this past Saturday. As it turned out, it was the race that wasn’t. Any competition where I am the elite athlete present is doomed never to get off the ground. But swarms of novices did get a chance to try out this relatively new activity, with little or no loss of life...and some pink foam hats (courtesy of the event’s sponsor). I guess my day in the sun atop the SUP medal podium will have to wait. But come it will.

Speaking of loss of life, whilst at State Beach, I succumbed to my nephews’ entreaties to jump in tandem off the bridge into the water with them. I’ve driven past this phenomenon many times but have never partaken. And really, isn’t it just a little creepy to see older men jumping off that bridge — their sidemeat flapping in the breeze? I think so. But, lo and behold, I was one of those creeps on Saturday. We executed a perfect “meditation dive” (me in the center with hands in prayer position, a twin nephew on each side cross-legged and in oohm finger position). The most perfect dive ever? Perhaps. But the back spasm that almost precluded my resurfacing to air gave me ample indication to rest on the laurels of this achievement. Permanently.

The August annual meeting of the CIA is Saturday, at the Chappaquiddick Community Center. Coffee and donoughts will be available at 8 a.m. with time to meet your neighbors and catch up before the start of the meeting at 9.

In other CCC news:

Kahoots plays on Sunday, August 7 at 7 p.m., entry is $5. This will be the last concert of their Island tour. All ages are welcome.

The Craft and Farmers’ market continues on Wednesdays from 4:30 to 5:30 p.m. on the CCC porch. At 7 p.m. on Wednesday, Vineyard Sound gives a concert. Tickets at the door are $8 adult, $5 ages 5 to 12, and under age 5 is free. The film on Friday, August 12 is A Bothersome Man (Norway) at 7:15 p.m. It’s free.

The community center holds its own annual meeting on Saturday, August 13 at 9 a.m. All Chappaquiddickers are welcome to attend. Also Saturday, the annual Tennis Tournament is from 8:30 to noon. Sign up in advance on the CCC bulletin board or at the ferry board. Finals will be Sunday at 8:30 at the community center tennis court.

And this from the Chappy Book Club: This month’s book is Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand by Helen Simonson. Lively discussion is at the next meeting at the Community Center on Wednesday, August 24 at 10:15 a.m.