The laptop is now being turned off and will not be on again until
I’m on Cape Cod.
And when it comes back on, better watch out (and you better not cry)
Snow in July?
That’s preposterous, you say.
Ah, yee of little faith.
btw- for those of you following the Cape saga, Maureen and Mark are currently on American soil!
See all of you on the beachside . . .

It’s always a daunting task starting a new journal; all that virgin white space,
the absence of anything resembling a word or thought, and the cackling cynic inside me all trying to sway me towards more menial things like cutting my lawn (which needs to be done, btw) or re-grouting the tile in the bathroom.
This soft leather-covered journal was made in Italy and given to me by my daughter Jenna.
It’s really gorgeous.
I began to wonder what will be written on these pages by the years end.
In 7.23 days, me, Pamela and the girls will be spending a week on Cape Cod with
Annie, Maureen, Mark & Evyl (and Joyce!)
The location will not be disclosed so please don’t ask.
We’re celebrating Christmas in July because my wife thought
December was a silly time for all the folks involved to visit.
This is going to be one of the most amazing weeks of my life while on this spinning blue ball in space.
There will be many things: laughter, tears, music, incredible food, stories, Rum Swizzle,
bourbon, Guinness and enough fine cigars to smoke out an army of stogie veterans.
Oh, and there will be stories.
I know I already wrote that but it needs to be repeated.
Honestly, where would we be without our stories?
If someone had told me 10 years ago that I’d be spending a week of my life with people I’d never met I’d say they really ‘lost the plot’.
All of us talk on the phone and Gmail chat on a fairly regular basis so no one is a complete stranger here.
I’ve known Annie since our writing days at WVU.
And Evyl has been a true bud since I first started this blogging thing back in 2005.
As far as Maureen and Mark, I’ve known them from some previous life, or so it seems.
I could go on and on about my personal expectations regarding this most special of holidays but I prefer to record some actual memories in this very special journal.
Stay tuned for some truly awesome posts starting around the 18th of July (our first day on the Cape)
We have some blogging hijinx planned as well, actually more of a blog hijacking, so to speak.
All will be revealed in time.
We’ve all waited well over a year for this moment.
What’s 7.20 more days?
And it now looks like my new journal isn’t so new anymore.
Stay tuned.
As far as the post title goes . . .  my dear Pamela is pretty damn sure *she may not be ready.
Just watch her ‘Twitter’
for more details!

Ready or not Cape Cod, here we come!

It was September of 2006 that I took a week off from work.
I planned on doing some things around the house, smoke some cigars and drink some Guinness.
I had a few extra days to play around with and decided to visit my friend Michael who lives on Cape Cod.
I left early on Tuesday morning and planned to meet Michael for breakfast before deciding what to do for the day.
We met at a place in West Dennis called ‘Grumpy’s’.
It was your basic ‘hole-in-the-wall’ breakfast place but the knotty pine that lined the inside walls seemed to say, “You will eat well, old man.”
The aroma of frying bacon and sautéed onions wafted towards us as we walked in and made my empty stomach stand at attention. (but can a stomach do that?)
Grumpy’s was the farthest thing from grumpy and the coffee was very close to excellent.
I ordered two eggs, over real easy, bacon, home fries and raisin toast.
No surprise there.
Can’t remember what Michael ordered but I do remember we both rolled out of there like the older men that we’re slowly learning to be.
After a Grumpy breakfast we decided to go back and drop off my truck before heading to the beach for the day.
And although it was mid-September, the temperature was @75 – 80° with pure cobalt skies.

“Want me to bring a cooler? We can stop on the way and throw some beer on ice,”  Michael said.

A man after my own heart, I thought.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, “And we’re covered on cigars.”

We got to Cahoon’s Hollow around 9:45 with 2 beach chairs and a BAC (big ass cooler) in tow.
I couldn’t believe how warm it was; a kiss of Indian Summer.
The beach was totally deserted, save for Michael and I.
With a shoreline as expansive as the Hollow it seemed almost surreal.
Me, Michael and the beach.
We planted our chairs a good distance from the entrance and sat in silence for a bit.
The warm, salty breeze and brilliant sunshine took us both away.
The sunshine was like millions of tiny fires flittering on the surface of the water,
rising and falling methodically with the tide, a natural aquatic pendulum.
The blue raspberry sky told both of us that this was going to be a very special day.

“Want a cigar?” I asked.

“Want a beer?” Michael asked.

We both started laughing like two little boys playing hooky from school.
With cigars lit and beers opened we chatted the morning away, one blessed sip at a time.
I can’t even remember what cigars I brought.
They may have been Cuban, but truth be told rolled up dogshit would have tasted good that day.
Michael and I have always had the ability to talk forever.
Doesn’t matter if I haven’t seen him in 10 years (God forbid), we have some serious history.
(Remember Treasure Valley, Deg?)
And lot’s of it.
We weren’t alone for very long before we began seeing things popping up in the surf.
From my vantage point, the ‘things’ looked like shiny obsidian bowling balls.

“Seals,” Michael said, flatly.

pop.pop.pop.pop.pop.pop.pop.

It seemed like they were popping up everywhere.
And it seemed like we were placed there just to see them.

I wish I could put the day in a bottle and open it whenever I needed it.
My own private and saving grace.
Maybe writing it down is a step in the right direction.
But maybe Laho would vehemently disagree . . .

The above is what Google images gave me with ‘sexy cupcakes’ as a search word.
Jeez . . . I was thinking of something completely different.
With nipples.
Alright, there are two near and dear friends celebrating birthdays over the next few days and
I had to make mention of it here
(and move that hideous picture from my prior post further down the blog so as to prevent nightmares)

My dear friend Deg turns 50 tomorrow (2.18) and I must say he doesn’t look a day over 49.
(insert laugh track here)
Michael, I wish only good things for you on this momentous occasion and pray you will
see at least 50 more birthdays.
Lord knows you deserve even more than that.
You are and will always be one of the closest friends I have.
I am truly blessed.
Peace my brother and all of His blessings in the next year.

Secondly, and definitely not least, my new friend Mark (from Australia) who turns 39
(isn’t that right, Mark?)  
on Thursday (2.19)
I talk with Mark almost every Saturday night when his wife (Moe) lets me.  
Even she doesn’t want to give him up.
He makes me laugh to the point where I forget all the trivial shit happening in my life and for that I am truly grateful. Imagine talking to a bloke that’s alot funnier than Crocodile Dundee.
That’s Mark.
I shit you not.
I wish sunny skies for you buddy and an effortless trip over here to the states.
If you knew how much I’m looking forward to this July, you’d be a bit scared, buddy.
Please visit Moe and leave Mark a birthday comment.
He will undoubtedly reply.

The interesting thing about this post is that these two chaps will meet this July on Cape Cod.
It will probably be at Baxter’s in Hyannis where we’ll watch the sunset, drink some ice cold beer and eat some incredible lobster. (and drink some more beer, maybe smoke a nice Cuban cigar)
Sounds like heaven, right?
It will be just that.
Happy Birthday, Michael and Mark!
Have an awesome birthday, boys . . .

I went to Cape Cod a few weeks ago for a bit of R&R; though it seems like years ago now.
The weather couldn’t have been better with sunshine every day.
Everything pretty much went as planned.
But what I didn’t plan on was the disappointing discovery of closed restaurants and nightclubs—all the places I used to regularly haunt many years ago.
Route 28, the main road that horizontally bi-sects the Cape, appeared lackluster and sadly dormant in many spots reminding me more of the movie “28 Days Later” than the busy road I remember.

Just what the hell was happening here?

This was just too weird.

My sentimentality bubbled over when I saw a closed/for sale sign out in front of the Mill Hill Club.
This was a nightclub I used to play at in the early eighties; a span of time that found the Cape alive and teeming with people every single night of the week.

I was saddened in a way that I couldn’t explain to my daughters.
My wife knew but the girls quickly got sick of my reminiscing and lamenting
and began to look at me with an implied “there he goes again” neon sign flashing across their foreheads.

Some people say that everything is cyclical, and that in time, things change becoming what they once were.

The Compass Lounge, one of the most popular nightclubs is now a CVS.

Thompson’s Clam Bar, a great restaurant on a harbor in Harwich, has been turned into condominiums.

The Barefoot Trader, the quintessential Cape Cod gift shop that boasted Easter Island-type statues set along the walkway that led inside the shop, now sells Persian Rugs.

WTF?

Does anything stay in business anymore?

Jeepers, this was like the Twilight Zone.

I kept waiting to look in my rear view mirror to see Rod Serling or the Verizon “can you hear me now” guy, sans glasses.
They both look about the same anyway.
It was really sad. From the price of gas to the taste of lobster, everything had changed. But maybe the biggest change of all…was me.