Commentary
I have doubts about my dog’s truthfulness. Or should I say his sincerity? Or maybe both.
Rudy (he’s named after the diminutive, underdog Notre Dame football player) has been partially paralyzed for about a half dozen years.
Or so he claims.
Last month The Moth landed on Martha’s Vineyard offering a night of stories in Union Chapel. And as Sam Low’s letter to the editor and Paul Karasik’s cartoon have shown, if you missed the Island’s own Cynthia Riggs, you missed a story of inspiration and love for any age. I moved to Martha’s Vineyard seven years ago and Cynthia was one of the first people I had a chance to meet.
Who doesn’t love families?
Or Mom or apple pie, for that matter?
Now that everyone has become completely dependent on GPS, it’s possible to locate ourselves to an astounding degree of accuracy anywhere on the planet — while simultaneously becoming completely and utterly lost. I am talking hopelessly, pathetically lost. This was never possible even a short while ago when most folks still knew how to read a map, trust their instincts and listen to spoken directions. But in the last few years, as gadgetry has gotten smarter people, seem to have gotten dumber. There’s just no getting around it.
Picture this: dense, twiggy colonies of dark, gnarled branches buried in sand along the barrier dunes of Lambert’s Cove Beach. What is this tough plant that thrives in such a challenging environment? The answer is obvious each May when these same branches erupt with beautiful white flowers. It’s our native beach plum (Prunus maritima). This exceptional spring display lasts a few weeks then something even better follows. Over the following months plump, tasty fruits ripen, often creating a bountiful crop for harvest by the end of the summer.
I received the omen in the Catskill Mountains. It was made manifest on a postcard that arrived at summer camp. A little plastic lobster was chained to the corner: Dear Shelley, We’re having a wonderful time in Martha’s Vineyard. You would love it here. Next summer, we’ll bring you. Words to that effect. Why were my parents in a vineyard? Who is Martha? Long after those questions were answered, I wondered how the lobster survived the postal system all the way to upstate New York.