Cape Cod

Three Pics That Blow My Mind

Yeah, Another Blogger156 Comments

I couldn’t live without my smart phone. Well, that’s an exaggeration. But I’d be a moping and disgruntled geezer were it taken away from me for more than a few days. Man, thinking about that gives me shivers. I’d nearly prefer to contemplate the Apocalypse, which might not be too far off, sad to say, what with far-right-wing motherf*ckers proliferating like rabbits all over the globe.

Okay, back to my phone: I don’t use it as much, or at all, in some of the ways that are crucial to many people. For instance, I send (and receive) text messages, but not to the point that they are coming out of my ears. And I never watch movies or TV shows on the tiny screen. When it comes to surfing the internet, however, I’m addicted and a champ, as I read one thing or another on the phone for two or more hours just about every day. For this activity alone, my phone is essential to me.

And I’m totally in love with the magical device’s camera, a valuable ally. On vacations, I snap away like a mad dog. And I often document gatherings with friends or relatives, and other fun occasions, with a picture or two or more. Hell, just about everybody does all of that, I imagine. It’s a good way to keep memories at hand and to have a running record of the enjoyable parts of our lives.

The publication you’re staring at right now — Yeah, Another Blogger — often is on or not far from my mind when I aim and shoot, for I include photos in quite a few of the pieces I publish. I think of myself as an amateur photographer, I suppose, and get a kick from sharing images with whomever is good enough to read my stories. Seventeen of the approximately 300 photos I’ve taken so far this year have graced Yeah, Another Blogger’s pages already. And three more now are about to make an appearance. I tip my hat to my smart phone for making this possible. Modern technology blows my mind.

Photo was taken in February 2025 in Willow Grove, Pennsylvania

Speaking of which, I chose these three pics because they too blow my mind. They are undoctored photographs of what struck me as almost-hallucinatory scenes. I took the above picture on a cold, grey winter’s day this past February, a couple of blocks from my house in Willow Grove, Pennsylvania, USA. Have tree limbs and branches ever seemed more complex and wiser? I had a feeling they understand the underlying nature of the universe and were trying to find a way to express this knowledge. If they clue me in one day, I’ll let you know, believe me.

Cellar Dog Philadelphia
(Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. April 2025)

Cellar Dog Philadelphia, a cool-as-can-be venue that opened not long ago in downtown Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, is the setting for photo number two. Cellar Dog is a bar cum jazz club cum non-electronic games joint (billiards, table shuffleboard and foosball are among the games you can play). My wife Sandy and I were there in April with our pals Cindy and Gene. The jazz quartet we heard that night pleased each of us a lot. And the looks of the place put me in mind of Salvador Dali paintings. To me, the shuffleboard tables appeared to be hanging on for dear life, praying that the bold floor tiles and the dazzling wall wouldn’t decide to catapult them into the heavens.

First Encounter Beach
(Eastham, Cape Cod, Massachusetts. April 2025)

Later in April, Sandy and I, while vacationing on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, found ourselves at Eastham township’s First Encounter Beach. There, we walked upon the wet, rippled sands (known as tidal flats) left exposed by the receding waters of Cape Cod Bay. It was low tide, indeed, and the sky was beginning to turn colors as the Sun dropped toward the horizon. The scene was one of head-spinning beauty, for much of the bay’s waters, via the Moon’s gravitational forces, had been pulled incredibly far from shore. Both Sandy and I felt exhilarated. We were in the right place at the right time.

In conclusion, let me say I wouldn’t want to have my mind blown crazily often. I don’t have the constitution for that. Does anybody? But, for all of my adult life I’ve needed, and have experienced, a steady, slow stream of far-out-ish encounters. That’s the way I’m built. They’ve made my life better.

Trees And Ponds Go Together Oh So Well: A Cape Cod Story

Yeah, Another Blogger154 Comments

My wife Sandy and I have visited Cape Cod, Massachusetts, USA, almost every year since our first vacation there in 1998. Obviously, then, we love the Cape. We’re lucky as hell to have discovered it in the first place, as it never had occurred to either of us that there might exist a locale to which we would want to return again and again. Thus, it’s an understatement to say that Cape Cod has made our lives better. We feel at home there. We enjoy exploring its old villages and areas of natural beauty. We fill up on the Cape’s arts scene and at its eateries. And we engage in sweet old-school activities, such as mini golf and sunset-watching, that we almost never do back home in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Yeah, Cape Cod suits us to a T. We never will tire of this 65-mile-long peninsula.

Anyway, I’m now bringing up Cape Cod not just for the heck of it, but because Sandy and I spent 11 full (i.e. non-commuting) days there recently, and I sense some thoughts about the visit trying to coalesce. Away we go!

Last month’s Cape escape was, as each of its predecessors had been, damn fine. I could go on and on about the many highlights of the trip. But doing so would extend this piece to a mind-numbing length. I don’t know about you, but my mind already is numb enough as it is. That’s why I’ll limit the remainder of my commentary mainly to a specific topic. To wit, ponds nestled in woods.

Nature-wise, when most people think of Cape Cod they picture fine beaches and gorgeous open waters. For sure, the Cape has plenty of those. Less known are its ponds, of which there are hundreds. Most ponds, however, for one reason or another are difficult or near-impossible to access. For example, many are boxed in by housing that has sprouted up around them over the years. Not the case within Cape Cod’s several forests, though, which are protected from development. On back-to-back days we visited two of those woodlands, largely because ponds reside inside them. First up was Brewster township’s Nickerson State Park, a sizable forest, followed by Provincetown township’s Beech Forest, which is less spacious than Nickerson.

The trees in each forest — loads of pines and oaks, among others, in both, and plenty of beeches, appropriately, in Beech Forest — impressed the heck out of me and humbled me too, as trees always do. Hell, trees deserve deep respect. After all, they can trace their ancestry back 400 million years, give or take 50 million. That’s saying a lot.

Nickerson State Park’s Cliff Pond (Brewster, Cape Cod)
Nickerson State Park’s Little Cliff Pond (Brewster, Cape Cod)

But when you add ponds to the picture, you really have something. At Nickerson I got up close and personal with Cliff Pond and Little Cliff Pond, and did the same with Blackwater Pond at Beech Forest (both woodlands contain additional ponds, but I gazed at only three). Those lovely waters, in combination with the trees surrounding them, put me, who leans toward the tense side of the spectrum, at ease, for ponds and trees are a perfect match, gentle with one another and zen-like in the aura they project.

And that’s not all the scenes did. The longer I took them in, the more my inner smile widened and the more I went weak in the knees, because, to me, tree-rimmed ponds rank at the top of Nature’s cute and adorable scale. So, I became totally smitten, a state of affairs I wholly embrace, and which doesn’t happen to me often enough. Any way you look at it, I was fortunate to be at those sites.

Beech Forest’s Blackwater Pond (Provincetown, Cape Cod)

Over the years, Sandy and I have passed way more time on Cape Cod’s beaches, admiring the Atlantic Ocean, Cape Cod Bay and Nantucket Sound, than we have at any of its other natural spots. The Atlantic coastline, raw and almost entirely undeveloped, is, in fact, my favorite aspect of Cape Cod. But, ponds within woods are special too. Very special. A trip to Cape Cod without visiting any of them is incomplete.

Spectacles!

Yeah, Another Blogger154 Comments

I’m not sure when the Northern Lights captured my imagination. Maybe when I was in my 30s. Whatever the case, for a hell of a long time I’ve wanted to see them up close and personal, not just on YouTube videos or on television documentaries. They (and their counterpart, the Southern Lights) can be spectacles of the highest order, as we all know. However, to satisfy this craving I’d have to head to Alaska, Iceland or the like in late autumn or in winter, which is when the light displays generally are at their best. Most likely, that would entail enduring ass-numbing temperatures, something I once would have been okay with but am not at all keen on anymore. So, I have a feeling the craving will go unfulfilled.

Cape Cod, Massachusetts (October 2023)

Well, I can live with that. But I sure wouldn’t want my life to be spectacle-less. Over the last 30 or thereabouts years, I’ve developed a powerful need to be thrilled and awed on a somewhat regular basis by one spectacle or another. By sunsets, for instance, many of which I’ve witnessed during that span. Man, good sunsets are jaw-droppers, right? They are so inspiring and beautiful, you can hardly believe they are real. The same goes, of course, for sunrises. But not many of them have unfolded before my eyes, as I am not a fan of dragging my previously referred-to ass out of the house at ungodly early hours.

Cape Cod, Massachusetts (October 2021)

And I can’t get enough of energized ocean waters, either. Watching and listening to waves develop and roll to shore puts me in a hypnotic sort of state. I engage in this activity frequently on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, where my wife Sandy and I have vacationed almost annually since 1998. I purposely overdose on it, in fact, since our permanent home, in Pennsylvania, is nowhere near the ocean. By doing so, the magic of the Cape’s ocean waters stays with me for several months after I’m back home.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (January 1, 2020)

Not every spectacle that rings my bell mightily is Nature-made, though. I’m into fireworks, which, when superior, are a fairly good rival, I suppose, to the Northern and Southern Lights. And in recent years I’ve enjoyed the Philadelphia Flower Show, a famed annual event that, out of ignorance, I pooh-poohed for decades before mending my ways.

Now, I’m not a gardener in any meaningful sense. Sandy and I own a home whose grounds I try to maintain halfway decently. Meaning, I mow, rake and prune — rudimentary tasks — to the best of my limited abilities. But I don’t plant or transplant flora, or nurture them in any way. That’s why I paid no attention whatsoever to the Philadelphia Flower Show (PFS) until 2016, when Sandy and I, kind of just for the heck of it, decided to give the production a whirl. It hooked me immediately, not because I found myself inspired to create flower beds at home or to learn the ins and outs of horticulture, but because it was spectacular. Imaginative installations and wide palettes of colors abounded. I’m proud to say I’ve returned to the flower show five times since my inaugural visit.

Philadelphia Flower Show (March 2025)

Though not quite as swell as some previous years’ extravaganzas, PFS’s 2025 version, held in a cavernous convention center in downtown Philadelphia, damn well was plenty good enough. Sandy and I visited the multi-day event two weeks ago, exploring the display areas for two hours, at which point we ran out of gas.

Philadelphia Flower Show (March 2025)
Philadelphia Flower Show (March 2025)

As always, I happily succumbed to the bright colors — of flowers, light installations and other design elements — that filled the hall. They got my juices flowing. And the PFS environment was a welcoming one, too, for, as had been the case on our previous visits, the show attracted a broad spectrum of people. Young and old. Black and white. Mobile and disabled. It felt good to be part of an inclusive community. Inclusion is where it’s at.

More spectacles are on the horizon this year. Flowering trees, magnolias initially, I think, probably will begin to bloom in my area in early April, possibly before then. Is there anyone who doesn’t like their enormous masses of blossoms? Also during spring, Sandy and I will return to Cape Cod. There, ocean waters and unobstructed sunsets, among other natural delights, will be on view. I can barely wait to soak all of this in.

Watery Pix Of The Cape

Yeah, Another Blogger161 Comments

During the 11 full days my wife Sandy and I were on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, last month, my right index finger was busier than it normally is. For it is the digit I usually employ to tap the big button on my phone’s camera when I notice a scene I want to immortalize. I snapped 137 photos during that period, which averages out to about 12 per day. That’s a substantial amount of picture-taking, an activity I enjoy. And I thank the stars above for making digital photography, via camera phones, so very easy and so very convenient. If it weren’t, I probably would say f*ck this, and then look for another hobby. Yours truly, you see, likes things to be as simple and problem-free as possible. But enough about that proclivity. Let’s now spend a few minutes with some of my pix from the Cape. All of them are water-based.

I’m not surprised that water features prominently in a significantly high number of the 137 photos, because it was on Cape Cod, which Sandy and I have visited almost annually since 1998, that I fell in love with water. Open, endless waters particularly, and ponds too. I don’t know why this love affair blossomed when I was in my 50s, rather than much earlier in my life, as I spent plenty of time at ponds and lakes and the Atlantic Ocean during my younger days. But people — a category I’m fairly sure I’m a member of — sometimes evolve.

Cape Cod is the area shaped like a flexed arm. The land mass above Buzzard’s Bay is not part of Cape Cod.

Four bodies of water surround Cape Cod. I don’t know squat about one of them, Buzzard’s Bay, because it’s too damn far from where Sandy and I stay on the Cape. On the other hand, I am real good pals with the other three: the Atlantic Ocean, Cape Cod Bay and Nantucket Sound. They are majestic. As many times as I’ve stared out at them, I’ve never tired of their looks and auras. They make my jaw drop even farther than old age already has. If I had to choose a favorite among the three, the Atlantic would get my vote. It’s beyond mega-huge, and one never knows what temperament it will display on any given day.

Mill Pond (Orleans, Cape Cod)
Atlantic Ocean, as seen from Nauset Beach (Orleans, Cape Cod)

I’m continually amazed that our rented house, in Orleans township, is deliciously close to the ocean. A 15-minute walk will take you there. And what a walk! From the house, which is nestled in a wooded area, you stroll two blocks to luscious Mill Pond and then head eastward along Mill Pond’s marsh-grassed edges. Soon you reach low dunes, beyond which lie Nauset Beach and the big fella himself. The Atlantic. Sandy and I trod this route at the very tail end of our trip in October. We were not disappointed. Natural beauty bathed us every step of the way. The ocean was fairly calm that day. We took our time watching it, listening to it, letting the waters soothe our minds. Then we bid farewell to our friend, whom we hope to meet again next year.

During the first few years we vacationed on Cape Cod, Paine’s Creek Beach (in Brewster township) was our favorite vantage point from which to imbibe, figuratively speaking, Cape Cod Bay. Subsequently, we discovered other Cape Cod Bay beaches with exceptional views. But Paine’s Creek Beach remains high on the list.

Cape Cod Bay, as seen from Paine’s Creek Beach (Brewster, Cape Cod)

The scenes at Paine’s Creek Beach last month made us question why we haven’t moved to Cape Cod. The sea grasses poking out of the waters were showing off their autumnal amber hue. And the waters themselves were a dream, as calm and gorgeously blue as anyone could want. There is nothing even remotely close in beauty to Cape Cod Bay in the region we call home (southeast Pennsylvania). Unfortunately.

For one reason or another, we don’t feast our eyes on Nantucket Sound as often as we do on the ocean and Cape Cod Bay. However, I’d been impressed by Chatham township’s Hardings Beach, bordering Nantucket Sound, a bunch of times over the years. And so, after catching a movie (“Saturday Night,” which is super-entertaining) at the cinema in Chatham’s village section, we drove to Hardings Beach to watch a sunset.

A sunset at Nantucket Sound, as seen from Hardings Beach (Chatham, Cape Cod)

Though not a knock-your-socks-off spectacle, the feathery, misty sunset was way better than meh. And, as always, Nantucket Sound captivated us. Massive bodies of water have that kind of power. For two and half decades I’ve been losing myself in the Atlantic Ocean, Cape Cod Bay and Nantucket Sound. I doubt if I’ll ever get my fill of them.

It’s My Kind Of Place (A Cape Cod Story)

Yeah, Another Blogger157 Comments

Not knowing what to expect, my spouse Sandy and I first visited Cape Cod, Massachusetts, in 1998. We enjoyed the experience enough to return one year later. That second sojourn sealed the deal, and we have vacationed there just about every year since then. We can’t get enough of the Cape’s expansive areas of natural beauty, its arts scene, its wide choice of restaurants, its delightful old villages, and the healthy vibes that permeate the air. By now we’ve spent, I estimate, more than one year’s-worth of days on this 65-mile-long island. We think of it as our second home and in some ways prefer it to our primary home in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. We’d possibly move there for keeps if healthcare were as good, or almost as good, on Cape Cod as it is in Greater Philadelphia. But it isn’t.

Last month Sandy and I were Cape-side for 11 days, in a rented house in the township of Orleans. As usual, we were far more active than we are back home in the burbs, devoting about eight hours each day to this, that and the other things. Such as: beach walks; a forest walk; visits to museums and art galleries; moviegoing; theatergoing; chowing-down in restaurants; shopping in and wandering around villages. We played mini golf too, and flew our tattered kite on a stretch of sands beside the Atlantic Ocean. I like playing with our kite, even when the f*cker refuses to stay up in the air for more than two or three minutes at a time, which was the case that day.

One section of Cape Cod always has intrigued me more than any other: the desert on the ocean side of Provincetown and neighboring Truro, the townships comprising the Cape’s farthest reaches. It’s hard to believe that this rugged territory is within walking distance of Provincetown’s famed and cool-as-can-be village. The Cape is full of surprises.

I’d hiked in the wonderland any number of times before, including last year. No way was I not going to explore it again. Not in the mood to risk getting lost in desert sections I was unfamiliar with, I decided to walk to the Atlantic Ocean, sticking to the established sand trail that leads there. (Sandy didn’t join me. She has been in dunesland only once. She found the trek to be too physically demanding, and has no plans to revisit this desert.)

The steep sand hill, near Snail Road, that one must climb to reach open sands.

The access to the trail in question is via a wooded area that abuts Snail Road, in Provincetown.  A ridiculously steep dune partly lies within this wood, and up it one must go in order to reach open sands. In the past I’d had little trouble ascending the dune. Last month, however, I began to huff and puff well before reaching its crest, my thigh and calf muscles not performing as well as I’d expected. What can you say? I was four days shy of my 77th birthday. I sure as shit am not what I used to be, and apparently wasn’t even what I’d been one year prior.

Anyway, after conquering dune number one, I set off for the ocean, about one mile away. The trail, easy to follow because of thousands of footprints in the sands, goes up and down dune upon dune before reaching level ground, after which dunes emerge again. Some of those sand hills are incredibly wide and tall. They’d fit right in on the Moon.

I’ve never been less than awestruck in the Cape desert. This time was no exception. It’s so beautiful out there, so unlike anywhere else on Cape Cod. Amazingly, a tiny number of people live in this demanding land, most of them in shacks, the rest in very modest houses. The abodes have no running water, of course. Maybe some have electric generators . . . I don’t know. In any event, it’s not your average person who chooses to reside in such an environment. I wouldn’t. I like my comforts too much.

The Atlantic Ocean is very nearby. Two dune shacks are in the distance.

Well, eventually I made it to the ocean. Almost to the ocean, that is, as I saw no path leading from my sand-cliff perch to the beach and waters below. Some years ago I’d walked onto the beach easily. Not sure why access is difficult now. I suppose that powerful storms have shifted the sands around, creating barriers. Mother Nature has the last say.

My tank dangerously low on gas, I eventually made my way back to Snail Road, stopping every few minutes to drink some water. It’s a good thing I’d had the sense to bring water with me. Otherwise, I might have collapsed somewhere in the lunar-like landscape and drifted off into eternal sleep. If that had happened, the WordPress gods would have been very disappointed, for they’d recently honored me with their Your Articles Kind Of Suck, But We’ll Let That Slide award. What’s more, I now wouldn’t be looking forward to my next vacation on Cape Cod. Yes indeed, it’s my kind of place.

Good Friends, A Fine Beach Day, A Rockin’ Song

Yeah, Another Blogger148 Comments

Up until a few weeks ago, the state of Delaware, which shares a border with my home state of Pennsylvania, was foreign territory to me. Even though Delaware is not terribly far from Pennsylvania, where I live, I’d never spent any time in Delaware whatsoever, except to pass through it on visits to Washington D.C., my nation’s capital.

That changed, all to the good, when my wife Sandy and I spent three mid-August days with two good friends of ours, a married couple who own a house in Rehobeth Beach, Delaware. They fed us well, showed us around their town and neighboring areas, and had us bunk down in their guest bedroom, among other acts of kindness. Good friends make life better, right? Just about everyone needs love and companionship, after all. And if there’s anything I’ve learned over the years, it’s that there’s no such thing as having too many good friends. The more, the merrier.

Rehobeth Beach, I discovered, not only is the name of a town, it also is the name of a stretch of sands within said town’s borders. That beach, about one mile in length and backed by a boardwalk, is kissed every moment of the day by the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. On day two of our visit the skies were clear, the winds were mild, and the mid-day temperatures, though we were in the middle of summer, were far lower than normal. Perfect conditions for a beach encounter. So, to the beach the four of us headed.

We soon were sitting on comfortable beach chairs beneath a huge blue umbrella. Umbrellas abounded on Rehobeth Beach, as did the humans who employed them. A selfish f*cker, I prefer to have beaches more or less all to myself, which is often the case on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, where Sandy and I vacation in the off-season nearly every year. You know what, though? I didn’t mind the crowds that day at all. In fact, I grooved on the Rehobeth experience right from the get-go. What was there not to like? I was in fine company, the weather was kind, and a fair number of cute girls were in view. What’s more, Rehobeth brought back nice memories of forever-ago summer days when lying, and sometimes frolicking, on crowded beaches, while slathered with tanning lotion in the hopes of becoming a bronze god, were de rigueur for me.

Sad to say, I didn’t become a bronze god back then, and I sure as hell am not one now. What I am is pale and wrinkled and barely suitable to be seen in public. Nonetheless, those realities didn’t stop me from rising from my chair on two occasions to set off on 40-minute walks on Rehobeth Beach. A boy sometimes has got to stretch his legs and take in the sights.

During the hikes I saw scads of folks standing or splashing around in the ocean. I watched a few kids burying two of their peers up to their necks in sand, and gazed at a prop plane flying by lazily. It dragged a banner that promoted, of all things, Pennsylvania tourism. And at a far end of the beach, a section that people hadn’t congregated on, a flock of seagulls was impossible to miss. The birds stood almost motionless, but ready, undoubtedly, to pounce on something tasty when they deemed the prospects to be favorable.

All in all, the beach day pleased me just fine. As did the entire mini vacation. Delaware, I still barely know you, but I’m glad to have made your acquaintance.

Seeing that writing this essay has put me in an upbeat mood, I have decided to raise the good-vibes quotient by including a tune I heard the other day. It’s by a young, pretty popular British rock band, The Heavy Heavy. The song is titled Happiness, and it’s from One Of A Kind, which is the group’s brand-new album.

Man, if you’re a lover of the type of rock and roll defined by potent guitar riffs, pounding drums and ecstatic vocals, then Happiness is for you. Ironically, though, the song’s lyrics aren’t all that joyful. But I think The Heavy Heavy, by virtue of the rousing sounds to which the lyrics are put, are implying that a nice amount of happiness is within the band’s reach. Without further ado, here’s Happiness:

Two Sunsets That Brought Me Up Short

Yeah, Another Blogger136 Comments

I’ve mentioned this several times before on this publication’s pages, and I’ll say it again: Smartphone cameras are perfect for those who enjoy documenting the world around them but can’t be bothered with cameras that have all sorts of settings requiring adjustment. They also are perfect for those who would be up shit’s creek trying to figure out how to use such cameras. I am a member of both categories.

Not surprisingly, then, I began snapping away pretty regularly soon after obtaining my first smartphone in late 2015. All you need to do is aim, touch the screen briefly here and there to adjust for distance and brightness if you so desire, and then press the big button. Voila! Mission accomplished. Easy as f*cking pie.

I’ve put hundreds of the photos I’ve taken to good use, placing them in Yeah, Another Blogger stories. And a fair number of those hundreds are sunset scenes, nearly all of them drawn from vacations my wife Sandy and I have enjoyed on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, USA.

Well, despite the fact that cyberspace currently contains several trillion sunset images, I’m never the least bit reluctant to add more of them to the unimaginable glut. I mean, it’s not as though somebody is going to sue me if I do. Right? On second thought, I damn well could be wrong about that. Whatever, I’m willing to take my chances. Away we go!

Cape Cod sunsets, when viewed from Cape Cod Bay, are magnificent when the atmospheric conditions are favorable, for there are no obstructions to hinder your view. Obstructions, however, are a given just about everywhere in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, which is where I reside, and in Philadelphia itself. I haven’t been to Cape Cod or anywhere else with wide-open, west-facing views so far this year. Nevertheless, two sunsets in my region brought me up short.

Jenkintown, Pennsylvania (July 2024)

In July one evening, walking to our car after eating and drinking in a pub in the village of Jenkintown, which is a few miles from our suburban town, I asked Sandy to stop for a moment, as I’d just noticed a pale orange tinge to the mostly hidden lower sky. The hue looked absolutely fine in the disappearing daylight, set off as it was by houses, overhead utility wires, parked cars, foliage and scattered clouds.

And so, confronted with a view I deemed worth remembering, I yanked my iPhone out of my pants pocket. Ten seconds later the deed was done. The photo is one of my favorites among the many I’ve taken to-date in 2024. There’s a sense of peace and stability in it. But wait . . . somewhere off in the distance I can hear my doctor talking to me: “Neil, you’re old as dirt, unfortunately,” he’s saying. “If you have any sense left at all, you’ll stare at this photo a lot. Doing so will lower your blood pressure and might extend your life a little bit.”

Thanks, Doc. Will do!

Fishtown section of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
(August 2024)

And in late August I became indebted to the phone once again. On the way back to our car after dining in Philadelphia’s Fishtown neighborhood, a small section of a sunset, smiling coyly, presented itself to me and Sandy on Jefferson Street.  Overall, the scene was denser and more complicated than its Jenkintown counterpart. There was more going on than I could comfortably absorb and process.

My iPhone came to the rescue, taking in the entire display and freezing it at 7:56 pm. The resultant photo pretty much blows my mind. It’s an exhilarating jumble of shapes and lighting effects. Every time I examine this picture I notice something I hadn’t before. I love it. Hold on a second, though . . .  my doctor is speaking to me again: “Neil, the Philadelphia photo is an absolute blood pressure raiser. It’s too intense for a geezer like you. Stop staring at it!”

Sorry, Doc. No can do!

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise

Yeah, Another Blogger149 Comments

Many incidents surprised me while my wife Sandy and I vacationed last month on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, USA. But only three of them pleaded with me to write about them. I’m a softie, so I couldn’t say no. Away we go!

Surprise #1:

Cyberspace is glutted beyond belief with photos of sunsets. Is there room for more? Damn straight! And there always will be. The gods overseeing the internet have seen to that. I took this article’s sunset photo in Truro, a rural section of Cape Cod. Sandy and I were strolling along Corn Hill Beach, which borders Cape Cod Bay, as light was fading from the skies. Sunset aficionados, we were there mainly to view the big event. As gorgeous as the beach and the overall setting were, though, I was a bit disappointed, because the sunset’s opening stages weren’t even so-so. Masses of grey clouds were making it impossible for anything impressive to be displayed.

Or so I thought! Man, all of a sudden, as the Sun hit the horizon, the less-dense clouds in the western sky became electrified, exploding in brilliant orange hues. The bay waters joined in on the orange-heavy festivities. Sandy and I could hardly believe our eyes. Damn well awestruck, we agreed we’d never seen a sunset develop as this one had. Life’s a mystery, is it not? You never know what might occur. That early evening, we were in the right place at the right time.

Surprise #2:

Later that week we spent a few hours in Provincetown village, at the tippy tip of Cape Cod. It’s a charming, funky old town, a home to the arts, and once was a major commercial-fishing center. Some amount of commercial fishing still goes on there, but Ptown, for decades, has been better known for its large LGBTQ community than for anything else.

During the visit we examined the artworks in a bunch of galleries on Commercial Street, popped into a couple of other stores, and then had dinner at Ciro & Sal’s, a terrific Italian restaurant. Ten seconds after exiting the eatery, Sandy and I unexpectedly were brought to a halt by a powerful, palpable presence. We looked up . . .  and there it was: the Moon, big and bright, flirting with nearby clouds and casting a spell on darkened Commercial Street.

As with the Corn Hill Beach sunset, I was amazed by what I saw. I hadn’t paid much attention to the Moon in a long time. Nor to the stars or any other objects in the night sky, for that matter. And it’s not as if I’m rarely outside at night. But once in a while the beauty of the blackened heavens makes itself apparent to me. I saluted the Moon. Then I took its portrait. The photo is one of my favorites of the pix I snapped on Cape Cod.

And now for the third surprise:

In my younger days I puffed away somewhat regularly on marijuana and hashish. The highs they induced often were exemplary. But I gave up the habit in the 1980s, after about 15 years of indulgence, out of concern for my lungs.

However, for some years I’ve been wondering if I should give cannabis a try once again. In Pennsylvania, though, where I reside, you can’t purchase for-recreational-use cannabis legally.

But . . . during the Cape Cod trip I had a casual conversation with a guy working in a theater where Sandy and I were about to see a play. Our talk turned to marijuana, and he told me cannabis is sold legally, in a variety of forms, by authorized stores in Massachusetts. “You mean, anybody can go into one of those places and buy it?” I asked. He answered in the affirmative.

Say what? How was it possible I hadn’t known about this? Well, a week later Sandy and I made a trip to The Piping Plover, the Cape Cod cannabis shop that the theater worker had told me is his favorite. There, after discussing my high-times history with the lady behind the counter, and telling her I wasn’t interested in inhaling smoke these days, I purchased the product she recommended: Camino cannabis-infused edible gummies.

I haven’t popped one of those bad boys into my mouth yet. I’m a bit apprehensive, you see. But I will soon. Very soon. And when I do, I’ll put on some mind-expanding music, lean back on the living room sofa, and go on what, hopefully, will be a delightful journey through the spaceways. I’ve always been an oh wow-oriented kind of person to a fair degree. And the time seems right for me to increase that oh wow factor, via cannabis, as I did during my glory days many moons ago.

A Foggy Afternoon At The Beach (A Cape Cod Story)

Yeah, Another Blogger140 Comments

Well, the time has arrived for me to add yet another story about Cape Cod to this publication’s contents. And why not? Cape Cod is one of my happy places, as it is for my wife Sandy. We’ve vacationed on the Cape nearly every year since 1998. We feel at home there, at peace. We never get tired of it.

Sixty-five miles in length and surrounded by endless waters on three sides, hook-shaped Cape Cod lies within the boundaries of the state of Massachusetts, USA. The Cape has a lot going for it, such as natural beauty, a good arts scene, and slews of restaurants. Sandy and I are into all of that, in spades. Thus, as usual, we had a fine time and were active as can be during our just-ended two-and-a-half-week stay. If I were to write an account of all we did, this essay would go on for 10,000 more words. The hell with that. So, as is my wont, I’ll keep things on the concise side.

For me, the one aspect of Cape Cod that stands out above the others is its Atlantic Ocean coastline, which runs north and south for about 40 miles on the Cape’s eastern border. Man, it is breathtaking. And, importantly, is undeveloped. There are no commercial enterprises or boardwalks directly on the Cape’s Atlantic coast. Unadulterated beach, sand dunes, ocean and sky are what you get. And, in a long section, massive sand cliffs too. The sand cliffs astound me. They sit at the back of the beach, eroding and receding slowly year after year due to the punishment delivered by ocean storms, yet remaining defiant. They stare straight ahead stoically, their grit undeniable.

Late afternoon two Fridays ago, my better half and I found ourselves on Marconi Beach, a spectacular stretch of the ocean coast in the township of Wellfleet. Talk about cliffs! Marconi’s are enormous, possibly taller than their siblings elsewhere on the Cape’s Atlantic beaches. By my estimation they are roughly 100 feet in height. Walking along Marconi’s sands while gazing at the cliffs is a humbling experience.

What made this particular walk extra special, however, was not the cliffs. They are a given. No, it was dense fog, whose presence surprised the heck out of me. The rocking and rolling ocean, noisy as a crowded tavern, was heavily obscured. Swaths of vapors hugged the cliffs. I love walking the Cape’s beaches when the Sun is shining, the skies are blue and all seems well with the world. But I dug Marconi Beach no end that foggy afternoon. Variety damn well is the spice of life.

Sandy and I were pretty well bundled up at Marconi, as the temperature was not exactly warm. And the beach was uncrowded, just the way I like it. We saw only 25 or thereabouts individuals while we were there.

Two of our fellow beach visitors blew my mind: teenage girls frolicking in the surf. Holy shit, the waters were rough! I worried for the lasses. But they must have been experienced at this kind of thing, and clearly were having the times of their lives. Here’s the amazing part: The girls were as naked as when they were born, having left their clothes hanging on one of the many sculptures (human-made assemblages of driftwood) that graced the sands.

I toyed with the idea of snapping a picture of the young ladies, from a distance of course. But the possibility of them noticing me, then chasing after me, then catching me and beating the crap out of me, wasn’t appealing. Anyway, I’m an old man, not a dirty old man. I think.

Getting back to driftwood sculptures: I saw plenty of them on one beach or another during our Cape vacation. Marconi Beach contained an unusually large number. Do people have an innate urge at beaches to make arrangements of pieces of wood? I know that I do at times. I did just that once or twice while on the Cape this trip. Not at Marconi, though, despite driftwood abounding there. I guess I had other things on my mind. The fog, for one. And maybe the unclothed girls!

(The photos are from Marconi Beach)

Two Sunsets By The Bay

Yeah, Another Blogger130 Comments

It’s not as if there haven’t been enough sunset stories published over the years. Shit, their numbers probably run in the tens of millions. Nevertheless, I’m unashamedly adding to the mega-glut right now. And why not? Sunsets can be spellbinding. We watch primo ones quietly, maybe even reverentially, giving them the respect that they deserve.

From my experience, clouds, more than anything, are what make or break sunsets. Our friend the Sun, when setting, needs clouds to absorb, reflect and refract its light. To make things interesting, in other words. But not too many clouds, as the Sun ain’t got a chance when sheets of clouds abound. As for cloudless skies, well, they are canvases upon which sunsets do not rise above the meh level. When the white-hot fire ball heads downward on a cloudless day, the color and pattern possibilities for the upcoming sunset are limited.

And then there’s location. Needless to say, it counts for plenty when it comes to sunsets. If you’re in the middle of Manhattan, for instance, where tall buildings thrive, you are barely going to be able to see sunsets, whatever their quality, let alone appreciate them. On the other hand, if Cape Cod Bay is nearby, as it was recently for me and my wife Sandy, you’re f*cking golden.

Cape Cod Bay, enormous and fed by the Atlantic Ocean, abuts the northern coast of Cape Cod, a lengthy peninsula that’s part of Massachusetts, USA. We were on the Cape, vacationing our asses off, for a two-and-a-half week stretch that ran from mid-October to early November. During the trip, among a host of activities, we walked and hung out on four of the numerous public beaches along the bay. Over the years we’ve been on quite a few of the Cape’s other bayside beaches too, and have yet to be disappointed. The sands are clean, and masses of seagrasses are plentiful in many sections close to shore. And the waters themselves are inspiring, partly because of their vastness. Staring out at the bay, to me, sometimes seems like staring into infinity.

Our vantage point for the first of the two great sunsets we saw on the Cape this year was First Encounter Beach, in the township of Eastham. It’s one of my favorite Cape Cod Bay beaches, possibly my top pick, though the competition is stiff. There we were on a comfortable mid-afternoon, admiring our kite as it did its carefree thing way overhead. The bay’s waters had receded profoundly, leaving many acres of mudflats in their wake. Great beauty surrounded us, and we knew it.

First Encounter Beach (Eastham, Cape Cod)
First Encounter Beach (Eastham, Cape Cod)

After reeling in the kite, we took a stroll upon the sands. Then we made our way back to our car, contemplating dinner. But it wasn’t dinnertime just yet, and sunset was scheduled to take place in about 20 minutes. So, we decided to stay, a wise decision, for we soon witnessed a sunset that we are unlikely to forget. At its beginning, and made possible by well-positioned clouds, bands and assorted streaks of oranges, golds and greys filled the western sky’s lower regions prodigiously. The greys took a back seat after a while, allowing the brighter colors to go wild. The darkening sky, at that point, was absolutely aflame. What a sight!

The second excellent sunset arrived a week and a half later at the bayside swath of territory known as Corn Hill Beach. It’s located in the township of Truro, which is far out on the Cape and, unlike Cape Cod’s 14 other townships, totally rural.

I’ve been a big fan of Corn Hill Beach since discovering it around 15 years ago. Like First Encounter Beach, it faces due west, perfect for sunset-watching. What’s more, the views from Corn Hill Beach, when you look seaward, are wide and unobstructed. A wonderful place.

Corn Hill Beach (Truro, Cape Cod)
Corn Hill Beach (Truro, Cape Cod)

Both Sandy and I agree that, as far as we can remember, we’ve never seen a sunset such as the one at Corn Hill Beach. The sunset appeared to be foggy and misty, despite the fact that nowhere else, in any direction, was fog or mist visible. Light on its feet, the sunset was the ideal partner for the bay waters moving gently beneath it.

We absorbed the sunset and its surroundings for 20 minutes, then returned, a bit downcast, to Corn Hill Beach’s parking lot. For we were fully aware of what we’d be losing soon. The natural world in all its glory is readily available on Cape Cod. Alas, back home in the grossly overdeveloped suburbs of Philadelphia, where we’d be in 48 hours, such is not even remotely the case.