For all the years I was away from Provincetown, one vision came to me whenever I thought of the place. No doubt everyone leaves here with memories and impressions, each unique to that person. For me, it’s a windless, fog-bound night, and I am standing on Commercial St, in front of White Wind Guest House at the corner of Winthrop St. I have no idea why my vision is always in this location. Nothing in particular ever happened to me there, while plenty happened in many other places around town. Still, it’s always the same, and there is always the fog horn. The soft call floats over the harbor to me through the cottony air, and I can feel the healing peace of Provincetown, even when I’m far away.  I don’t leave here so much anymore, and many foggy nights have found me listening for that soothing voice as I stand cloaked in damp night air, looking up at the halo around a blurry moon. To be able to do this until the end of my life is one of my most worthy goals, I think

Keys.

My nemesis.

My cross to bear.

The bane of my existence.

This may seem excessive, unless you are my wife, Betty. If you were, you’d know all about my private war with the little metal slivers. Poor Betty has been witness to more than a few key-related tantrums. I appreciate her fortitude. I don’t know why I’m so key-challanged. Probably some hideous childhood experience I’ve completely blocked out. Maybe it’s some kind of subconscious rebellion against locks and all they represent: distrust, exclusion, the need to protect. In my perfect world there would be no locks. No need for them. If we had no locks, we’d need no keys, ergo, we’d have nothing to lose, nothing to inspire crazy, frantic searching. No handbag would require dumping upside down on a rainy doorstep, nothing for demon holes in pockets to gobble into linings.

But, NOT!. In fact, there are more locks now than ever, when you consider those hateful passwords. Let’s not even go there.

I’ve tried everything to solve this. I keep my keys in only one place, I think I’m very careful about this, but sometimes I’m not, and they wind up somewhere ridiculous. And I wasn’t kidding about the handbag. I can stand there and go carefully through every pocket in the thing, not finding the keys, and then suddenly there they are, in the first place I looked. Mocking me. G-r-r!

For a while I had a keyless car. What a luxury! As long as I had the fob in my bag, the car would start at the touch of a button. It also unlocked itself upon my approach. Genius! Why aren’t they all like that? I’m lucky to live in a town where locking one’s car is the exception to the rule. At the risk of sounding like the old fart I seem to have become, I remember when we never locked our doors here, never mind the car, unless we were going away, or “off-Cape”. Now I lock my door whenever I leave the house, carefully putting my house keys in their own special pocket in my bag, confident they won’t be there when I look for them upon my return. Right now, in fact, I’m preparing to go out to the supermarket. After I locate my keys, that is.

TAXES

On 15 April, every year,

Most among us wipe a tear

As into Federal coffers seep

The meager coin we hoped to keep.

One third of every working day,

Our efforts will support and pay

For programs, arms or just because

It’s Washington. That’s what one does!

   It’s hard to write about taxes when I sort of agree we have to pay them. I realize it’s a necessary evil, and a rather small pill to swallow in return for the privilege of living in the good old USA…a small, bitter pill, nonetheless. Most of my life I worked in service jobs, starting with waitress (we called them that in those days.) in a coffeehouse to bartender, a job that definitely looked more glamorous than it is. I never made much more than minimum wage, (not counting tips, which we didn’t, in those days.) I also worked in show business, and did okay there, and that’s where I first became acquainted with our tax process. In show biz, you’re pretty much working for yourself, so you have to see to it you’re paying your quarterly taxes. Please believe me. I learned this the hard way, so I know.

   “Pretend it’s not your money,” a helpful friend advised. “Take one-third of whatever you earn and put it in a savings account. Pay your taxes out of that. Anything left over, you get to keep.”

   Great advice. By the time I took it, I owed $1500 to the Feds, (a gigantic sum, in those days.) That’s when I discovered the best people to owe money to are the good old IRS.  You can make almost any deal with them and as long as you send the money each month, even if it’s only $5 or $10, they’ll leave you alone. Eventually, I got it paid, and I never did that again.

   Now I’m “retired”, whatever that means. For me it means no more real estate, and no more property management, a job I’m delighted to turn over to my son, Duff. I haven’t stopped working, tho’, and I still pay taxes. I just mailed the checks off yesterday. It’s a strange feeling. I feel bad having to pay them and good about doing it, all at the same time. At least I know I’ve done my part to keep the lights on in Washington.

Looking Back

  I knew, getting on the bus that morning in Provincetown, that it was the last time I would be making the trip to Philadelphia to visit my brother Rob. As I took my seat and watched the Cape Cod dawn along Route 6A, I searched for ways the trip was different this time, because for me, it was the most important of all the travels to see him. I expected to see things differently or feel the cold more or something, but my journey commenced in the same way it always did: waiting in the car in the dark before dawn, watching the bus driver drive up in his car and come over and unlock the bus, saying goodbye to Betty, boarding, paying my fare, taking a seat, etc. It was all as it had always been, for all the years I’d done it, except this time would be the last, because Rob was dying.

  I never know how to feel about death. I’m close to seventy years old, so death is no stranger to me, but each time someone I love dies, I never know how to act, or what’s expected of me. Now it was my brother, my only full-blooded sibling, the partner of my youth in the war against our parents. I had never lived without him. What to do? His was a death we both knew was coming, and we were not afraid to face it in our conversations after he was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. We talked about how he felt, and what he wanted done, both before and after, and prided ourselves on being adult, enlightened souls who were not afraid of what we both knew was coming. He even allowed as how he’d had a pretty great life, in spite of the “messy ending.” (His words.) We had it all figured out. Except that wasn’t the way it was, in the end. All the way down on the bus and train, I had worked to wrap my mind around the fact that I was going there to be with my brother while he died. I kept thinking “this time is different.” I got scared, because I didn’t know what to expect, but as things unfolded, there was nothing to be scared of. When I got to his apartment, he was nearly comatose, though he mumbled a small hello when I took his hand and told him I was there. He wanted to die at home, and so he would, but that wasn’t as simple as we thought. I asked for a hospital bed, and we got one and set it up in the dining room, after moving the furniture. Everyone helped, and there were four of us, so we got it done quickly, grateful for something to do, but then we had the problem of how to move him. Luckily, my cousin is engaged to a Philadelphia EMT supervisor, and he arrived and took over the logistics. Then we all sat down around the bed, me on one side, our friend Daniel at the head, John, Rob’s partner, held his other hand and John’s sister Wendy was at the foot of the bed. My cousin Meg sat next to me. We played some music Rob liked, and all of us kept talking to him. I remember for some reason I began to count his breaths, thinking if he got to 100, he might be okay for a while, but at 54 there was a long space without breath, and then only two more and he was still. We all just sat there in silence for about a minute, and then I remembered all the stories about people floating above the scene when they died, so I made us all look up and wave. Then I opened the window and he flew away.

The Other Side

Tuesday, 2/24

Greetings from the other side of disaster! That is, I hope it’s the other side. What if it’s only half way through and I’m stuck in the middle of it? No, that cannot be. I mean, yes, the pipes froze and then burst and yes, my workshop needs a new ceiling, and Betty’s bathroom is missing a wall, so that’s it, right? All over now. Has to be.

It wasn’t easy to go through, but misery does indeed love company. We weren’t the worst off in town by a long shot. Whole houses were frozen, guesthouses were damaged and restaurants affected. The plumbers who came to fix our problem told horror stories that widened my perspective and made me feel like we are all trapped in a Stephen King novel.

Wednesday, 2/25

The snow that fell last night would have been considered a good amount in the old world, the world BTB (Before The Blizzards). Instead, everyone was talking about how “light and fluffy” it is, nothing to worry about. Perspectives certainly change, don’t they? Still, the new snow does improve the scenery. The old stuff was getting pretty grungy.  Danielle Niles, on Channel 4, says we’ll get more tomorrow. I don’t usually watch her because she says “P-town”, but I’m so desperate for a good forecast I’ll watch anybody in my quest for a snowless future. Not only did she say the “P”word four times, she said we’re having more snow. At this rate we’ll be skiing on the dunes in our tankinis!

The good news is, Tuesday night was supposed to have been the lowest temperature since 1898 here in Provincetown, and we didn’t have frozen pipes! So, I guess we really are on the other side of disaster. Maybe. 

WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY?

What an exciting day! I was making coffee this morning and out my kitchen window I saw the largest fox I have ever seen. He was in the driveway checking out the birdseed Betty puts out, but I guess he didn’t like it, because he trotted off to the next yard, where we got to watch for about 20 minutes while he dug a deep hole in the snow there.  He seemed to be playing. He’d dig for a little bit and then come out of the hole and jump straight up in the air a few times, and then go back into the hole and dig some more. My friend Tony says he was hunting mice under the snow.  What a treat to see him so relaxed. He had no idea he was being watched, and so acted very much at ease.  Finally, he just trotted off, maybe to try mouse hunting somewhere else. Thank the Goddess for our wildlife! I’m so blessed to live in a place where I can watch!

They had gorgeous asparagus at the Stop & Shop yesterday, so I got some and made the following pasta dish:

Makes enough for 2

10 spears of young asparagus  (Try to use pencil-thin spears)

12 raw shrimp, cleaned and de-veined *

The zest and juice of one lemon

4 TBLSP olive oil

2 TBLSP unsalted butter

3 med cloves of garlic, diced

Salt and fresh ground pepper

Hot pepper flakes (optional, but delicious-just don’t overdo it)

Whole wheat linguini

Freshly grated parmesan cheese**

In a medium skillet, heat 3 TBLSP olive oil. Add diced garlic and toast, stirring frequently, until golden. Remove from pan and drain on paper towels. Reserve.  Chop the asparagus into ½ inch pieces and sauté until al dente. Season it to taste. Meantime, cook pasta to taste in 2 quarts of boiling, salted water.  When the asparagus is nearly done, add the shrimp and lemon zest to the skillet and cook until the shrimp are pink and firm.  Add the butter, hot pepper flakes and lemon juice, and about ¼ cup of the pasta water. When the pasta is nearly cooked, transfer it to the skillet and toss well. Cook until the pasta is done to your taste. Finally, add the freshly grated cheese, toss and serve.

*My brother taught me to always have a bag of frozen, de-veined shrimp in the freezer. I get the 21/20 size, and when I need some I just shake some out of the bag into room-temperature water and let them de-frost.  If you really want to enhance the shrimp flavor, cook the shrimp in hot water until they are pink. Reserve the water. Shell the shrimp and put the shells back into the water and boil for about 3 or 4 minutes, then strain and discard the shells. Use the water in place of the pasta water mentioned above. If you do it this way, add the cooked shrimp to the skillet at the same time you add the linguini. Love those frozen shrimp.

**Feta cheese can be substituted if you prefer.

Remember to get some good books on your ereader and charge it up in case the power goes out in the coming storm….

Blessed be,

Phoebe

Well,  I guess the snow is getting to me.  I really wanted to be above it all, shouldering bravely through the blizzard, never given to remarks about the weather like everyone else I know, but Mother Nature finally won,  as she so often does. When the four walls began to close in on me this afternoon, I retreated to the one place where no blizzard, no hurricane, no heat wave or cold snap can touch me: my kitchen. It wasn’t the first time. Since the snow began I have produced a dazzling variety of dishes including beef stew, roast chicken and a snappy three-layer dip on Super Bowl Sunday. Today it was cookies. I was going to make a batch of tollhouse cookies, but I started playing around and came up with the following recipe. Give them a try. This recipe makes about 4 dozen, and they are, of course, best eaten the day they are made, though they will probably keep for about a week in a sealed plastic container.  I don’t have a name for them yet.

NAMELESS  CHOC. CHIP COOKIES

2 sticks unsalted butter

2 eggs

2 ¼ cup flour

¼ cup good cocoa powder (I like Droste)

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp baking powder

1 TBL spoon vanilla

½ tsp. espresso powder

½ tsp. ground cinnamon

½  cup granulated sugar

½ cup firmly packed dark brown sugar

White choc. Chips

Dark choc. Chips

Dried Cherries

Chopped pecans

Preheat oven to 350 and prepare a cookie sheet with cooking spray and parchment. Cream butter and sugars together until well mixed and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing until incorporated. Add vanilla.  In a separate bowl, mix flour, salt, baking powder, espresso powder and cinnamon together. Add to wet ingredients in three batches, mixing well after each addition. Add the last four ingredients, amounts to taste.  Drop by teaspoonfuls onto cookie sheet, leaving room for spreading between each cookie. Bake for 10 min, transfer to rack and cool.

I hope you like them. If you can think of a name for them, I’m open to suggestions.  I look forward to your comments. Now if I could just think of some way to cook SNOW!!!!! Meantime, here's a picture of the Nameless Cookies: