We were at the beach, everybody had matching towels. Somebody went under a dock, and there they saw a rock. It wasn’t a rock, it was a rock lobster! -The B-52’s

Summer is here!  Yay!  Unless you don’t live on Cape Cod, and have to drive home on Sunday afternoons, and end up sitting in traffic to get over the Sagamore Bridge, like the poor people at the bottom of our road.  I’m waiting for some enterprising kid to set up a lemonade stand.  Hopefully, no evil grown ups will call the police and complain that the enterprising kid is selling lemonade without a permit.  Yes, it’s happened before, sadly.  Still, the long drive home is definitely worth it!  We wash-ashores welcome you heartily!  For those of you unfamiliar with Cape Cod and it’s long standing traditions (my town was founded in 1637, it’s the oldest town on the Cape), if you were not born on Cape Cod, you are not and never will be a “Cape Codder.”  Even if your parents brought you home from a hospital in Boston when you were a day old, you’re outta luck.  Not born on the Cape?  You are a WASH-ASHORE.  Get used to it, the rest of us have, and who cares anyway?

After living in Boston for 24 years, my favorite neighborhood up there in summertime is still the North End, which is Little Italy.  It seems like there is a festival every weekend, although my old apartment on Charter Street was kind of a bummer twice a year – in the winter when it snowed there was no place to park, and in the summer when that festival stage was set up at the bottom of Hanover Street and the Italian bands (which were great!) gave it over to the karaoke contest.  I swear one year there were no less than 18 renditions of Frank Sinatra’s “Summer Wind.”  Which was annoying, to say the least.  I had friends over for dinner that Saturday, yes will still laugh about it, and we actually thought it was funny for the first 8 or so renditions.  That could also have been the wine we were having with dinner.  LOL  Keep in mind that each lively rendition of “Summer Wind” was followed by loud, boozy cheering and shouted comments from the singer’s friends/enemies.  By the time the 18th rendition came on, my friends and I decided to bail and headed out for less raucous spaces.

Anyway, the baby ground hog, named Tiny, and the two rabbits, named Vincenzo and Lasagna, are happily chowing down in the backyard, the breeze is up, and the lawn is mowed.  I absolutely cannot think of one more thing to write, so I’m signing off for now.

THANK YOU SO MUCH to the lovely people who have liked & are following my blog, and please do feel free to leave comments.  We can’t have a community without people!
And that is what’s up with Mayflower Stitchery!

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