Why was I thinking about Teddy today? Well you see, it was a warm, rain-free day today. Frank & I decided to go exploring. We had often driven along Northern Blvd. in Long Island and have seen a sign that said, “Historic Site.” Today we followed the signs.

As it turns out, Teddy apparently used to live on Long Island. Yep, he had a summer house at Sagamore Hill.

First we hit this trail behind the house. We walked through the woods,trying to watch out for large tree roots hidden beneath the leaves where they lurked, trying to grab your ankles & make you trip. We came out into a clearing and saw this:

As we walked across the bridge, I wondered out loud how strong the bridge was and how deep the water was. On the other side of the bridge, we were looking out into a bay fed by the Long Island Sound:

This is the house where Teddy lived:

Coming back from the trails, we entered the house by the back door. Frank told me to go in first because he wanted to come in after me and yell out, “Honey, I’m home!”

Girls in the car: “Why don’t you park here. Look at all the spots.”
Theresa: “Uh, yeah and that must mean there’s a problem with parking here.”
Girls: “No, you can park here. There’s nothing that says otherwise.”

Instead of following her instincts, Theresa parks there. As a result of that, the car is towed. Since she comes home Saturday nights because she teaches religious education on Sunday mornings, we had to get her and bring her home.

Now anyone who is at all familiar with the Long Island Railroad knows it is not like the NYC subway which runs all through the night. Once it hits midnight, there’s a train maybe once an hour, sometimes once every two hours. At 2 a.m. when we are finally heading home, we get stopped at a railroad crossing. The dinging sounds off and there is no train in sight. We figure there is a problem with this crossing and cut down to the next major street. That one is down, too. What are the odds that an entire line will be faulty and not just 1 crossing?

Just before I am about to direct Frank as to how to go around to a street that has an elevated crossing, a repair truck pulls up and we get through. We finally get home and get to sleep.

Ah, but our car adventures aren’t over yet. First off, the snow that wasn’t supposed to happen until late this afternoon decided to come 12 hours early. We look out the window thinking how much fun it will be driving in this today to get the car & then to drive to the nursing home in the Bronx.

Then, we call up the police station for the village of Hempstead to find out how to get our car back. (Yes, I am going against my usual policy and naming the freaking town because I want the entire world to know how stupid that town is.) Oh, we can’t get the car on a Sunday. We have to wait until Monday. It seems they have enough money to hire people to answer phones and to tow cars on the weekends but no one can spring your car from impound.

One day I’ll look back at this and laugh. But not today.

There is one slight problem with this little shop – it’s 2 hours away. That got me to thinking that there has to be some sort of store that carries things like homemade jams & things like that. I know there are lots of quaint little shops way out on the east end of Long Island but if I’m going to drive all the way out there, I may as well drive to Connecticut. Then I discovered that there’s this little farm house shop not too far from here. Guess where Theresa & I went this afternoon.

Just in case someone from NY wanders into my blog and wants to know where this place is, it’s called Young’s Farm in Old Brookville. Getting there was a bit tricky. The directions said it was on a road just off Route 107. There we were, driving east on Northern Blvd. when we saw a sign that said the intersection we were coming to was Route 107. We turned but the street this farm was on wasn’t there. Lucky thing we had that GPS but we thought it a bit odd that she was telling us to get back onto Northern Blvd. and continue further east. Then we saw another sign that said… yep, Route 107. They must be twins. Okay, not really. It seems the first sign meant it eventually got to 107 & was an alternate route. That’s not the important part, though. The important part is that we got there.

More important is we bought stuff. Things like apple preserves, apple spice pancake mix, maple syrup and cranberry bog honey. Then there was the cashew crunch candy that Theresa showed me.
Me: “You are a bad influence. This is why I can’t go shopping with you.” Apparently she took that to mean I didn’t want to buy that & she put it back. “Hey, what are you doing?! I didn’t mean I didn’t want it.”

Yep, it seems I didn’t eat nearly enough junk over this Thanksgiving break.

There were also a lot of devil dogs and hot dogs:

This dog’s owners were condiments:

We did not dress Nicky up in a costume but I promised him that if he hasn’t gone off to Doggie Heaven next year, that we’ll dress him up next time.

They have a building that looks like a Medieval castle and I found this juxtaposition of old and new amusing:

Hey, I keep telling ya that I’m very easily amused. And I guess that castle would get pretty hot in the summer.

Then there was the sign that said, “No turn on red,” which isn’t so unusual or strange. However, it then felt the need to go into further detail: “This means you. It goes for a red arrow, too. No turns on a red arrow. If you do turn, you will be arrested.” Okay, it didn’t quite say that. Only the part about not turning on a red arrow, which led me to ask, “Are people really that stupid?” That was quickly followed up with the realization that yes, they are that stupid and do need to have everything spelled out for them.

As we passed through various towns on Long Island, they each announced where you were now entering. They all had a sign that looked like this:

What I want to know is this: Isn’t DWI a crime everywhere? Why do they need to specifically state that? Are there some towns where they aren’t quite so strict? Do those towns have a sign that says, “DWI not so strictly enforced” or “We welcome drunks?”

My nephew attends Camp Anchor during the summer and yesterday was the senior campers’ talent show. It was a hot, sticky, muggy day and since we didn’t want to be sitting out there too long, we didn’t get there until about 15 minutes before the show was supposed to start. That meant going into the further parking lot. The much further one. Before grabbing the beach chairs and our little coolers with cold water and walking the 134 miles to the camp, I made sure we could find the car after the show was over. “Okay, it’s right near the second green mushroom.”

Don’t all beaches have mushrooms?

Getting there late also meant sitting way in the back but that was okay. We just figured we’d stand when my nephew’s group was on so we could see him. We plopped down into our beach chairs and cooked in the sun. Let me state here that I am not a beach person. I love everything about the ocean – the sound of the waves, the smell of the salt air, the way the ocean looks but I hate the concept of ‘going to the beach.’ That generally means sitting on the sand all day, trying not to burn. No thank you. Give me the beach at dusk or during the cooler weather.

Getting back to our story, so there we were sitting in the hot sun, trying not to sip too much water because that would require a trip to the disgusting bathrooms, and waiting for the show to start. My nephew’s group comes out. My sister points him out to me. “Where? I don’t see him.” (Yes, I am way overdue to get to the eye doctor.) Even with the zoom lens, I have no clue where my nephew is. Then Janet, who obviously has eyes like Superman, not only can see her son, but can see he is upset so she goes off to see what’s wrong.

Meantime, I’m still squinting through my camera lens, trying to figure out what’s going on. The campers do their little act. I think I see my nephew up there. After the act is over, they both come walking over to me. “He bailed on the show,” Janet tells me.

“He did? That wasn’t him up there?” Yep, Way overdue for an eye exam.

It’s a brand new house. Make sure you click the button that says “Additional Photos” and look at the rooms. Then, after you have looked at it, please explain to me why on earth someone would have built a house like that. I don’t get it. I could see if this was in the Hamptons or Sands Point but Medford is by no means an exclusive neighborhood.

If any of you decide to buy this, please invite me over.

Funny what a difference the weather can make. Last week, the parking lot was packed and we had to park in a makeshift one. This time the parking lot was quite empty. After all, how many people enjoying going for a walk with sweat dripping down their entire bodies?

The first thing I did was make sure someone else had the map. “Steve, you will want to hold on to this because last week someone lost the map. You do not want to lose the map because if anyone falls over from heat stroke while you are lost in the woods, you will just have to stay there because there is no cell phone signal.”

After ensuring that the map was safe, the men discussed walking to the LI Sound. Theresa & I looked at each other and said, “Uh, no. We really don’t want to walk 4 miles so why don’t you guys go off and we’ll just stay on the nice paved path and walk under the trees.” They tried to convince us that it would be cooler near the water but we weren’t buying that. Even if it was 40 degrees near the water, you still had to walk 2 miles in the heat to get there.

While the men went off on their hike, we walked a short distance and decided it was way too hot to do any walking. We went back to the car for some cold water which I had been smart enough to pack and the Strawberry Shortcake kite:

Since there was only the barest hint of a breeze, it spent more time on the ground than in the air but Theresa did manage to get it flying for a little while. Then we just sat under the trees waiting for the men to return. When they finally did, they told us that, as it turns out, it wasn’t any cooler by the water, thus reassuring us that we made the right decision in not hiking for miles.

On the way home, we drove down a stretch of road Steve was familiar with. Among the multi-million dollar homes we passed, he told us one was the home they used to film the outside of the Addams Family. Once home, our research proved that to be wrong but we did find out they filmed a scene from Arthur at the park we had just come home from. And, thanks to a website called Long Island’s Gold Coast, we now have a list of other places that will require investigation. I don’t think we’ll be doing any exploring until after the weather cools off.

Today is Frankie’s birthday. For 4 entire months we will be the same age, until I hit 50 in November. Yep, I married a younger man. To celebrate his birthday, he had 2 choices. We could stay home so I could make him a special dinner: gravy (aka sauce), meatballs, ravioli. Or – we could postpone the dinner until tomorrow and enjoy the day. Guess which he picked?

It seems we are on a kick with going places we have never been to, like last week’s adventure of walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. Today we drove out to The Island (Long Island, for those of you who are not from NY) and went to Caumsett Park.

We walked miles and miles of paths. We walked through the woods:

We dodged Chip & Dale. We came to the end of a path and saw the Long Island Sound:

Then “someone” lost the map. (I won’t mention any names except his name starts with an “F”.) We could walk back the way we came or we could take the other path.

Frank: “I seem to remember the paths all looping around and ending up in the same place.”
Me: “Yeah, me, too.”
Frank: “Do you feel adventurous?”
Me: “Sure.”

Off we start on the alternate route. After walking for 45 minutes, we arrive at a mansion. Hmmm… we didn’t see that on the way to the water. There is a sign that says the parking lot is a mile and a half further. Yes, it did loop except we looped north and then back down rather than going directly south from the onset, thereby adding a few extra miles.

I think Frank can now report to his neurologist that he has indeed been exercising a lot more, just as she ordered.

I will now spend the rest of the evening with my sneakers off and my feet up.

Steve: “If we go bowling with Dad, are you going to come with us?”
Me: “No, I can’t pick up a bowling ball.”
Steve: “You can sit and watch us.”
Me: “I have stuff to do around here.”
Steve: “You will not break the Sabbath!” Now there’s a line I never heard before but hey, who am I to argue about cleaning?

After a few hours, with no action on the whole bowling idea, I said, “Are you going bowling because if you’re not, Dad & I are going to go to the beach.”

The kids came back with, “Why don’t we all go to the beach? And then you can buy us ice cream.”

So we drove down to Jones Beach. It was our favorite time for walking on the boardwalk – sunset. It had cooled off, most of the crowd had gone home and the sun hung like a huge red beach ball in the sky. Then, as we walked further along, we saw something strange. The beach had moved:

Usually you have to walk miles on the hot sand before hitting the water. That evening, the water was practically up to the boardwalk. If you look at that white blob in the upper, left hand side of the photo (next to some sort of sign), that is a lifeguard chair. The blue beyond the chair is the actual ocean. And yet, here was water, right within spitting distance. I have no idea how it got there. I am going with the theory that some kids with really big shovels spent the day digging. This may require further research and more sunset trips to the beach.

Now, as I said, I have no idea if the town is really listed in the book but I do know there seems to be a whole lot of underage drinking going on there. Back in those olden days (1976) the legal drinking age was 18. By the time 1977 rolled around, I had found a job working in the village park and made a lot of friends who had all grown up in the village.

I grew up in Brooklyn and I had never set foot in a bar until I started hanging out with that crowd. At the time, they were all of legal drinking age but what I found so amazing is that this group had all been drinking for years. I heard stories of girls sneaking bottles onto school buses, on their way to girl scout camp.

My son once made a comment to me about living a sheltered life. The boy has absolutely no idea what that means. At almost 22, he’s done more things, gone more places, had more experiences than I had at twice that age. I think he just wants me to think he has been sheltered. He doesn’t fool me. A couple of his closest friends live in that town. Even if it’s just a rumor and the town isn’t listed in that book, I’m not that clueless.

NOTE: SOMETHING’S WRONG WITH WORDPRESS. IT WON’T ACCEPT COMMENTS & I’M GETTING ERRORS. I’m waiting to hear from my web host’s support. Hopefully they will respond quickly but if there are no new posts for a few days, well you’ll be able to hear me cursing clear across to the west coast.