As a youth growing up on the west coast of Massachusetts (great surfing!), I was fortunate to be located within the wheelhouse of the touring version of Up With People! (exclamation point theirs). Once a year we were visited (at school assemblies) by this insanely happy (possibly just insane) group of 20-somethings who would dance and sing their way into our hearts. Pre-dating saccharine, they were the original artificial sweeteners. Some of my more cynical classmates opined that behind the brilliant light of their bright eyes and the gleaming white of their teeth lurked pot-smoking, hyper-sexual misanthropes (these were not their exact words, but you get the gist). I, however, insisted that even if true, it mattered not —they were faking it until they were making it. Sure, I rolled my eyes a bit, but I sincerely appreciated the effort to bring a bag full of smiles to our surly group of preteens (who were more accustomed to bags full of unfinished homework).

Now, some 40 years later, I find myself still gravitating toward the lighter side of life. My point is this: wave! Even when you’re so obviously not feeling it. Even when you feel like punching a gnome. If you pass me on North Neck Road and I’ve gone through maneuvers worthy of Vin Diesel to accommodate the safe passage of your SUV...wave. If I wave at you, wave back. The absence of your wave is akin to a slap. Sins of omission can be greater than an act itself (Brad 24:12).

Switching gears: someone has, once again, absconded with the whelk shell tee markers on my fifth tee. I’d be willing to be charitable and forgive the culprit if I truly believed that the theft was the result of a mother’s love for her whelk shell-deprived hungry children. But I don’t believe this to be the case. Rather, I think the disappearance of my shells is the work of a scrap-booking, denim vest-bedazzling, elderly-ladies-of-Edgartown cartel. This is the fourth year in a row that my whelk pairings have gone missing, which to my count (hang in...iPhone calculator activated) is eight total shells pilfered. So somewhere, in the back den of a house on North water, behind the glass of a break front, sit my shells. Decoratively plein air painted with flowering trellises of roses. I know this to be true. Joke’s on them however, as I painted the shells with a sticky incandescent paint that shows up only under the lights of a Trump rally. I will find you and your glowing hands!

The Chappy Store is open daily now from 8:30 to 5 p.m. Come on in, say hi to Nef, loiter a bit, and leave without buying anything. Nef loves that! Better yet, show up at the UPS shack while Gerry is organizing packages, and stand directly in his way. Tons of laughs!!

The Chappy Ferry line issue has finally been resolved. The SSA will now carry all vehicular traffic and provide home delivery to Chappy. So that’s good.

Laura Pla reminds all that the Chappy tennis tournament will take place this Saturday and Sunday, the 30th and 31st. Bring your wicked topspin and show Chappy who’s boss! Call Laura at 508-627-6463 for more info!

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