I have doubts about my dog’s truthfulness. Or should I say his sincerity? Or maybe both.
Rudy (he’s named after the diminutive, underdog Notre Dame football player) has been partially paralyzed for about a half dozen years.
Or so he claims.
There are all manner of real-world characters who escape to Martha’s Vineyard — to start a new life, to get away from their old one or simply to enjoy the Island. Some are accomplished lawyers, some are alcoholics, some are philanderers, some failed husbands. Jake Dellahunt, Vineyard Lawyer, with an office on the Cape, happens to be all of those.
As I sat with my family Sunday, eating blueberry pancakes under piercing blue skies at the Katama Airfield — along with dozens of others outside the small restaurant there — it occurred to me that what makes this such a popular spot is our continual fascination with air flight. In an age of routine jet travel and near-routine orbital space missions, we still get a kick out of seeing small antique planes huff and puff along the bumpy grass airstrip and pull themselves up above South Beach, and then set down only a few yards away from us.
We need to change the change bill to information on the main frame of the skeleton of the system.”
That indecipherable bit of information from my Comcast customer representative regarding my request to take my name off the account just about sums up what it means to be an Island shuffler.
When Ross MacPherson was 11, his father, Robert G. MacPherson Jr., died from lymphoma. “He had first gone to Dana Farber [Cancer Institute] only about one year before,” Mr. MacPherson, who is now 28, recalled this week. “It didn’t take very long.”
