Picking Up Where I Left Off

I've been desperately trying to get back to my Edgartown News, an idea that was hatched last summer (born from the fact that I've got Dektol and ink in my veins) but which was quickly relegated to the back burner due to my summer having been hijacked by massive kitchen renovations, also by my train trip to California. Then there was Brookline, and school, all winter...

...but I'm back and somewhat settled in my Main Street aerie, and I guess mid-to-late July is better late than never.  And now that I'm finished with school and the thought of writing is not so repulsive to me, I'm ready to dive back in.

I've a back-log of entries that I've been both working on and mulling over, and hope to find the discipline to crack down on this project, something I've been craving for some time now; the idea of engaging with this little town of mine with photographs and words - the land of my roots, my ancestors, and now, my descendants - engaging with its people, its places, and its happenings. My goal is to catch up on the back-log and become current as soon as possible so as to clear my mental clip-board and begin working on the daily-emerging ideas.

So, here goes - and ironically, I start again where I began, with Mr. Dave Corcoran.

Dave Corcoran

I found Dave pretty much in the same location on Main Street as last summer, on this particular evening, heading with his duct-taped, finger-worn guitar (really, there is a hole worn clear through where the finger-rest should be), down towards the harbor, perhaps to his bench on North Water Street.

A few nights later - hot night, couldn't sleep, so I wandered downtown around midnight (the deserted streets of Edgartown at midnight on a sultry night in July = magic!) and there in the shadows - I heard him before I saw him - on his bench outside the paper store, sat Dave, playing lip-trombone and accompanying himself on his guitar, as fine a rendition of  It's All Over Now, Baby Blue as any. 

I sat and talked with Dave for a bit, even played and sang a couple of songs for him for a change. See? There's a reason I always have a Fender medium tortoise-shell pick in my pocket.

Dave has a whole new batch of stories to tell, having ridden his bicycle this past winter down to Key West and back.

I'm quite impressed that a fellow my age manages to ride a bike cross-country, as he did last year, and then this year, to Florida and back. He says he rides about 3-10 mph, and is in no particular hurry, content to meander, stopping along the way to meet people, and camping out where and when is necessary.

I wonder if it's easier pedaling south, downhill, than it is riding north, uphill?

There will be more from Dave (and from me too), I am sure. Stay tuned.