Dear Sagg Scene,You often write about the peace and quiet of this place. I am wondering where you buy your noise-canceling device and wondered if you could make a brand name suggestion. Whatever you use, it must cost a fortune. Please do tell, before I am forced to SELL!
How is it you don’t see what is really going on?
I was a trader. I got out when it was good, bought a little real estate in the then-undiscovered village of Sagaponack. (Only much later did Sagg become an official village.) This place was nowheresville—and talk about gorgeous. I probably had 20 girlfriends; all of them fell for this place—never me!
Anyway, what was here? Some artists, mostly farmers, a handful of writers, a horse farm, people in the witness protection program, diplomats, spies, the beach! If you did not live here full time, you would never see anyone you knew. No one from your block, building or gym.
After a decade in the 1980s—and that was a tough time out here—and at least one hurricane and two blizzards, some of the farmers began to wave to me. This is a big deal, because, as you know, waving used to be the only form of communication between strangers. A farmer raises one finger, keeping the nine other digits where they should be, firmly on the steering wheel. I’m near-sighted, so at first glance I was appalled.
I’m always super careful when I see tractors on the road, I usually veer off on the grass. Only once have I gotten stuck this way. It took more than a few “farmer waves” for me to interpret the signal correctly.
Anyway, back to your brand of reality-canceling devices. Because, as you probably aren’t aware, there was a fireworks show that looked, sounded and felt like shock-and-awe warfare. I have personally never experienced warfare of any kind, but there is a lot of footage on television, and I have read accounts, so my first reaction was to try to take cover. Have you ever tried to wedge yourself under a platform bed?
I swear I grew up loving fireworks. Before I could possibly grasp the meaning of the Fourth of July, I was already in love with my country because of the fireworks! Now, look what has happened—I break both of my big toes trying to hide from them.
None of this would have happened if I had your brand of noise-canceling device.
Boomed out. Or am I just getting old?
Dear Getting Old,
I use whatever I can find: toilet paper, twisted to effectively plug my ears; a shirt, tied like a turban, to hold the toilet paper in place; then a down pillow tucked around my neck and belted around my forehead.
If this doesn’t help, try weeping.