Patsy Porco

Posts Tagged ‘Calf Pasture Beach’

A Day at the Beach

In Humor on July 29, 2018 at 11:55 pm

Today was the first day I went to the beach this summer. I live along the Connecticut coastline and every town has its own beach, mine included, so I could have gone every single summer weekend, and even some weeknights, if I had wanted to. And I did want to. But the thought of packing a bag with everything I’d need, putting on sunscreen, carrying a beach chair, and driving to the beach always seemed like too much trouble.

But, today, I was determined to take advantage of our beautiful Calf Pasture Beach, so I gathered everything I’d need and drove the 4 miles to get there. The beach was packed, but there was still plenty of room on the sand for everyone. The sky was clear, the temperature was in the mid-80s, and the water was refreshingly cool, but not cold. It was a perfect beach day.

For two hours, I sunbathed, took dips in the Long Island Sound to cool off, bought an ice cream cone, and read. I sat as close to the water as I could, without getting wet.

While I was reading, I heard someone speaking very loudly. I looked over at the sound and saw an older man floating on his back in the very shallow water not far from the sand. I realized that it was the man who was speaking, and he was shouting the same words over and over at a young woman who stood near him in the water. I didn’t know what he was saying to her because he wasn’t speaking English.  The woman looked at him with no expression and walked away. When she passed me, I asked her if everything was okay. She told me that everything was fine and thanked me for my concern.

I decided that the man was probably unstable, so I went back to the book I was reading. After a few minutes, I heard a noise and looked over towards the water. The man was still floating on his back in the shallow water and was again yelling at someone, but now the tone of his voice had changed — to one of agony. I looked a little closer and noticed that he was talking to the same young woman who had acted like she didn’t know him. She had returned and appeared to be dragging the man out of the water by one leg, which only made him scream louder. This just seemed too odd to ignore, so I got up and went over to them.

I asked if I could help and the man said, “YES” or something that started with “Y” and seemed affirmative. The young woman shrugged. I grabbed the man’s other leg and started to help the woman pull him out. This maneuver caused his head to descend lower into the water, which lapped over his face, making him choke and gag. Since preventing him from drowning seemed more important than pulling him out of the three inches of water he was lying in, I dropped his leg and elevated his head with my hand. Meanwhile, the young woman continued to hold his leg. She didn’t seem to be pulling anymore, just standing still with his leg in her hands. I suggested that she put down his leg so the man could try to sit up. He nodded in agreement. Once both of his legs were on the ground, we tried to help him into a sitting position. He cried out in pain and fell backwards. I grabbed his head again and kept it above the water.

At this point, a lot of things happened at once. A man came over and asked if he should call the lifeguard. I said yes. The lifeguard came running over from her chair. She was blonde, fit, very cute, and useless. “My supervisor will be right over,” she said.

While we waited for the supervisor to arrive, another woman came running over to see what was going on. She said she was an EMT and then started demanding answers to standard EMT questions: “What’s the man’s name? How old is he? Does he have a heart condition?” I had no idea. I looked over to ask the young woman if she knew anything, but she was gone. A crowd was assembling and she had retreated to the back of it.  I ran over to her and said, “Do you know this man?

“Yes,” she said. “He’s my father-in-law.”

Her father-in-law? I had so many questions for her, but this wasn’t the time. “What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

“He has a cramp in his leg,” she said.

“You’d better get back over there and answer some questions about him,” I said.

She looked like she was thinking over her options. “Go!” I said.

She strolled over to the EMT. Just then a bunch of teenaged lifeguards arrived in a Jeep. They jumped out and grabbed the man’s arms and legs and started to pull him out of the water. He started screaming again.

The EMT, who had managed to extract answers from the young woman, said, “He’s 65 and he says he has a leg cramp. I think it’s more than that,” she said. “Maybe a blood clot.”

I had to agree that it seemed more serious than a leg cramp, since he couldn’t sit up without howling his head off. But it was out of my hands now. I went back to my chair and watched as the lifeguards and EMT slid a surfboard under the man and carried him off like pallbearers at a beach funeral.

Once the excitement was over, the crowd dispersed.

I decided that it was a good time for me to leave, as well. A person can only take so much relaxation in one day.

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Calf Pasture Beach, Norwalk, CT

 

 

 

Scores Best Left Unsettled

In bocce, Humor on June 7, 2018 at 8:52 pm

When I was growing up, my family belonged to Crispin Gardens Athletic Club, located in Pennypack Park in Northeast Philadelphia, where my family lived. My father and mother were very involved with the club, so, naturally, we kids were, too. Or, to be accurate, the first four of my parents’ children were involved. The other three were too young to play at the time we were members.

My two brothers were good at baseball and football, which were the two sports offered to boys. My younger sister and I were not good at softball or cheerleading, which were the sports available for girls. But that didn’t stop us from participating in both activities.

I was a cheerleader for 5-year-old football players. I could never figure out how to do a cartwheel so I got to cheerlead for kids who hadn’t figured out how to play football.

I also played softball. When I was in about fifth or sixth grade, my sister and I were on a team together. Neither of us ever got a hit. So, the two of us were traded by our team … for one girl from another team. Our neighbor, Mrs. Devine, who was a family friend, managed a team in the league and she took pity on us. She gave up one of her better players for the two of us.

We did her proud … once. When Mrs. Devine’s team played our former team, both my sister and I got hits, much to our former team’s dismay.

I think those hits were our only hits, but they came at the perfect time. And, to make our victory even sweeter, our new team beat out our old team to win the club’s World Series. There was probably a lesson there …  but it was for our former team, and I doubt they learned it. Little league managers can be ruthless.

There was another lesson taught that season and this one was for me. I was fiercely jealous of the girl who replaced my sister and me. She was a few years younger than I was, around my sister’s age. So, not only was she a better player than I was, she was younger. I was demoralized. I wished all kinds of evil on her. And then, within a few weeks, she was dead.

She was hit by a car driven by a young guy who lived across the street from us. I was overcome with guilt for wishing her ill. I was certain that I had caused her death. When I got a little older and realized that I probably had nothing to do with her dying (although, we’ll never really know how powerful thoughts can be), I resolved to not wish bad things on people, no matter how much I disliked them.

So, years passed and I joined the occasional team and was always the worst player. I couldn’t even successfully serve a plastic volleyball over a swimming pool net. But this year, my luck could be changing.

boccegaloops

Six of the Boccegaloops

Our city sponsors many spring and summer sports leagues that play on the courts and fields at Calf Pasture Beach in Norwalk, Connecticut. My husband and I are on a bocce team, Don Carmelo’s Boccegaloops. We were on it two years ago and the team came in last place. Our record wasn’t entirely due to my skill-less playing, but it certainly contributed. My husband persuaded me to play again this year. The team was happy to have us back, because of my husband’s skills, so we rejoined.

Last night, we had our first game and we won. And I didn’t stink. I credit the one practice we had a few weeks ago for turning the tide. I actually helped the team win. I wasn’t the best player (my husband and the other players were really good), but I wasn’t an embarrassment. And, I didn’t throw the ball wildly and crack any skulls. I kept the ball on the court and even got my red ball really close to the little white ball, the pallino, a few times, which is the object of the game.

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But what made me especially proud was that I didn’t wish any ill luck on a certain member of the opposing team. Others may have, but I didn’t. I did talk trash about her later, but I didn’t wish her any misfortune for her bad behavior.

It all started when our red ball and the opposing team’s green ball looked equidistant from the pallino. When that happens, you’re supposed to measure the distance between the closest green ball and the pallino and the closest red ball and the pallino, to see which ball is truly closest to the pallino.

We were winning 10-2 and the game ends when one team has 11 points. The head of the league came over and said that our ball was closer, so we were the winners. While gesticulating and jumping around in protest, a woman on the other team “accidentally” kicked our ball, making her ball look closer. Then she denied kicking it. But it was too late. We had won. And she was not happy.

Before she left, she shot us all a look that could kill. Some would call her look the “evil eye” or “malocchio.” She’s Italian so she probably knows how to activate it.

Anyway, I think my teammates and I would be wise to take precautions … at least until the league plays again next week. After then, she’ll probably despise another team and will have forgotten all about us.

I hope the evil eye loses its power once it’s transferred to someone else. If not, we’ll need to learn, and use, the fig and horned signs … and maybe stitch evil eye patches on our shirts.

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Strangely enough, possessing an evil eye repels any evil eyes that might be directed your way.

 

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