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Robert Barsanti

Nantucket Essay

Measuring Days by Cup & Teaspoon

~ by Robert P. Barsanti ~ Somehow, the years have given me a set of cookbooks. They could have given me trust funds, summer houses, or a graceful sense of rhythm for the mambo, but the old calendars gave those to someone else and left me their cookbooks. My mother …

Nantucket Island in winter

Nantucket in Winter

• by Robert Barsanti • On winter Sundays, I like to sit on a bench on Main Street. The weather rarely drives me inside or keeps my front door locked. The ocean has her gifts; one of her minor ones blows over the island and sends you to the sweaters …

Autumn Entry

• by Robert P. Barsanti • The light remains in September.  The air clears, the fog settles, and sky glows throughout the afternoon into an operatic sunset.  To own a summer home on Nantucket is to also own the bankrupting irony of island living; the best weather comes after you …

Sharing September

• by Robert P. Barsanti • She stood at Children’s Beach at six o’clock in the morning.  The Eagle hummed with lights and activity, but otherwise the harbor was quiet and still.  Four ducks paddled past the sailboats, and their wake, eventually, rolled up on the beach.  The sun rose …

In the Spotlight

• by Robert P. Barsanti  • He has stopped in the crosswalk by the Hub at nine o’clock at night.  His phone and my headlights put him in a spotlight; however, because his earphones are in, he cannot hear my car.  Instead, he hits himself in the thigh, then begins …

Freedom Has No Tip Jar

• by Robert P. Barsanti • At the Juice Bar, the scoopers put up a sign over the ice machine that read “Relax, things could be worse.  You could be on this side of the counter.” When I found this sign, I was one of about thirty people with my …

Summer’s End Standby

• by Robert P. Barsanti • He stands in board shorts and Yacht Club flip-flops at dawn on the Steamship Wharf and watches the colors spill over the eastern horizon.  Then he puts his sun glasses back on. Summer can’t leave yet.  He remains on the stand-by list.  He parked …

Why I Walk

by Robert P. Barsanti I attended the funeral in Hillsboro, New Hampshire recently. My uncle, Nandy, had died relatively unexpectedly at age 88, at the end of a long laughing life.  Those who had survived gathered up in a small church in the hills of central New Hampshire to try …

The Future Is Now the Present

• by Robert P. Barsanti • His name popped up on my screen and a chime announced his fortieth birthday.  He had been a student and, to my mind, he still was.  He would always be the long haired Spiccoli in board shorts and Vans, napping in the back of …

Nantucket Weddings

The Eternal Circle

• by Robert P. Barsanti • Thirty-five weddings went off this weekend.  Thirty-five brides in big white dresses, thirty-five nervous grooms.  Thirty-five wedding parties heading off to town, then to the Box, and then finally to a boat.  All of those friends and family, along with their Greek brothers and …