“Girls’ Day Out.” Best. Therapy. Ever. Part 2.

Yesterday I was talking about a fun afternoon I had with my friend “S” on a spur-of-the-moment Girls’ Day Out.  We met at the mall during the middle of the day, had a couple beers, did the classic mani-pedi thing, had lunch and then finished the afternoon with a little retail therapy.  It was one of the best impromptu get-togethers I’ve had in a long while – and it was much-needed.

So what’s better than one Girls’ Day Out?  Well, naturally, that’d be a second Girls’ Day Out.  Thus, I segue into:

Girls’ Day Out, #2.

My other friend, uh…"S"… Uh oh, I now see the flaw in my First Initial Anonymity Plan.  Different first name, but it begins with the same letter.

Uh oh. I guess "Q" has completely lost her anonymity.
Clearly, I'm not good at this subterfuge stuff!

Okay, I’m nothing if not flexible.  Let’s call her “Q.”

So, “Q” and I decided to get together last week and head to the Ohio State Fair.  It’s something we’ve done from time to time through the many decades we’ve been friends. And I do mean decades – “Q” and I have been fast friends since our first day of college at Ohio State when we were 18 years old. And that friendship has only grown stronger as the years go by.

We used to take her two daughters to the fair when they were kids. Now they are adults with children of their own - so Grandma and I had to show them that we are not feeble old ladies and could make it from one end of the fair to the other.

Except, um...we didn't quite succeed. The first thing we did when we got there was to grab a map – and then head to the sky glide to ferry us to the far end of the fair.

Sue…oops, I mean, “Q” wanted to visit the Bunnies and they were at the other end of the complex.  And, sure, the bunnies were cute and all, but I was more captivated with the sky glide. I’d never been on it looking down at the fairgoers and booths selling all manner of crazy foods.  I mean, the idea of that whole donut burger thing still makes me a little queasy just thinking about it.  

But I had never seen the fair from that perspective and I was enthralled.

Anyway, we wandered around various buildings and exhibits for a while.  And we bought a couple small souvenirs. 

And then the Ingesting of the Fair Food commenced. 

It took me a long time to realize that you can’t get Fair Food just any old time – and I had never really taken advantage of Fair Food before.  But “Q” initiated me.  She is the Queen of the Fair and has even gone there on her own from time to time. So she had already staked out the best booths to visit.  

And this time I knew the drill. First we stopped at the tent where they made all sorts of sandwiches and we ate something sensible and rather filling.

Then we stopped for cold drinks. I have had the Lemon Shake-ups before and absolutely love them, but they are a bit too sweet for me.  I don’t know – is an entire cup of sugar per glass too much?! 

This year, I discovered that they had a sugar-free version so I ordered one.  And let me just say: “Yum-my!”  Plus, it actually quenched my thirst; something the sugar-filled versions don’t do.

Next, “Q” had to stop at the Fair Fries booth, so we shared some fries as well as the Lemon Shake-up.

We walked around some more letting that sandwich-Lemon Shake-up-French Fries combo mix in our stomachs.  (Not so “yum-my” – but at least we didn’t add anything like deep-fried Twinkies to the mix.)

At “Q’s” insistence, we visited the Bee Tent. Normally, bees are something I avoid at all costs as I’m not crazy about bee stings, but “Q” wanted to see if they had any honey for sale. This was probably my least favorite part of Girls' Day Out because there were a lot of bees loose in that tent, but... what'reyagonna do? It's all in the name of friendship, right? 

Yeah, whatever. All I can say is "Q" had better not give me any grief the next time I ask her to help me dig in the dirt. Last time I tried there was a little snake in the garden and I promptly put down my trowel. And that was the end of the dirt-digging for me.  I don't do well with bugs, insects, or anything that slithers. 

But I digress.

Oh, and, by the way, is three pounds of honey too much for a family of two?  Yeah, I thought so.

We walked away from the bee tent without a single sting (whew!) and without a single behemoth jar of honey and headed toward the exit.  But before we left the building, er, fair, we had one last stop to make.  And that was the Funnel Cake booth.  After all, we had to have something sweet, didn’t we? And you can’t get a funnel cake just anywhere, can you?

Do me a favor and just nod your head “yes.” Otherwise, I’ll keep talkin’ to try to convince you.

At any rate, we shared part of a funnel cake and then had the rest wrapped up for leftovers. 

And we exited the fair tired, hot, full and happy. And it was the end of another fun “Girls’ Day Out.”

If I haven't convinced you about the benefits of getting together with your friends for some much-needed "Girls' Day Out," activities, I'm guessin' that at the very least I've made you hungry.  

“Girls’ Day Out.” Best. Therapy. Ever. Part 1.

In recent weeks I’ve had a couple “Girls’ Night Out” get-togethers with good friends.  Except that, technically, they were “Girls’ Day Outs” since we’re not as young as we used to be – and nobody wants to see a couple mid-50-somethings prowling the streets after dark.

It’d be way past our bedtime by the time the nightlife got started anyway, so it was a good thing we stuck to mid-afternoon for our fun. Indeed, no one wants to see a mid-50-something nodding off over her glass of wine in the middle of a conversation.

And in defense of my other friend, she’s nowhere near 50, but she has three little kids and it’d be a lot tougher to arrange an evening out unless it included her husband and children. And even then, it’d be an early evening due to the kids’ bedtime. So, same issue.

Nonetheless, we made the most of our afternoons. 

By the way, I aimed for brevity – but failed miserably – so I will split this blog into two parts.

(You’re welcome.)

Girls’ Day Out, #1.

In the first get-together, my younger friend and I – let’s call her “S” – did the classic mani-pedi thing.  (I’m calling her “S” because I don’t know if she wants her name disseminated all over the Blogosphere. And it’s definitely a name you’d remember.)

Anyway, “S” and I met at a restaurant in the mall. We planned to have lunch and then hit the salon for a pedicure.  Only she’d had a stressful morning involving the dentist, which requires no further explanation, and she wanted to have a beer before we started.

It was the most fun noontime beer I ever had!

We talked and drank beer and thoroughly enjoyed our girl time, laughing over silly things.  What made it even funnier is that “S” was valiantly trying not to drool as she’d had enough Novocaine to numb a horse and she couldn’t feel her face. 

So once I finished giggling and pointing at her…

Nah, I kid.  Fortunately, I’m not the kind of person to make fun of a drooling friend, so she soon got over her concerns.  Or maybe it was just the beer.

I dunno.  Either way, we talked about everything from our past to our future as well as her children’s futures. We covered a lot of decades and tried to solve all the world’s problems.  Not a bad effort, either, I’d venture to say as we totally believed we fixed some stuff. 

Or maybe it was just the beer.

Eventually, we headed to the salon and had our tootsies buffed and polished and then threw caution to the wind and decided to have our fingernails done, too.  We picked out cheery, summery colors that perked up our spirits and brightened our day even further.

Or maybe it was just the beer.

 

Later, when I looked at my fingernails in the sun, I thought the color rather resembled the color of those Day-Glo Orange Safety barrels, but I embraced the bold and kept the color for almost two weeks.

We then went back to the same restaurant and had lunch, this time sans beer.  We talked some more and admired our snazzy nails before hitting a couple stores at the mall and doing a little retail therapy to round out our afternoon.

It’s not like we really needed the retail therapy because our talking pretty much took care of any issues that crowded our thoughts – but, c’mon – we were at the mall. How could we not do a little shopping?

It was one of the best times I’ve had with “S.” Don’t get me wrong; it’s not that I don’t enjoy the times we get together with our husbands and her children. But there is something to be said for one-on-one time where you can really talk without interruption. Because, let’s face it, chicks can talk.  And, boy, did we ever! Hey, don’t knock it – it’s how we bond.

I drove home in a great mood and happy that “S” called me on the spur of the moment to get together.  And we vowed to schedule another Girls’ Day Out soon.  

I’m looking forward to it.  Hmmm…wonder when her next dentist appointment is scheduled?

Feeling Ancient

The other day I watched one of those BuzzFeed posts about teens who were born in the late 90s reacting to flip phones, like the Razr. 

It made me feel ancient.

And to think that back then I believed I was on the cutting edge with my stylish hot pink Razr cell phone.

Just goes to show you that even if you are “cutting edge” today, you will one day be considered a relic.  And with the technological advances these days, it doesn’t take all that long either.

These kids couldn’t believe that people didn’t have access to the Internet from their cell phone back in the “Dark Ages,” also known as the 2000s (The oh-oh’s? The noughties? The double-oh’s?). Whatever we called the last decade, we surely didn’t understand how painfully old-fashioned our cool little flip phones really were.

These kids also had a hard time grasping the fact that on many of those flip phones you couldn’t take selfies. Or that there were some flip phones that didn't even have a screen. They weren’t sure how to work a phone without a screen.

But the worst part of flip phones? Texting. It was an absolute nightmare! You had to use the keypad and punch the “7” four times to type in the letter “s,” for instance.

Ah, such silly people we were who lived through the 00s with flip phones. We couldn’t imagine that someday our iPhones and Galaxies would be glued to our hands keeping us entertained every second of the day by allowing us to access every social media forum imaginable. Not to mention the gaming possibilities. And the texting possibilities. And the photo opportunities. 

We were goofy because we generally used them to, I don’t know, talk to folks. Texting was used sparingly, if at all. And we certainly didn’t have conversations via text.  We figured that’s what the phone part was for.

So it wasn't as easy or as convenient as it is today.  But neither did we have “Text Thumb Syndrome” or laws telling us it wasn’t safe to text and drive. Before we got the first word typed in, we’d have crashed into a stop sign – so we knew well enough not to try.

The kids were impressed that those old flip phones seemed to be indestructible. Cases were not generally necessary as there was no big glass screen that could crack and render the phone useless.  Hey, score one for us ancient cell phone users.

And the other thing the kids liked about the flip phone was the ability to snap it closed.  They felt the same buzz us old-timers used to feel when we ended a call and snapped it shut.  Or, if we were angry with someone and we wanted them to know it – we got a certain satisfaction when we snapped our phone closed.

Of course, the flip phone was nothing compared to the old-fashioned landline phones we used to have.  There was something definitive about hanging up on a telemarketer by banging the handset back into the cradle. 

We used to know how to “hang up” a phone.  Kids today are not even sure why we say that. 

So, yeah, I sometimes feel ancient. And I worry that I’m going to have to ask the “youngsters” someday soon how to do things like access my contact list or dial a number.  Of course, they might not know.  They might look at me quizzically as if to say, “Why don’t you just send a text, old-timer?” 

If we’re even sending texts in the near future.  Who knows? We might be sending telepathic messages, provided we’re on the same bandwidth as the person with whom we want to telepathically communicate. 

Ack.  I'll bet that set-up will be a nightmare for those of us whose cutting edge days are long gone.

Let’s hope that there’s still a “help desk” – or at least an understanding third-grader – willing to give us some assistance.  

We’re gonna need it.

And, just to stay sane, I think I’m going to stop watching BuzzFeed. Well, at least whenever they feature kids who are supposed to react to something us hopelessly old-fashioned, out-of-touch, old-timers used to think was cutting edge.

Flash Mob Induces Tears. Huh??

A friend posted a link to a flash mob on Facebook this morning, so I watched it.  I love musicals because, let’s face it, we all burst into song and dance every now and again when we’re having a serious moment or discussion.  Don’t we?

Really?  We don’t? 

Huh. 

Maybe it’s just me.  Well, me – and Julie Andrews, of course.

Speaking of Julie Andrews, the flash mob was in Central Station in Antwerp as the song “Do-Re-Mi” from The Sound of Music began playing.

According to the information provided on YouTube, the flash mob only had two rehearsals before their performance in 2009.  And more than 200 dancers participated.  Link to flash mob. 

The song begins booming over the speakers and a father steps into the middle of the massive floor and starts dancing to the music.  His young daughter joins him.  And then, as the name implies, the number of dancers grew into an eventual mob. 

I love those things. 

When I watched this one, though, I had a strange reaction.  I got choked up and a little teary-eyed.  What the heck is that about, I wondered. I was enjoying it, so I couldn’t figure out my response.

Maybe it was because The Sound of Music is one of my favorites.  Or maybe it was because I have an affinity for tea, a drink with jam and bread? 

No…that couldn’t be it…

But then realization hit.  First of all, a mob was gathered for something completely lighthearted and fun.  Cameras caught images of passengers who were not part of the flash mob dancing on the sidelines.  Some faces showed surprise while others wore expressions of sheer delight.  People clapped along to the music and cheered at the end.  Strangers smiled at each other and looked as though they were thrilled to be a part of something special.  Certainly, it was a break from the routine.

And, to me, it was a wonderful sight.

So often these days, mobs are gathered in protest for some cause or injustice. There are angry protesters and sometimes angry mobs protesting the protesters.  And there is usually a phalanx of officers in uniform attempting to enforce crowd control. 

There seems to be a lot of anger out there lately.  Maybe it’s just me and I’m spending a little too much time on Facebook, or something.

But I sometimes worry about the state of the world we live in.  Why are we so angry lately? 

Often, it involves an issue of where people are polarized either right or left and everyone is sure their opinion is the correct one.  There is no middle ground.  There is no grey area.  And one side certainly cannot see the other side and vice versa.

Or we’re angry over the actions of a group. There are some people these days who are sure the police are the bad guys and other people who are one hundred percent behind the “boys” in blue. 

Or we’re angry that a dentist could spend ridiculous amounts of money to kill a beautiful creature so he could, I don’t know, prove himself a man?  Well, that plan sure backfired. Seems like he’s the one being hunted now. 

But you know what I think it could be?  We didn’t used to live in a world where stories could go “viral.”  Heck, a few years ago, we wouldn’t have understood the term.

Nowadays, people post videos of themselves doing crazy things like hopping a fence to pet a cougar at the Zoo – just to call attention to themselves. Even though the guy protested that he didn’t do it for the attention.  Sure, buddy…whatever you say. 

I say that the whole “15 minutes of fame” thing has grown into something big and ugly.

But because so much ugliness gets attention, we find ourselves getting angrier and angrier over the things we see and hear. 

So I guess I maybe understand my teary-eyed reaction to the happy little flash mob a little better. And I realize I need to see more of that sort of thing.  I need to fill my Facebook feed with images of smiling babies and cute, fuzzy animals. I need to watch more musicals.  And I should tell my family and friends that how much I care about them a little more often.

Maybe that will hide some of the ugliness and erase some of the anger.

Maybe.

Or maybe I should warn my husband that I could – at anytime – break out into song and start twirling around a mountaintop.  Y’know – like they do in musicals.  If I give him advance warning, he won’t be as likely to call the guys with the straight jackets to come take me away.

“Doe-A-Deer…,” dear!

Our Nearly Perfect Day

As far as Thursdays in July go, our Thursday this week was nearly perfect.  I say “nearly” because, well, a million tax-free dollars didn’t suddenly drop out of the sky and onto our front porch.  Nor did world hunger end and/or world peace begin. 

But it didn’t rain, which has been par for the course most of this summer in Central Ohio.  And it wasn’t humid. 

And, best of all, Vince had the day off so we could spend it together.   

We slept in a little until the sunshine beckoned.  We drank some coffee until my eyes willingly stayed open on their own.  And we talked and relaxed in our living room watching our cats tussle over the prime critter-watching spot by the front window.

We discussed everything from life in general, to our day in specific.  As in: “Which would you prefer? Ending world hunger or creating world peace?” 

Or the more confounding question: “What should we do with our day, today?”

Since we couldn’t come up with a solution to either world situations, we focused on our plans for the day.  After another cup of coffee, inspiration struck and I suggested we rent a pontoon boat and putter around Alum Creek. 

Now, Alum Creek is nobody’s idea of a major waterway, but it is close by and, according to Wikipedia (I don’t, after all, have these minute facts stored away in my cranium), it is 58 miles long. 

Oh, and its official name is Alum Creek Lake, which seems a little redundant to me, but what do I know? I’m not exactly well-schooled on the differences between Creeks and Lakes and perhaps they can be used together to describe a channel of water 58 miles long.

But…I digress.

We tried reaching out to some friends to see if they were feeling spontaneous and up for a day in the sun but, alas, could find no takers.

 

Fortunately, Vince and I like hanging out with each other, so we were okay with it just being the two of us.  We fixed a couple sandwiches, grabbed some cold drinks, put on our water wings, flippers and swim goggles and off we went.

No, not really. We don’t own water wings.  Or flippers, for that matter. But picturing Vince wearing flippers makes me laugh, so pretend like we were wearing those things, okay?!  And just so I’m goofy, too, pretend like I’m wearing one of those old-fashioned rubber swim-caps with flowers and a chin strap.

Lovely. Now, we’re ready to go!

We tried to rent a middle-of-the-line pontoon with a medium-sized engine, but they only had one and it was already rented.  We didn’t think we needed the biggest pontoon for just the two of us, so we rented the smaller one. 

This, in hindsight, may have been a mistake.  It had a tiny little engine and it took the entire two hours to cruise around Alum Creek Lake once. And we never once stopped. Turns out we used only a little over a gallon of fuel, so I guess we were being economical. 

But Vince later said that if we could walk on water, we could’ve moved faster than that pontoon boat!

On the other hand, it was relatively quiet at Alum Creek on Thursday afternoon and we certainly weren’t in any sort of competition with the few boats that were on the water. 

The weather was absolutely perfect. There were only a few white, fluffy clouds dotting the expanse of bright blue sky.  And there was a gentle, cooling breeze riffling the flowers on my swim cap… 

…Oh, wait a minute.  I was really kidding about that swim cap.  But the breeze thing was true.  And it was heavenly.

We returned to shore and headed back home, where we continued our day of leisure.  We cleaned up (those rubber swim caps are hot!) and relaxed on the patio with some crackers and cheese and a bottle of crisp white Bordeaux. 

We chatted on the phone with several long-time friends and relatives, so it was a fun catch-up day with people we care about.  And we listened to music on our sound system and whiled away the time.  Eventually, Vince grilled hamburgers for our dinner and we stayed outside until the solar lights clicked on.

Most of the time, we spend our days rushing from Point A to Point B or checking off items on our to-do list.  So to spend an entire day slowing down and relaxing and taking the time to simply enjoy life, well, it was truly a little slice of heaven.  

And it was nearly perfect. 

Now…if we could just do something about the peace thing and ending world hunger, we’d be all set.

And I wouldn’t complain if a million tax-free dollars dropped out of the sky.  After all, that would buy a lot of swim caps with rubber flowers and chip straps. 

What is Going on Here, People?

I haven’t much enjoyed looking at Facebook this past week. 

So much so that when I was trying to come up with a topic to discuss today, my mind kept leaning toward cute baby animals.  Like bunnies, maybe.  Yeah, I should write something about bunnies.  There’s nothing controversial about bunnies, is there? 

There has been so much rancor and discord on Facebook (and other social media outlets, too, I’m sure), that I have had to shut it down at times because I’m so tired of it all!

If you’re against the recent Supreme Court ruling, you may think I’m going to complain about all the rainbow-colored profile pictures.

And if you’re for the ruling, you may decide I’m complaining about all the bible references.

But you’d be wrong on both counts.  You see, my complaint is that people are so far left or so far right, there is no room to come together.  A little toward the middle, people – there’s lots of room in here!

There’s nothing wrong with a little healthy debate. After all, it’s how ideas are formed and opinions are made. Or maybe solidified.  But the rhetoric I’ve seen on Facebook does nothing to allow the possibility of seeing the other side.

Has anyone read someone’s post and said, “Hmmm. I never thought about it that way. I think I’ll change my mind.”  

Yeah, I sincerely doubt it.  I’ve never seen two people who are on opposite ends of the opinion spectrum on a topic change their minds after a debate.

But if we are able to keep an open mind, we may learn a little more tolerance. 

I have never personally identified with the LGBT community because I have never had sexual or romantic feelings toward a member of my own sex.  So I can’t really understand it.  But I know people who are gay and they tell me their lifestyle is not a choice - it's who they are. So who am I to condemn that? And is it my right to pass judgment?  I don't think so.

And I truly don’t see how two members of the same sex marrying could possibly harm me in any way. 

When someone argues that the purpose of marriage is to procreate and propagate the species, I personally can argue against that. 

When my husband and I married, it was simply because we loved each other.  I was nearly 50 and he was almost 51 and we sure weren’t marrying with the intention of procreating.  Yes, I had always wanted a child – and thought that I might even have one or two of them earlier in my life – but it simply wasn’t meant to be.  And, believe me, having a child after 50 was definitely not in the plan!

So should we not have been allowed to marry?

There are many things that I don’t personally identify with, but it doesn’t mean I can’t try to conjure up a little empathy.  Everyone in this life walks a different path.

I mean, I don’t “get” Caitlyn Jenner, either.  But that doesn’t mean that I can’t support her quest for a little happiness. 

To each his own, I say. 

Nothing Caitlyn Jenner does is bothering me.  I don’t watch the Kardashians and I doubt I’ll watch Jenner's reality show, either. But that’s my choice – I can either be a viewer or I can switch the channel.

But I don’t have to write nasty comments all over Facebook about it, either.

By the same token, I don’t see why those who believe in a higher power and in organized religion are being condemned these days either.  

The beauty of our freedoms as Americans means that we are allowed to have an opinion.  I get that.  And I don’t believe anyone should be muzzled.

But I’d really like it if people could tone it down.  Just a little.

After all, I believe there are so many other, more important, issues going on in our world.  Like the friend who personally knew one of the victims of the shooting in Charleston.  She is in mourning for her friend right now, as are many, many people in that community.

There are people in hospitals fighting for their lives and others who have lost that battle and their family and friends are now grieving.  And it may sound trivial to some, but I also know a number of people who have lost a pet recently, too.  But to them, losing a four-legged family member is not a trivial matter. 

 

So it seems to me like there is a lot of sadness in this world. 

And it seems to me that this world could be a little brighter, a little happier and a lot less stressful if we were all a little more tolerant of one another.

Yes, that sounds simplistic.  And, no, I don’t have the answer because I don’t believe there is any one right way to believe and one wrong way.  

And in no way am I attempting to jump into the fray of controversy. 

I just wish that people could learn to practice a little more tolerance and patience with their fellow man. 

If not, then I’m going to start writing about cute bunnies from now on.  Just bunnies.

The End of an Era

I feel sad today. It’s as if an era has ended; only no one but me, and possibly my siblings, is aware of it.

Today I learned from my nearly 89-year-old father that he and my mother would not be traveling to their summer home on Cape Cod this year. Or ever again. Moreover, he and my mother have decided to put the cottage up for sale.

Almost as an afterthought, dad told me that he had failed the vision test when he went to the BMV to get his driver’s license renewed.

And then it became clear to me. Because dad has to give up his car keys, and mom no longer drives, they will never again be able to stay up at their summer cottage for months at a time as they had been doing every year since they retired more than twenty years ago. 

The closest of their children is nearly four hours away from the cottage so no one can make a quick run to the grocery store for them. We cannot take their dirty towels and clothes to the laundromat since the cottage doesn’t have the modern convenience of a washer and dryer. And we can’t easily check on them to make sure they are okay and their needs are being met.

My siblings and I are relieved to hear that our parents will not attempt to stay so far away for so many months this year. And we are relieved that there won’t be a repeat episode like last year when my father’s sudden hospitalization left us scrambling to get up there to take care of them.

 

But it still seems like the end of an era to me. 

No longer will we have family gatherings at the cottage that my grandparents built back in the early '50s. 

No longer will we get together for milestone events such as our parents’ 60^th wedding anniversary, which we celebrated only three short years ago. 

And no longer will we hold our annual “Lobster Fests” – that one fun evening where we all sit around the table talking and laughing and dunking succulent pieces of lobster in little bowls of butter.

 

My siblings and I grew up in this cottage. We can remember days long ago when summers seemed carefree and endless. We couldn’t wait until our annual two-week August vacation at Parkwood Beach when we would dig our toes in the sand and jump in the ocean and play in the waves.

When we were young and our grandparents were alive and doted on us. When they gave us coins from Nanna’s change purse and allowed us to race down the street after the ice cream truck to buy ourselves a frosty treat. And when we showed off our swimming and diving skills – or our exemplary sand castle-building skills – to much applause.  To kids with grandparents such as ours, we were talented and unstoppable. And we were well loved.

Eventually, Grandpa passed and Nanna was alone at the cottage. Visiting her was still magical, but we were growing up and some of the carefree sense of our youth was diminishing. Our parents would take a much-needed break from the four of us kids and leave us in the care of our grandmother.  We can recall the times Nanna would pile us all into her big green monster of a car for a road trip.  With her head barely clearing the dashboard, she would shakily drive three hours to Provincetown so that by the time we arrived, the three of us in the back seat were queasy and a bit car sick.

But that didn't stop our adventures. I remember bits and pieces of those road trips, including a stop one afternoon in a Provincetown bar where a bartender sporting colorful tattoos up and down his arms tried to bully the little old white-haired lady into taking her four charges out of his bar. Our diminutive 4'11" tall Nanna stood her ground and eventually the four of us sat at a table picking at the hamburgers he grudgingly fixed for us.

Years later, I wondered about this. Were there no other, more suitable, restaurants open just then? Or did Nanna, once she realized she had taken us to a bar and not a restaurant, refuse to allow the burly bartender to intimidate her?  Either way, it has become one of those fond memories etched deep in my arsenal of “Nanna stories.”

 

And it makes me smile whenever I think about it.

Our trips to the cottage included an annual Deep Sea fishing excursion with our dad. It was a rite of passage and when we turned 9, we were allowed to join the party. I was so excited when I was finally of age to join my dad and older brother, that I forgot to be squeamish about things like threading the fish hook with raw pieces of clam and about squirming fish on the end of my fishing pole and about smelly fish guts.  Or about having to be ready to walk out the door by 6 a.m.

Driving to Plymouth to board one of Captain John’s party boats was a bonding experience with my dad that lasted until a few years ago when Dad was a bit too frail and his eyesight too bad to continue.

The end of that tradition made me sad, too.

As young adults, I remember a time or two when my siblings and I stayed at the cottage by ourselves. It felt odd sitting on the porch having a drink before dinner without grandparents or parents there to supervise, but considering we were of legal drinking age, we quickly got over that and had a wonderful time.

And in my 20s, I remember bringing friends a couple different times to explore the Cape, which was a learning experience for me as well, since my family tended to stick closer to the cottage during our vacations and we didn’t often do the “tourist” thing.

One of my favorite trips was in 2009 when I brought my newly-minted husband to the cottage after our wedding. We hadn’t planned an immediate honeymoon and my parents suggested we take a few days off and drive back with them. I think my dad simply didn’t want to make the long drive on his own and he was grateful for Vince’s driving expertise at getting us there safe and sound (and fast).

We also didn’t relish the thought of sharing our “honeymoon” with my parents. But Vince and I were able to take a couple days to drive down the Cape and explore the area. And we had some wonderful experiences and have some great memories of our time there.

In recent years, my trips to the Cape have been more of a task and responsibility rather than simply a pleasurable vacation. As dad’s vision has steadily diminished, he has gratefully accepted our offer to make the drive for them. Thus, I have either driven my parents to the cottage in June or have driven them back to Ohio in October. Neither of these stays at the cottage is long enough to allow me time to sink my toes in the sand at the beach. Not that I’d particularly want to sink my toes in the sand in mid-October, but you get the idea.

 

So, while I know that every beginning has an end, I am still a little sad that this is the end of an era.

Yet, I have a lifetime of incredible experiences and happy memories to sustain me when I get sad about it. 

And I hope the memories they share also comfort my mom and dad as they say goodbye to a place that has been a part of their lives for so many decades.

Saying goodbye is easy, said no one ever.  But here's one last toast to you, little cottage at Parkwood Beach. Thank you for the decades you protected us and kept us safe and happy. 

And, as Bob Hope (apropros for my folks my parents' age!) once sang, "Thanks for the memories!"