Posted tagged ‘Gloucester’

“In every outthrust headland, in every curving beach, in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth.”

July 3, 2016

The morning is just perfect, sunny and cool. This room is even a bit chilly. I woke up at six, an abominable hour. Hoping to fall back to sleep, I stayed in bed until 6:30 when I decided to get up and start my day.

At 5: 30 what I thought was moaning woke me up. I looked for Gracie at the foot of the bed, but she wasn’t there. I panicked, figured she fell and went to look under the bed. That’s when I noticed her. She was staring at me from the top of the bed near my other pillow. She would have been sleeping right beside my head. What I took as moaning was probably her deep breathing and maybe a bit of a snore. I swear I saw pity in her eyes.

The Cape is filled this weekend. On Friday the back-up was three or four miles to get over the Sagamore Bridge. With July 4th a Monday, the long weekend has enticed people to travel. Some have gone north to New Hampshire and beyond while others have come to the Cape, a perfect weekend destination. The lure of beaches and seafood is not easy to ignore. Before I lived here, I never came down the cape. We stayed closer to home. When I was really young, it was Revere Beach with aunts and uncles and cousins. That was when there were still rides and lots of places for fried dough, burgers, pizza slices and Italian ice. When I got older, we’d go to the beach in Gloucester, the cold water beaches. My father didn’t care and he went swimming anyway. My mother always stayed on the blanket. If she went in the water, it was along the shore and only her feet got wet. I found out later my mother had never learned to swim. I found that amazing considering how much time we’d spent at the beaches each summer. Both my mother and dad grew up in the city, but my dad was a great swimmer. I loved to watch him body surf in the waves. He taught us to swim. I wondered how he learned and my mother didn’t. Come to find out my dad went to summer camps where he learned to swim.

I don’t go to the beaches. I did when I was younger, but now I’m not so keen on crowds, sand and itchy skin from the salt. I think the best time for the beaches is the fall and the winter. Each season looks different but no less beautiful. The winter beach looks cold and even desolate. The wind blows so hard it is sometimes difficult to walk. I think that’s my favorite time for beaches.

“Sun is shining. Weather is sweet. Make you wanna move your dancing feet.”

May 29, 2011

This morning’s weather is the same as yesterday’s, cloudy and damp. I just hope the day turns as lovely as yesterday’s did. ‘Tis the season of pine pollen which now covers everything, including my car. I have to clean my windshield so I can see before I drive. The deck too is covered in lime green, a Popsicle lime green.

Lots of people around this weekend. Even the summer church is open. My breakfast place had a line outside the door by the time I left. We generally figure the tourist season officially opens around the 4th of July. I’ll have to get my hunting license before then (okay, I’m kidding). The Cape Times says bookings are up from last year: oh hooray! more people filling the roads and stores. It seems I’m getting into my summer siege mentality early this year. Good thing the library is so close.

When I was growing up, my family used to spend a day at the beach most summer weekends. We’d go north to Gloucester. I think my dad wanted to keep us away from Revere Beach which still had its boardwalk and its rides. I remember coming home from visiting my grandparents and seeing the top of the roller coaster from the road. It was the highest hill, and the white rails were easy to see. When I was in high school, my friends and I would sometimes go to Revere Beach and spend the evening on the rides and walking around eating fried dough and sausage subs with peppers and onions. The boardwalk was filled with people, most of them eating something. Neon signs lit the night. The beach was right across the street. It was usually moonlit and lovely.

When I was really young, lots of my family would go to Revere Beach together for the day. My parents and my aunts and uncles took turns watching us kids while the other adults slipped across the street to a boardwalk bar. We didn’t care. We didn’t even notice. Mostly I remember the gray sea wall, blankets and towels spread on the sand, pails and shovels to make castles and picnic baskets to rummage through. On the way home, those baskets were still filled but not with food. They carried shells and driftwood and all the other treasures we’d found.