It's Summertime, Summertime, Sum Sum Summertime

 

Oh, the sweet innocence of The Jamies’ song, their one and only big hit from 1958, that opening line nicely summing up my years as a high school somnambulist. I paid dearly for my penchant to “to live and have some thrills,” as another part of the song goes.

 

Fast forward more than sixty years. In one’s retirement one would think those halcyon thoughts of carefree abandonment could be rekindled.  Now, it’s the new responsibility of merely staying healthy. “It's summertime (ba-bam-bam)” so now we plan our brief trips around the realities of trying to see out kids, both more than a thousand miles away with their spouses (we also have a grand-dog who we will meet in August). 

 

Those plans now are burdened by the overpopulated and digitized world of today.  I need not go into all the details but suffice it to say, being an octogenarian, competing for space in a world which would not be recognizable in 1958, has its challenges. However, along with its frustrations, there are some throwbacks to the civilized past. One young lady noticing we were having trouble hearing the so called loudspeaker over the airport din, volunteered to act as an interpreter.  It’s not that my hearing is bad; it’s the audio-multitasking part.  So, lest this entry becomes the sour grapes that I could easily write, I publically say thank you to the people who care.  Still, it is a crazy world.

 

We flew up to a regional airport, HPN, from our regional airport, PBI, that in itself a delicate feat given all sorts of possible delays, but managed to get there only an hour late to pick up a car I had reserved with Avis/Budget (now merged for the greater good of the shareholders) and after a half hour of waiting for my checked in advance car, all license and payment information provided on line, an uncaring employee, after clattering away at his computer, tossed me the keys to a Toyota 4-Runner although I had rented a mid-sized car, not a truck. “Take it or leave it” he said.  “It’s the only vehicles for rent from anyone.”

 

So, we gathered our luggage and pole vaulted into our truck after finally finding in a parking lot to which we had to drag our suitcases and off we went on the old Merritt Parkway, always under construction and always stop and go traffic finally arriving at our hotel, one that is near our old boat now owned and beautifully maintained by our son Jonathan and daughter-in-law Tracie. We’ve stayed at this Marriott on and off for 25 years, seeking it out as a hurricane haven when we were living on the boat ourselves each summer. But the hotel has regressed with smaller rooms, no shelving and a refrigerator that never worked. Needless to say, it was packed with no options.

 

Our older son Chris and his significant other Megan drove down the next day from the Boston area to stay at the same hotel and finally, our little family was able to get together, one of the high points of the trip for us.

 

Captain Jonathan had a nice surprise ready for us all the next day, engines revved for a cruise, casting off the lines as soon as we all boarded.  The weather had been threatening and we were not expecting it.

 Here he is on the Bridge above.

 

We passed the house in which we lived before moving to Florida, exactly in the center of this photograph, the two-story home.

 

 

After the weekend, all took leave except for Jonathan who works remotely and ourselves who were hoping to recapture more of our old boating life.  Sitting on the boat in the harbor it was if no time had passed other than we are now just visitors. Those thoughts went through me as I sat looking out, Ann on the couch reading, her ponytail flowing over the cushion (the refrains of The Big Bopper repeat in my head still, “Chantilly lace and a pretty face / And a ponytail hangin' down / A wiggle in her walk and a giggle in her talk / Make the world go 'round.”) 

 

With no one down at the docks, it is eerily quiet. There is now a persistent east wind bringing in clouds, some cool temperatures, and an occasional light shower.  The door to the boat is open and I ingest the cool humid flow.  This easterly wind induces random slapping of waves on the hull and the chines, the only sounds I hear, continuous, and if I sat here forever, and the wind never shifted, that slapping would be in a one to one relation with eternity.  Reveries now shift to reality.

 Aside from visiting our family, having some excellent meals, we were able to see our old boating friends, Ray and Sue.  All of us in some way have had our health issues, probably Ray and me with the most serious ones, indebted to our wives for keeping us going. 

 

 

And Ann managed to see our close friend, Betty, for lunch and reminisce about their 50 year friendship.  I had hired Betty as a copyeditor way back in the early 1970s but for the last twenty five years she has free lanced as one of the leading and most sought after copy editors in scientific publishing.  That was not her academic background, but it just came naturally to her.

 

The week flew by and before we knew it, we were back on the jammed Merritt Parkway, returning to White Plains Airport, and although I promised not to bitch, I must scratch this one.  Finally getting our truck back into the lot, and having lunch at the airport (which used to have a very nice restaurant but now catering to bar hoppers and fast foodians), we reluctantly went into the “pen” to get through TSA.  This airport has a holding area, as if you are cattle, totally disorganized, and dependent on prior connections / aircraft. 

 

 

Happily for us, our fully booked JB A320 flight arrived on time from Orlando and, a miracle, they called for boarding the aircraft on time. People were sitting or lying all over the floor it was so packed.  Grateful for this little gift, we stood, and got on line.  After committing ourselves, an announcement was made that they had no pilot for the plane.  But he was taking a limousine from JFK to HPN so 175 people had to wait for his arrival and hope his vehicle isn’t involved in a traffic issue.  Altogether crazy but given other horror stories of traveling post Covid, we are grateful, and, in particular, to see our “kids” no matter what.

 

So come on and change your ways

It's summertime (ba-bam-bam)

 

Milestones

This past weekend marked a milestone birthday for my wife, Ann.  It was also another milestone; after 19 months of relative isolation, we were able to see our son Jonathan and his wife Tracie, and two weekends before our other son, Chris and his significant other, Megan, celebrated Mother’s Day with us.  All of this was feasible because of the effectiveness of the vaccination.  If only we could pull together as a nation and truly make COVID a plague of the past.

We drove Chris and Megan up to The Dive Bar for their famous lobster rolls their first full day and afterwards we walked along the Juno Beach boardwalk, enjoying a beautiful sunny Florida day while watching all the fishermen casting their lines.  A lot of swimming and sunbathing ensued by the sun starved Bostonians and on Sunday, we all loved a sumptuous Mother’s Day brunch.  Unfortunately, it was only a long weekend visit and they had to return before Ann’s birthday.

Jon flew in a few days before her big day and finally on Friday, Tracie joined us.  As a treat to our daughter in law, we made reservations for a High Tea Luncheon at Teacups and Treasures, an experience Ann particularly wanted to share with her.  Obediently, as Ann made it an unconditional invitation, Jonathan and I accompanied them although we noted we were the only men in the entire restaurant!

It turned out that half the restaurant was dedicated to little girl birthday parties, one very large group gathered together behind some clever screening.  All were in their most fancy party dresses.  Even their squealing and giggling wasn’t the least annoying.  Luckily we were at the entire other end of the room and had our own little corner to enjoy our incredibly delicious meal.  I never knew having a freshly brewed pot of tea, a delectable soup and scones, small tea sandwiches and delicious miniaturized desserts could be so much fun!  Seeing how delighted Tracie and Ann were made it all the more worthwhile.

The following day --  Ann’s big birthday celebration -- found us driving up the exquisitely manicured entryway to The Breakers Hotel, for their Sunday Brunch, ridiculously priced, all patrons unmasked, even when getting up to the buffet (after all, this is Florida), but it was an experience to mark a very special occasion.

A word about Ann, who I love dearly.  What times we have shared during our long 51 year marriage.  She and I remarked that indeed, life is but a dream, we are hardly aware of the day to day details, only the major memories lingering, and suddenly we are here, now acutely aware of our days.  Our son, Chris after visiting two weeks ago, wrote a moving tribute to her upon his return home, and I take the liberty of quoting part as it is a great character study, capturing Ann:

When I arrived home and began my work-from-home life, I realized there was a sadness, one that had taken root since my departure. I missed my mother. I missed her stories she shared with us, her frenetic energies and breadth of conversation. I missed how she charmed hostesses and waiters and her spontaneous laugh, a laugh that said “I’m here and love it, dammit!” She loved my father through thick and thin and put up with my brother and my own oddities. She kept a flock of life-long girlfriends near her chest, loyal and loving.  Literature transmuted their essence to her: she read everything from Jane Fonda to Jane Austin. She traveled and played and cruised across oceans, still short by fifty countries compared to my brother, she joked.

It was a lovely couple of weeks, seeing our “kids” at long last.  May it be only one such incident on the path to “normal,” if that is still feasible in this country.