The Long Journey to Chris and Megan’s Day

 

 Traveling nowadays, particularly for those of a certain age, can be challenging. But on 8/8/26, my son and Ann’s stepson, Chris, was married to the love of his life, Megan, at a beautiful wedding venue, The Barn at Blackstone, in the Blackstone Valley of Massachusetts, a sylvan paradise that is so quintessentially New England. It is not around the corner from any major city, Worcester being the closest and Boston some fifty miles away, but just driving there from our hotel with our other son, Jonathan, and his wife, Tracie, lifted our spirits and our expectations as the green pastures rolled by.

 

Before the wedding day, and the rehearsal dinner the night before, Ann and I took a mini-vacation on the Massachusetts coast, using a hotel in Salem as our home base. Normally I describe our trips in chronological order, but this entry is the exception, because the wedding was the main event by far. Perhaps sometime soon I’ll have the rest of that trip written up and documented with some photos, but this entry is all about the wedding: meeting Megan’s side of the family, seeing friends of Chris and Megan, and catching up with others from our past, including my ex-wife, Chris’s mom, Carol, and my oldest friend from college, Bruce, and his wife, Bonnie.

 

The path to this weekend was a circuitous one for the wedding couple. Remarkably, this is the first marriage for both of them, Chris in his early 60s and Megan in her mid-50s. Both had loved and lost before and had perhaps begun to think they might never find that special person, going about their professional lives and accepting their autonomy. I remember once saying to Chris, “It will happen when you least expect it.”

 

And it did.

 

Chris came to live with us when he had just turned 13. Our own son, Jonathan, Chris’s half-brother, was only two at the time, and yet the two of them have grown closer as they have aged. Even though traveling is no fun for us octogenarians, Ann and I would have walked the 1,200 miles to attend this event! Admittedly, we would have had to leave about a year ago.

 

We had once met Megan’s dad, John, but this was the first time we met her mother, Katie, as well as Megan’s brother, Matt, and his family. Katie graciously hosted the rehearsal dinner for mostly out-of-town family and friends at Ruth’s Chris Steak House in Worcester. Need I say more about the excellence of the dinner?

 

There were, of course, elements that could have led to anxiety for the couple: How would the two families get along? And what would it be like seeing my ex-wife, Carol, whom I had seen only once in the past fifty years, at my father’s funeral more than thirty years ago?

 

Any foreboding emotional clouds that might have existed disappeared instantly. We were there to celebrate Chris’s marriage, and Ann and Carol even got along as if they were two old friends.

 

As I sat next to Megan’s mom, Katie, I got a good sense of her sharing in the joy of the moment, as well as her thoughtfulness and sensitivity. The wedding couple themselves seemed completely unfazed by the occasion of the rehearsal dinner, simply basking in the anticipation of a moment they perhaps once thought would never arrive.

 

Jonathan, our son, was given the honor of saying “a few words” at the wedding celebration itself, while Megan’s mom, Katie, delivered heartfelt and joyous words at the rehearsal dinner. Katie is a published poet and is working on two different works of historical fiction, so her emotive well is deep.

 

Usually, I am not at a loss for words if I have time to think about them and then write them down. So I came prepared. Rather than describing my rehearsal-dinner “speech,” I include every word here. It sets the stage for the wedding itself and for the two wonderful people we were there to celebrate, honor, and, above all, love.

 

This is what I tried to carefully articulate, despite not being the world’s best public speaker:

 

“This is one of the happiest occasions in Ann’s and my life.

 

We have watched Chris make his way through the world for a very long time now, and it gives us enormous joy to see that journey bring him here, to Megan.

 

And to Megan: thank you for becoming such an important part of our lives. We already love you as a daughter. And thank you, John and Katie for raising such a warm, intelligent, and beautiful person.

 

For those of you who may not know Chris as well as we do, he has never believed life should be lived in only one lane. Over the years he has pumped gas, washed dishes at a Westport restaurant, starred on the soccer field, majored in philosophy (which, naturally, prepared him for a practical career path) and eventually found his footing in the computer and financial worlds. But beneath all of that, I suspect his true calling has always been that of a writer and observer of life.

 

And then, several years ago, somewhere in the great wilderness of online dating, Chris and Megan briefly crossed paths on eHarmony, only to lose touch. Fate, however, was apparently unwilling to leave matters there.  It arranged a second encounter on Bumble months later.

 

This time they actually met.  They had their first date at a north Boston Italian restaurant. And, as proof that some people are romantics after all, that is the very same restaurant where Chris proposed to Megan last year.

 

By then, of course, they had already built a life together during the pandemic years — sharing a home, laughter, companionship, and eventually Lily, our beloved grand-dog.

 

What Ann and I love most is who they are together. They make each other laugh constantly. They bring out a youthful joy that is contagious.

 

So in one sense, tomorrow changes nothing. And in another sense, it changes everything.

 

Because tomorrow is the public expression of something they already know privately and deeply: that after long and separate journeys through life, they found in one another a true companion.

 

All of us could not be happier for you both. So please raise your glasses to Chris and Megan, to love that arrived at exactly the right time, and to many wonderful years ahead together.”

 

I make reference to the serendipity of their “meeting” online. Indeed, they nearly didn’t find one another at all. It was Megan’s persistence, willing to respond again to Chris who hadn’t followed through the first time that changed everything.

 

The full story of their relationship is on their wedding site, aptly entitled “From SQL Servers to Soulmates.”   I am going to quote a little of it here because some parts of the story deserve to be highlighted. Megan’s humor and sensitivity shine through as well:

 

“Their love story almost never happened. When they first connected, Megan was exasperated by the dating scene and did not respond to Chris’s message quickly enough. Chris, equally weary of the online dating scene, took her silence as another instance of digital rudeness and moved on. Both went on with their lives, going on dates with well-intentioned, but dating-weary people, with little success.

 

And then months later, their lives crossed on another dating website. As Megan was swiping left and right on hundreds of profiles, she was met with the picture– yet again – of this cheerful bald man with the kind, smiling eyes. She thought “That’s the ass who didn’t email me back…but what the hell? What do I have to lose?”. So she swiped right. And her world has never been the same.

 

They met for their first date in Boston. Though both arrived incredibly nervous, they quickly discovered an unexpected sense of ease and connection that had eluded them on other dates. Both were able to see not just the quirkiness of one another, but a kindness as well. Megan talked about her love of dogs and her job as a psychologist. Chris made Megan’s eyes glaze over with his talk of SQL servers, but then made them perk up when he talked about his writing. They dined at a carefully chosen restaurant in the North End, followed by wandering around the city at night. By the end of the night, both had figured out that they had found someone special…..

 

But the most remarkable part of the six years that Megan and Chris have been together is how much they have changed as individuals. Both, in their own way, became more self-assured and confident in themselves. Some of their quirks faded, and for the ones that stuck, neither cares much what anyone else thinks. It seems that their life together helped them individually develop into the people they always hoped to be.”

 

This passage is quite a tribute to our son and his soulmate, Megan.

 

And so a typically delicious Ruth’s Chris dinner ensued, and close friends of the soon-to-be-married couple, the bride’s family, and ourselves merrily inched closer to the big next day.

 

We drove to The Barn together with Jonathan and Tracie, who were staying at the same hotel, via a labyrinth of rustic back roads. After hearty and emotional meet-and-greets and reunions, including seeing friends of Chris we hadn’t seen in a long time because we live so far away now, Kevin and Cathy, two of his oldest friends, and after libations and hors d’oeuvres, the one hundred or so guests, including us, were seated outside adjacent to the indoor venue.

 

Ann, Jon, Tracie, Carol

Me, Ann

There was a wedding cupola with seating, with the bride’s family and ours in the first two rows. Megan’s brother, Matt, walked Megan down the aisle. Brief readings were delivered by Chris’s mom, Carol, and two of Megan’s friends, and the ceremony was officiated by a longtime friend, John.

Matt and Megan

 

Chris and Megan wrote their own vows, too long to include here but deeply personal and emotional. But I will quote a few lines by Chris which particularly resonate:

 

“My promise to you speaks from this one heart as it did from the start:

 

To hold you as storms rage,

To shield you from the sun's age,

To stay with you until the turning of the Last Page.

 

I'll be by your side, Megan

This promise I make in full

Not words from me

But my heart to you.”

 

Chris delivered his words through tears of joy, while Megan smiled and, at one point, almost had to hold him up as his literary soulfulness and the baking sun took their toll. (My friend, Bruce, commented “Chris gets the Nobel Prize for vows.”)

 

It was touching, and there was not a dry eye among those gathered for this long-awaited moment in Megan and Chris’s lives.

 

Then we went back to the air-conditioned “barn” for a celebratory dinner and dancing.

 

Matt, Megan’s brother, gave a poignant speech about his sister and the joy their family felt on this occasion. His words were a fitting introduction to what followed, a speech written and delivered by Jonathan, Chris’s younger half-brother. It reveals much about their relationship and what this day meant to him:

 

“Standing here today, I think about the 11-year gap between us. When I was struggling to tie my shoes, Chris was already out in the world, becoming the caring, creative and inquisitive person we all know.

 

Chris, my earliest memory of you is your smelly soccer gear—sweaty socks and dirt-caked cleats. We remember watching you at St. Luke’s, the soccer team ace, playing with total grace and confidence. You were my role model—the smart college-bound athlete who also picked his little brother up from the bus stop.

 

I remember the summer you were at Clark, majoring in Philosophy. Mom, Dad, and I were vacationing on Block Island waiting for you. Since there was no direct bus from Worcester to the ferry at Point Judith, you decided to bicycle that entire 75 miles so you could join us. You arrived at the ferry dock, exhausted, but with a huge grin on your face. That night, after a lobster dinner at Ballard’s, you didn't collapse, but you got up and "danced the chicken" with the rest of us—clucking and flapping your wings, as if you hadn't just pedaled 75 miles! That was my brother—always giving everything for his family with still enough left in the tank to dance.

 

And then, in early adulthood, your journey took a few…’detours.’ …Well, in retrospect, those chaotic times were your creative writing fuel. You launched a blog years before it was mainstream and your writing was even published in a literary anthology!

 

Chris, you summoned up that tough athlete we saw on the soccer field. You picked yourself up and got back into the game—you earned your computer certifications, built a stable career, and landed yourself in a beautiful one-bedroom apartment in Boston….

 

And then, finally, dating-weary, and when you’d almost given up on finding someone to share your stories with, you found Megan.

 

Megan, in my Dad’s most recent book, he wrote that the most enduring songs are 'perfect marriage of melody and lyrics.' Chris had the words, but he hadn’t found the melody, until he met you! You both found your rhythm on that first date—where his computer talk made your eyes glaze over, but his creative writing made them perk up. You looked past the technical jargon and truly heard the caring man with the inquisitive spirit.

 

We saw the change in Chris almost immediately—he seemed settled and at home. We saw it in the kindness he showed your beloved dog Sophie in her old age patiently waiting for all her ‘sniffs’, and I see it now in your family with Lily, the dog from Mississippi who clearly hit the jackpot with you two!

 

I’ll conclude with a final “note.” In April of 2020, Chris, Megan, and my beautiful wife Tracie, celebrated Mom and Dad’s 50th wedding anniversary with tickets to the Broadway show “Company" in New York.

 

“Company” centers on Bobby, a late blooming bachelor who observes his friends navigate the complexities of marriage. Bobby’s awakening arrives with the song “Being Alive.” This is not a fluffy love song. Rather, it’s a raw realization that life sparkles with a partner who lets you ‘abandon your search,’ ‘forces you to care,’ and—most importantly—is ‘there’ for you. Chris, your path to Megan wasn’t easy, but those 75 miles you bicycled as a young man weren't just a physical feat—they were a preview of your amazing spirit!

 

So, if everyone could please raise a glass. To my big brother Chris, the philosopher-athlete who found his way home, and to my new sister Megan, the woman who gave him the music and showed him what “Being Alive” truly means.

 

To Chris and Megan!”

Jonathan, Chris

 

After dinner, the dance floor became electric, although the music was not exactly what my generation relates to. Ann and I can do the Lindy to just about anything, however, so in spite of our age, we were out there as well.

 

Chris wanted to do John Travolta’s Tony Manero one better and was dancing up a storm until he pulled a muscle in his thigh (and hamming up the moment as only he can).

Chris' Tony Manero Moment

 

Back story: He still plays competitive soccer in a league. But apparently those are not the same moves required on the dance floor. Some of his soccer friends, all teammates, rushed to him, fearful that he would not be ready for the league’s opening game in a couple of weeks. He was already feeling better after sitting out the gyrating number, so I’m confident they’ll have their fullback in peak form!

 

Because I do not mean to turn this into a journalistic account of the wedding, I’m going to allow the photographs I selected and sized for this entry to tell part of the story.  Some were taken by me; others were contributed by people who attended.

 

Katie and John, Megan's Parents

 

First Dance

Bonnie, Bruce, Me, Ann

 

Katie and Chris

Tracie and Jonathan

And then came the goodbyes.

 

They were more emotional than I expected. To see this married couple so happy, to meet our new in-laws and extended family, to partake in the festivities, to say goodbye to my longtime friend Bruce, with whom I have now been best friends for more than 60 years, and even to give a hug to my ex-wife, Carol, was overwhelming.  And, so, Ann and I left in the twilight.

 

There were so many kinds of closure in that one day. The distant past, the present, and all the years in between seemed, for a brief and extraordinary moment, to come together. And clearly, Providence gave its consent, providing a rainbow as we departed.

 

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.