I Have Stories

The vibe may change, but the feeling of serenity never does ( Despite a few bumps in the road)

I grew up a mile from a huge beach in the suburbs of Boston.

If there is one takeaway from living a mile away from a beach, it’s this: The beach is always changing, and it is beautiful every day of the year. Through angry storms, calm nights and scorching hot days, there is something that makes you feel at ease. The intangible oneness with everyone else that is there and loves it the same as you do. And loving the beach means enjoying all the places that you encounter on most Northeastern US beaches.

I became familiar with the peripheral beach life thanks to my dad, who basically hated the sandy beach- but loved the pizza, seafood and roast beef take out places. I spent many a dinner time making the journey- in any weather, as an early food delivery assistant. The best pizza was from the shops across from the beach itself.

My job was to sit on the back bench seat of the Ford Country Squire Woody and hold onto the night’s treasure.

This was a vital part of the mission.

Our pizzas had to come right out of the oven to be suitable to my dad.. he always showed up a little early- waiting for his pizza to be sliced ,while I waited in the car (at my post)

There would be no stacked pizza boxes allowed. (During the 60’s the boxes were just hardened paper and collapsed with the heat of molten hot pizza steam).

I would sit at my post- watching the boxes and being sure that they were side by side and did not fall off the seat when we stopped at a light … or because of “some imbecile”. There were usually at least 3 large pizzas. (We ate a lot of Pizza for a family of 5)

There is nothing like fresh pizza. And for some reasons- the places on, along ,or by the beaches always have the best. I truly enjoy a pizza whenever, wherever,,, but there is nothing better than a cool ocean breeze and a hot slice, day or night.

Pizza and the beach scene has constantly evolved in my life , as I will detail more in the next parts of this story.

But getting back to beach itself- I have to thank my mother. For some reason, despite always looking beautuful and perfect.. she never cared about being hot and sweaty at the beach. (She grew up less than a mile away… it was part of who see was).

In those days my mom didn’t drive. Fear not: we would go on all day beach trips with her best friend, Cora and her kids.

Cora was a larger that life tiny spitfire.

She drove a 50’s Ford sedan with clear plastic covering the seats. In fact, her whole living room was covered with the same thick plastic coating.

It was an Italian habit to keep your home neat as a pin while hubby worked all day- but this woman took it to the next level.

But back to the beach trips. We didn’t just go to the local beach. Cora enjoyed having us kids explore and see other beaches. (Usually adding about 10 miles to the trip and an extra 25 minutes to find a parking place)

On those hot days- with 4 of us squished into a oven like back seat in our bathing suits- the sweating and sticking to the seat was magnified because we could only open the windows halfway. The moms did not want to spoil their bouffants (Fluffy domes that were stuffed into vivid colored chiffon head scarfs). We never saw the windshield in those days.

No air conditioning. Just like a moving furnace.

Needless to say, we were always thirsty. No worries though, there was always a plastic jug full of syrup based, sweet flavored “Zarex” – mixed with water and ice. Another key contributor to the dental decay we supplemented with lollipops on the way home. No Kool Aid or packet drinks for us. Both moms felt that this was in the upper echelon of kid’s drinks.

For all the sweating to get there… it was always worth it. The beach was always magical. Always new shells to find, new seaweed to throw at each other and castles and gaping holes to build in the sand. No sunblock? No worries- little Danny’s sunburn would eventually fade into a tan.

I remember finding and digging up Razor Clams with Cora. She was my Godmother and we had a loving relationship. I would find the spouts of water that came up from tiny holes as the burrowed into the sand when the tide started pulling back.

Here is what an Atlantic Razor Clam looks like:

It basically a long muscle with a sharp shell. Being the lookout was a great job, and the reward was an invite to have some of these sweet tasting clams dipped in butter sauce. Yum! Strangely or not, Cora and her husband Pete were the only ones that liked them besides me. It was a nice bond and an even better memory for me. I can still taste the sweetness mixed with salty butter and hear the two of them laughing and talking. They were good people.

Life moves fast and we kids grew older and there were less beach trips and more time playing with other kids all summer long.

Our parents took us up to visit my aunt’s lake house on the weekends. It was a long trip. I loved seeing my aunts and uncles and cousins and playing on the pier. My favorite part was the motorboat rides and watching the teenage cousins water ski with their white rubber life preservers strapped to their waists.

Unfortunately, I secretly hated the lake. It was warm- the bottom always felt slimy and there were only little waves.

I still looked forward to trips to the “real beach”. As we grew up- the summer trips lessened. But we always managed to go watch the waves hitting the sea wall during hurricane season, or in the winter – during a wild “Nor’easter”.

In my early teen years, I started walking there with my sister and friends. The summers went by fast. But the beach was always a constant.

(Our family still went all year for our pizza and fish plates. of course).

Part 2 of “On Being Near the Ocean” will explore the teen driver, young adult beach experience.

Remember, the stories are true and circumstances and names are omitted or changed to protect privacy.