I’m not a man prone to big shows of emotion (excepting, of course, rage) or speaking about things with dramatic flourishes. I don’t tend to run very hot or very cold and therefore lack the emotional reserves to pull that sort of thing off. So please, bear that in mind as you read this. When I go heartfelt, it can be awkward. Very, very awkward.
Disclaimer done.
When I was growing up Cape Cod, and Chatham in particular, was a magical place. In a lot of ways, even though I am at the tender age of 28, it still exists in that way.
Every summer for years I went up there for vacation. First we stayed at various rental places and then, eventually, my folks got a place of their own.
Over the years, I have body surfed at Nauset Beach while attempting not to gash my feet on the plethora of rocks below, swam in the pool at the now closed Dolphin Inn, and hung out at Oyster Pond. My father proposed to Diane, my stepmother, there. (She accepted, by the by.) I’ve eaten fudge by the pound, much to my family’s annoyance, and read more comics than I can count. I’ve pawed through the wares at the Ben Franklin five and dime (the items are no longer five and ten cents though), the Mayflower, and the Caped Cod.
Long story short, I have spent and enjoyed a lot of time there. Whether it was visits during the summer as a kid or the few times I have gotten up there since with friends, there was always something vaguely…transformational to me about going over the bridge that connects the Cape to mainland Massachusetts. The air felt different, both lighter and heavier at the same time, like the atmosphere of another world. You slept better there, deeper and more fully. I’m sure I’ve had times I did not want to be there or was a jerk to my folks or pouted about this or that, but for the life of me, I cannot recall it. Statistically, it had to have happened, I know that. But, I don’t quite believe it, you know?
A big part of my love of the Cape undoubtedly lies at the feet of the people who I grew up calling Aunt Alison and Uncle Walter. They were in fact my great (or is it grand?) Aunt and Uncle, Alison being my grandfather’s sister and Walt, of course, being Gramp’s brother-in-law. They had a great house that was just off Chatham’s main drag, literally 400 yards from the restaurant they owned, Christian’s, named for their son who was the chef there. It was filled with art from Uncle Walter’s trips around the world and of particular note were the Asian pieces. During a time where I had only ever seen anything like that, even close to it, in Chinese restaurants there was something almost mystical about it. No house I’d ever been to (or since, I think) felt or looked like theirs did inside.
And they were cool! God, they were cool. They were the first people I knew who saw the Batman movies (Batman and Batman Returns in this case) and were more than willing to discuss them with their 8-year old (when Batman was released) and then 11-year old (during Batman Returns) great (or is it grand) nephew. Come on! That’s cool! They would set me up in the study when I would stay over or be there for some extended period of time with the TV and some great new or old movie I might not even have known I wanted to watch and all was right with the world. They had a better grasp of pop culture than almost anyone I knew and they were more than happy to share that with me.
Best of all, talking to them never felt like the sacrifice of an adult who had better things to do. Kids can tell when people say they are watching but really aren’t or when adults are merely humoring them and Alison and Walter never seemed to be that way towards me.
And then there was the food and drink. Visits to Alison and Walter’s meant sparkling apple cider til Hell wouldn’t have it and when I was kid that was something very, very important. They introduced me to coke and grenadine, the best way to get a Cherry Coke at a restaurant not cool enough to have it on tap. Just up the hill was Christian’s where everyone knew them and thus, by extension, my family too. Christian was in the kitchen, Matt, his brother, was working the door, and all the menu items were named after movies. I couldn’t imagine a greater place to eat then or now. The fact that the food was incredible was just the icing on the cake.
What made it the best, I think, was how much I could tell they loved it all. They loved to sit around with their martinis and shoot the breeze with Diane and Dad (and, on some occasions, drink my folks under the table). They loved to watch Michelle and I eat our desserts and be, no doubt, a little too loud and a little too obnoxious for such a great place. And they certainly loved each other. Even as an 8-year old, I could pick up on that. High school sweethearts for real.
Unfortunately times change. I saw them less and less as I got older. They eventually sold Christian’s and while it still stands in Chatham, Christian himself is no longer in the kitchen, Matt no longer works the door, and our family no longer haunts the tables, the porch, or the bar. People got married, had kids, got divorced…time marched on.
Then Alison got sick…and sicker. My wedding was the last time I saw her and everyone was quite convinced she would not make it. But she and Walter did and while I could tell she had been sick, she didn’t seem it then. I spoke to them briefly and they were as on as ever. But it was a wedding and there is only so much time for brides and grooms to talk to everyone so it was brief. Right or wrong though, you always figure there will be another chance to see them. Alas, I was wrong.
My Aunt Alison passed away this week. That wedding was my last shot. And that’s more than a little sad for me. But, then, I doubt if I saw her again and got to talk for four or six or eight hours it would feel enough. Regretting that there is never a clearly marked “last time” is just part of life, I suppose.
Anyway, that’s what’s been on my mind the past few days. The Cape and my family and the things we lost and gain along the path. I’m too wordy by half, so I’ll leave it to my dad, paraphrasing Uncle Walter to encapsulate Alison better.
“Walter said to me that she neither followed nor led, but was always her own person – and that’s why he fell in love with her when she was just a kid.”
Great post.
I think you may be missing a word or two from this sentence, though: “Visits to Alison and Walter’s meant sparkling apple cider to Hell wouldn’t have it and when I was kid that was something very, very important.” I’m not quite sure what you’re saying, otherwise I’d just edit it myself. Anyway, just FYI.
P.S. My condolences on your aunt’s passing.
(I should have said that in the original comment, obviously, but I’m an ass.)
Like I said, great post… you’re better at expressing your feelings in print than you realize.
“I should have said that in the original comment, obviously, but I’m an ass”
Horse’s or donkey’s?
That was weird, the post seemed to revert back somehow from appearing on the front page to not appearing.