When I was 9 years old my grandma purchased her dream home: an old sea captain’s house, built of sticks and bricks in East Dennis, Massachusetts. She had grown up about 100 miles away in Watertown, Massachusetts, a suburb or Boston ~ and the cape was an escape from the heat, the congestion & the noise. Two generations removed, the grandkids (my cousins & I), found ourselves living our grandma’s dream.
Each summer, we would fly across the country to experience the east coast in all its splendor. From my grandma’s house on Pleasant street, we could walk down to the harbor where the captain once kept his boat, just 100 paces further and our toes would be in the sand. We spent our days at Cold Storage beach, playing “Carney,” a game dedicated to the greatest third baseman to ever wear flip-up shades. The only thing that could interrupt the intense game was the sound of the Mobile Munchie Man’s cowbell, signaling all the the kids to come running to buy ice cream (or in my case, a Choco Taco).
After a day at the beach we would return to the sea captain’s house and play wiffle ball on the expansive green lawn surrounding the big white house. We’d pile into Grammy’s big town car and head down highway 6A to grab some lobsta’ rolls for dinner and finish the day with a Cape League baseball game…watching the Chatham A’s swing wooden bats with Carney like-power, in a ballpark no bigger than Grammy’s backyard. And if the night was just right, the fireflies would come out at twilight. Those were the days.