I didn't get to go to Cape Cod this year.
I looked forward to going every year with my girlfriends, some who I saw on a regular basis, some that I only saw once a year on this trip.
I was anticipating the rituals we had set up for ourselves, unpacking and picking our roommates for the 10 days, the Morning After Arrival Breakfast where our hostess always left us a gift at our place setting where we sat. Sometimes home made, sometimes expensive, sometimes even shipped from another country. But whatever it was it was from her heart. In turn, we all snuck her a little gift periodically in our own way throughout the days of the visit.
Those morning after breakfasts were almost the best part of the trip.
But not quite.
The other ritual we had was to go shopping at the Christmas Tree Shops. All fourteen of them. Located in various towns throughout Cape Cod area, each one had the home and craft sections, holiday decoration and food section. Each store carried the same items, but always had something a little unique unto that individual store. Now that they have opened stores in New York, it seems almost like cheating by going into one of them.
We'd pile in the van and then scatter once we arrived, 5-7 grown women running into the store and grabbing shopping carts, we looked like children on the last day of school before summer vacation, only we were running into the building. Then we would come back home and compare our treasures for the day. Whoever bought the most items won the "most items bought" contest, as well as the one who "spent the least amount of money." It was great fun... and another reason I looked forward to going. It was more than fun, it was tradition.
But not quite.
There were other things we did that I looked forward to every year, such as going down to the cove near the water, and picking fresh bittersweet vines, to wrap them round and around into beautiful autumn wreaths to hang on our front doors. Our neighbors always knew when we had returned from our trips for the houses were adorned with the colorful bright orange and red popped kernels of bittersweet. There was the traditional lunch of turkey sandwich on white bread, with a smattering of mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and stuffing, all smashed together and glued to the bread with mayonnaise. Heaven indeed. Of course, being in Cape Cod, we were privy to most succulent lobster everynight for dinner, something we would never miss.
And although those were great traditions and rituals we allowed ourselves as a group, we all had our own private moments alone and things that only one did to give themselves peace and serenity.
Mine was to go down to the waters edge of the Atlantic and listen to the waves. I would sit on the sand and just close my eyes, wrapped in a blanket, and let the briskness of cold autumn afternoon air wash over me. I would feel the sun on my face, and sit for hours, sometimes with a six pack of corona beer and limes in a plastic baggie. Other times I would have a white legal pad and a pencil, just jotting down my feelings or the bare bone outline of a short story. I made some life changing decisions while sitting on that sand.
I didn't think I would be able to do any of that this year, because I wasn't able to go to Cape Cod.
But I was wrong, because this year someone brought Cape Cod to me.
Come and sit on the deck with Dad, Riley told me. Sit with him and have a beer and listen to the waves as you watch the sun go down. He likes the company.
I asked his Dad if it would be all right and his answer was more than what I expected. "
Come and stay as long as you want" he said. "
Come and sit on the giant rocks, clear your mind and write your stories. I will bring you coffee in the morning and kisses in the evening. Just stay." So I did.
After a morning walk one day in October, I asked Riley what he thought about me and his Dad getting together sometimes.
Ok by me he said and he plopped down next to me on the fallen log that had washed ashore after a storm. We had taken a walk he and I, and were relaxing a while before heading back to the house.
I had spotted along the path a bush of wild purple daisies, something I had never seen before. To a city girl like me, daisies were yellow with white petals. That was it. We sat there quietly, listening to the rustle of the trees, smelling the leaves burning outside down the lane, and the beginning of fireplace ash beginnng to form in someone's living room. I had gathered the wild purple daisies in my hand in a big bunch and was preparing to bring them back to the house for the table, when Riley looked at me.
"What is it?" I asked him out loud, for he looked so solemn.
"I love you" he said with all the seriousness a brown chocolate lab can muster.
"I know..." I said with a smile. For I did know and had known for a long time. I was just waiting for him to say it.
"I love you too, Riley. You're a heck of a dog. I'll be here for a while."
And with that, we turned and walked towards the house. His Dad was standing on the horizon, hands on his hips like always, and shaking his head. His voice was booming and he was motioning for us to hurry in and have our breakfast, what did we think this was a hotel? And he was laughing as he walked towards us to grab my hands and pull us up the hill.
Laughing. Like always.
