today's memory

  Given the title of this blog one would expect more memories than I have written about. Honestly when I first started, I believed I would have more memories to write about. Turns out my life hasn't been all that momentous after all. I'd say just the garden variety of experiences and circumstances the majority of us will encounter. But this morning after viewing some photographs taken by my Facebook friends of the beaches where I grew up a memory was awakened. It was most likely sometime in the early 1960's, you know, in the last century. I date it in that fashion because my father was with all of us at the beach. Now, that was a rare occurrence and memorable all by itself. Dad was usually working or working on something at home. He wasn't one much for leisure activities. When I was very young, he did belong to a bowling team although I have no direct memory of that. I only know that because he had won a trophy, of sorts, in some competition. It was a stainless steel bowling ball that opened up. Inside there were a row of shot glasses around the periphery. In the center was a hand pump that would dispense an ounce of liquor with every pump. I have no idea whatever happened to that. It wasn't engraved or anything but sat on a shelf for many years. That isn't the memory that was inspired by those photographs though. In my rambling thoughts I just went down that path, sorry for the misdirection.

 I remember going to Sammy's beach with my entire family and having an old fashioned clam bake. As I mentioned Dad was with us and of course was in charge of the proceedings. Just him being at the beach was something different and unusual for us kids. Imagine that; a dad on the beach, we thought that only happened in the movies, unless of course you were rich people. Rich people did that stuff all the time because they didn't have to work much. So, dad directed us kids to dig a pit in the sand a way back from the water's edge. Had to be far enough back that it didn't fill with water. Next, we had to locate large enough stones to line that pit. Once dad was satisfied with that, we had to gather driftwood to burn in the pit. It sure kept us busy that much is certain running up and down the beach and into the dunes searching for that stuff. After the fire had been burning a good while and almost reduced to coals it was time to cook. For that we needed seaweed! I remember putting that seaweed on top of those coals with the hot rocks beneath and the smell of the steam rising up. Corn on the cob was placed in that seaweed, a few potatoes too. Clams went on top to be steamed open. Mom had packed the cooler, so we had sandwiches and some sort of salad. The big thermos had kool-aid! 

 It's a memory that surfaces every now and again. It is the only time we ever did that as a family that I recall. It is when I learned that my father could swim. Came as a surprise to us kids, wasn't he too old for that? I remember seeing him in his "trunks" as he called them and his legs being as white as snow and hairy. It was quite the sight. He swam a bit and lay on the beach under that big umbrella, I believe content with the world at that time. Before leaving we had to disassemble that fire pit. The seaweed went back in the sea, the rocks were strewn about, not left in a pile were someone could trip over them, and the pit filled in. Most likely it wasn't a very large pit at all but in the mind of a child and the memory of an adult it was magnificent. Just like the ones they had in those movies with Frankie Avalon and Annette. Yes, it was just like beach blanket bingo without the surfboards. A good memory indeed.