Memories

Memorial Day weekend always meant two things: going to watch the parade in East Greenwich, Rhode Island and buying then planting our tomatoes. Both activities were with my Dad. I’m sure it can’t be true, but my memory claims the days were always sunny, breezy and warm. Those two rituals signaled that summer was just around the corner. School would be letting out soon. Sand Hill Cove and its fine gray, glittery sand and gentle waves would be warming up and waiting for us.

The first cookout of the year would have already happened on my birthday, a week earlier. Rain or shine Dad would get the grill out and Mom would work her magic in the kitchen. It might be so inclement that Dad would cook just inside the garage door and we’d eat on the breezeway with the storm windows still in place. But it was the kickoff to the season. A season of endless yard work for my Dad, endless preparation for entertaining for my Mom, lawn darts, sprinklers and cookouts on the weekends and as many trips to the beach as we could manage. A season of window fans, sunburns, piles of books, sparklers on the fourth of July and four o’clocks blooming against the white clapboards in the backyard.

I know it wasn’t perfect, but it really was.