I didn’t do a whole lot on Monday after getting
little sleep
before my 9 a.m. treatment. I think this
was the first day I realized that, despite having to fast before my
appointment,
I could still take advantage of the breakfast buffet.
After getting ready, I went down and filled a
plate full of eggs, sausages or whatever I could eat before the buffet
shut
down at 9. I then put it in my fridge in
the room for later. After returning from
treatment, I heated it up in the microwave and enjoyed a hearty, hot
morning meal. The saved breakfast plus
accumulated
leftovers and groceries still in the fridge meant I didn’t need to go
out for
food, so I rested and chilled that day in the room.
The other reason to stay immobile was one of the
effects of
radiation. I had to pee quite often and,
when I did, it wasn’t exactly like Niagara Falls. My
friend and former co-worker who had gone
through radiation for prostate cancer described it as “pissing like a
squirrel”
and now I understood what that meant. It
was helpful to not stray too far from a bathroom.
Tuesday was another 9am, routine treatment
followed by the
breakfast trick I figured out the day before.
After a day of lounging around the room, I was ready to get out
and about, proximity to the bathroom be damned.
One thing I’ve always liked to do on occasions
where I get
to visit the Merrimack Valley is to drive around the old neighborhood
and by
other significant places from my time there.
That’s what I had decided to do on Tuesday.
After escaping north through the ubiquitous Boston
traffic—where is everybody going at noon on a Tuesday anyway and why
aren’t
they at work—I made my way north on I-93.
My first stop was a visit to my parent’s grave site in Elmwood
Cemetery. While there, I also stopped by
the graves of
Auntie Olga and Uncle Tilley.
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Ma and Dad's grave |
Auntie Olga and Uncle Tilley's grave |
World War II plaque for Uncle Tilley |
Just up the road, I visited the graves of Uncle
Pete and
Auntie Sadie and my mother’s parents in the St. Xenia Cemetery.
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Uncle Pete and Auntie Sadie's
grave
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My grandparents' grave
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View of St. Xenia cemetery and
church
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I thought about those Russian Easters long ago
where they
would have a Russian priest come in and bless the graves.
The priest was a towering man who would chant
in Russian and a few women would sing back the lines while he sprinkled the graves with holy water. Of course, us
youngsters never understood what he was saying.
One of the repeated phrases was something like “spasibo pomiluy”
which
ChatGPT tells me might mean “thank you, lord, have mercy.”
We thought the first word sounded something
like “spudgie” and my brother John once dubbed the priest the “spudgie
man.”
It always seemed like we had to wait for the
priest to
arrive for a good chunk of the afternoon. Often
my brother, my cousins and I would walk
to the wooded area at the edge of the cemetery that abutted Hickory
Hill Golf
Course to watch the golfers. Sometimes
we’d even find golf balls from shots that were likely knifed over a
green or
maybe badly mis-clubbed.
Years later, I
would fail to qualify for the U. Lowell golf team on that course when,
on the third
hole—one that backed up to the cemetery—I stepped on the nest of some
wasps or
yellowjackets, got stung multiple times, then had a pretty miserable
round. Maybe the spirit of the old Russian
priest had
cursed me for mocking him years ago.
After paying my respects at the graves, I took a
quick walk
out to the edge of the cemetery and looked over the course but didn’t
find any
balls (and also didn’t get stung by anything).
After leaving the cemetery, I drove up to the next driveway and
made a quick
loop through the Hickory Hill parking lot. From
what I could see, the course looked a lot
like when I played there many years ago.
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In a desk drawer at home, I found I had saved a Hickory Hill scorecard from back in the 80s. It apparently shows a 9-hole "skins game" between my former boss, Ray Guilmette, who I worked for installing hardwood floors, his son, Mike, who was my friend and co-worker, and myself. I'm guessing the match might have been one day after we finished work for the day. It looks like I got skunked, winning no skins while Mike won 5 and Ray won 3. I did get a "greenie" by being closest to the pin on number 8 but 3-putted and lost the hole. I don't remember how much we were playing for, but I might have worked for free that day.
After my mother died, I would often fly up and
stay with my
father for a weekend, buying his groceries, doing chores and spending
time with
him. Those trips always included a visit
to my mother’s grave, followed by a quick detour up Route 110 to Jay
Gee’s Fun
Center for an ice cream (assuming the place wasn't closed for the season).
I decided to return to Jay Gee’s but, in
addition to getting an ice cream, I also tried out the miniature golf
course. In addition to having some
nostalgic fun, I figured I might get some ideas for my own mini-golf
course.
After I purchased my ticket, I realized how it
might look to
see a 60+ year old man playing miniature golf by himself on a summer
Tuesday
afternoon—pedophile alert!! In any case,
I played a pretty poor round of golf on the animal-themed course. After that, I had a cup of black raspberry
ice cream and headed out.
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I stopped at Jay Gee's for ice
cream and
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Jay Gee's cave hole
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I might try to create a hole like
Jay Gee's meercat hole
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Since I was already on Route 110, I decided to
trace my old
commute to my alma mater, U. Lowell (now U Mass-Lowell).
Driving by the old North Campus, which is the
technical side, I noticed the first big change: all the parking lots
were now
gated so, even though this was summer and there were few cars, I was
unable to
pull in and wander around. Restricting
access was probably a smart idea as finding a spot was always a
challenge when
I went to school there. Students would
park creatively, like forming another row perpendicular to and between
the rows
of cars in legal spaces. In addition to
the parking lot, I noticed the football field and the small nuclear
reactor on
campus had been painted bright blue to match the school colors.
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U.Mass-Lowell foorball stadium's
blue field
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U.Mass-Lowell North Campus from
my car (as close as I could get)
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After driving by the North Campus buildings where I took a lot of computer science, math and science classes, I headed across the Merrimack River to South Campus, where I'd taken enough liberal arts classes to earn minors in Psychology and Political Science.
I found that the dirt lot along the river where I often parked (because the official school parking lot was often full) was now part of a park. I actually spent a lot of time in my car in that lot studying and eating between classes on nice days.
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My car in a spot where I might have
parked my Camaro 40
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View of the Merrimack from where
I used to park
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Sign near the park entrance
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On this day I parked in the lot again and took a
quick walk
around the mostly-empty campus. Many
buildings where I had classes looked pretty much the way they did 40
years
earlier. I did note that there appeared
to be a couple newer buildings—and the school’s ubiquitous blue color
now
adorned the crosswalks as well.
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Unlike North Campus, there are
trees on
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Corner where you cross from the
parking lot to
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They even painted the crosswalk to Coburn
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After walking past the rest of the buildings and
athletic
fields, I completed my walk around the perimeter of the campus and
returned to
the park and my car.
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O'Leary Library where I did a lot
of studying
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Weed Hall (not named for campus
party activities)
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U Mass-Lowell basebal field |
I drove back north past the book store and, feeling nostalgic, I thought about stopping in and maybe picking up some kind of souvenir. Again finding no good place to park, I just continued on through what I believe they now call the East Campus.
Later that week, I decided I really wanted some U. Lowell swag, so I went to the website of the school book store. I found they actually sold throwback T-shirts and I tried to order one. That proved to be problematic as the site had no place to enter payment info.
I actually called the store, introduced myself as an alumni (not sure that got me any cred) and reported their site had a bug that wouldn't let me enter my credit card info. After putting me on hold for a couple minutes the person came back on the line and told me they would fix it soon. Eventually they did and, weeks later, I actually wound up buying 2 T-shirts from the site.
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I decided the old, faded orange
tie dye U Lowell
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My new, throwback U Lowell T-shirt |
And a new, U Mass-Lowell
Riverhawks hockey shirt
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Midway through my extended time at U. Lowell, they
had
renovated some old mill buildings and created an area dedicated to
Computer
Science, my major. I spent many long
hours in those mills-turned-into-computer labs long before you would
carry a
computer in a bag or your pocket. It
seemed the campus had been greatly expanded since my days there. I thought about stopping again and walking
around, assuming I could find a place to park, but, before I knew it, I
was on
the bridge away from campus and decided I’d gotten enough memories out
of
Lowell for the day.
As I headed back towards Methuen, I thought about
the great
value I’d gotten from that bargain-priced U. Lowell education. I think I paid $30 per credit hour, so $450
for a 15-credit semester. I never needed
a student loan since my part-time jobs could cover that tuition. It also helped that I commuted from my
rent-free childhood home. That
inexpensive degree had led to an enjoyable career that allowed me to
retire
after just 32 years of “real” work.
I took my obligatory drive though Pleasant Valley, where I had spent the better part of my first 29 years. I drove down Ames Street and made the loop around Greenhalge Street, Ford Street and Cross Road past my parents’ old house as well those of aunts and uncles and grandparents. Ma and Dad’s house was about the same as last time I drove by it but pretty different from when we sold it.
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After leaving the old neighborhood I drove by the
former
Pleasant Valley school where I had attended grades 1-6 (there was no
kindergarten
then). The school had long ago been
converted
to an administrative building.
As I was continuing up Pleasant Valley Street, I
had the
idea to turn right on Howe Street to go by Merrimack Golf Course. I had worked, golfed, drank and gambled there
during some of those misspent years of my youth.
Merrimack was also, as far as I can remember, the very first regulation course where I played golf when Auntie Nina took me there as a boy. I was too short to swing those regular-size clubs normally, so I had to tuck them under my armpit in order to control them enough to make contact with the ball. I always attributed my horrendous left shoulder dipping golf swing to the fact that I first played with clubs nearly as tall as I was.
I pulled into the Merrimack parking lot, intending
to use
their bathroom and head out. However,
once I got in, I noticed the great view of the course from the
renovated porch
and decided to stay and get something to eat.
The beet and goat cheese salad I ate was a far cry from the hot
dogs
that had been featured in the old “clubhouse,” which had actually been
the
caddy shack before the original clubhouse burned down.
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I played hundreds, maybe thousands, of rounds of golf at Merrimack as a member there for several years. And I also have lots of stories about things that happened after golf like card games, various betting challenges and other escapades. Alcohol was often involved. But those are for another time.
Back in Florida, I looked through some of my old stuff and found two Merrimack scorecards I had saved. One was a pretty old blank one that still has names for each hole on it. The other, newer card might have been the last time I played at Merrimack with my Uncle Pete (on the card, I'm "Peter" and he's "Pete"). Not a great round for either of us, but a great memory.
The last time I played golf at Merrimack was many
years ago when I tried out the completely revamped layout during a summer visit to New England. The last time I was actually at the course might have been in 2013 when I helped spread the ashes of my great friend, Mike
Ness, in the area of the 18th green.
Mike died of brain cancer at the age of 56.
Visiting him during his final days gave me a first-hand glimpse of the great, compassionate care Dana Farber
provided.
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My great friend Mike Ness
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View from the porch at Merrimack
of the area where we spread Mike's ashes
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From what I could tell from the course website, it is still owned by the Kattar family who were absolutely wonderful employers for me as I navigated my way through college with various stops and starts. I remember one Saturday when, after I had played golf and was hanging out in the clubhouse, someone noticed that the old gas pump behind the equipment barn had leaked a bunch of gas. Since the situation was potentially dangerous, it needed to be dealt with. That afternoon and into the night, George Kattar (Junior) and I worked on mopping up the spill and neutralizing the threat. As thanks, that night, George bought me dinner and took me to see the movie, "Who Framed Roger Rabbit." I can't say I've ever worked for another business owner who got his hands dirty to clean up a mess like that, then hung out with me afterward.
I wondered if I might stumble upon any of the owners, workers or golfers from my days there, but had no luck with that. When I asked the waitress about the Kattars, she
did not seem to know what I was talking about.
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View of the course from the porch at Merrimack |
Another poor attempt at a selfie
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As I left Merrimack, I realized I had driven by
the first
and last place I had gone to school, so I decided to complete the tour
of all
the education facilities I had attended. First,
I drove by the former Methuen Junior
High where I had attended 8th grade.
It appears that building now houses the Donald P. Timony Grammar
school
which is one of four pre-K through 8th grade schools in
Methuen. My memory tells me Mr. Timony was
the former
Methuen Superintendent of Schools, but the internet seems unwilling to
verify
this. According to the Methuen Schools
website, the school houses around 1450 students as compared to maybe
around 200
at Pleasant Valley Elementary when I attended school there.
My next drive-by was the former Central Junior
High School,
which is now more administrative offices.
Seventh grade marked the first time I had to take a bus to
school and
also the first time I didn’t have the same teacher all day.
Lastly, for now, I headed to Lawrence and Lawrence
Central
Catholic High. The outside of the school
looked a lot like when I went there in the 70s, but I’m sure the inside
must be
different. For one thing, the school is
now
co-ed rather than the all-boys school I attended. Also,
the jail that had been next door—and was
the brunt of joking comparisons by us students—was apparently long gone.
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Lawrence
Central Catholic where I
went to high school
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The back of Central Catholic from
the
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The school gym looked like it had
been
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After a few pictures in the parking lot of yet
another of my
alma maters, I drove through Lawrence. I
noticed a flower shop and remembered my earlier mission to get flowers
for ma
and dad’s grave, so I pulled in. I was
always going to go with artificial flowers, but the only ones they had
were a
seemingly overpriced arrangement in a pot.
Undeterred, I made the purchase and backtracked towards the
cemeteries,
then transferred the flowers from their pot to the spot in front of my
parents’
grave. I even saved a few for Uncle
Pete, Auntie Sadie, Uncle Tilley and Auntie Olga. Mission
accomplished!
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After leaving the cemeteries, I had the thought
that I’d
gone by two of the places where I’d played a lot of golf. I then got the idea to take River Road off
of
I-93 and drive by a third course where I played a lot while learning
the game: Trull
Brook Golf Course in Tewksbury. It was
still there and I would have liked to walk it to see if it had the
rolling
hills, trees and Merrimack River views that allowed it to be billed as
the “most
picturesque” course in New England.
Having gone by places where I’d lived, golfed and
gone to
school, I now had the thought to drive by former places of employment. I went by Shawsheen Plaza in Andover, where
I’d worked as a teller at the Arlington Trust Company starting after I
got out
of high school at 17. I found there was
still a bank there, although a much smaller one. Further,
the Andover Jade, where I had
consumed a few fruity Asian overproofed rum drinks after work, was long
gone. I did find another nearby place
I’d worked, Village Liquors in Andover square, was still a liquor store.
After Andover, I drove back through downtown North
Andover. There I discovered the old
Arlington Trust
branch where I had been head teller in the early 80s was now boarded up
and
vacant. It appears it had been a
Santander Bank a few years ago. Maybe it
was yet another victim of COVID or, maybe, it fell prey to the move to online banking.
I was also in charge of maintaining the ATM at
that branch. One Saturday night, while at
a U. Lowell
hockey game, my beeper went off, indicating that the ATM had a problem. The tale of me trying to get the machine up
and running after many beers while my buddies waited in the car
outside—and continued
drinking—is a story for another day.
After leaving downtown for Route 125, I found
another former
place of employment during my college years, McAloon’s Package Store,
was still
there, but I didn’t stop by on this trip. Also still there were The
Loft and the 99 where I’d had a few cocktails decades ago.
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Further up 125, I found the former Western
Electric building
(later Lucent) where my parents, other relatives and seemingly everyone
else in
the area had worked was now an Amazon fulfillment center.
I wondered if any of the tens of thousands of
dollars of items we’ve bought on Amazon might have come from here.
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Across the street from the old “Western,” Jimmy’s
Famous
Pizza was still a pizza place. However,
the adjacent Golfland mini golf course no longer existed and looked
like a
tiny version of what you might see on “Mysteries of the Abandoned”
(which is,
by the way, a great Science Channel show).
No more free pizzas for a hole-in-one on number 18.
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A hole-in-one on #18, The Grist
Mill, at Golfland
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Today, remnants of Golfland are
all that is left of the mini golf course
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Many years earlier, I had competed in a charity
event dubbed
the “World Championship of Miniature Golf” at Golfland.
I competed on a whim, under the name of a
friend who had paid an entry fee but then found he had to work. Despite playing after a round of golf and a
few beers on a Sunday afternoon, I managed to finish second place in
the
tournament and collect a check for a couple hundred bucks (yes, I did
give the
person I was impersonating half). While looking through a drawer, I recently found I had saved the scorecard from one of my matches from that tournament
While Golfland is gone, its website is still up here.
After the stop at Jimmy’s, I retraced my route on 125 until I drove by the final school I had attended, Merrimack College. There, I had taken my first college classes at night. They were finance-related courses that the bank I worked for would pay (assuming I passed, which I did). Years later, I was actually able to apply some of those credits towards my degree at U Lowell. Of course, given that it took me a total of 11 years from when I graduated high school until I got my B.S. degree, I wound up with almost twice as many credits as I needed to graduate.
I continued on 125 towards I-93 and, ultimately, Boston. However, as the sun was setting, I came upon one more place to stop—Harold Parker State Forest. All I’ll say about it is that I had a few “dates” there back in the day.
At some point, I decided to do some Boston
“tourist” stuff
that I never did when I lived in Massachusetts.
One of those was a tour of Fenway Park, which a friend had taken
and
recommended. I figured July 3 would be a
good day to try it. I wanted to pack in as much as I could early in my trip thinking that, as I had more treatments, I would be feeling worse and be less interested in doing things.
I had a blood draw scheduled for 8:30 at Dana
Farber, followed by my treatment at 9 then a check-in with the radiation oncologist at Mass General. Finally, I would return to Dana Farber for an appointment to review the bloodwork.
It sounds like a lot, but everything went well and I was done by quarter of 10 or so. The bloodwork was still fine, except for slightly elevated potassium for which Patrick, the CPN who alternated with Dr. Serzan for my monthly appointments, recommended more hydration. I thought I was drinking quite a bit of water, plus the sports drinks they had recommended, but I vowed to drink a little more.
As it turned out, the radiation oncologist with whom I met was Dr. Kim, who I was supposed to meet at my very first Dana Farber visit back in March before she had to cancel. She reviewed my weekly symptoms questionnaire and asked how I was feeling, in general. Since I had no real complaints to report, the meeting was pretty brief.
After calling Fenway to verify tour tickets were available, I figured I'd better eat something since, due to my treatment, I hadn't had anything yet. I scarfed down a yogurt and some fruit from the cafeteria and headed out.
Fenway is, essentially, on the same street as the Yawkey Center and only about a mile away, so I thought this warm, sunny day would be a good time to walk and get a little more exercise. I got to Fenway in plenty of time for the 11 a.m. tour, bought my ticket and, as instructed, waited in the gift shop for the tour to begin. I resisted the urge to get any memorabilia that I would have had to carry around the rest of the day.
The tour itself was good, but a bit disappointing. I thought my friend had said they got to look
inside the Green Monster and step on the field when he went, but I
guess that
was a “premium” tour.
We visited different parts of the park, starting
in the
seats off of left field, then proceeding to the Monster seats, the
press box
and right field near the famous Ted Williams 502-foot home run red seat. Seeing the view from atop the Green Monster
probably would have impressed me more if I hadn’t been there—in the
front row,
no less—for a game in September of the last championship year of 2018
with my
brother John and my nephew Daniel.
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They estimated Manny Ramirez' home run
to be
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My brother John, nephew Daniel and me in the Fenway Monster seats in September 2018 |
I liked seeing things you wouldn’t normally see during the game, like the grounds crew mowing the diamond and raking the warning track. We also got to see the Fenway Farms garden where they grow vegetables served in the Park—I didn’t know they actually sold anything with vegetables at games.
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Tractor
raking the warning track
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Mowing the Fenway infield
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View of Fenway's garden from
behind the
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We did get to go inside the press box which was cool and provided a view of the park and Boston skyline that the media would see.
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View
of Fenway and Boston from the press box
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Plaque for the late Red Sox
player and
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Seating chart for media members
(most
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We had a good guide who admitted they were born in New York (but said was always a Red Sox fan) and did not appear to be annoyed by my questions about things like whether they had gluten-free food in the park (they do, but only in one spot). I did already know a lot of the facts, history and stories about the team--maybe I could be a guide there. I’d say the tour was more geared towards folks who weren’t already diehard Sox fans like me.
The tour ended in the Red Sox museum where there were lots of displays about the team history and heroes.
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Back outside the park, I checked out the statues of Yaz, Ted
Williams and “The Teammates” (Bobby Doerr, Johnny Pesky, Dom DiMaggio, and Ted
Williams).
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Overall, I'd say the tour was worth the $25, although I did fall for the trick of buying the professionally done photos. When I saw how good they looked compared to my notoriously crappy selfies, I couldn't resist.
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My usual crappy selfie at Fenway
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A professional photo that I got sucked into paying for because it looked pretty good
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I did achieve my goal of getting some exercise that day as the walk to my treatment and appointments, then to Fenway and back to the hotel clocked in at over 5 miles on what became a pretty hot day.
That afternoon, I returned to Dolma, the Turkish restaurant, and stocked up on food for my "day off," July 4.
From the time I realized I would be in Boston for July 4th, I planned on seeing the famous Boston Pops concert and fireworks. I figured, like the Celtics parade, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. However, as the day approached, I got more and more discouraged about the idea.
First, it would be tough to get a good spot to see and hear everything without getting somewhere really early or paying a lot of money. Getting a place to sit along the Charles would mean getting there in the morning and waiting 12 hours or so by myself. There was a yacht club that sold seats with a good view, but they cost $300-although they did include bottled water and ice cream.
As for free places to watch, I first asked at the front desk of the hotel where a good place would be, but didn't get any good feedback. I also asked my doctors and assistants about it, since I was feeling good and didn't have medical problems to talk about. They gave me some ideas. The best option I could come up with was taking the T to Cambridge and looking for a spot somewhere around MIT where the view would be good and, also, they were supposed to have speakers set up to broadcast the concert.
The clincher for not going to see the fireworks was that I was feeling a little under the weather. I had a very slight fever and a bit of a sore throat. I wondered if these were radiation side effects finally kicking in. I took a COVID test, which was negative. In addition to my treatment the next day, I had plans with relatives and friends over the next couple days so I figured a night of rest in my room would be prudent.
So, in the end, I watched the Pops and the fireworks on TV like millions of others. As I watched, I realized there were a lot of performers before the fireworks, most of whom I had little interest in seeing. Finally the Pops came on but they played before the fireworks and not while they were going off. I guess I never paid enough attention in past years to realize that the fireworks were shot off to canned music and didn't start until maybe 10 or 10:30. Realizing how long I would have been standing around waiting wherever I had chosen to see the event, I was happy with my decision to stay in the comfort of my room.
The day after the 4th I had a midday treatment. Following that, I again left the city, this time for a 2:00 p.m. lunch with my New England Kuzmitski-side (i.e. my mother's side) cousins. My destination was the North Shore and Guiseppe's in Beverly. Again worried about traffic, I left early and wound up at the restaurant about 45 minutes before our reservation. That gave me more than adequate time to locate and use the bathroom, which I really needed after the drive. I also had time to ask the waitress about the menu and she informed me they had a gluten-free menu, which was a nice surprise for an Italian restaurant.
It was so great to see everyone and get caught up, reminisce about the old days and complain about the current state of affairs. And the gluten-free pasta was very good. The cousins embarrassed me by picking up my tab, which was much appreciated.
After dinner, Richard and Fran invited everyone to their house, which was pretty close to the restaurant. The conversation continued for a couple more hours or so.
There are enough great memories of times with my cousins to fill many volumes. On this particular day, I thought of a few from different times in my life.
Scott is the second youngest cousin of our generation and six years older than me. When I was very young, I was even more uncoordinated and athletically inept than I am now. As such, I could never get the hang of riding a bicycle, but Scott took it upon himself to try to teach me, having me ride laps around his parents'-Auntie Olga and Uncle Tilley's-house. He even rewarded me for completed laps by buying me ice cream or popsicles. I actually haven't ridden a bike in quite a while, but I bet I could. And I can thank Scott for that.
One of the first times we gathered for a "cousins dinner," Steve, Richard and I found ourselves at a bar drinking chocolate martinis at the end of the night. In addition to my first time drinking such a concoction, it was also when I learned that Richard was quite famous in the business community for pioneering "just in time" manufacturing concepts. When I later searched for and found articles about him up online (not sure if Google even existed to do that back then), I was surprised to find he was referred to as "Dick" in professional circles.
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I also remembered, when I was quite little, how Richard had taken me to my first Bruins game, along with his sister, my godmother Barbara.
Steve and I shared a bit of an affinity for gambling. For many years, some buddies and I had made an annual trek to Vegas (at least we did until COVID) and Steve had lots of stories about playing craps and blackjack on cruises and in casinos around the country.
During my time working on FAA software, I spent a lot of time at the FAA Technical Center in Egg Harbor Township (EHT), often for weeks at a time. Of course, nobody said it was in EHT, preferring to refer to its location as its more famous neighbor-Atlantic City. On one of my multi-week stays, Steve took a flight down to Atlantic City and stayed with me for a couple days. Although I had to work, we still found time to visit the casinos.
I learned more from Steve about craps that first night than I ever knew before. I remember we hit one particularly hot roll and Steve was throwing all these bets out there such that every number was covered. I don't remember how much we won, but I'm pretty sure it was enough to cover dinner with quite a bit left over.
Richard and Fran were nice enough to invite me to stay the night at their place, giving me a good little break from the hotel room and the city. It was relaxing to sit and look out over the ocean with a glass of wine in the evening and a cup of coffee in the morning. And, of course, there was also lots more conversation.
After leaving Richard and Fran's on Saturday afternoon, I headed north to Hampton Beach to meet up with some old friends, Missy and Charlie. I met Missy back in the 80s through a mutual friend, Jack, who I had known since high school and was my best friend through my late teens and early 20s. Jack's mother had a seasonal trailer in Hampton Beach and I became friends with Jack's friends during those summer visits. Some friends like Missy-and eventually Charlie-have stuck with me through the years, despite some long gaps that are typical when living so far apart. Sadly, Jack is no longer with us, having died from a stroke on Christmas day at the age of 52.
Our group of friends certainly did our share of partying back in the 80s. We went to some amazing concerts back then featuring bands that fill the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: U2, Journey, Queen, The Kinks, The Police, Rush, Duran Duran, Elton John, Heart, Chicago, Starship, Pink Floyd (post Roger Waters) and Styx to name a few. We went to venues like the old Boston Garden and Worcester Centrum, but also to further flung place in Springfield and Hartford, Connecticut. Then there were the legendary Boston bands like The Atlantics, The Stompers and the Fools at long-gone, fantastic clubs like the Channel in Boston and The Raft in Lowell as well as the still-existing Hampton Beach Casino.
I met up with Missy and Charlie in Hampton Center and it was as busy and vibrant as I remembered it. After leaving my car in a pay lot, I met them at McGuirk's for a tasty tuna dinner. After that, we headed to the trailer they still have on the north side of Hampton, by the big concrete wall. We also visited the nearby condos that they owned and rent out.
We talked about current times, old times, old friends and everything else. We talked into the night until it was around 10 p.m. and time for me to head back to Boston. Somehow, I forgot to get any pictures of us but did get a picture of an apparently rare Kildeer bird that was nesting across from Missy and Charlie's trailer (residents added the wire fence to try to protect the egg from predators).
