WARNING: This post contains heavy doses of me waxing nostalgic, sentimental, and every other sappy emotion. Also there are pictures.
I was born and raised on Cape Cod. When most people think of the Cape they imagine neighborhoods full of old-money mansions overlooking picturesque sand dunes, private golf courses, and trust fund kids in go-to-hell pants driving around from swanky bar to swanky bar in their Dad's Mercedes, paying their way out of OUIs. While those things do exist there, they are far from the norm. Like most year-round residents, my family was, (and is,) middle to lower-middle class. There were many things I hated about living there when I was younger: the sense of isolation, the small-town mentality of many people, the depressing bleakness of life there in Winter. Now, after living in the Boston area for several years, I've come to appreciate the good things about Cape Cod, and I thoroughly enjoy being able to visit now and again, especially in the Summer.
I've just returned to my apartment in Somerville after several days visiting my parents, who still live in the house I grew up in. Although I have not lived there for a long time, it is still the place that immediately comes to mind when I hear the word "home." Every inch of the place is saturated with signs and traces of the things that make me who I am. There are shelves upon shelves of my Father's books, the margins of the pages full of notes- sometimes several sets from different reads at different times, evidenced by different colored ink. Thankfully I inherited some small parts of his analytical mind, great respect for the English language, and wide-ranging academic curiosity, all things that helped me to struggle through my bachelor's degree later in life than usual. Every corner of every room has some evidence of my Mother's artistry; her eye for aesthetics, love of old things, and appreciation for simple beauty, all of which she has tried to pass down to me as well.
While I was there I took every opportunity to visit thrift stores and antique shops, and on the bus ride back to South Station I lugged bags and an old suitcase that were much heavier than on the way down. In fact the suitcase itself is a new acquisition, rescued by my Mom from the Salvation Army. A hulking leather thing of the old-fashioned sort without wheels. The tag inside says, "Skymaster by Universal: Custom Crafted Luggage." It's a little beat up, but I think it has character.
I took a lot of photos while I was down there, and will share some of them here. Apologies if they are not the greatest, I took them all with the camera on my phone.
A walk around the yard of my parents' house. Evidence of my Mom's green thumb and eye for interesting objects.
Below are a few of the sartorial treasures I plundered from the thrift shops of Olde Cape Cod. While my thrifting skills pale in comparison to
Giuseppe's wizardry, I think I did pretty well for myself.
This shirt and shorts were my first two finds, and I wore them the next day, as you can see by the last garden pic, and this one, which I snapped on the back deck as my Father and I enjoyed a cocktail and a chat while he grilled one of the freshest and, (as I would soon find out,) most delicious pieces of swordfish I have ever had.
That drink which matches my shorts is pomegranate lemonade with a healthy dose of vodka in it. The cheap stuff. My Dad is the kind of guy who will spend the extra couple of dollars to get a good German beer, but when it comes to liquor, he buys whatever is on sale. When it's going in a mixed drink I'm mostly inclined to agree with him.
A few more glimpses of thrifting finds:
This navy wool blazer had to come with me. I already have a few navy blazers, but this cost $2, fit perfectly, (as the little old ladies working at the shop where I found it loudly proclaimed when I tried it on,) and came from a now-defunct local shop.
The jacket of this handsome glen plaid suit also fit like a glove, though the pants will have to be taken in. The wool is soft and fine and lightweight, and comes from a familiar place, Louis of Boston.
I figured I ought to bring it back up here and get some use out of it,
although like the aforementioned Giuseppe, (whose territory I hope I'm
not infringing on too much here; he does do this much better than I,) my
suit-wearing is currently for my own pleasure only, as my job does not
require me to wear one. In fact, in many ways it is prohibitive of
wearing one. All the more reason to get this next one as well, right?
Here is a true enigma. A beautiful grey nail's head suit. Standard 2-button, with darts. From J Press. I may just be new at this, but I have never seen a jacket from J Press that is not an un-darted sack with a 3-2 rolled lapel. I suppose they have to vary things a little bit, but I was shocked when I first saw it.
One in blue and one in white....
Brooks Brothers oxford cloth button downs. The old US-made ones with the unlined collars. I almost left them behind, as they were in a chain thrift store, (since I try to be a gentleman I'll not name names,) which has decided to create a "boutique section" where they put anything that they think is fairly nice and quadruple the number on the price tag. These were $12.99 each, and I left them there and then went back and got them the next day, after I decided they were well worth it. They are in great shape and are made with the sort of quality construction that has become very difficult to find. I prefer them to anything available in BB right now if only for the simple fact that they were made domestically.
In closing, here are a few more somewhat random shots of textures, colors and old things mostly taken from around my parents' home.
I hope that as I get older and older I'll continue to find new ways to
enjoy and appreciate my environment, and I hope anyone reading this will
as well. It's a nice thing to be able to go home now and again, and to
relax surrounded by memories of youth, enjoying good company, food, and
drink. For me that means sitting on that back deck and breathing
deeply the air that smells of the sea, the earth, flowers, and the
Summer.
Over and Out,
CPR
