Do you remember “The Summer of 1942,” the nostalgic movie about a teenage boy’s huge crush on an “older” (in her 20s) woman, played by Jennifer O’ Neal, a stunning beauty who could fuel the fantasies of any male with a pulse?
The year 1942 has significance for Tina and me, as we were both born that year. She is the “older” woman in our movie, having been born nine months earlier. She happily refers to me as her “boy toy,” although this toy has become a tad, how can I put this delicately, rusty. Our four sons and nine grandchildren, ages four to 25, will be coming to Maine in August to celebrate our 80th birthdays, an event that will surely create more good memories.
Speaking of summertime memories. Here are some of mine as a child growing up in West Virginia in the 1950s: Going to the corner drug store on a hot day to fork out a shiny nickel for a Creamsickle. Playing catcher on a Little League team (the Mullen Dodgers). It was a family affair; my brother was the pitcher, my dad was the coach and my mother and older sister faithfully attended all games. (We won the League Championship two years in a row!) Also, my brother and I would spend hours hitting a “baseball” (a plastic ball with holes in it for playing golf, which was called a “practice golf ball.”) We played in front of the house and had rules for singles, doubles and home runs. Lying on blankets spread out on the second tee of the ratty Worthington Golf course (noted for crabgrass fairways and a few sand greens) by our house to watch a fireworks display from the City Park, a few miles away. Pulling swollen ticks out of Salt and Pepper, our two rambunctious beagles. One year our family piled into the 1954 Pontiac station wagon for a three-week trip out west, which featured rides on mules down the Grand Canyon and several long hikes with my dad so I could earn my Boy Scout Hiking merit badge. Our car had no air conditioning, so my siblings and I were much more interested in staying at a hotel with a swimming pool than in seeing historical sights or majestic mountain vistas. We did love stopping at Howard Johnsons, which featured hot dogs with buttery rolls and Frozen Pudding, my favorite ice cream back then. During that trip we tried to see license plates from all 48 states and we finally reached that goal in Santa Fe, New Mexico where we spotted, the envelop please, Vermont.
In later years, my fondest summer memories have centered around the water: trips to Monhegan Island, Popham Beach, Reid State Park, Moosehead Lake and Long Lake or, closer to home, the islands of Casco Bay. Here on the Midcoast, we’re so fortunate to have the superb offerings of the Maine State Music Theatre and the Bowdoin International Music Festival. And don’t forget Sea Dog games and hamburger cookouts. And Farmers Markets.
Summer also remains that time when we feel good about just being in the moment, doing nothing. Sharing the feeling of freedom with those we care most about. Taking in the sun and the sunsets and, on some glorious nights, the shooting stars. Walking in the light rain. Staying inside during thunderstorms and playing Charades or Fictionary or Scrabble or…. whatever.
Happily, Maine remains a magnet for family and friends, some of whom have been known to say, “I could never live in a cold place like Maine in the winter!” There is, indeed, no place like home and there is no state like Maine, which combines stunning natural beauty with a can-do spirit and a fierce independence streak. And there’s really no place like Maine in the summer, so let’s embrace its warmth and wonder. We’ve earned it.
David Treadwell, a Brunswick writer, welcomes commentary and suggestions for future “Just a Little Old” columns. dtreadw575@aol.com.
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