Thank you, John Walters

Two weeks ago when Peter and I were on Martha's Vineyard I received a phone call from my brother asking me if I had any great ideas for my father's upcoming 80th birthday.  He said that in speaking with him he had discovered that he wanted to go to Montana.

Neither of us wanted to tackle that one.

I had also been researching flights to Chicago, thinking that we might all go there for Thanksgiving, but I'd pretty much become discouraged with that because not only would it be expensive, but it still didn't really focus on my father's birthday.   And the fact of the matter is, when you incorporate airfare into the equation, it becomes a whole 'nother animal.

So I did what I do, and put it out of my mind and figured it would all work out.

Hence, John Walters.

Peter and I were Jeeping out on Chappaquiddick when we kept driving by these handmade signs of a picture of an older man waving ... with the name JOHN WALTERS printed underneath and an arrow pointing the way.  We weren't following the signs, but our destination was the beach, and that is where there was a huge white tent set up for John Walter's.  I assumed it was a big birthday party for him, and I thought HMMMMMM.

Thirty years ago we had rented a house out on Chappy that laid the foundation for my need to return on a regular basis.  It was a fabulous, rambling old house with loads of bedrooms, guest houses, spectacular views of the ocean and a clay tennis court.  I was 15 at the time and it was truly the best thing that had ever happened to me.  It was beyond my wildest imagination of what can happen when family and friends gather together in a fabulous setting.  We had tennis tournaments, baseball games on the beach, we hunted for "Billy the Lifeguard,"  (Well, I did, but I made others follow!) we had huge meals at the largest table any of us had ever seen in our lives and my parents slept in the biggest bed we'd ever seen in our lives.

It was all so huge.  The house was huge, the excitement was contagious and because the house was also bigger than my parent's had expected, they called everyone they knew and told them to come visit -- so there was always someone new showing up over the course of the two weeks that we were there.

It was the type of event that you remembered for always, and I had looked into renting the house again over the summer but had quickly been discouraged by the $15,000 weekly price tag.  Ummm, I can only hope that one day such a number does not seem a lot to me, but now is it not only is it a lot -- it's out of my realm.

But John Walter's was having a big-ass party out on Chappy, so why the hell couldn't we have one for my father?

I called my brother.  I told him to look up the house and call the people and try to finagle a deal.  This is his thing -- and he did it well.  He explained how we had stayed out there 30 years ago, he explained how our father was turning 80 and we wanted to do something extravagant ... and the woman went for it.  And even though they never rent the house for less than a week, she said we could.  And the price was affordable if split up between my brother, sister and myself and certainly worth every penny if we could pull it off.

Which we did.

And how.

Last week I was beyond stressed.  This is my own problem -- I try to do as much as I can, I try to figure out how to make things as best as they can be -- and the amount of headwork that had to go into getting everyone from here to there, or from where they where to there was crazy.   But these types of things don't actually get off the ground if someone isn't figuring out all the details and worrying about them, so, unfortunately, it had to be done.

And this week, this Tuesday, the morning after we returned, I just received a phone call from my father saying that it was probably the most wonderful thing that ever happened to him.

And that was what it was all about, right?

You betch your sweet boopie it is! 

While we were figuring out meals, how to get people out of work and school, securing ferry reservations (it absolutely blows my mind that we had trouble getting ferry times in mid-October) trying to coordinate how to get people from airports to ferries on time, how to get my brother to the house before my father, how to convince Maddie that missing school was not the end of the world, hitting the grocery store or liquor store or Trader Joe's every day for a solid week with the plan being that once we were there, we wouldn't need to go into town for anything but maybe a lunch or a breakfast, all I told my father was that he should plan to be gone from Friday to Monday, that there were no plane rides involved, and that the weather would be similar to what it was here.

And then my sister, brother and I talked on the phone daily, trying to hash out the details, my sister and I would talk about how RIDICULOUS it was that Jamie wouldn't get a plane reservation (that is his thing) and my brother and I would talk about whether he should appear on the ferry to surprise my father, or at the house, and then I would say YOU NEED TO GET A PLANE and then we can figure it out.

It was crazy.  I made a lasagna to feed an army, an apple pie, filled bags with crackers, birthday cake mix, frosting, the oil and eggs for that, and snacks and coffee, and milk and cream and sugar and sweet and low for that,  etc. etc. etc.,  and my sister planned the dinner for the second night, which was a chicken dish and macaroni and cheese (my father loves mac and cheese).

Details.  Did we have mixers for the vodka and gin?  I put in a Briita water filter instead of buying bottled water.  What about games?  We packed games.  Extra blankets.  Sleeping bags for the kids.   I went to the store Friday morning so that there could be fresh fruit for my father.  And we had to pack it all in a small area of the car because we needed all three seats for people.  Oh, and bikes.  And tennis rackets.  Anyone have any tennis balls?  

And the sheets!  The house sleeps 19 people.  My sister and I emptied out our linen closets in preparation of making so many beds.  Pillow cases.  Towels for everyone.   Shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothpaste?

I only brought one.

There were three floors and guest cottages, everyone vying to steal toothpaste!  Hallie clumped down from the third floor bathroom to the second floor to get some.  Jamie said it was too far to go from the cabin.  Imagine if we'd forgotten other things besides massive amounts of toothpaste?

I'm just saying, it's stressful trying to anticipate all the things you might need in a house where you have no idea what is already there.  I did forget toilet paper, but not paper towels.  I'm not perfect.

Anyway, that was the week before -- I kept thinking, man, if we'd just thrown a party I could have shopped, cleaned the house and then whammo, it would be done.  Instead I was cultivating gray hairs trying to figure it all out in a few day's time.

But at last, Friday late morning we were all in the car headed to Boston to pick up Jamie and his girlfriend Doo.  I called my sister, who had instructed my parent's to be at her house by noon, to find out what was going on in her world.  My parent's had decided that we were taking them to either Boston, the Cape or New York City.  They had even gone to the bank and gotten a bunch of small bills so that they could take taxi's in the cities because they know how I like to walk everywhere!

Too funny.  And while I am sure they had it figured out fairly quickly where they were going, my parent's both played along while my sister strung them along from the Seacoast through Boston, towards the Cape and at last to the ferry to Martha's Vineyard.  We had several hysterical phone calls along the way, and it was a lot of fun.

We picked up "the package," (Jamie and Doo) at the airport, and they both proceeded to climb into the back seat and fall asleep as they had been up since 4:00 a.m. to make planes.  We sped towards our 2:30 ferry and we stood on the deck and watched as they let on cars as they were coming in.  I knew my sister was not far behind, and I wondered if they would end up making this ferry instead of the 3:45 they were scheduled for.  I pondered how we would handle this ... perhaps have my brother keep hidden in the car?  Maybe we would head to the house beforehand anyway ... and my sister could drive around the island a bit?  My mind was still racing, still trying to figure out the best way to have it all happen.

They drove up literally seconds after we started to pull out.  We waved, and I made sure that my brother was nowhere in sight.  Phew.  We sat down and had a beer and talked and laughed about this great thing we were up to.

I started to relax.

We arrived at the house and ran around checking it out.  It had been remodeled since we'd been there last, and it was fun to try to remember what was original, what might be original, etc.  The house is just so wonderful.  The view had also opened up across the street, so that you actually could see water from any window.  Beyond words, really.

My sister wasn't sure which driveway it was, so when she was on the Chappy ferry she called, and I sent out Maddie and Charlie to pretend that something weird was happening at the house.  The fact that they made such a scene I thought they had been attacked by wolves is another story, but anyway ... in 1978 we had all been at the beach and when we returned, the house was completely dark.

Which was weird, because usually there was always someone there.  Then we saw it, up in the tower, a light and a big hand waving.  Some of us screamed ... (I am sure not myself) and it was discovered that it was my father up there pulling a prank.

So how could we emulate that in 2008?

It wasn't dark.  Oh what the hell, Jamie just went and stood in the tower window.  So when they drove in the driveway, I was looking up there.  Peter, who was supposed to be helping, was on the phone.  Geesh.

I poured my first drink then.  Oh wait, I'd already had two beers!  Anyway, I was relaxing!

I don't think my parent's had ever expected that it was that house -- so it was a fait accompli -- we got 'em.  We surprised them.

We all toured through the house again, all ending up in the tower exclaiming at the view, trying to recall what had changed.  SO MUCH FUN.  And a fabulous sunset to boot.

While I worked on dinner, Peter, who couldn't understand why HE had to go pick up his daughter, left in a huff because HE had to go pick up his daughter alone, because you see, no one ever wanted to leave.  The house is just SO AMAZING.  The kitchen is huge with a big island with stools where there was always someone hanging out.  Then there was a small table in the kitchen where someone was always playing a game.

Then there was the dining room table -- that seated us all.  

Oh, and the living room where there was usually a fire burning in the woodstove, jacking up the temperature to say 90 degrees.  My mother said it was just right.   It was HOT.

And the tennis court where the kids went down to play and we basically never saw them again.  Charlie spent hours sweeping the court, or whatever it was he was doing.  When we played there was always a kid cleaning something.  But they were great, and chased after balls.  And began and ended every day playing tennis.  It was awesome.

We ate.  We sat around and talked, we hiked one day and got lost, we ate.  We watched the Red Sox, win one night, and lose the next.  We ate.

We played tennis in the wind.  And I beat Jamie.  HAHAHAHAHAHA.  Then we ate.

We drove into town on Saturday to pick up Jeff and Emma and had some snacks and beer at the Brewery and wandered a bit around town.  Then we went home.  And ate.

This was the view off the front deck.  Why would you want to do anything else but hang there?

And eat.

The days went by far too quickly, and before we knew it, it was Monday and we had to go. 

Thirty years ago we had taken a picture of a bunch of us sitting on the bed in the master bedroom.

Thirty years later:

So it was a great time had by all.  

And in addition to talking, laughing, playing, drinking and eating.

I took pictures.