Go to Cape to celebrate Ma’s birthday. Check.
Play golf with baby bro on course we really like. Check.
Go to Framingham for high school reunion. Check.
Come home to go to work (where I can finally relax). Check.
Connecticut has been my home for 36 years; my entire adult life. But Framingham, MA is where I’m from. The Class of ’70 at Framingham North High School has had reunions every five years. I’ve been to each and every one of them, and enjoyed them all. Some people I wish I could see more often; for others, every five years is just fine.
The crowds get smaller with each passing get-together. There are new names added to the list of those no longer with us. But these are generally joyful occasions, when people are genuinely happy to see and be seen. Look, I’m still alive! And so are you!
On the way out, I got to drive by some of the hundreds of ranch houses built on concrete slabs in the mid-’50s. They were in big developments called Cherryfield, Pinefield and Ridgefield. A lot of us grew up in these houses. Mostly, Chevys and Fords filled the single car garages. Nobody really had much more or much less than anyone else.
It was a damn fine way to grow up.
On to 2015.