Top Ten: Martha's Vineyard 2019

When I met Peter, I was 25 years old. At that age, I felt all knowing, but was unwise. I walked with confidence, but was insecure. I was thin, but felt fat. I was smart, but unfocused. I had dated, but without success. Peter changed all of that. He helped me find balance within the contradictory nature of my character, and with it, I felt more willing and able to live life to the fullest - the way he did.

Peter embraced and exemplified his brother's mantra, 'Never have a bad day.' Over the first weeks dating him, I observed his joie de vivre. Give him a boat, he'd take it out on Lake Michigan, jump into the icy waters, and swim for the shore. Give him the Dunes, he'd climb up and roll down, sand splattering across his body. Give him a couple stubborn pistachios, he'd hammer them open. Give him an empty parking lot, he'd walk on his hands through it. Give him a day off, he'd make the most of it. Give him a girl willing to learn, he'd show her how it was done.

After watching, I started following. Never having a bad day rubbed off on me, and I like to think we have lived our life together that way, hopefully passing the philosophy onto our exuberant kids. 

In that spirit, we debated and ultimately agreed that we should celebrate Margaret's birthday in style and keep our planned trip to Martha's Vineyard, despite the somber circumstances that surrounded both events.

After Peggy's funeral, after Margaret's Lake Michigan birthday party, we smuggled our bags and children out of the house into the car at 5:50 AM to catch an 8:00 AM flight to Boston. At Logan, we rented the roomy antithesis to my Mini Cooper, a Minivan, and drove down to the Cape where we caught the ferry to Martha's Vineyard. It's a trip that does require a lot of schlepping, especially with small kids, but the destination is so unique, it's worth it.

We spent four full days there, a couple days short of the original itinerary, but what was needed to inspire optimism and joy. We savored every moment and lived it up. Back at home now, Peter and I keep asking each other about our favorite parts, and I think after a couple evenings reminiscing, we would agree on the following:

Top Ten: Martha's Vineyard

10. The excitement of reaching lunch at the Landfall, followed by the ferry ride to Martha's Vineyard where we looked out and saw Peter passing us in his Skiff.

9. Puzzling in the morning and at night with my Aunt Dee Dee.

8. The Skiff rides through Lake Tashmoo, Menemsha Bay, and Woods Hole, watching Mary, Bobby and even Margaret take the helm, and that one sunset cruise when I ripped my pants getting into the boat.

7. Taking in the views at the top of the Gayhead Cliffs and running around the lawn of the Lighthouse trying to get one decent picture of my kids. Then coming home to hear Peter's stories from cruising up to a house boat in the Vineyard Haven Marina where he bought Japanese squid ink sketches from a 5th generation islander and his Swedish girlfriend.

6. Making the most of a rainy day in Lake Tashmoo, catching several Bluefish and then frying them up for a delicious dinner.

5. An elegant dinner at Bettini in the historic Harborview Hotel, followed by a moonlit walk down to the Edgartown Lighthouse fueled by Kiddie Cocktails.

4. A beautiful long run from Vineyard Haven, through Oak Bluffs, to Edgartown where I jumped off the Jaws Bridge at the end. The bad part about that day was the abrupt ending; Margaret got stung by a silent and seemingly invisible jellyfish that caused baby hysteria. We ran off the beach, stopped at a pharmacy, and a guy that claimed to be an extra in Jaws helped find after bite stuff for her leg plus Motrin, which quickly solved the painful problem and crying.

3. Renting bikes in Edgartown, taking them across the Chappy Ferry, riding the island, dirt roads and all, and ending up at a pristine beach looking over a very angry Atlantic ocean crashing in front of us. Then seeing Aunt Dee Dee haul back to the ferry at an alarmingly fast pace.

2. Our Day in Menemsha including a couple hours relaxing on the rocky beach, Bobby making a friend with a kid named Malone, Katama Bay Oysters and Lobster Rolls at Larsen's, and the kids helping Peter reel in three Stripers.

1. Teaching our kids to never have a bad day. Passing it on, knowing that's how Brian and Peggy would want us to live our lives. In balance. In harmony. Filled with divine energy. 
    Lo.             

Mimi and Margaret

"There are no words."

It's true. There aren't. But after hearing it said so much this week, I started to feel like people were nervous to say anything else. That their thoughts were too raw or unpolished. That the timing was too soon, too delicate, too treacherous.

This weekend though, at Peggy's wake and funeral the words started to come. Her friends Sharon and Clara, and Brian's good friend Brendan, wove their words into beautiful images of the woman Peggy was. Her values, her character, her loving and caring spirit. Father Bill gave us confidence that heaven was rejoicing. Friends, family members, coworkers and clients all told us what a special woman she was. And the entirety of the Church congregation shared prayers, voices, and tears with us during the Mass.

While there is no longer an absence of words, they are still hard to come by. I've sat here with a blank screen for days, digging for words. They may not be right, but I have gathered a few.

The Mom, Peggy, Mimi, The Newest Brightest Star in the Sky - 

We named Margaret after you. We looked at her for the first time, and said it was the perfect name. From the day she was born, everyone saw you in her. Grandma Shirley would proudly say, 'she's a Burke alright.'

Margaret is two today. 'Two!' as she would emphatically pronounce. As she grows up, there are more than looks that resemble you. She is so happy. She never takes it easy, never has a bad day. She is always listening. And now talking, enriching the conversation in her own way. She's always willing and wanting to meet a new face, share a big hug, make someone smile from ear to ear. She loves being beautiful, dressing up, using my makeup brushes to apply make believe blush. Shoes ('Shuuuus') are her favorite thing. She actually goes to sleep faster and easier if you keep her shoes on in bed. And she loved you. She has a pretend phone, and on it, she only calls one person. Mimi. 

In your absence, I will encourage her to keep calling you. To keep the conversation going so she always remembers the impression you have made on her little life.

How you lulled her to sleep when she was an infant. You had remarkable skill in pacifying babies, which really came in handy with baby Mary. She wouldn't sleep more than 15 minutes for her Mama, but you would get her to rest in your arms for hours at a time. Your soothing, peaceful presence could calm any crying soul.


How you would listen to Margaret. To all of us. You had an other worldly way of giving your undivided attention. You captured and turned peoples words and stories into definitions of them. Peter once told me, 'you know you don't have to tell my Mom, everything.'  I couldn't help it though. I've never sat with someone so eager and excited to listen to the things I had to say.

How you could attract and nurture friendships near and far. You had high school friends, college friends, book groups, garden clubs, boating circles, and an endearing neighborhood clan that you viewed as family. Every weekend, there was a party to attend, dinner to host, conversation over tea that brought your network ever closer.


How beautiful you were. And how much I learned from you about personal upkeep. Nail care, hair styles that flattered, make up that chiseled, finding the right clothes to complement your figure. Poise, posture, elegance were your thing. 


How you could captain a boat, telling the guys what to do. A couple weeks ago, you were insistent that Claire and I take a 'Women at the Helm' class because you wanted us to be the same kind of confident captains you were. I drove the boat on Margaret's birthday yesterday, and was so proud of myself.

How much your family meant to you. Your kids, grand kids, nieces, nephews, brothers, and sisters. Your amazing, no super mom. The two of you would come over, chatting about your latest acupuncture appointments and Chinese herbs and take care of my babies over a bubbling cup of tea.


How much you loved the holidays and planning for them. Who was hosting. What special outing we would add to the season. It was your idea to take all of us aboard the magical, mythical Polar Express. You bought the kids jammies, drank up the hot cocoa, and smiled and laughed the whole time.


How you shaped the remarkable man I married. Margaret, Bobby and Mary's adventure seeking, life loving, hobby embracing, caring, seafaring dad.

And gave him away to me. To love and care for the rest of the days of my life.

How you called me your daughter. Not an in law. And embraced me as a sister to Claire. 
How sad we are that you are gone. Too young. Too early.  And how much we will miss your laughter, your love, your life.

And in the event that Margaret can't hear your voice on the other end of her phone calls to you. I will help her find you in Aunt Claire's face.

In the stories her loving friends can tell.

In a stick of Chapstick that will always taste like a kiss from Mimi.

In the Peggy O.


In a Christmas planning party.

In a perfectly pressed shirt.          
In a birthday song.
 
In a sprite.

In an angel at St. Francis.

In Opa - the light and love of your life.        
Margaret, Mary and Bobby, Peter and I have loved you dearly.

Lo.

A Couple Hot Days in Quincy

Getting to Quincy, Illinois growing up required a good amount of time in the car. Mostly, we were driving from St. Louis, a couple times from Chicago, and one time we drove all the way from a beach vacation in North Carolina to the great state of Illinois. For a girl prone to car sickness, I'd generally complain. But there was something about this particular car ride; the anticipation building as we lumbered across corn fields in a Budget full size car that never really seemed full size at all, sweaty palms grasping my Game Boy, thoughts of Hello Dollies on my mind. The car ride helped us all transition, slowing down our pace to fit in with a city almost frozen in time.

We always arrived after dinner; a welcome lit only by the fading dusk, abundant lighting bugs, and warm smiles on my grandparents' faces. The click of a seat belt, the pop of a door. We all stretched and walked the stairs to the front porch to get hugs while sneaking a peak of the cookies waiting inside.

A visit to Quincy, usually in the very hot month of August, around my Dad's birthday, was comprised of the same familiar rituals. Food was always a focal point. As mentioned, there were cookies on the table when we arrived; perhaps eight different varieties lining a large tray. I went straight for the Hello Dollies and fudge. Meals were planned for the week; Underbrinks radio rolls and my Grandma's zucchini bread for breakfast, large lunches spanning from steak and french fries, to roast beef, to fried chicken, jello salad always on the side. Supper was always 'lighter', likely leftovers or cold cuts. There was always a visit to the Maid Rite, a native institution specializing in sloppy joe-like sandwiches. And we went out for a couple formal dinners, including one to Spring Lake's Clubhouse which featured Shirley Temples, Melba Toasts, fried shrimp and peppermint stick ice cream.

Despite all that we craved and consumed in Quincy, there was one easy way to burn it off. Spring Lake. Every day, weather permitting, we would pack our suits, towels and sand toys, and drive to my Grandparents country club, which was as unique as they come. The true destination was its sand bottom pool, filled with spring water, surrounded by a beach, shaded by mature Oaks and Sycamores. White finger docks jutted out on the far end to form swimming lanes. A platform in the middle was there for diving. And two slides; one for the fearful, the other for the fearless; provided the ultimate Stairmaster exercise. Hours melted into minutes quickly at Spring Lake. We soaked up every last second, including that coveted part of the day when we were allowed to order a Deter's Chipwich from the 19th Hole's window, biting and slurping it up greedily.

We came hungry for all that Quincy had to offer, and left so very full.

After my grandparents passed, there wasn't really a reason to return to Quincy. Despite that, thoughts of this very small dot on a map, hugging the mighty Mississippi River, come to me every summer. Particularly, as I walk by a stretch of Sycamores in my neighborhood. In July and August, something about their aroma mixed with the Midwestern air brings back Quincy memories and begs me to tell my kids about this special place.

Sometimes, seeing is believing though. And after a year of planning, I and 37 other descendants of my Grandparents got to show them what Quincy was all about.

On a blazing hot Friday, in keeping with tradition, I drove the kids four and a half hours down I-55 to the banks of the Mississippi. Mary had been asking if we were there yet for a while. Ten minutes. Five minutes. Okay, there's the sign. As we passed industrial sites and Gardner Denver's office, Bobby stared out the window and said, 'Ahhhh ... Quincy is beautiful, Mommy.' To a kid that loves construction vehicles, maybe. But I was quietly wishing it would get more picturesque as we climbed the bluff, hoping that the vision of this humble city would live up to the expectations I had set.

Starting with the warm welcome we got at the Hampton Inn from my Aunt Barb, the city didn't disappoint. From the Patio, to the picnic, to the pool, to the prayers at St. Francis, everything was perfect - just as I remembered and just as my kids might have envisioned in my stories.

Better than me relaying the experience, I asked my kids about their favorite parts of the family reunion. 

Bobby: Uh ... what's a reunion again, Mama? 
Me: It's when people come back together after being apart. 
Bobby: And what's that place called again that we went to? 
Me: Quincy, buddy. 
Bobby: Right, Quincy. Umm ... I liked tackling those big boys. You know I'm stronger than them. 
Me: Matt and Chris. Yep, you did do that. You also were wrestling a little too rough with Will. 
Bobby: NO! We were playing football, Mommy! 

Margaret: Me. Me. Like lemonaaaaaaade.

Mary: I liked getting to cut Aunt Barb's cake. 

Bobby: I got to cut a piece too. I liked that. 
Mary: I loved Spring Lake and getting an ice cream sandwich through that little window. 

Margaret: Mine ice cream. Mine ice cream. Yum. 

Bobby: I liked the slide. But I bumped by head. 
Mary: I liked getting all dressed up in the locker room and then going to dinner. I also really liked the fried shrimp - can you make those, Mom? But I didn't like when Bobby banged my head on the dance floor.

Me: Is that what this bruise is from? 
Mary: Yeah. 
Bobby: I said I was sorry! 
Mary: Also who is that girl? 
Me: This one? 

Mary: Yeah. She has two babies in her tummy! 
Me: That's right. That's Katrina. What else did you like? 
Mary: I liked those Sloppy Joes. 

Me: Maid Rites

Mary: And having dinner at the Patio. 

Bobby: I liked playing boats at Spring Lake. And I liked getting a toy for being a good boy in the car. 

Mary: I wish we were still in Quincy. 
Me: We will go back. I promise. 

The only thing my kids couldn't experience, the thing that really made Quincy shine, were my Grandparents. On Saturday morning, we ran by their house and I hugged their epic Oak. I relayed the stories and pictures of the place's heyday. On Sunday, we celebrated them at a special Mass at St. Francis. But knowing them, my kids' great grandparents, can only be felt in their offspring. And I've got to say, I think they felt their presence all weekend long.

Their smiles.

Their hugs.

Their laughter.

Their ability to beat the heat.

Their kindness

and generosity.

Their cooking.

Their style. 

     

 Their ever growing family.

 

Together in their hometown.

Lo.