We both agree, yesterday was long. Today needs to be short. His day, Michael tells me he plans on having lunch by the water in Scituate, and then investigating the lighthouse there. It sounds like a perfect plan to me. Back roads to get there, a little over thirty minutes away, and I get to pick the restaurant.

I look for something on or close to the water. Something casual. Something I think Michael would like. The Satuit Tavern sounds like it will fit the bill perfectly, and it is given great ratings by its customers.

Lunch at Satuit Tavern

• 

• 

At noon, the parking lot is not overly full, nor is the restaurant. The server is friendly and we are served promptly.  I’m into clams these days, and without a bit of guilt in my body, I ask for a combination of fried clams and scallops. At home, most seafood plates consist of shrimp and oysters or catfish—I like all of those things too—but I know clams are not in my future so I indulge when and were I can. I can’t ask for more, the seafood is crispy on the outside and tender within.

The Scituate Lighthouse

We can see the lighthouse from the restaurant and it is a more than easy drive to get there.  The way is lined with beach houses on either side of the peninsula. This tiny corner of the world is stark and angular in shades of gray and white, broken only by blue sky with its streaks of white clouds.

Parking, we begin to explore. Michael is interested in the perfect angle of the lighthouse for his pictures. I am interested in everything, and eyeing the almost non-existent path through the rocky terrain I wonder how I will traverse it.

The entire landscape looks like a sprained ankle waiting to happen.  I walk gingerly, find a place to perch, and wave to Michael who sits on a large rock adjacent to the jetty. A small girl jumps from rock to rock like a fleet footed gazelle. Those were the days…I think.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Our trip home takes us in search of a farm stand, still looking for those elusive tomatoes. I know we will find them again somewhere. And we do! I hope they are as good as those we found last Sunday.

• 

• 

• 

• 

In Search of the Past

We make a wide detour through Taunton, once again in search of the home where we spent our first anniversary. My fears are confirmed—it has been torn down, the lot leveled, and a modern service station now stands in its place.

Michael then goes in search of Geilich Tanning Company, the leather manufacturing plant that created fine tanned leather for finer shoes, and hired a young girl as their billing clerk so many years ago.  I did my best that day to look as old and as efficient as possible, and selling myself as someone who was a quick learner and could master any job, and yes, we would be here for a long time. The last part was stretching the truth — I was only slightly hopeful.

I remember it was in an industrial part of town. Michael remembers it was close to smokestacks that spewed ash onto our new green VW and marred the paint job—that I don’t remember. The building was two story and white, and it too, is nowhere in sight.

I guess you really can’t go home again, expecting time to stand still, waiting for your return. At least I have my very sweet memories of those lovely golden days so many years ago.