(Author’s note: This post originally was meant to be a discussion of the social nature of “Cocktail Hour” and its particular importance as such to the 50 plus male. As the author was composing this piece, it evolved into a remembrance of time and place for the most meaningful cocktail hours the author and his wife have ever enjoyed. Hopefully, it evokes memories of similar special moments for you.)
Twenty-four years ago, shortly after my wife Nita and I first started dating, I met her best friend of many years, Robin, along with Robin’s parents June and “Flip” (real name William). Robin and I took an immediate liking to one another; she has an infectious personality that is a combination of warmth, humor, and tenacity. I soon learned where these traits sprang from when I had my first chance to speak at length with June and Flip.
Robin’s folks were intelligent, inquisitive and each had that sparkle in their eye for one another. Hard work and perseverance had paid off with a loving family, good health, a beautiful home, worldwide travel, and active pursuit of their shared love of golf…in short, “the well-earned good life.” Little did I know that I was about to learn one more aspect of this happy family picture, one that has had a profound effect not only on Robin’s family, but my wife and I as well..
Robin’s folks owned a second home in Southampton, NY which is part of the area universally known
as The Hamptons. The Hamptons has a reputation as a playground for the rich and famous, but in truth the vast majority of the residents is people like June and Flip who worked incredibly hard and were enjoying the fruits of success stemming from their flourishing careers. The Hamptons are basically comprised of year-round citizens, those who live there for part of the year (like June and Flip, who resided there from May to October), and of course, summer vacationers. My wife and I, courtesy of Robin, June and Flip were part of the latter group.
We were fortunate enough to receive annual invitations to join Robin and her family at the Southampton house for the extended July 4th weekend. I know what some of you are thinking: overly-crowded beaches, overbooked restaurants, shopping that was anything but a bargain, not to mention the traffic. Well, the truth is none of that mattered one bit. Southampton had become, long before I entered the picture, a home-away-from-home for my wife. It only took my first visit to understand why.
Have you been fortunate enough to vacation somewhere that eventually became THE spot for you and your spouse/family? The Southampton house was in a densely wooded setting in an enclave of roughly a half-dozen homes, but June and Flip’s home was the one that backed-up to the edge of a hill overlooking the Little Peconic Bay and the thin strip of beach leading into it. The family room was in the rear of the house and when you walked out the sliding doors onto the deck, there it was…sun, calm glistening water, the occasional boat, distant views of surrounding small islands and what you knew was going to be the perfect frame for incredible sunsets. We were never disappointed when the appointed hour came and the sun slowly dissolved into the bay. This generally happened during cocktail hour, which was, thankfully, fairly serious business at the house. I literally felt the weight of the world lift from my shoulders, instinctively drew Nita to my side, raised a glass and basked in the painting taking place before my eyes. At those moments, I was never more in love with time, place and the person by my side. Nita felt the same way…we could see it in each other’s eyes without speaking a word.
Sadly, June passed away a few years ago. Flip eventually re-married and sold the Southampton house. Now, when July 4th weekend arrives, we typically spend it with our dear friends Deb & Ed at the yearly holiday bash held poolside at their home with numerous other good friends and family members; this has become our new annual rite and we love it. But sometime during the festivities, Nita and I will glance at one another, raise a glass to June’s memory and just look off starry-eyed, remembering those sunsets.
-Neal
