By The Sea
I still miss my former mother-in-law.
I miss my former mother-in-law, Penelope Goodale Adams, and boy was she a good woman. I may have loved her more than I loved her son, but of course, I only got to know Penny because of Charlie.
As I was scurrying to at least apply deodorant and brush my teeth before daunting off to Children’s Circle Nursery School, the never-been-opened box of fancy matches on the back of the potty caught my eye. The 1950s seaside scene featuring a bathing beauty in a sapphire swimsuit and puffy white cap with a scalloped edge reminded me of countless trips to the pristine shores of Singing Beach in Manchester-by-the-Sea. I cherish this quaint New England seaside town just outside of Boston where Penny was born and where she eventually returned to raise her two exemplary sons, Christopher and Charlie, both of whom served as military officers in the Persian Gulf War.
It was always easy to be around Penny. She was zany and adventurous and in her late 60s when I first met her. She was practicing yoga weekly, volunteering at the Historical Society and had just taken up tap dancing lessons. I never experienced any of that mother-in-law static with Penny, only with her sometimes pompous youngest son who continued to command those around him long after his duties as a Marine Corps captain concluded. After seven years of marriage, I peacefully parted ways with Charlie, but I kept Penny close to my heart for the rest of her days.
Visiting Penny over the Fourth of July became one of my favorite summer traditions, enjoying the timeless patriotic parade along Main Street. Stars and stripes decorated every wooden white balcony, parents pushed little red wagons overflowing with cherubic children in All-American apparel. And those old-fashioned fire trucks from every surrounding town — Gloucester, Beverly, Wakefield and more — made my heart sparkle, showcasing their shimmery red finery and handsome heroes on board. I could almost hear the steady drumbeat and captain’s whistle of the local high school marching band as I glanced down at my cell phone and was suddenly alarmed by how late I was going to be dropping off my 3 year-old at school. “Sutton,” I hollered, “we gotta go! Mommy lost track of time.”
I scooped up my jubilant boy in his darling denims and stuffed his chubby toes into his favorite red socks with firetrucks, grabbed his navy blue sneakers, and out the back door we raced. Penny never got to meet my little boy. But I know she would have adored him.
One day, I will have to bring my husband and children back to Manchester-by-the-Sea for a walk along Singing Beach and a toast to Penny Adams. She has been gone nearly two years. I still miss my former mother-in-law.
