Fridays always hold a special place in my heart. Fridays were often paydays. Five o'clock on Friday meant the beginning of the weekend, and sometimes the beginning of a July week of vacationing on Cape Cod in Massachusetts. That usually led to traffic jams on Route 3, wet bathing suits, sand between our toes, and baskets of fried clams. One of my employers gave employees Friday afternoons off for a couple of months in the summer, and I spent many of those extra hours exploring the canals and mills of Lowell as research for a novel. And even with employers less generous, we typically had "casual Friday," meaning jeans were acceptable clothing.
|Our son at Marconi Beach |
on Cape Cod in 1980