In the Hamptons, Summer Is A Verb

“I don’t want to keep my keys in my breast pocket. They go in my pants pocket,” Frank said, his voice was not raised, just emphatic.

“Well, you’re just being stubborn. You are like a schoolboy. You’re acting like a thirteen-year-old boy. I don’t know why you just won’t keep your keys in your breast pocket. It’s safe there,” she continued endlessly in her tiny voice.

“Ah, Mary,” I heard Frank respond with a bit of a sigh.

I peeked behind me to see him shaking his head and looking at her with a twinkle in his eye – it seemed he knew she said these things because she cared. After years and years together, he knew what to expect – it was how she expressed her love. It was cliché, but adorable nonetheless. I slid back down in my seat and smiled to myself as I listened to her continue to lecture her husband as though he were child.

How ironic, I thought, my trip began with the delightful squeals of a train car filled with young people embarking on one of many weekend trips to the Hamptons and it was ending with endearing banter between an elderly couple, who had likely spent their youth living in the city and summering on weekends in the Hamptons. And now, I imagine, they spend the majority of their days at a bit slower pace in the Hamptons – walking the streets, tiptoeing in the sand and appreciating the gorgeous sunsets. Young, old or somewhere in between – summer happens in the Hamptons.