Post by Grubb.
Friday, after taking a walk along the National Seashore, Marc and Judi took us to Provincetown for an afternoon ramble. A bayside Greenwich Village, since the 1920s P-town has been famous for being a summertime bohemian hangout. I expected rundown cabanas and a restored Provincetown Playhouse. The cabanas have morphed into upscale condos and the Playhouse is long gone. Although haunted by the ghosts of Eugene O’Neill and Tennessee Williams, the feeling I got was of a resort catering to baby boomers. The shop-lined streets were swarming with gray-haired tourists. It was like we were joining the declining throng on one last tchotchke buying spree before all our nick knacks end up in an estate sale.
Did I want maple walnut fudge? A T-shirt that said, “Science doesn’t care what you believe”? A book entitled “50 Shades of Kink”? A samurai helmet? A used license plate? Ah, not today. Let me just soak in the sun by the marina, or people watch as I mosey down the main drag, or catch the garden artwork, the alley 3-D artwork, or, best of all, the boat in the public library.
Moira burst out laughing at the sentence about tchotchkes and knick-knacks.