Pushing Sixty, one day at a time!

  BRANT ROCK BEACH  When I think of Brant Rock Beach, I time travel fifty years. It is located south of Boston, on the bay side of Cape Cod. Nesting Brant gulls inspire its name.  During my childhood, my grandparents would often take my siblings, cousins and I there for a marvelous summer afternoon or even a whole day. We’d leave their house in Pembroke, Massachusetts, assigning the role of house security agent to Tinkerbell, their yippy Yorkshire terrier. Tinker expressed her disagreement with this role as we piled into two cars. “Yip, yip, yip!” Ten people filled the “yellow bird”, a big yellow Chrysler, and a nickname less blue Pontiac. Off we’d go. Twenty minutes or so later, the swamps outside the window announced the arrival of salty waters. Beach-related businesses, such as scuba shops and kite stores, dotted the routes and we asked if we could stop for ice cream. “Certainly not now, maybe at the end of the day,” was Nana’s response. In the parking lot, we’d ...