Birthday candles in the wind

The deck of the Angus shone bright, illuminated by countless thin wax striped candles stuffed in a beautifully homemade waffle. I suppose that sentence didn’t make a ton of sense. I’ll explain, captain Matt turned the big 4-0 last week and it was on the heels of a terrible year, so I needed some good memories. Oh right, the waffle. A McAskill family tradition requires the McAskill boys receive a waffle the morning of their birthday! It sounds like a silly practice but you’re wrong, it’s wonderful and wholesome. This year has been rough but as aways great memories were had amid the hailstorm of bad luck and poor decisions. Leading up to the big birthday my lovely wife/First mate (no jokes allowed!) asked me what I wanted to do. The months leading up to my birthday I didn’t really like myself, so throwing a party to celebrate me felt undeserved and depressing. Around late July I was starting to hate myself less and gave Britt the green light, alas that’s not enough time. I woke up Wednesday August 30th and drifted bleary-eyed into our living room which has an aggressive amount of natural light If you ask me, but I’m a night owl, insomniac more accurately but night owl sounds more whimsical. Britt decorated the living room like a spoiled child turning 10, which I love. Same rules with my family and wife apply, I only greenlight being infantilized at birthdays and holidays and Peter Pan turning 40 is both. The living room was decorated with streamers, balloons, paper signs, mylar dinosaurs, too many perfectly wrapped gifts and my one (it’s never one) request, a birthday stocking. Yessssss, you read that right. As I started to feel a tinge of worthiness to celebrate this milestone birthday, I maxed out my wife’s generosity (which is truly boundless) and made a ridiculous request for a BIRTHDAY STOCKING! Typically, when I ask for insane things, it is met with an eyeroll, but not a no. Britt will pause, weigh the request, look at my face and gauge my enthusiasm and make her call. This year has leaned apocalyptic, so my angel of a wife made my birthday dreams come true and gave me a flippin’ birthday stocking!

I might be struggling with who I am, self-hatred, depression, complacency and utterly confused, but my anchor is dependable and indestructible, refusing to let me drift. That’s my wife. The rough seas keep trying to claim my soul, but the Angus stays grounded, firm and brave through the hurricane winds and tides. Birthday morning was met with gifts, waffles, and a patient/excited copilot. That afternoon Britt took a half day and volunteered at the wheel to take us to lunch. I had a road dog to warm up the celebratory day. The Batmobile (my car) delivered us to Historic Salem Mass! Large swaths of that history is truly shameful and horrific but Salem adopted my favorite holiday of Halloween and ran hard with it. I’m a native north shore boy and grew up one town over from Salem in the mighty Beverly Massachusetts. Some say the birthplace of the American Navy. Which is disputed by many. According to my historical genius friend Brendan the first Naval ship, The Hannah was the first armed ship in the revolution. That ship was built in Marblehead but reallocated and launched in Beverly. This is a contentious debate of locals, the TRUE birthplace of the American Navy! Beverly or Marblehead. It’s a debate I give very few shits about. What I DO know if Beverly was the birthplace of your own captain Matt, which is honestly cooler.

Despite my Beverly heritage I ADORE Salem, I lived there for half a decade with my two cousins and countless friends making some of the best memories of my life. If you’re ever recreating my life in a historical tour, you’d need to pass 162 North street. An ominous gray building designed like the atypical haunted house shape you’d see in a coloring book across the street from an absolutely massive cemetery. As a spooky enthusiast I frequent Salem. But honestly, I love the food, bars and that’s where my comic shop is. I’m known for my cocksure confidence in those cobblestone streets and small touristy shops muttering; “I’m a local, out of my way.” But I’m still whimsical about the town and its makeup.

Once we landed in Salem, we hit Finz for lunch, said hello to an old friend who bartends there. I told him to surprise me for all my drinks and he didn’t disappoint one bit. After lunch I wanted to hit Bit Bar, a bar arcade down the street. I suck at 99.9% of video games and honestly didn’t play them growing up. I would watch friends and my big brother play them constantly. My big brother Jamie is six years older than me; we had bedroom across the hall from one another. I would sit on Jamie’s floor before bed and watch him play video games. My favorite was Castlevania, mom would tell me it was time for bed, and I’d beg to watch Jamie play one more level. To this day I can’t tell you what button does what on any game console. I was a button smasher or a spectator. BUT despite my lack of expertise in home gaming, I adore arcades. I love the standup cabinets of the 80’s and 90’s and early 2000’s. My favorites being House of the Dead and Crusin’ Exotica. The Bit war was equipped with all the games I loved, and a Ghostbusters themed drink called; “Ecto Chaser” it was DELICOUS. As we settled in, I could tell the bartender thought I was a tourist which may sound petty, but frickin’ annoys me. My childlike whimsy is mistaken for tourist in towns I’ve called home all too many times. Alas this annoyed and apathetic bartender made me a magical elixir, so I didn’t dwell too long. Britt left my sight for half a second and sprang into action filling a black plastic ramakin with a small mountain of quarters. We played Elvira pinball to honor the Mistress and mighty wooden bust of the Angus (pun intended) then played Ghostbusters pinball, skee ball, original Ninja Turtles side-scroller, the Simpsons game, Mortal Kombat (Britt dismantled me both expertly and beyond quickly, flawless victory).

But it was the moment of truth, House of the god damn DEAD! I opened the gates and started to lay waste to these undead bastards. My batter half sidled up next to me soon after and joined the battle! After many quarters and splashes of undead digital blood britt said we had to jet to meet my parents for early dinner. I was a bit thrown because it was a Wednesday afternoon, and I assumed the dinner reservations weren’t too packed. We stopped at my parent’s house so we could change, and something was amiss but I had no idea what. We walked in and saw the kitchen decorated like a tiki bar which I loved. My parents’ kitchen faces their backyard and I saw a shadow of a person past the window and exclaimed; “who the hell is that?” and big bro bursts through the door to surprise me for my 40th and I instantly started to cry and wrapped my arms around him, I hadn’t seen him since Christmas because he lives in Phoenix. The stop at their house before dinner was a ruse to get me to a good old fashioned McAskill family BBQ dinner. An incredible surprise and gift. Speaking of gifts, my parents got me a new golf bag that would make Al Czervik blush! That night I nominated we adjourn to the beach to try to see the blue moon rise but the clouds threw a misty wrench in that plan but caught a decent yet brief glimpse at it.

I finished last but I think I looked the best.

MY favorite people at my favorite restaurant!

The next day the McASkill boys golfed, and I did not do too well (yikes) but we had a great time and finished with an early family dinner at my favorite Italian spot. Friday was lowkey and somehow there was more birthday love. Saturday was another surprise and I honestly felt bad. I got big bro and the fact there was more made me feel self-conscious. Saturday, we made our way to Boston, Britt insisted on driving again so I could imbibe on the way (Zero push back from me). We arrived in Harvard square to my favorite tiki bar; they sat as at a 6-seater and one by one all my Boston friends filtered in and then the food and drinks flowed. Countless sliders, tiki mugs, delectable apps, and stories. Now it was time for the next stop. We all saddled up and headed out to Polar Park for a Worchester Woo Sox game and I was STOAKED. We crushed beer bats (you read that right) and I got to see my birthday wishes on the scoreboard! Which has always been a dream. I didn’t think the night could get better but after the game the crew brought me to a craft creamery for some B-day deserts. But I was wrong. APPARENTLY this ice cream shop was ALSO the entrance to a wonderful speakeasy where we indulged in cocktails, mocktails, apps and local delicacy. It was truly an incredible night with some of my favorite people and I’m truly thankful for it and them.

Sunday morning rolled around, and it was time for my golf tourney! I was very nervous because I’m still extremely new to golf and don’t know the guys playing super well. But I decided to allow myself to possibly look foolish to pursue a new hobby. The Fairway Franks showed up as a crew with matching hot dog shirts and shorts. After some pregaming and logistics we were on the first tee box. I blew my wad quick and birdied a par 5 for a net eagle with my handicap with my dude Derek doing the same! I had a few other good holes but fell apart. We lost but vibed so hard and won best dressed! Post tourney in true Matt fashion I was overbooked and had a BBQ to attended. I was so sweaty I showed up to the BBQ and made a strong plate of food, but all I wanted to do was hit the pool. But in this rare occasion I didn’t have a bathing suit in my car. Alas the heat won, and logic is not my scorekeeper, so I jumped in the pool with my clothes on. The party was fun and packed with friends, but I had to leave to clock in to work at 8pm.

I showered quick and kicked off my shift. About an hour and a half in I got the call I was dreading. My Nana fell a couple days ago and suffered a brain bleed, she was rushed to the hospital and a brain science division of the hospital and was stabilized. I was going to see Nana Monday, so I thought, apparently Sunday the brain bleed that was contained returned and she slipped into a coma. I spent Sunday with my mom, dad, wife and comatose Nana. I was floored, devasted. How did this happen? Granted my Nana was 93 but lived alone and was tough as nails. She would rarely ask for help, a native Mainer she was built of stronger material than most. If she wanted something done, she rarely asked for help. I’m not sure why because the memory is old and spotty but as a kid my Nana would always buy me new shoes for the upcoming school year. It was my birthday present. That’s kind of how Nana was, not one for frivolity or whimsy but always there for necessity. She helped everyone in the family survive because she was strong as hell. She wasn’t big into “I love you” or hugs but she was like Johnny Cash’s father naming him Sue, get tough or die. She hated my tattoos so much and reminded me as such constantly, but she knew I loved to rile her up. Sometimes I would do it on purpose when she was picking on my mom or brother too much, the forked tongue could cut deep. Tough love is something I tend to respond to or see through and respect to be more accurate. I’m going to miss her, and it breaks my heart knowing my mother and aunt lose their mom. It felt impossible, Nana felt indestructible. If you met her once, you’d understand. I know I spent hundreds of words to describe my birthday but just a paragraph or two about my Nana, this isn’t a detail lost on me. Talking about fun and superficial things is kind of my thing while I mix in my vulnerability. I honestly don’t want to go down that road at the moment because it’s too painful. Sorry. This is a year I lost my 30’s, Pee-Wee and my grandmother. It’s like my childhood is sinking into the ocean and out of sight.

I told you folks that was following my own treasure map to my happiness, but every week feels like a new challenge. The waves keep swelling, growing with every gust of wind, trying to sink the Angus. I keep wanting to quit. The weird thing about depression, it’s the little things it attacks and leads to bigger and deeper cuts. Sitting in bed when your alarm has gone off three times. The days you can’t think of a reason to get your feet on the carpet, just hitting snooze one more time. That causes a domino effect and makes you question the reasoning for any decision. In many self-improvement groups they tout “one day at a time” but it’s an even smaller microcosm most of the time, it’s one hour, minute or even second at a time. You chose to do the thing that’s different than your current resting state, GREAT! The ocean must work to get you, you’re stronger than you think. Comfort is a killer; trust me I know because it has been coming for me for years. This month’s map is smudged and bleeding from its exposure to rough waters, but I have a vague heading, and that’s enough. It must be. I’ve been doing a lot of looking inward the past couple months and what I’ve seen things scarier than most of the sea monsters in the margins but now that I’ve looked, there is no more ignoring it.

I noticed something while I was at the beach recently and it felt fitting since that beach resides in the town Nana watched over most of her life. Manchester By the Sea, a beautiful town filled by mostly wealthy folks, but my family was grandfathered in, pun intended. When they decided to add the “By the Sea” part to the town’s name, Nana had the inside track and got the vanity plate; “By Sea” which was gangster in my book. That plate wasn’t on a BMW, Mercedes or a range rover of some overpaid lawyer or stockbroker, it was on my Nana’s purple Buick, checkmate snobs. Alas the thing I noticed at beach came in a moment of clarity as I peeked up from my cruddy beach book, I started to stare at the seagulls. Anyone somewhat local knows the Singing Beach seagulls are vicious. They know how to seek out snacks, open bags and devour anything edible. My observation about them wasn’t their cat burglar-like chip-heisting skills, but how they move. Large wingspans flap using up all their energy just to get off the sand and into the air. Once the bird is in the powerful sea winds, it opens Its wings, sits in place for moment and starts to glide at will, effortlessness, catching and riding every pocket of wind. This is a scavenger bird skulking through sand to find loose breadcrumbs, but in the air it’s feathered poetry. Their outstretched wings show you what the wind looks like, not just feeling it on your exposed skin. As I’m adorning these smeared lipstick-beaked trash birds, I gaze into the distance at a handful of sailboats resting on the horizon, gliding across the frame, seeming like a diorama of a picturesque New England day. The boats and birds are relying on the same thing, using the boundless energy around them to hold them up. That is something in life myself and many struggle with, letting that unseen energy around us carry us. You can flap those wings, battle the forces holding you down, but that zaps the life out of you. Maybe all you need to do is use the strength you have left to get you off the ground, maybe just an inch, just get in the wind. Let what surrounds you carry you; your friends, and family rooting for you and encouraging you to go higher. And if the wind dies down, just keep those wings stretched out wide as far as they’ll go and ride, don’t plumet to the earth because you’re neglecting what kept you in the air in the first place, you owe it to them and yourself to stay off the ground.

Sorry, this was a long one but I needed to get some things out this week. If you made it to the end, I owe you a Reese’s cup. Cheers, thank you for hanging in there! Stay tuned and keep smiling.