The Gladimere Stories
Everyone has a Gladimere somewhere in their past. And all through life everyone needs a Gladimere: a refuge - either a physical place or a state of mine - where it is safe from the real and imagined pressures, demands and sometimes dangers of everyday life. A place where you are loved regardless of the things you do or don't do and for the thoughts and feelings you have or don't have.
Gladimere was and is a real place, although as kids we never called it that. To us, is was always "the cottage" or "the beach".
In the late 1940s my maternal grandparents built a small summer cottage near the ocean on the eastern Connecticut shore. It was a modest place, financed by a small inheritance my grandfather received after the death of his great aunt. When it was finished in early 1951, they placed a 2-foot by 6-inch piece of pine over the front porch with metal screw on letters attached that spelled out GLADIMERE.
Throughout my childhood, I would spend summer weekends with my grandparents at the beach. And for a few weeks in August, my sisters, mother and I would go on vacation there along with my grandmother. My father and grandfather would each drive down after work on Friday afternoons for the weekends.
Over the years, neighbors and summer renters thought that our last name was Gladimere. As a kid, I thought perhaps it was some secret code word gleaned from one of the many lodges to which my grandfather belonged. It wasn't until I was an adult that I figured out that Gladimere was an example of mostly my grandmother’s wry sense of humor and love of puns. GLADIMERE was north of Boston New Englandese shorthand for 'Glad I'm here'.
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