A Preppy Thanksgiving

When the chill of November has set in, on the fourth Thursday of the month, the great unwashed put on their Faded Glory sweatshirts, travel to one another's hovels, quaff aperitifs of Natural Light, gather around a "natural oak" laminated particle board table with drunk and/or judgmental relatives while their ill-behaved children sit around a wobbly card table, and consume a large meal of overdone turkey, gravy from a jar, jellied cranberry-flavored goop still in the shape of the tin can from whence it came, instant mashed potatoes, Kraft Easy Mac, and bread-like products that had just that morning been nothing more than cardboard tubes of bleached glop. Perhaps one member of the fambuhly is spending the evening in the emergency room after a disaster involving a turkey fryer or attempting to ignite his own flatulence.

My Thanksgiving holiday, however, was spent the way every preppy person would dream of. This year, my bride and I shunned the usual exhausting rounds of visits with relatives near and far, and instead high-tailed it to our beloved Wrightsville Beach, where my mother-in-law would join us. Our sensible SUV, with its Wrightsville Beach plate and my bride's initials in nautical semaphore, was loaded down with luggage, groceries in canvas tote bags, and about 10 bottles of various wines (her mother would be supplying the liquor). Traffic was heavy but we were only delayed about 15 minutes. We slowed down as we crossed the causeway to admire the boats gathered on the channel at sunset. After unloading all of our crap and the obscene amount of food her mother brought, we had some cocktails and then went to 22 North for a late supper. On Thanksgiving day, her mother rose at 7AM to prepare the turkey, which had spent the previous day and night in a cooler of brine, and then went on to slice squash and cook sweet potatoes for casseroles. Meanwhile I stayed out of the way and enjoyed some Bloodies while watching the Macy's parade on the circa 1991 Magnavox. With the condo being such a '90s time capsule, I found myself in a '90s mood that day, so I put on my faded jeans, t-shirt, and 1997 vintage Abercrombie & Fitch plaid shirt while watching a marathon of Thanksgiving-themed episodes of Friends on TBS, getting up now and then to help a bit or go enjoy the view of the ocean from the balcony. Thanksgiving dinner was a feast of roasted turkey, squash casserole, sweet potato casserole loaded with whiskey, cornbread dressing, homemade giblet gravy, spiced green beans with dried cranberries and slivered almonds, and a homemade cranberry & orange sauce, all of course served on heirloom china with sterling flatware, paired with a lovely Beaujolais. Our attempt at a homemade pie yielded less-than-pleasing results, so we finished with a storebought sweet potato pie and whiskey-spiked eggnog. As any proper preppy would do, I changed out of my casual knocking-around clothes into something more suitable for dinner. Ordinarily I would wear a blazer, but being at the beach, I opted for a smart blue checked shirt, khaki chinos, and my sailboat motif belt.

The next day was a day of leisure; my mother-in-law went out for a long walk while we sat around relaxing. The weather was chilly but we nonetheless enjoyed the fresh air on the balcony, wrapped up in our L.L. Bean fleece jackets and 20-year-old cotton blankets. I finished the volume about clipper ships from the Time-Life series The Seafarers. That evening I put on my wool duffel coat, striped rugby shirt, canvas chinos, and canvas deck shoes, and we three walked nearly a mile to the public park for the lighting of the town's Christmas tree. We dined at King Neptune's, which continues to delight us with its reasonably priced menu, and my bride and I stayed for drinks at the adjoining pirate bar and then made our way across the street at 22 North.

On Saturday we made the walk again to the park for a craft fair. I dressed in canvas chinos and a rugby shirt again, with my lighter-weight Wind Challenger fleece jacket from Bean's. While perusing the various booths, I came across a brand-spankin'-new line of clothing for the preppy beach enthusiast called Coastal Pride. Until now, I hadn't come across a line of beachy preppy gear that really suits me, but I think this one is just what I've been looking for. Southern Tide, Vineyard Vines, Southern Proper, Southern Marsh, and High Cotton are all well and good, but Coastal Pride stands apart due to its being headquartered in North Carolina, and unlike the other brands, focuses solely on the preppy beach lifestyle. I purchased a khaki hat bearing the brand's simple, understated anchor logo, and plan to order a few more things soon. Right now they only have hats, t-shirts, sunglasses straps, and car decals, but I look forward to the brand's expansion into polo shirts next year.

That evening came the highlight of the weekend: the annual flotilla! We had a round of drinks in the condo and hors d'oeuvres such as Alouette spread with baguette slices and cold oysters with saltines before heading up to the top floor with a bottle of George Martel and three Solo cups (preppies appreciate irony, too) to brave the 40-degree nighttime chill and watch the 20-odd boats make their way up and down the channel, showing off their spectacular lighting decorations. The finale was the fireworks extravaganza, which rivaled the 4th of July display at the nation's capitol.

Sunday was another day of leisure, capped off with a lovely steak dinner at the condo. After my mother-in-law's departure on Monday, we caught a matinee of Skyfall and then stopped by Redix on the way back. My mission at Redix was to procure a nautical flag motif belt for my father-in-law (by Leather Man of Essex, Connecticut, of course). I found just the one, but I could not resist purchasing for myself a belt bearing a repeating Wrightsville Beach logo, made exclusively by Leather Man for the Redix store. Even as I type, I am wearing it with pride. In the future I plan to expand my collection of motif belts.

I'm the kind of person who appreciates the occasional chilly, overcast day at the beach, so on such a Tuesday, I took a nice walk by myself down the beach all the way to Mercer's Pier, wearing my navy fleece jacket over a chunky off-white cotton sweater with my new Coastal Pride hat and my Ray-Ban Wayfarers. Under the pier, I just stood quietly, watching the tide roll in and break against the concrete supports, breathing in the cold salt air, releasing what little stress I may have still had. There were no throngs of tourists or screaming children splashing around, or police vehicles rumbling by; in fact, I saw barely a dozen people the whole time I was outside. Standing there under the pier, the sun hidden behind a pale gray blanket of clouds, the only sounds being the crashing waves, the wind, the gulls, and the seawater rushing in and out between the pylons, I found the most unexpected little slice of serenity. It was so heartbreaking to have to pack up and leave Wednesday, returning today to my cubicle and business as usual.

O, what a marvelous week in preppy heaven! Flotillas and sunsets, cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, silver and china, dressing for dinner, champagne, oysters, craft fairs, and shopping! Deck shoes and duffel coats, chunky sweaters and motif belts, Wayfarers and Topsiders! I am near tears as I write this, for I have just learned the sad news that my bride's grandparents, with their health declining, plan to put the condo up for sale in an effort to leave a mostly liquid estate. This news saddens me, for I had hoped that we would somehow be able to keep it in the family, but short of winning the lottery and buying it from them, that may not happen. Perhaps we could convince them at least to put the furnishings in storage until such time that we could procure our own beach house. The dream is to be able to purchase an identical unit in the same building on another floor and recreate the old unit precisely, going so far as to have the wallpaper in the kitchen and bathrooms replicated, rendering a close duplicate of the original, maintaining it as a monument to the bygone days of the 1990s and as a sort of memorial to her grandparents. If we return for Christmas, I must make an effort to document the placement of every last thing. Should the Fates dash that dream, Plan B would be to purchase a modest beach house elsewhere at WB and fill it with the old condo's furnishings.