Notes from 1200 | The Arcadian Hotel
There are certain things from childhood that never really leave us. Not the big celebrations or elaborate vacations, but the little moments. The ones that seemed so ordinary at the time, yet somehow become the memories we hold closest as we grow older.
For me, nearly every childhood memory leads back to two people: my grandparents, Gram and Da. I was the baby of the first group of grandchildren, a position that, looking back, I suspect came with a few extra privileges. But more than anything, it meant growing up surrounded by a kind of love that I have spent the rest of my life recognizing as something truly extraordinary.
Every summer of my childhood was spent with them at their house in Orleans, on Cape Cod. And when I close my eyes and think about those summers, I can still picture them as clearly as if they happened yesterday.
I remember sitting with Da in the mornings, watching the birds while he sipped his coffee and I drank my milk. There was nothing particularly exciting about it. Just the two of us, the birds, and the quiet beginning of another summer day. But somehow, those mornings became some of the most precious memories of my childhood.
I remember trips to the Sundae Shoppe for ice cream, when choosing a flavor felt like the biggest decision in the world. And the glorious summer days spent on Nauset Beach, back when our biggest concern was how much sand we'd bring home, not the great white sharks that have since become such familiar visitors to those waters.
I remember enjoying lunch with Gram and Da one afternoon and I, ever the independent girl, was trying to open a packet of ketchup when it squirted straight across the table onto Da's blue sweater. Unsure of how he might react, I remember holding my laughter in until I saw the signature twinkle in his eye and he started laughing alongside me and my siblings.
I remember the freedom of those summers. The feeling that the days were endless, that there was always another adventure waiting, and that life couldn't possibly get any better than it was right then. But more than the ice cream, the beach, or even those quiet mornings watching birds, I remember how it felt to be with them.
Safe. Happy. Completely and unconditionally loved.
When I think about my childhood, I don't remember it in years or milestones. I remember it in moments with them.
And while I have been fortunate to know many wonderful people in my life, I can say without hesitation that I have yet to meet another human being who holds a candle to either of them.
They were exceptional people. Not because of anything grand or extraordinary they did, but because of who they were, how they treated people, and how effortlessly they made the people around them feel loved.
I didn't know it then, of course. To me, they were simply Gram and Da. My favorite people, my safe place, and the center of so many of the memories I treasure most.
And tucked among those memories are a few wonderful nuns, a cup of hot chocolate, and the unforgettable taste of monks' sweet bread.
A Childhood Full of Love, Faith, and Little Adventures
My grandparents were deeply rooted in their Catholic faith and community. Their friendships, traditions, and weekends often revolved around the people and places that were such an important part of their lives.
And as the youngest of that first little group of grandchildren, I was lucky enough to be brought along for the ride.
I don't think my grandparents ever realized how much those ordinary afternoons meant to me. Or perhaps they did. Perhaps that's one of the beautiful things about grandparents. They understand that the simplest moments can leave the longest-lasting impressions.
Some of my favorite visits were the ones we spent with their friends who were nuns.
Now, I imagine that spending an afternoon visiting nuns might not sound like the most exciting adventure to a child today. But to me, those visits were something special.
There was a warmth to them. A kindness. The kind of genuine hospitality that makes a child feel just as welcome as the adults in the room.
And then, of course, there was the sweet bread.
I can still remember being treated to monks' sweet bread and hot chocolate. There was something magical about that combination, although I'm fairly certain the company had just as much to do with it as the treats themselves.
The bread was a little indulgence, the hot chocolate a comforting reward, and the afternoons were filled with the simple pleasure of being together.
At the time, I didn't understand just how much those visits would mean to me someday.
I didn't realize that I was witnessing something beautiful in the friendships my grandparents had built, the faith that connected them, and the sense of community that seemed to exist so naturally around them.
What I know now is that my grandparents weren't just giving me a wonderful childhood. They were quietly teaching me what it meant to be a good human being.
To welcome people. To nurture friendships. To find joy in simple traditions. To make time for the people you love.
And perhaps most importantly, to make the people in your life feel as though there is nowhere else in the world you'd rather be than right there with them.
I was simply a little girl spending time with her Gram and Da.
And that was more than enough.
The Things We Carry With Us
As I've gotten older, I've come to appreciate how much of our childhood stays with us through the smallest details.
A familiar smell. A particular food. A place that hasn't crossed our minds in years.
And suddenly, we're right back there.
For me, it doesn't take much to find myself back in Orleans, spending another summer with Gram and Da. I can almost hear the birds in the morning and picture Da with his coffee, perfectly content to share those quiet moments with me.
Or I can find myself sitting with them among their friends, enjoying a piece of sweet bread and a cup of hot chocolate, blissfully unaware of just how lucky I was.
There is something bittersweet about growing older and realizing that the people who made your childhood so magical were, in fact, the magic.
I think about that often.
About how much of who I am was shaped by two people who probably never gave a second thought to the extraordinary impact they were having on one little girl.
They simply loved me. Completely, consistently, and without condition.
And when you grow up with that kind of love, it becomes a part of you. It shapes what you value, how you treat people, and what you hope to give to others.
I think that's what makes food and tradition so powerful. They have a way of connecting us to people and moments that time might otherwise blur.
For me, monks' sweet bread will always be about more than something delicious to eat.
It reminds me of the nuns who welcomed us so warmly. Of the friendships my grandparents treasured. Of a childhood filled with little adventures that never felt particularly remarkable until I was old enough to understand just how remarkable they were.
But most of all, it reminds me of Gram and Da.
And of a love that, even after all these years, remains unlike anything else I've ever known.
A Brookline Tradition Worth Sharing
One of the things I love most about Brookline is that so many of its traditions are still very much alive. And as it turns out, the sweet bread that holds such a special place in my childhood memories has a wonderful local history of its own.
Since 1969, the monks of Holy Transfiguration Monastery on Warren Street in Brookline have been baking their traditional sweet bread, using a recipe with roots in Anatolia. Originally shared as a gift during religious holidays, the bread became a cherished tradition among friends, neighbors, and members of the community.
What began as a simple gesture of generosity has become one of those uniquely Brookline treasures, passed along and enjoyed across generations.
And thankfully, you don't need to know a monk to enjoy a loaf.
If you're visiting us at The Arcadian, I encourage you to make your way to Brookline Booksmith at 279 Harvard Street in Coolidge Corner, where you can find the monks' sweet bread for purchase, subject to availability.
While you're there, take a little time to explore one of Brookline's most beloved independent bookstores. Browse the shelves, discover a new favorite author, and bring home a loaf of sweet bread along with a little piece of the neighborhood's history.
You can also learn more about the story behind the bread, the monastery's baking tradition, and ordering options by visiting the official Brookline Monks Sweet Bread website.
And if I may offer one personal suggestion?
Enjoy a slice with a warm cup of hot chocolate.
Trust me on this one.
A Little Nostalgia from 1200 Beacon
Here at The Arcadian, we're surrounded by reminders that places and traditions carry stories.
Our building has welcomed generations of travelers, neighbors, families, and friends. And while the world outside our doors has changed considerably over the decades, I like to think that some things remain wonderfully familiar.
The comfort of a warm welcome. The joy of sharing something sweet. The feeling of belonging, even if only for an afternoon.
Perhaps that's why I find myself so drawn to the history of this neighborhood and the stories of the people who have passed through it.
Because I know firsthand that sometimes the most meaningful part of a place isn't what you see. It's what you remember.
I couldn't tell you how many afternoons I spent with Gram and Da, or how many summers I spent in that house in Orleans. I couldn't possibly count the little moments that, together, made up such an extraordinary childhood.
But I can tell you that I would give just about anything for one more of them.
One more summer morning watching birds with Da. One more trip for ice cream. One more afternoon on Nauset Beach. One more chance to sit beside two people who made the world feel like the safest, happiest place to be.
And yes, one more piece of monks' sweet bread and a cup of hot chocolate.
The older I get, the more I realize that the greatest gift my grandparents gave me wasn't any particular memory. It was the love that lives inside all of them.
They set a standard for kindness, generosity, faith, and unconditional love that I have carried with me my entire life. And although I have never met anyone quite like them, I see pieces of what they taught me in the things that matter most.
In the way we welcome strangers. In the traditions we keep alive. In the time we make for one another. And in the small, seemingly insignificant moments that may someday mean everything to someone else.
I hope that when you visit Brookline, you'll find a little something that stays with you, too. Maybe it's a favorite bookstore, a quiet neighborhood street, or a slice of sweet bread that reminds you of someone you love.
Because some of the sweetest things in life, it turns out, have very little to do with sugar.
And everything to do with love.