The 2:40am wake up call was a bit
much, but alls well that ends well, eh?
Our flight took off from Midway at 5:30, and despite the objective
awfulness of the early morning/very late at night start, we managed to land in
Philly, collect the rental van, nab Uncle Justin from his west coast red eye,
and get to the beach, all by noon. Not
bad! James took the plane ride in
stride, chatting animatedly with his nana and papa, squirming lots, gorging on
snacks, but mostly being quite the genial gordito.
Stone Harbor, where we’ve plonked
down for the week, is on the Jersey Shore, but it’s not “Jersey Shore”, if the
reader takes my meaning. That Jersey
Shore, the one of Springsteen fame, and, later, the show Jersey Shore, is the Shore. This part of the shore is more like Cape Cod
or Cape Hatteras, or at least Stone Harbor and its sister city, Avalon is. Just south of here are the piers of Wildwood
and 45 minutes to the north is Atlantic City, and those have quite a bit of
Shore-ish charm to them; to wit: a kind sleeveless machismo that sees you putting
your hand in the butt pocket of your girlfriend in public. Here, though, it positively reeks of class,
and salt water taffy and free fudge samples.
Erica’s Aunt Mary Kay and her husband Joe have had a “cottage” (read:
manse) on this strip of beach since 1978 and most of Erica’s summer vacations
growing up took place here. This is
James’ first time visiting (it’s my third), which means that he earns another
feather in the ol’ state capper, to go alongside Illinois, Indiana, Florida,
California, Delaware (car only), Oregon, Pennsylvania, and the US territory of
Puerto Rico. Not a bad haul in 16
months!
I’m still super proud that we made
yesterday a vacation day rather than a travel day only, and another plus of
getting into the surf on Day 1 is that everyone slept like logs due to the combination
of the savagely early start and the fresh salt air. Erica and I even managed to sneak away for a
bit of a date night, quaffing a few adult beverages (me: a Cape May Brewing Co.
IPA and a Dogfishead Namaste wit; Erica a Moscow Mule, ordered in haste because
she couldn’t decide between the drinks on the menu and the waitress was waiting
and because she forgot she loves margaritas until I mentioned it was strange to
me that she hadn’t ordered one) during sundown on the deck of a rather swanky
outdoor hotel bar that overlooks the gorgeous harbor. This morning we woke up slow, drinking coffee
on the porch and watching the waves roll in.
After breakfast, we set up shop on the beach and Jake, Erica’s cousin
Joe’s son, dug a giant pit in the sand for James to play in.
 |
| Justin reads a trashy novel aloud to the waning sun |
(note: due to lack of internet access on vacation, these posts are being uploaded ex post facto.)
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