Hump day usually brings relief to a tired soul. Sometimes you really like your job, but it’s still a job. There are other things you can think of you’d rather do, unless you’re the rare individual who’s found your life’s calling… and it found you too. Or there’s also the exception to the old axiom: you can never get enough of a good thing.
What a crock.
Well, today’s a hump day for me just like it is for you, but in my case the hump more accurately plots my level of enthusiasm.
Today’s the middle day of my first big vacation in years, and it’s gone about as fast as you would expect. From my perspective, it’s gone nearly perfect. Today the only thing I did of note was walk down the boardwalk for some frozen custard (pumpkin cinnamon swirl, if you must know).
Now it’s night again, one of a series of increasing endangered species. Dark and cool… surf and crickets are the only sounds preventing silence. We just had my idea of a perfect evening: a group of family and friends gathered together to talk, exchange funny stories, and just generally enjoy each other’s company.
Now I’m following it up with a perfect nightcap: on the patio out back, listening to the surf, and writing the first words that come to mind (so sorry for that). Saturday we go home, but I’m milking this trip for all it’s worth.
Now I have to admit something to you, but you might already know. I’ve enjoyed this trip more than I thought. When it was presented as the “Jersey Shore,” all I could think about was reality TV and a bunch of buffoons. Instead it’s been quiet. The people have been nice. The boardwalk is quaint and a departure from my normal haunts. Take the frozen custard for example. The shop has been here for a century. Imagine that? Maybe you can, but in Florida eateries come and go like the tourists. My sister’s in laws worked here summers as kids – possibly eating at the same places we ate today – only 40 years ago.
I love it. I love the slow pace. I love waking up in the morning and playing every day by ear. I love that the ear usually doesn’t end up in a car.
For now on I’m not going to think of this special place as the Jersey Shore. Somehow, saying I like the “Jersey Shore” sounds like I prefer the smell of one arm pit over the other.
It’s Ocean City, a place I’ll long remember.
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Sorry, no proof reading this time ;-) Thanks for your patience.