Shore enough

 I went to Cape May, New Jersey, for three days last week, which was in mid-November. I've always been an off season type and I'm even more of one now. 

I had no idea what crutching on sand would be like, even after using crutches for over three years on a variety of surfaces. Would they just sink in and make going anyplace impossible? They did sink in, but never more than three inches or so whether on dry sand, wet sand, or in-between sand. I could ambulate fast enough to not feel ridiculous but not fast enough that I'd invite someone to go for a walk with me unless they were very patient. Using crutches on dry sand is great exercise. Low impact and if you fall, you'll be fine. 

 The people I met in Cape May were friendly, but I didn't meet many of them and during the summer season those who work in stores and the like may become as surly as those anywhere else, though I'd think being near the sea might put people in a good mood for more hours a day than if they lived elsewhere. Fresh air and sunshine, even in November. 

One of the three days I spent was much warmer than average. This photo shows that a woman (or a man with small feet) had run barefoot on the beach. The usual person I saw was either a dog walker or someone fishing. 

The last time I took an overnight vacation was in November of 2000, when I spent ten days on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The only other times I haven't slept in my own bed have been housesitting gigs, which I no longer do, hospital stays, which I do too often now, and one funeral in 2002 that was overseas. The only other traveling I've done since 2000 has been day trips from Philadelphia to New York City via a cheap bus.

The Loser on the Beach

This is the Complete and Total Loser on a beach in Avalon, New Jersey. The year was 1965 and the Loser cast is from the second of the four leg surgeries he had because of a rare bone disease only complete and total losers get. He doesn't remember being on the beach then and getting sand in a cast must have been a bitch. It's nice that his parents took him to the shore despite his condition.

The Loser is perhaps hoping that the tide is going out.

The Loser won a contest

New Jersey, 1959. The Complete and Total Loser is a baby, about a year old. The disease that will warp his right leg won't manifest itself for another three years, and the Loser is an ordinary white baby with a cheerful, positive disposition, trusting of strangers, smiling, seldom crying.
It's summer and that's why the Loser is at the shore; he's not a native New Jerseyite. His parents -- his mother -- have entered the Loser is the annual baby parade at this little slice of beach they bake on each year, far from Philadelphia's industrial filth (things were still made in the city at the time). 
The Loser is dressed as a miniature lifeguard. Hat, tiny sunglasses, a singlet. White stuff on nose, whistle around neck. A highchair functions as a lifeguard stand.
He wins, more because of the costume than any innate ability or charm he shows during the competition, though remaining phlegmatic throughout probably nets him many points from the judges.
No one knows it yet, especially the Loser, for whom the event has been merely a place he's been, one that for all he knows he will be at daily for the rest of his life, but this is the only contest he will ever win, except for the three-legged race he'll triumph in eleven years later, but he had help in that from his best friend, Rip. 
Being a baby is the best for obvious reasons. Free room, board, healthcare. No obligations. Everyone smiles at you. You're urged to sleep whenever possible. You can relieve yourself effortlessly without consequence. Every day brings only more powers and awareness. All signs point up, and you and the nice people around you will never die. 

The Argument is Over

They sat in the car at the station once a week for years, the Complete and Total Loser and his father. After dinner, Monday evenings, usually. The trains ran once an hour at that time. Perhaps both knew when leaving for the train that the train would be on time and that the drive from the house to the station took just two or three minutes, but there was always time, ten minutes at least for the two men to sit in wait and talk, away from the Loser's ailing mother, who could be difficult at times, much as he loved her. She died last October.
The more interesting parts of both their lives were in the past. The Loser put the focus on his father's past. He was in his eighties, then nineties. How many more chances would there be? Few -- his father died last December.
At this time of year the Loser's father would talk about how it was his favorite time of the year. The last weeks of August, early September. Same opinion, year after year. It was because of his time in the Boy Scouts, in the early 1930s. The troop would go to the relative wilderness of New Jersey where his father, a city boy, experienced silent nights unmarred by the noise of the elevated train a block away, sunsets over trees instead of buildings. He was in the Scouts for just a few years. Amazing how the experience stayed so fresh for eighty years. 
The Loser would say that it wasn't his favorite season as he was not in New Jersey but the city, where the heat and humidity still punished. Same opinion, year after year. 
Nevermore.

This station, this car, the one nearest the camera.