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.

1984: Best vacation

The woman in the photo is my mother. The afghan hound is owned by Gayla, a long-time family friend, and is named Fozzie. The bichon frise is named Dudley and belonged to us. The photo was taken in October of 1984 in Westport, Massachusetts, which at the time most called Acoaxit. 

I was living in Minneapolis then (we're all from southeastern Pennsylvania) and working at a liquor factory. I was twenty-six. My mother invited me to join her and Gayla on an autumn vacation in Acoaxit, where I had spent several happy summers with my parents and one of my two brothers in my youth. I usually shied away from doing things like that with my parents, but this time I said yes.
I'm glad I did. Maybe it was the ages of both my mother and I, maybe it was that we were all at a good time in our lives, maybe is was the place—a small coastal town we all knew well and loved—but I don't think my mother and I ever got along as well as we did during those two weeks. 
I took long walks on the beach, we ate simple but good meals, and the house we stayed in was small, cozy, and just yards from the shore. It was warm enough that if I were shielded by a bolder from the wind and in the sun, I could sit outside and sketch. 
My father joined us toward the end of the vacation, and I enjoyed seeing him, too, though I initially had an ape-like aversion to having another male around. I got over that, though. 
We made brief side trips to Newport and a few other less memorable places.