Beginning a Rather Different Vacation
I have to start this blog by saying that in the midst of a pandemic, entering its fourth month with no end in sight, I know that I am very lucky to get away for a few days. We, like so many of us, have stayed home, followed the rules and thankfully, have remained healthy. As some restrictions have been lifted, we thought we could get away for a few days to enjoy a change of scenery. But this is a very different vacation from our usual adventures.
Why? Because we are going to the beach.
First, the clothing is different. I have packed no hiking boots, no ugly but functional walking shoes, no thick, sweat-resistant socks and no shorts with 16 pockets. In fact, there is NOTHING in my suitcase that mentions the other man in my life, “Eddie Bauer.” Instead, there are sandals (functional ones, of course, because there will be some walking), bathing suits, normal shorts with only two pockets and sundresses. These are not terribly unusual clothing options for a summer get-away, but over the last few years, they have become nearly extinct in our travel repertoire.
Second, we have trouble relaxing. Of course, we have been on many beach vacations in our 36 years of marriage. But the majority of them included pails, shovels, boogie boards and riding waves. Translation: We were with the kids. Although our 22-year old is with us, she gave up castle building years ago. I’ve brought more books than I could ever possibly read and I have already answered several work emails because besides having difficulty relaxing, I also dread falling behind.
And I’m the JV compared to my husband. In 1984, (the year we got married—my memory isn’t that good) while at a beach, he paid $10 for a Sunday New York Times-which, at the time, practically blew our vacation budget, because he couldn’t sit still after about an hour.
Third, when I hit my fifties, I became frightened of the sun. I spent the better part of summers in my teens and twenties smelling like coconut, thanks to Hawaiian Tropic, 0 Sun Block. Bronzed and peeling was as normal to me as salt water taffy is at the beach. I finally found religion when 30 years later, my dermatologist did a full body scan of me, pointed to something I thought was an age spot and said, “This doesn’t look good. I’ll have to biopsy that.” Fortunately, all was fine but she has said that to me several times since and while I don’t think my teenage sun mistakes are making her rich, I am sure I am single-handedly help support her children’s college tuitions.
And so we are here in beautiful Cape May—a place I have only been once and don’t remember much about. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t relaxing then either.....
Why? Because we are going to the beach.
First, the clothing is different. I have packed no hiking boots, no ugly but functional walking shoes, no thick, sweat-resistant socks and no shorts with 16 pockets. In fact, there is NOTHING in my suitcase that mentions the other man in my life, “Eddie Bauer.” Instead, there are sandals (functional ones, of course, because there will be some walking), bathing suits, normal shorts with only two pockets and sundresses. These are not terribly unusual clothing options for a summer get-away, but over the last few years, they have become nearly extinct in our travel repertoire.
Second, we have trouble relaxing. Of course, we have been on many beach vacations in our 36 years of marriage. But the majority of them included pails, shovels, boogie boards and riding waves. Translation: We were with the kids. Although our 22-year old is with us, she gave up castle building years ago. I’ve brought more books than I could ever possibly read and I have already answered several work emails because besides having difficulty relaxing, I also dread falling behind.
And I’m the JV compared to my husband. In 1984, (the year we got married—my memory isn’t that good) while at a beach, he paid $10 for a Sunday New York Times-which, at the time, practically blew our vacation budget, because he couldn’t sit still after about an hour.
Third, when I hit my fifties, I became frightened of the sun. I spent the better part of summers in my teens and twenties smelling like coconut, thanks to Hawaiian Tropic, 0 Sun Block. Bronzed and peeling was as normal to me as salt water taffy is at the beach. I finally found religion when 30 years later, my dermatologist did a full body scan of me, pointed to something I thought was an age spot and said, “This doesn’t look good. I’ll have to biopsy that.” Fortunately, all was fine but she has said that to me several times since and while I don’t think my teenage sun mistakes are making her rich, I am sure I am single-handedly help support her children’s college tuitions.
And so we are here in beautiful Cape May—a place I have only been once and don’t remember much about. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t relaxing then either.....
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