A Site for Shore Eyes

I suppose it would be disingenuous for me to suggest that cyclists are generally smarter than pedestrians, so I’ll just say that pedestrians are generally stupider than cyclists. I ride on a regular basis, and often traverse a wooden walkway that has clearly marked signs at each end indicating that one side is for bikes and the other is for pedestrians. I never see bicycles on the pedestrian side, but ALWAYS see pedestrians on both sides. A paved path also runs along the beach for a few blocks, and large letters painted on the path state, “BIKE ONLY.” I’m not sure what that means, but I think it means that my bike is the only bike on the path. I guess I’ll have to start riding on the hard-packed path for pedestrians, because none are ever there.

In very unsurprising news, the taxpayers of Wildwood once again got what they deserved. They elected a commissioner who just happened to be a police officer. A judge, after weighing all the facts with a broken scale, determined that the newly-elected commissioner could remain in office, while taking an unpaid leave of absence from his position as a police officer. The numbers make sense. As a cop he made about $71,000 per year, and as a commissioner he’ll be paid about $20,000 per year. Almost anyone would be more than happy to take a $50,000 per year pay cut just for the opportunity to be a Wildwood commissioner, especially if you really can’t do much of anything in that position because of conflicts of interest. The fact that he was facing disciplinary action in the police department had nothing to do with his decision, and it’s unlikely that he even considered the fact that he would be able to resign as a police officer in a few years and collect a pension without going through the silly rigors of the disciplinary action. Fortunately, because of a conflict of interest, he can’t fire his old boss, and certainly couldn’t figure out a way to persuade one of his fellow commissioners to do so. Let’s hope the chief resigns before the commissioner’s term expires.

I hate picking on Millville, but these parking stories continue to amaze me! Millville has Philly-style parking downtown, meaning signs that limit parking to two hours. Apparently quite a few visitors received parking tickets and said they liked the town but weren’t coming back. Not wanting to upset visitors, the mayor is considering increasing the free time to three hours! Whoa, Nellie! The mayor (I know he’s not stupid, because he’s my cousin) said he had even considered unlimited parking, but didn’t want to see the same cars sitting in one place for days at a time. I know this is a silly suggestion, but why not put up signs that read, “NO OVERNIGHT PARKING?” Oh, I guess that wouldn’t work.

There’s that darned global warming at work again! Hurricane forecasters have just lowered their estimates for the number of storms this year due to cooler temperatures in the Atlantic Ocean. I guess the intense heat has drawn all the warmth from the ocean, or something like that. No explanation as to why we had hardly any hurricanes last year, even without the cooler water temps. I never was all that good at science.

Anyway, the end of July is in sight, and I’m still waiting for summer to arrive. We’ve had a few summery days, but mostly it’s been like spring here at the shore. That’s fine with me, after spending time in both Georgia and Vietnam without ever determining which was worse, weather wise. For living, I’d probably pick Georgia, just for the culture and housing. Quite a few people speak English down there, too, and it’s somewhat more understandable than the English spoken in Vietnam. Okay, I’m kidding, ha-ha! The English in Vietnam wasn’t all that bad.

Well, I see the prosecution is resting again, probably after lugging those legal “briefs” around. It sounds like a good idea to me.

After yesterday’s Fourth of July in the Wildwoods, it’s becoming increasingly easier to believe the boardwalk game stand barkers than the global warming alarmists. An overcast sky and strong winds chilled all planned activities. The strong winds and some rain in the evening cancelled the fireworks extravaganza that was intended to put a final touch on the day’s festivities.

Nothing stopped most people from celebrating in grand style, however, and our front porch barbecue went off pretty much as planned. With careful close management, only one hotdog bun disappeared in the wind, probably to the delight of at least one laughing gull.

My sister and both of my brothers, except for one, attended, and each brought one of two daughters. I learned, indirectly, that my younger brother claimed he wasn’t invited, and that he wouldn’t have attended anyway, because the new dog has made him and his wife agoraphobic. I plead the fifth, even though I don’t drink. He may not have been formally invited, but certainly should have known he would be welcome. Just wait till he gets to be my age and see how well his mind works. Now, what was I saying?

My sister’s youngest daughter brought two friends, and the three of them interacted well with my wife’s youngest sister and brother-in-law’s youngest son and his friend. This is getting way too confusing for me, but I’m pretty sure we were short one guy. All I know is that the five of them fit into the back seat of my sister’s car for a trip to watch the nonexistent fireworks, but they probably made their own mental fireworks or something, but we didn’t really ask. News from old teenagers and young adults travels slowly to those of our generation, who find ourselves pretty much on a don’t need to know basis.

My wife’s other sister showed up with her friend and enough extra food to cause serious bloating. The watermelon still sits there untouched, but most of the cheesecake, potato salad and macaroni salad pretty much disappeared quickly. Her baking skills are wonderful, and sincere praise always produces at least one of our favorites at the next gathering. That’s not really the intent of the accolades, but who am I to complain? She always remembers likes and dislikes, and remembered how much I love blueberries but don’t care all that much for cherry filling, so her cheesecake had both, evenly divided.

My brother’s youngest daughter traveled all the way from Ohio to visit, not with us, but with him, at his summer home a block from our home. I don’t know what she has done with herself to look so much better than the last time I saw her, which was shortly after she was born, more than a couple of decades ago. She’s much taller now, too, and has learned to talk.

My wife, a truly wonderful cook, let everyone else do their thing, with the exception of her great baked beans, grilled peppers and onions, and iced tea, which my sister said tastes just like our late mom’s. That’s not surprising, since many of my relatives tell me my wife reminds them of my mom. That’s a good thing.

I held down the grill, almost literally, lest it blow into the bay, along with the deserting hotdog bun. Operating sans apron, I managed to grill with one hand and eat with the other, and probably won’t go bib-less again.

And that was our day. My wife, sister, and I gathered on the porch to stare off into the direction where the promised fireworks never appeared. We didn’t really expect them, but didn’t want to miss them if they happened. It was the best Fourth in years!