It’s Saturday morning, September 11th 2021. I am going to write this with minimal editing and spell check. Apologies in advance for any errors.
All in Re-Post
It’s the end of October, outside my window the leaves have changed, the nights come quick, so what better time to talk about a shore house my friends and I rented during the summer of nineteen-seventy-nine in Seaside Heights, New Jersey.
My nephew, Joe, who is in the Navy and stationed in San Diego (poor kid) called my sister and told her that he signed up to run the Avon (New Jersey) 5K in June and that she and Uncle Al (me) should run it as well.
I loved getting together with family, seeing my Grandmother, my Aunts and Uncles and especially my cousins, but when it came to the food, I was terrible. I was an adopted loaf of white bread in a family of exquisite pastries.
When the kids came along to have a house filled with Halloween decorations was appropriate. The trick-or-treaters that ventured up our walkway were assaulted by various forms of zombies and ghouls that reached from the grave to take hold of the little princesses and cowboys in search of candy.
It is Monday night, and I am sitting here in New Jersey waiting for Hurricane Sandy to reach landfall.
I was exhausted. I went into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. I stared ahead and it looked like the walls were breathing. I fell back, but was too tired to sleep. This was a horrible day.
The funny thing is, looking back at that weekend now, this would be the good day.
I am amazed that siblings growing up in the same house could be so different from one another. My daughter, Amanda, my sons, Alexander and Danny, may share a common genetic code, but that’s about it. You can tell they are related but I knew watching them grow up, they weren’t the same.