August 1, 2004

Beach Week

Wendy and I have survived another family week at the beach. Well, survived is probably not the right word even though we did survive. Enjoyed is closer to the truth. Reveled in is even more accurate.

Our family gathering was held again in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. I believe my folks chose that location due to it being pretty much geographically in the middle of where each family contingent originates. Except for my sister of course, but then there are no beaches geographically central to Arizona, New Jersey and Virginia. The New Jerseyites spend half their travel time on the Cape May ferry instead of fighting the traffic on Route 50 to cross the terror that is the Bay Bridge. (I know I'm not the only one who finds it terrifying because it's one of those bridges that provides an escort service for fearful drivers. Not that I'd make use of such a service. I'm stubborn and such and a few more terror-induced gray hairs on my head won't even be noticed.)

Wendy and I especially enjoy Rehoboth because it is a gay friendly town. More than gay friendly. Rainbow flags are everywhere. Gay bars and clubs and shops and people abound. We can walk the boardwalk holding hands when the mood strikes---a real bonus. It's also a traditional family beach town. Heteros and homos peacefully co-exist. It's a beautiful thing.

We were the last group to arrive. Consequently our room had been pre-selected for us. For reasons unknown, the early arrivals put Wendy and I at the top of the house in the only room with a private balcony. Equipped with two chairs and a little table. Our own personal refuge from the chaos family gatherings can bring. It's like they knew how much we need our private space. Excellent.

Oh the stories I shall tell about the dysfunction of our family members! But in a kind way. Because it takes all sorts of humans to make up this oddball world in which we live. Right now I'm going to enjoy being home, making up with our pets for leaving them behind while we cavorted and vacationed. And I've got to catch up on paperwork and prepare for the week ahead. It's the first of the month after all and you know what that means for me.

Coming home can be infinitely more satisfying than departing, in my own humble opinion.

2 comments:

Mel said...

What does the first of the month mean for you? I don't know!

Sounds like you had a great trip. I adore the beach.

WordsRock said...

I'm a freelance bookkeeper part-time. The first of the month finds me working double-time racing around the Metro area to close out the old month and begin the new. Oh, the burdens of being me? :)