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Cape May Journal

Tuesday, July 17

I’m always up by 7. This morning, on my jaunt for coffee and newspapers, I was accompanied as usual by the sounds of hundreds of purple martins (lavendarius deanus). They live in four-story-high houses erected on the property, and not a mosquito or other biting insect is to be seen. The only downside is a degree of gregariousness usually reserved for class reunions.

There is an early morning parade on the four or five miles of elevated pavement bordering the beaches: bikers, skaters, power walkers, joggers, runners, strollers, and meanderers. An amazing amount of people up and about. Alas, no dogs allowed. My favorite was a woman in a miniskirt, tight sweater, and sneakers, jogging along with her water bottle in one hand and her IPod in the other.

The fog hustled in on the beach this morning like chicken soup on a roll. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) For a couple of hours, you couldn’t see more than 15 yards or so, and people emerged from the fog like zombies in one of those John Carpenter “Night of the Living Dead” monstrosities. I expected them to be slobbering and in rags, but most of them were fine. Lifeguards could not see swimmers, and had to clear the water for a while. (Which begs the question: If neither swimmer nor lifeguard can see each other, and the latter blows his whistle, does it make a sound?)

The water was great, strong breakers, and the dolphins obviously dined in peace all day.

Dinner at 410 Bank Street, great soft shell crabs. A bottle of Cape May wine (I forgot they didn’t have a full bar) which cost less than a martini at the Peninsula Hotel in New York.

Had to clean the hood of the car. A seagull hit me and he was obviously a retired bombardier from the strategic air command. Fortunately, there is a robot in the trunk that cleans the car.

Traditionally, lifeguards wear red, but there is a corps of super
lifeguards who wear blue, specially skilled in saving women in distress.
Rarely seen, one is caught here as the fog temporarily parts….

© Alan Weiss 2007. All rights reserved.

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Posted by Alan Weiss on July 17th, 2007 filed in Peregrinations |

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