Where's Waldo?

Hello World,

Where was I? Of course, it is a well-known fact, or should be by now, that if July 4th has come and gone, then my vacation cannot be far behind, and this year was no exception. But rather than dropping everything flat and skulking off in the dark of night without a word of warning, I really should have remembered to announce my intentions to all and sundry, so people didn't wonder what the heck happened to me last week, when no one in the whole wide world of world wide wholeness heard a peep out of me, and I don't doubt, some people just as glad of it. (And don't think that I don't know who you are!) But here I am back at my post, returned from Vacation-Land safe and sound, all in one piece and none the worse for wear. Not to mention, none the worse for where.

This year, my adventures in Vacation-Land started early, as I took off from work on Thursday and Friday after July 4th, so I had two extra days to get ready. Obviously, this didn't work, owing to a curious principle of physics that work expands to fill whatever time is allotted to it, and I found myself running around on Saturday, just the same as if I hadn't taken any extra days off to start with. But it was a beautiful day, and we managed to cram everything into both cars that needed to go, and set off in high spirits. This was already a big improvement over last year, when we had only one car that could go on vacation, or even the year before, when we had to stop and fix the tail light before we could even get out of town. Although it would be nice to leave really early and miss all the usual Saturday traffic around here, it does no good to get to the park too early, because they don't let you check in anyway. But we found the traffic was not so bad in any case, and even that mainstay of my vacation travels, road construction on the highways, was notable by its absence. In fact, we made very good time right until we got all the way to Wading River, where the weekend traffic backs up all the way to the next town over, and although we might have wished that we had taken a different route at that point, we would have missed the man dressed up in a Subway sandwich costume along the way, and don't think that I don't have the pictures to prove it.

Either no one had been on our campsites, or they had already left, because we were able to check in when we arrived with no trouble. We set up the tent and also the tiny spare tent on the other site, plus the clothesline, and pretty soon we were all ship-shape and ready to hit the beach. Something about Bill always seems to bring out the best of Wildwood beach, so it was a lovely balmy day out on the sand, and the water was cool and clear. Unlike other years, when a first touch of the frigid waters is enough to make lesser people just drop dead in their tracks, this time did not seem quite so bad, and was more refreshing than life-threatening. Later, we availed ourselves of the concession stand's tasty cheese fries, which were as good as we remembered them, and just as welcome. After a nice relaxing day at the beach, we headed back up that long hill to the campsite (and I defy anyone to prove to me that it doesn't get longer and steeper every year) and changed out of our wet swimsuits for the next leg of our journey.

Ever since I came up with this cockamamie scheme where Bill comes with me on Saturday to set up the campsite and stay overnight at a hotel nearby, we've tried a variety of places in the area, and it's been a real hit-or-miss proposition with this from the very beginning. The first place we stayed was right on the very doorstep of the park, but outrageously expensive. The next place was cheaper, but certainly adequate, and we liked it enough to go back the year after. Unfortunately, that was the year the local blues festival coincided with my vacation, and we couldn't blast our way through it to get to our hotel, so the following year, we picked a different hotel out of self-protection. That hotel wasn't quite so outrageously expensive as the first place, but it was still over-priced for the accommodations. So this year, we decided to try our luck with a local Holiday Inn Express, handily located nowhere near the blues festival, just in case. We had a quick shower and then headed off to the Rocky Point Diner, which is a perennial favorite of ours and worth the trip. By the time we returned to the hotel, the motor speedway next door was in full swing, full throttle and full volume, with a boisterous PA system that could be heard for blocks in any direction. In despair, we resigned ourselves to a long and noisy night of it, but were surprised to find the hotel room blissfully quiet in spite of the tumultuous neighbors. In the morning, they provided a complimentary breakfast featuring their famous cinnamon buns, and I can recommend them highly. Although I found our room spacious and comfortable, with plenty of amenities (we even used the Internet connection with Bill's laptop) it occurred to me later that there's a reason that they call it a Holiday Inn Express. When I went to take pictures, I was surprised to discover, or rather, NOT discover a swimming pool, fitness center, Jacuzzi, sauna, lobby, game room, landscape elements, restaurant, banquet rooms, patio, playing fields, gift shop, or any of the vast assortment of cozy nooks, charming alcoves and decorative seating areas so beloved by interior designers that are scattered about every other hotel these days. I think that's what makes this an "Express" rather than the usual Holiday Inn, and since we were staying only briefly, we never missed what was missing.

We checked out in the morning and headed back to the beach for another day of fun in the sun, and once again, Wildwood beach did not disappoint. We had cheese fries again, and those also did not disappoint. In fact, the only disappointment was when Bill finally had to pack up and leave, so he could hold down the fort at home while I was cavorting in the woods. Although the park was packed solid when we arrived on Saturday, by Sunday it had emptied out quite a lot, and I was able to get a shower without standing on a long line, and it was even quiet enough to get to sleep, mostly thanks to the patrol cars driving around and telling people to pipe down. In fact, it was so quiet, it was quickly turning into a year with no intrigue, and I can't remember the last time that happened on my vacation. I had already established in my mind who the spies were this time around, and they were handily located right next to my spare campsite, where I could keep my eye on things, but then we came back up from the beach on Sunday and they had packed up and stolen away in broad daylight. Then there was another seemingly abandoned campsite across from the old Roundy, with a small pathetic dome tent that was slowly collapsing, which you would think would be impossible for a dome tent, but the family returned during the week and soon set the campsite to rights. After that, there was nothing of interest to be seen anywhere, so either the covert operatives have gotten more, well, covert, or the whole bottom has dropped out of the spy business altogether.

The rest of my vacation was blissfully uneventful, and I even had company, and by that I mean, of the human variety and not a bunch of marauding furry woodland creatures trying to take advantage of my hospitality, although there was that also. I managed to find a souvenir that was decorative as well as practical, and you know I always say you can tell when you have a good vacation when you spend absolutely all of the money that you brought with you. There was a little rain on Wednesday night, but I did go swimming every day and have a campfire every night, so I consider it a successful vacation as far as weather, and whoever had snatched and tied up Comrade Mischka for the week, you can let him go now, and many thanks. The park patrol, who seemed so diligent on Sunday, appeared to lose interest as the week wore on, and we were awakened by the sounds of a raucous "domestic disturbance" in the middle of the night on Thursday, and the drunken carousing of rowdy hooligans in the pre-dawn hours of Saturday morning. That doesn't usually happen, and I was grateful that my ear plugs blocked out most of it. And I may as well say right now that I frankly prefer the spies, who at least have the advantage of being quiet.

I was up early on Saturday anyway, packing things up and cramming stuff back into the car, and I was glad to see Bill when he arrived to pitch in and lend a hand. We checked out with time to spare, which was a good thing, because by Saturday, every campsite was filled, and we were glad to get out while the getting was good. We ignored those harbingers of doom, where one little thing after another goes wrong, and instead of racing home and pulling the covers over our heads, we went back to the beach for a last day of sand and surf. Here's where a bunch of those harbingers all piled up at once, culminating in a most unwelcome fashion, when the health department showed up at the concession stand the same time we did, and impounded their deep fryer, ostensibly so they could not continue to kill people with their cheese fries. We settled for some warm pizza instead, but it was just not the same thing, and a rather dispiriting end to our adventures in Vacation-Land. Personally, I thought that health inspector looked suspiciously like Comrade Mischka, but I'm sure I must have been mistaken, nyet?

We returned home without incident, and Bill had done a masterful job holding down the fort, as he always does, while the cats greeted my return with their usual range of emotions from boredom to outright terror. In the week since, I have gotten as far as getting semi-unpacked, and the camping supplies have gotten in the general vicinity of the shelves in the garage where they belong. The dirty laundry has been sorted into piles, which may not make it any cleaner, but at least it's neater if nothing else. Since I've been home, all heck has broken loose in a wide array of diverse ways, and at this rate, I expect it will take until July 2008 for me to completely get my camping supplies and laundry under control. In fact, going back to work after 10 days makes me want to give up on the idea of vacations entirely, and just leave the field wide open for Comrade Mischka and the spies to do their worst. That would certainly usher in boom times for travel insurance, so you might want to get in on the ground floor of that, but remember if you want cheese fries, you should probably bring along your own deep fryer, just in case.

Four Play

Hello World,

Happy July! I hope that you had a rip-snorting, star-spangled, red-white-and-blue 4th of July on Wednesday with all the trimmings. I happened to bump into a co-worker on the stairs on Tuesday and wished her a happy holiday, and she said she was looking forward to a day off, although she admitted, she thought that having a day off on a Wednesday was "stupid." Of course, everyone knows that I'm too polite to point out that in this country, at least, July 4th has historically been celebrated at whatever day of the week that it falls on, and has not joined the ranks of movable feasts throughout the rest of the calendar. Now, the dinosaurs can call me a free-wheeling radical (they'd better not!) but the future may see Independence Day turned into yet another Monday holiday like all the rest of them, and at this point, I wouldn't bet against it. On the local scene, I was up early and putting out flags upstairs and downstairs, showing off those broad stripes and bright stars, what so proudly we hailed and thank you, Francis Scott Key. And although I wasn't expecting a perilous fight, with rockets red glare and bombs bursting in air, we did strike a rather sour note when the unthinkable happened. The new upstairs flag bracket, which was being held to the house with mangled nails and a prayer, was no proof against the strong winds, and while it didn't actually fall off the house, it did turn upside-down and gravity did the rest, as I realized to my horror when I found the upstairs flag laying in a heap downstairs in the flower-bed. That sound you hear is poor Betsy Ross spinning in her grave, along with all of the Founding Fathers, and my apologies to all on behalf of the flag brigade. Obviously, the flag brigade is going to have to do something about that upstairs flag bracket, and sooner rather than later, at least in time for Labor Day. I certainly don't want the uneasy spirit of Samuel L. Gompers mad at me also, besides everyone else.

Speaking of movable feasts, although Wednesday was when businesses were closed and people had the day off for the holiday, apparently, the July 4th fireworks have a mind of their own and wander off any old time and place. Our local paper had reports of municipalities in the county having their so-called 4th of July fireworks, and having a high old time of it by all accounts, beginning last week on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. I guess I don't have to tell you what the dinosaurs and I think of that, and I don't mind saying, the cats didn't think a whole lot of it either, especially the ones that were nearby. (For the record, our cats who are all grizzled veterans of the hard-knock life out on the streets, will tell you that they are not afraid of fireworks. It just happens to coincide with the time that they have arranged to inspect underneath the bed, behind the furniture and in back of the stairs.) In an ironic twist of fate, many of the localities that waited until the actual 4th of July to have their fireworks found themselves washed out by rain, and didn't have them after all, making those hard-charging early birds from last week look like geniuses. Well, they can laugh all they want, but I still say that pre-emptive fireworks are still wrong and that's all there is to it. And remember, I was pulling the flag out of our flower-beds on Wednesday, so I ought to know.

Also on the topic of movable feasts, we have the bonnie Round Hill Scottish Games of lore and legend, now in its 84th season and still going strong. The fair laddies and lasses responsible for the Games have them on a Saturday close to the 4th of July, and there are times, like last year, when it turns out to be the first day of my vacation, and we can't go. This year, they were the Saturday before July 4th, and since we missed them last year, we were even more eager to go than usual. They hold them at lovely and scenic Cranbury Park in Norwalk, using the large center field for races and marching bands, and other charming wooded areas for different events, all with the wonderful Gallaher mansion as the backdrop. Although there is no "wrong" time to get there, we like to be at the park in time for the entrance of the massed bands, to see and hear the swirling colors and stirring pipes and drums in all their regalia and at full throttle. We were lulled into a false sense of security by arriving early at the usual parking lot where the shuttle bus service speeds people back and forth to the Games, and were unpleasantly surprised to find it deserted and padlocked for good measure. Their web site had neglected to point out this change in arrangements, so we turned around and found ourselves in a long line of cars driving to the park, only to be directed to a different pick-up location at a different parking lot farther away. (The whole concept of signs has never caught on in a big way with the organizers, although if they had just stuck up Scottish flags along the way that they wanted us to go, we could have figured it out ourselves and not only saved untold aggravation, but improved international relations at a stroke.) This was an inauspicious start to the Games for us, as we stood in the parking lot waiting for a bus almost an hour, and just barely got to the park in time to see the parade of the bands. It was a good thing, because hearing "If I Was A Rich Man" from Fiddler on the Roof played by a bagpipe marching band is something that can only be experienced, and not explained.

After the opening ceremonies, which include the requisite boring speeches and bad singers, they begin with youth races and contests, plus the "heavy-weight" games like shot put and the caber toss. There were story-telling events, country dancing and highland dancing, but we managed to get to those areas at the wrong time and missed all of them. The highland dancing is a highlight of the Games for me, so I was sorry to miss that. Returning to take another swing at the Games was a Scottish rock band called Mac Talla Mo'r ("The Great Echo") although it must be said that the dinosaurs and I can remember a time that a rock band with bagpipes would have been laughed right out of the genre. But there they were, and doing a fine job, and we ended up enjoying them more than we expected to. Then it was off on a hunt for souvenirs, among the wide variety of vendors in tents selling everything Scottish, from kilts and sporrans to bumper stickers and tea towels and everything in between. I didn't find much to my liking, but nothing stands between me and my souvenirs, so I finally settled on something and considered the day complete.

Over the years of going to the Games, we've lost one after another of our favorite food places to relax and refresh once we leave the park, so now we just drive up and down the main drag scrounging around for some place that looks half-way decent. This time we tried a small Italian restaurant and pizzeria, and Bill found their personal pan pizza not bad at all, while I was surprised by what I can only describe as an "open face calzone," which was a first for me, and I've been eating calzones ever since, well, you can just go ahead and ask the dinosaurs about that. But it was warm and we were hungry, since the food at the Games ranges from the mediocre to the inedible and back again, and after 84 years, shows no sign of improvement. So all in all, it was a day of ups and downs for Round Hill, but we still had fun and were glad to enjoy a wee bit o' Scotland on a day that wasn't my vacation for a change.

Meanwhile, for all of you history buffs out there (okay, settle down, dinosaurs!) Bill happened to be at wikipedia on June 15 when I complained of the poor General Slocum steamboat disaster being all alone and forlorn on that date, according to the list of June dates by Mr. Cusimano, but our friends at wikipedia listed over 40 events for that day, as well as over 100 notable births (perhaps only Bill considers Lash LaRue notable) and more than 50 notable deaths. It is also the day observed as Malawi Freedom Day, as well as Flag Day in Denmark, which is Bill's favorite --

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1219 - Dannebrog - oldest national flag in the world - and flag of Denmark. According to legend, fell from the sky during the Battle of Lyndanisse (now Tallinn) in Estonia, and turned the Danes' luck.

Gosh -- makes you wonder if Betsy Ross would have become so famous if all she'd had to do was duck!
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So now we know that June 15 is nothing to sneeze at, and can hold its own among the memorable events and highlights of other days. And you know that I'm taking a page out of Denmark's book, with that flag dropping out of the sky, and anybody could see where this is going. Thanks to my errant upstairs flag bracket, we had the inaugural celebration of Ameribrog on these shores, because the flag did indeed fall out of the sky, and I have the casualties in my flower-beds to prove it. So I invite you to join in the observation of this new festival on July 4th, and if you can't fly your colors high and dry, in the spirit of Lyndanisse, let them tumble where they may, by the dawn's early light and the twilight's last gleaming. No, please don't thank me, I only pass along Ameribrog as a gift of gravity, and the joy of a grateful nation is all the thanks I need.