Over The River And Through The Woods

Hello World, Break out the champagne and flowers! The time has come around once again, as it surely must, for all of creation's children to celebrate the ladies, and pay homage to the extraordinary maternal figures in all of our lives, biological or otherwise, in the annual mommapalooza extravaganza known as Mother's Day. The big day will be here on Sunday, and you can be sure that there will not be a spare restaurant reservation to be had, for love or money at any place worth going, except perhaps Hooters - and frankly, I wouldn't be so sure about that either. We may all be past the point that dear old Mom would be satisfied with a macaroni necklace and finger-painted card, alas - and I can already tell you that an even worse idea is to listen to your well-meaning but misguided pets, and shower the poor woman with catnip mice and rawhide bones. I can also unequivocally not recommend any of our rampant alien mutant poison ivy, which would certainly give new meaning to the idea of a "gift that keeps on giving," and I ought to know. All it took was a little rain in the local area, and our entire yard erupted in an explosive riot of abounding weeds on every side, so much so that it would have made the natives at the American Weed Council positively giddy with delight - that is, if only there was such a thing. Along the driveway, the chickweed and crabgrass are taller than the yard lights, which is certainly no sort of improvement, and there's rye grass and wild onion next to the sidewalk that's already higher than my knees, thanks not. The azaleas have just started to pop open, while on the fragrance front, the lilacs in our backyard finally bloomed, and we can just see the first early blossoms of wisteria dangling overhead in the front, together filling our whole property with the most heavenly aroma, that it makes you loath to go indoors - especially when the kitty poop-meisters in our midst have made the litter boxes a place to avoid at all costs. It certainly makes you wish that hyacinths, lilacs and wisteria could last all year to charm us with their intoxicating scents, or that olfactory enhancement could be cultivated in common longer-lasting plants instead. Note to botanists everywhere: Poison ivy that smells good would be a boon to mankind, that future generations would wonder how we ever lived without it. You heard it here first, folks. Speaking of firsts, or rather, how the first shall be last, our friends in the Greek Orthodox Church finally got around to celebrating Easter last Sunday, long after the resurrection bandwagon pulled out of the station for the rest of us, and the Easter Bunny had packed away his baskets for another year, to enjoy the off-season in peace and quiet. Or I suppose under the circumstances, that should be "in Peeps and carrots" instead, and don't spare the malted milk eggs while you're at it. Garcon, I'll have mine with extra hot fudge, if you please. I regret to report that there is no joy in Mudville, as the NBA playoffs continue without the Nets, eliminated in the first round by Chicago, who then went on to the unenviable task of facing Miami, so Brooklyn might end up having the last laugh after all. The Knicks finally beat the Celtics to advance to the second round, but ran smack into the formidable Indiana Pacers, fresh off their rude manhandling of the overmatched Hawks. (The actual term employed by the sports pundits was "dismantled," which makes it sound like Indiana barged in and stole Atlanta's fireplace - and frankly, I think even Dennis "Bad As I Want To Be" Rodman would draw the line at that.) Speaking of bad boys, it was a relief to the Blueshirts faithful when the Rangers finally won a game against the vaunted Capitals, and then won another, knotting their series at 2 games apiece. Nothing comes easy in the playoffs, which are no place for the faint-hearted, as disappointed fans in Milwaukee, Denver, Houston and Boston can surely attest. Or even worse in Los Angeles, where both of their teams saw their hoop dreams shot down in flames, with the two clubs ousted in the first round, and that was probably without Dennis Rodman filching their fireplaces, I dare say. In other sports news, the 139th running of the Kentucky Derby saw 5-1 favorite Orb overcome a shaky start to run away with it by two and a half lengths, in a crowded field on a sloppy track, with jockey Joel Rosario claiming his first Derby win ever. So now that one jewel in the Triple Crown is under our belts, as it were, we can sit back and watch how long it takes for the unquiet ghost of Affirmed to work his evil machinations behind the scenes, and fix his hex on the poor unwary Orb to jinx his chances in the next two races, so if I was Orb's publicity crew, I wouldn't hurry out and have those Triple Crown souvenir T-shirts printed up just yet. I don't know what it would take to break Affirmed's steely grip on the sport's premier achievement after 35 years, but at this point, I would expect the owners to band together and hire a "ghost horse whisperer" who could remove the curse once and for all. And that's not just the mint juleps talking, believe me. It may be 60 degrees out, but it's not too early to start thinking about vacation, and everyone knows that means camping at Wildwood for me, and plenty of it. I found it impossible to get a straight answer about storm damage at the park in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, and I was not about to take anyone's word for it after last year, when their ill-conceived building replacement project was still in full swing during July, leaving beachgoers like me with no concession stand or bathrooms for the entire week, and once again, thanks ever so much not. So leaving nothing to chance, we took the prudent way out, and drove all the way out there last Saturday, picking up my sister along the way, and also made a stop at the Denny's in Centereach for lunch, which would have made the whole trip worthwhile all by itself. Officially, the park is still closed for the winter, and doesn't actually open until Memorial Day weekend, so if you drive in and wander around, you can enjoy the beauties of nature, but no services will be provided. We certainly picked the right time to commune with nature, because it was probably the only nice day we've had all year, and could not have been more perfect if we had special-ordered it for the occasion. We found plenty of people in the picnic area having barbecues, and even campers in the two sections that were open - although they would have only been able to use the bathrooms in the trailer section, all the way on the other side of the park, which would be kind of a hike if you were having any sort of bathroom emergency, I'm thinking. There were trailers galore in every corner of their own section, so that you would never know it wasn't the height of the season already, in spite of the cool temperatures. The access road to the beach was closed, which was not about to stop us, but rather than trailblazing through the back of the playground and clambering down the face of the bluffs to the beach, we drove to the nearby Hulse Landing Beach, and walked along the water back to Wildwood Beach from there. Even from that distance, we could tell that the boardwalk and bathhouse were still standing, which was an encouraging sign, especially compared to the devastation that we were expecting for such an exposed location. When we finally came right up to it, we saw the construction fencing was still around it, and they were in the process of replacing planks, banisters and stairs on the boardwalk - while the spiffy new (retro) bathhouse appeared completely intact, and in fact, had its lights on, as if welcoming us to its sturdy embrace. The bluffs were a little the worse for wear, but the beach had rebounded nicely, with hardly a trace of any damage remaining from the harsh conditions. Meanwhile in the campground, we saw only a smattering of stumps where trees had once been, which is about the same damage as they have in any ordinary winter at the park, so there was nothing alarming about that. In fact, we found the whole circumnavigation to be extremely reassuring, allaying our fears about what horrors might have awaited us in July. After all these decades, Wildwood remains the Timex of state parks - it takes a licking, but keeps on ticking. Since my sister the explorer was with us, she also directed us to Wading River Beach, all the way on the other side of town past the Duck Pond, where I had not only never been before, but never had any idea it was there. In fact, I was more surprised than anybody after 50 years of camping out there, because I always thought the town beach was the one at the end of Hulse Landing Road, where we just were, but apparently they're two completely different places and miles apart. The real Wading River Beach turned out to be a lovely secluded enclave with a nice playground and refreshment area, and a wide beach that was unexpectedly sandy, compared to Wildwood's famous pebbles. So that was a special treat, and a new experience that I wouldn't have surmised from the oldest of old haunts. It was almost anticlimactic when we left, scooped up our favorite local pizza, and pounced upon belated happy birthday and hoppy Easter presents, although they were no less welcome for all that. I would say it was the end of a perfect day, made even better when we discovered that the Indiana Pacers hadn't absconded with our fireplaces. Say, who let Dennis Rodman in here? Elle