Years ago, I lived in a beach town. Back then, even though I was a restless 20-something, I kind of liked the slower pace of the off-season. Nobody missed the bumper to bumper and towel to towel traffic on the roads and on the beach, and with the exception of mini-golf, I never went to the tourist traps down on the strip that were closed from September to May, anyway. It was easy to adapt to shorter hours for restaurants and other businesses, and it was nice to have the town to ourselves for a few months.
This week, we are at the beach in Delaware for Thanksgiving. Our place is on the first block from the beach, snugged between all the lights and bustle of Coastal Highway and the low dunes that protect the wide and sandy shore. At this time of year, it's very quiet here, and it's easy to forget all the commerce that is just up the street and around the corner. Easier still to forget, because so much is closed for the season or operating on limited hours.
Today was a little frustrating because it seems that the schedule around here is for many places to close on Tuesday, which seemed strange to us. When we finally found a place to have lunch (a whole two blocks away instead of one, but we still passed at least 6 places that were closed) we discussed the phenomena. "Maybe it's their day of worship around here," suggested Treat, "since it's clearly their day of rest."
"Yeah," I agreed, "maybe to them it's Sunday, Monday, Deweysday, Wednesday!"
No comments:
Post a Comment