Early morning, north Rehboth Beach

I'm ready to go home.

Normally in Rehoboth, I can't believe the days are dwindling down, and on the last day I try to suck every last bit out of it—one last swim, one last walk on the boardwalk, one last game of skee-ball—but now I'm like sure, end it, get it over with, done. I think of Kramer pointing at his noggin: Up here, I'm already gone.

I have to say: I'm disappointed in Rehoboth Beach specifically, and Delaware generally, for not taking a worldwide pandemic seriously. Most places we went to, few people were masked. My sister commented on the dangers of visiting NYC, with everyone piled on top of each other. But masks were worn there, indoors and often outside, vax cards were asked for. They knew the dangers. They'd been through the worst of it. Given the circumstances, they did what needed doing. In Delaware, it felt like they're not even trying. It felt like la-la land.

Monday was my busy day. I went to the beach at 10 AM (no one in our party joined me), fought the waves, read, sat, fought the waves, looked for the rest of my crew, left, had lunch, then went for a bikeride on my brother-in-law's bike. We're on Pennsylvania Avenue, first block, great place, so I rode north, away from the Boardwalk. I did the Gordon Pond Wildlife Trail, then just kept going. Could I do Lewes? Sure, why not? I bike in Seattle, where you can't help but encounter insane hills, and this was all flat, and I was flying. Once I got to the Lewes-Cape May ferry terminal, I turned around—and encountered a strong headwind. I'd had a tailwind the entire time—that's why I was flying. Not the first time that's happened to me. When I got back, I joined my family at the beach. 

Tuesday, my sister and I picked up her son and my wife at the BWI airport (she'd taken Amtrack to the Baltimore terminal, then cabbed to BWI), then we argued about going to Hemingway's restaurant in Stevensville—her favorite, but her son and I were both wary. We were warier when again we saw none of the servers were masked. But we got a booth away from everyone, and everything seemed mostly OK. Still, it wasn't a meal worth risking your life over.

The rest of the week blends together. Some nice early morning walks along the beach (thinking of Aunt Karen, who used to do that when I was a kid), a thunderstrom amid the Hurricane Ida remnants that flooded New Jersey and NYC. We played games like “Chameleon” in the evenings. One night, we ate out at Dogfish Head, along the main drag, and those servers were masked. Good on them. Responsible business owners. How about that?

Friday, I got up early to watch the sun rise, but unlike my 7 AM walks along the beach, where hardly anyone else was around, this one was packed, everyone focused on the sunrise like it never happened. That day kind of sped by. Went to the beach after lunch, then a search for a long-sleeved tee for Patricia (we didn't find one), or a diet pop for my sister (ditto), then back to the beach, where I watched the next generation teaching their kids how to jump the waves. That evening, I got a final Gus & Gus four-piece chicken meal. On the way, passing one of those T-shirt (or Tea-shirt) shops, this one called Tidal Rave's 5&10, I saw a bunch of bastardizations of Marilyn Monroe: the screen goddess remade for the loutish Trumpian set. I'm not an IP attorney but I assume this is unauthorized usage. What sad fuckstick dreams up shit like this? Feels like the wrong side of the American experiment. End it, get it over with, done.

I'm not an IP attorney but I assume this is unauthorized usage.