“AKKK! AKKK! AKKK! AKKK! AKKK!!!!”-Flying rats attacking our mistakenly spilled french fries on the boardwalk in Ocean City.
August 8, 2000- Happy Birthday Aunt Bix!- When dawn broke I was up and at-em while my slouchy companions continued to slumber. I took the canoe out and watched the sunrise on a perfectly still mirror-like lake. It would have been perfectly quiet except for the noise of those wretched seagulls (Oh well, it’s better than the sound of trucks). I return to the campsite and realize that I have neglected to pack my groovy new toaster. To add to the gloom not one morsel of cheese seems to exist on this trip. No Toast! No Cheese! No Phone! No MotorCars! Not a single Luxury!
I come back and cook eggs for the little boys and made a PB&J for Brad. I’m teasing him that he’s doomed to eat nothing but Peanut Butter and Jelly for every meal for the rest of his life. We break out the video camera we borrowed from Susi Moyers so we could get the usual action packed footage of Brad saying, “Can I try that? Can I try that?”
I let him run it for a while, resulting in some cop reality show style tape.
Ben is SICK! He’s been mildly out of sorts the last few days and now his forehead is hot enough to fry an egg on it. After an expedition by canoe to see the underside of the wooden bridge at the north end of the lake we return to the beach to swim. We see numerous turtles along the way, a delight to our turtle loving audience.
We consider pulling up stakes (Hey, We don’t have any stakes, we’re in a cabin!) and going back to Rutledge but Brad looks at us with his large Bovine Eyes and asks, “When are we going Fishing?” right when I’m about to break him the bad news. We decide to try to get the little boys to sleep while Brad and I go out in the canoe to catch the really big ones.
Two Possibilities exist to explain our inability to ever coax a fish onto our hook down here:
1) There aren’t any fish in this lake or
2) We should be using bait
I notice that they do sell worms over at the pavilion but I’m not sure I could bring myself to stick one on the hook even for a nice fish lunch. Besides, that guy we saw here last time assured us that all we needed to catch pickerel was a nice white lure. Maybe we’ll try a piece of cake ala Curious George in “Curious George Flies a Kite”. When we return the boys are asleep so Brad and I take the family truckster out for a scenic tour of the Pine Barrens. We see evidence of the large cranberry growing industry up north near Chatsworth and return to Tuckerton to get gasoline and visit our demonic friend the big anthropomorphic pine cone holding ice cream cones. Brad chooses Bubblegum Ice Cream! Yuk! Bubblegum flavored with bits of bubblegum floating in it. He seems to enjoy it. It’s Sally’s turn to sleep when we get back and the guys and I take the large floating thing over to the beach.
When we return we all pile into the van and journey 30 miles south to Ocean City. Yahoo! Now this is what Vacation is all about! We have half baked plans to rendezvous with our Rutledge neighbors the Sokoloffs but no real arrangements were ever made. A carnival atmosphere engulfs our party as we near the 0cean City Boardwalk (Brad can’t seem to remember whether this phenomena is called a “Walk Board” or a “Board Walk”).
Ravenously hungry, we stop for a big tub of boardwalk fries. As Gabe and I are crossing the thorofare Brad bumps into us, sending about 1/3 of the French fries tumbling to the ground. FLAP FLAP FLAP FLUTTER FLUTTER FLUTTER WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH. A battalion of enterprising seagulls INSTANTLY and violently descend upon us making the question, “Hey, what should we do with those fries we dropped?” instantly superfluous. Ben and I stroll down to look at the “Ohshhh” (BearSpeak item previously unnotated) and reveled in the fact that beach tags are not required after 5:30. The rest of the crowd headed over to Wonderland Amusement Pier.
They should have a large neon sign proclaiming this place “Copyright Infringement Land.” Walt Disney, Sherwood Schwartz, and the Rev. Awdry must be shuddering in their graves. We decide not to partake of the fruits of “Gillian’s Island” (Where HAVE I seen that eerily familiar graphic before?) and wander over to watch some kids riding on the “Flying Jumbos.” The amusements here are reasonably priced (they obviously save a lot of money on licensing fees) and needless to say all of our boys are enthralled by the whole spectacle. All of the guys ride on the cute little safari cars and Brad and Mommy take a twirl on the Tea Cups (Only they’re not really teacups; Teacups have handles. I think that the “Alice in Wonderland “ people own the rights to spinning teacups).
We are led to believe by poor signage that Ben and Gabe aren’t eligible monorail riders because of height requirements but then I see new born babies cruising around. They seem interested by a big goofy animated animal band which runs on quarters.
We take a monorail ride on a group of engines which curiously appear to be of the “really useful” variety: A blue train with a small stumpy boiler and a small stumpy smokestack, and a little face on the front. Sodor-esq, You Say?
On our way home we’re all parched so we stumble through Northfield looking for relief. We finally find a big “CVS” Drug Store. While Sally goes inside Brad confronts me with the following, “Listen Dad, This is Getting Serious! I think we’re really close to Home!”
As we sit in the harsh artificial daylight produced by the vaporous fixtures of mercury high above our heads, I finally discern the logic of young Mr. Morbeck’s confusion. Not realizing the chain nature of CVS Pharmacies, Inc., Brad has led himself to believe that we might currently be sitting at the corner of Baltimore Pike and Woodland Avenue in Springfield, Pennsyltoonya -- a short R3 whistletoot away from 28 President Avenue. I assure him that there are many CVS’s in many places and going back to our cabin at Bass River S.F. is the prudent thing to do. Rejuvenated by fluids, we hop back on the Garden State Parkway and are soon home in our (bunk) beds.
