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Jim Bishop | Postcard from the Beach: Wish everyone was here

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It ain’t paradise, but it’s knockin’ on heaven’s door.
I’m thinking this while mellowing out on a sand chair on the 15th Street, lifeguard-patrolled beach at Ocean City, N.J., still “America’s Greatest Family Resort”(at least, in my opinion) after all these years.

It’s yet another of those rare summer days that you have to write home (or a column) about – cloudless deep blue sky, temperature in the low 80s, a gentle breeze off the ocean, the water inviting this lethargic lad to get off his duff and plunge into the surf. I can’t recall last when the water here was so tepid and clear, the waves ideal for riding a boogie-board. More often, when the generally murky, Ocean City water gets this warm, it’s teeming with seaweed and stinging jellyfish. Not so this week.

Next to me, my ancient Emerson portable radio, encrusted with wet sand, cranks out another oldie but goodie that I can’t believe I’m hearing on a commercial station.

“Come with me, my love, to the sea, the sea of love . . .” the original top ten hit by Phil Phillips, turns back the hands of time to 1959, the last carefree summer for this adolescent about to enter high school.

WMID, 1340 AM, Atlantic City, is serving up 20 classic songs in a row, all from the ’50s and early ’60s era. It’s what an oldies station – the few remaining – should sound like. Best thing is, I can take the music and memories with me back to Harrisonburg by accessing the station on line at www.classicoldieswmid.com.

Spending a week at Ocean City has become a Bishop family tradition since our first week-long trek in 1975 at the invitation of my brother- and sister-in-law, Homer and Verda Geib of Manheim, Pa.

We started out at a small but comfortable cottage on the bay, then having outgrown that location, moved to more spacious (but more pricey) quarters on Wesley Avenue, just one block from the boardwalk and the beach. It’s which has been our rendezvous point every year since, including this year.

I’m still adjusting to the idea of having this wonderful week at “the shore” fresh on the heels of the most extraordinary vacation of our lives, ten days in Alaska. Regular readers of this column are already aware of some of the memorable adventures Anna and I, along with traveling companions Glenn and Kathy Zendt, experienced in America’s 49th state.

It’s quite a contrast to move abruptly from a rural scenario (mile after mile of pristine wilderness interspersed with occasional signs of human life) to battling traffic on interstates and narrow roads leading to Ocean City. The beach is wall-to-wall people; evenings on the boardwalk involve negotiating steady streams of fellow vacationers moving both directions.

I wonder what we’ve done to deserve the perfect weather conditions that have befallen us this magical week. Each day is more pleasant that the previous one before. Mornings begin with my sister-in-law’s bountiful breakfasts of Lancaster County bacon, sausage, ham, egg and cheese casserole, pancakes, French toast, sticky buns, robust coffee – all those healthy comestibles that make my cholesterol medicine work overtime.

Blame it on my getting older, but the boardwalk seems to have lost much of its charm – too many people forking over money like there’s no recession, the ear-splitting noise level in the arcade and fewer pinball machines each year (and I’m reluctant to play these electronic bandits at 50 cents for three balls).

Nonetheless, we make the rounds every night for the sake of our twin grandkids, Grant and Megan. They love the overpriced rides – the merry-go-round, helicopters and miniature roller coaster. I take them on the spinning teapot and almost lose my supper. Megan insists on riding the giant swings, which even we adults are hesitant to get on. We warn her she’ll be screaming to get off, but she persists, and we concede to her pleas. She loves it; Sara doesn’t. Watching the grandkids enjoying the rides and the boardwalk food triggers memories of doing the same with daughters Jenny and Sara, who now return with children of their own. Didn’t this all happen just the other week?

Back on the beach, there’s a station jingle, and then South Philadelphia boy Bobby Rydell extols the virtues of nearby Wildwood, N.J.:

“All I think about (Wildwood days)

After school is out (Wildwood days)

Headin’ down the shore

To have a ball once more . . . ”

This summer’s Alaska trip and this week in Ocean City are the most vacation I’ve taken in my 38 years at the same workplace. This is no one’s fault but mine, but somewhere along the line the realization hit that I’m not getting any younger and, money issues aside, there’s no guarantee that our health or other considerations will allow Anna and me to someday go places and do things we’ve always dreamed of pursuing. This has been the year, and it’s been an exhilarating, energizing, refreshing experience.

Thank you, Lord.

In reflecting on my growing up years in the close-knit Bishop family, what stands out above everything else are the things we did as a family unit – the spontaneous day trips to area attractions, parks, the Philadelphia Zoo and Franklin Institute, the day trips to Island Beach State Park, Seaside Heights and Ocean City, and weeklong camping excursions to New Hampshire and the Jersey Shore. Dad and Mom made these occasions a priority even when the money wasn’t there.

When my appointed time to depart this life arrives, I don’t want to look back and wish that I’d spent more time at work but rather focus on how much quality time was spent with my spouse and our family.

It’s an investment in eternity.

 

– Column by Jim Bishop

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