The "Shore House," as we fondly called it, was in my family for generations. Each summer, we made the pilgrimage down to the seashore and fell into routines that consisted of grilling food and eating outside or on the porch, walking to the bakery for some freshly baked donuts, swimming in the salty ocean at the beach, going out crabbing or sailing with our Poppop, or taking a leisurely bike ride from bay to ocean and back again. Once a week, we would head up to "the rides" to take a spin on the ferris wheel or get some aggression out on the bumper cars.
Today, my mom and sister and I headed back to the oceanside of all of our youths and spent the day reading and swimming, enjoying a place that has hardly changed in all of its years of existence. In our ever changing world, there is something comforting about places preserved both in memory and in time, don't you think?
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