Down the shore

There is nothing like having friends, especially friends who live down the shore...or at least nearer the shore than where I live in Lambertville, NJ. One of Team VFH's favorite go-to places is Milford, Delaware, where Janet's dear friend and her husband have lived the past five years... Known affectionately as the Captain and BIM-mielle ... Jill and Carl have opened their home to us as well as their other countless friends and this oasis in the middle of a podunk, ho-hum little town midway between Dover and the Delaware shore points has become a favored destination for your favorite mooch crew. Indeed, visiting Delaware as often as we have has opened our eyes to the plausibility of making this state a home port for Vacations From Home. Why, just the tax situation down here is enough to convince us of the move, let alone being nearer to friends and the relative serenity of the Delaware shore. (Especially compared to NJ). 

This thinking has been quite a turnabout though for us, for despite the cost of living this is after all slower lower Delaware and with that comes a dearth of culture. All the charm that we as a couple gravitate towards is lacking here, or at best difficult to find. Films, museums, restaurants are miles away and sometimes in different states! And, the cornfield that our benefactors live in once was very bleak. We spent a New Year's Eve celebration down there and the paucity of homes and the cold, withering wind sent a chill through us and we thought never never never could we consider this for ourselves. But as the cornfield has been populated and the drive to Lewes and Rehobeth Beach seems less a chore, slower lower has become a viable choice despite the harsh winters and populations that dwindle with the seasons. Plus, sitting in the warm sand at Cape Henlopen and watching the Lewes-Cape May Ferry ply Delaware Bay, serves as a reminder that our old familiar lives are not that distant and if needed, a ready fix of urban culture can be conjured up swiftly.

Your favorite mooch crew again relied on the good graces of Jill and Carl for the Memorial Day  weekend, though we got off on a staggered start because of my work. Janet arrived Friday I while finally made it down Sunday morning. I am always amazed we get an invite from them; I always want to return the favor, but I cannot offer anything close in return. But, their hearts and generosity are as wide as their home is inviting. It is an airy three bedroom home with a large kitchen and a wet bar area where guests can and frequently congregate. With the warmer weather they also have a screened in porch and a new patio that is enchanting. Jill may not be able to spell, but she can certainly decorate and make things beautiful! It goes to show that wherever one decides to hang their hat, it can be a beautiful destination. One may have to carve out and create their beauty, but it is possible.

All work AND some play

I envy all those people with 9 to 5's ... weekends off...holidays off...vacations... all those wonderful things that I don't get working in the television industry. Oh sure, it may be glamorous to those of you watching programming. The TV is on, you're having dinner, or perhaps drinks with friends, and the game or some show is on. Perhaps you're gathered around the TV like it is some altar watching with rapt interest, but never really wondering HOW. 

It just happens. 

It's sort of like people who drive automobiles.... This brilliant machine just goes... put some gas in it every once in awhile. Get someone to change the oil? But, do you really know what goes into the machine?

Well, TV is like a machine...sort of a sausage making grinding machine. It chews up the best of us. 

Some liken the industry to a velvet tunnel. Encased in a cozy, warm control room, life on the outside doesn't really exist and years and relationships can pass without notice. Divorce rates are high among those of us in the television industry for as you're enjoying your weekends and holidays or you're sleeping in, we're working. 

When I think about the time I have spent at my chosen profession and the family events and face time I have missed, I am embarrassed. I missed a lot while encased in the velvet sausage making grinding machine. 

I am being overly melodramatic, life was never that bad, right? But, sadly, I'm still doing the same old thing.

The better and infinitely smarter half of Team VFH is already enjoying her holiday weekend. She's at the Delaware shore with friends while I'm steadfast at work. It is nearly 2:30 a.m. on Sunday. I've been at it since Saturday afternoon. Hopefully I'll be out the door within the hour and then I'll drive the 200 miles to Delaware in order to rendezvous with everyone and salvage at least part of this holiday weekend.

I'm bringing sausage for breakfast...

SPARKLE WEEK!

It is said that one man's garbage is another man's gold. Never is this statement more relevant than in my town of Lambertville, New Jersey. For the next two weeks the sidewalks of this little Delaware River town will brim with treasures that are ripe for the picking. During "Sparkle Week" anything and everything will be tossed by the citizens of this docile place as a chance do some spring cleaning. And, conversely anything and nearly everything tossed will soon be grabbed up by other citizens of the town or its environs to haul the junk off to their homes. In a bizarre ritualistic redistribution of wealth the junk in Lambertville goes round and round at this time of year finding new more appreciative homes. Frightening amounts of junk end up curbside in front of some houses, seemingly impossible amounts that could not possibly have come from some of the small houses in town. Perhaps the homeowners imported their junk? Indeed, during this week I diligently rummage through my house, basement and garage looking for things to toss and my heart swells with pride at my growing pile, but I cast a wary eye at the far larger junk piles that clog the town. I could never achieve such perfection!

Don't worry... I don't steal from other piles just to add to mine... but whenever I espy someone chortling slowly near my house to "filch" something from my nest egg of crap I am torn. On one hand I feel glad someone sees worth in what I've tossed, but then I wonder why I threw it away in the first place. I have to restrain myself from running from the house to retrieve my "collectables".  It is a familiar feeling. My first novel was about collecting to excess. You can read the first chapter of "Hi, How Are You?" online for free at: www.xlibris.com/hihowareyou.html  It's a black comedy science fiction tale. Feel free to purchase a copy and help out a starving artist... Somebody should... 

Anyway, if you do I can buy more crap to put in my house. After all it is fairly empty after this week's Sparkle week cleansing.

Now my fair readers I'll bet you're saying to yourself, ‘why am I writing about this "crap"? What the hell is going on; isn't this a travel blog?’ Well, here's the travel connection. Items not tossed during my Sparkle week frenzy are cherished reminders from my travels across this vast and varied world. Of course there are the usual items, like the rug purchased at a Medina bazaar in Tangiers after much haggling and mint tea. There’s the Australian aboriginal art, the kangaroo skin and didgeridoo. A side note to the didgeridoo, I would “play” it whenever the kids pissed me off, the awful sound (by me) could clear a room quickly. There’s the silk kimono from Kyoto and the colorful Aloha shirts from Hawaii. I have several nice pieces of pottery from Spain, Mexican art and Dala horses from Sweden. I have a fondness for Italian demitasse cups, Greek coffee mugs and Japanese tea pots. From across the United States I have several salt and pepper shakers, some wonderfully tacky and others antiques.

Yes, you can say my house is littered with the detritus of my travels. But wait, there’s more. At least with the next list of collections I didn’t spend a lot of money.

I have an extensive collection of matchbooks from restaurants, hotels and bars from around the world. Glass jars brim with the colorful matchbooks. Some are displayed on racks in little display cases. My most prized matchbook is the one from the Holiday Inn in Sarajevo of the former Yugoslavia, now in Bosnia. It is used and battered but commands a place on my display case.

Another favored travel collectables are beer glasses and mugs filched from bars around the world. Here's a tip on how to successfully steal a glass without getting caught. Go to the bathroom with your glass, as if you're going to answer the call of nature, but then emerge without it.... (the glass is in a jacket pocket… get it.) No one is the wiser, hopefully.

I also collect pins, but these are mostly from my work in the television industry. Olympic pins sit in a display case in my office.

But, by far my most cherished travel possession is the vast array of sand I have collected from around the world. I have sand from every continent except Antarctica… I had some, but it melted. Kept in little labeled bottles in a kiosk in my office is sand from several beaches in Australia, Europe, Asia, Africa and throughout the United States. I have sand from several islands in Hawaii. I scooped up some from the oldest bullfighting ring in Ronda, Andalucía. The Plaza del Toros was erected in 1785 and perhaps either Ernest Hemingway or Orson Welles trod on my very sand as they both spent some time here. I have white soft sand from Palermo, Sicily, black sand from Perissa, Santorini and red sand from Arches National Park in Utah.  I have sand from St. Kilda’s (Melbourne) and Bondi and Manly (Sydney). I have sand from the Big Island’s Kohala coast where I was blessed with witnessing migrating whales breaching. Sand from Oregon, California, Texas, Louisiana, Florida and New Jersey among others are in my collection.

My sand collection also features samples given as gifts by friends who are fortunate to travel somewhere before me. My glowing daughter, Ally, gave me sand from Normandy Beach. Friends from Australia sent me red sand from Ayers Rock, called Uluru by the Aborigines. From the gulf coast of Florida I received a gift of Sanibel Island sand by friends who recently vacationed there. And, the Royals, Adam and Lauren, mailed me sand from their honeymoon in the Canary Islands…. You would think they had better things to do!

Loved and cherished all. It’s as if a bit of the world resides with me.

No, sparkle week will never get my sand.