The Family Reunion, Part Three: The Beach and the Lighthouse

A scant few days after hearing about LaFontaine’s death, I saw the news about Bill Melendez’s death. What made this hit home was that I happened to be wearing my Snoopy t-shirt at the time–one guy I encountered that day even asked if I had worn it purposefully as a tribute.

On the bright side, later the same week was Bob Newhart’s birthday. Happy (belated) 79th, you brilliant, brilliant man.

Anyway. Now that I’m more or less settled in to Philly and able to stop procrastinating on writing stupid comments to go with pictures I post on the internet, we now bring you to the final post in the Cape May Family Vacation Trilogy.

One morning, Mom and I decided to walk down the beach and visit the lighthouse. We departed at about 9:00 AM so we wouldn’t have to pay for beach admission.

 

These are just a few of the people who are already there when we got there. At 9:00 AM. This goes with my theory that the only thing that gets most humans out of bed that early is the ability to avoid having to pay for something.

 

This little bird was either a plucky, brave, reckless daredevil, or a suicidal-but-indecisive coward. He would constantly get as close as he could to the incoming waves, but fly out of their path at the very last second. I don’t know if he was just playing chicken, or actually chickening out on his attempted self-drowning. Whatever it was, he kept at it for a while.

 

A symbol of the loneliness we all feel sometimes, we have the lone, diminutive bird, isolated in a sea of sand.

Wait, “sea” of sand might not be the best word choice, since the sand is next to the *real* sea, and it might confuse the issue. Hmm. “Plethora” of sand sounds weird, since I tend to think of “plethora” as referring to something actually quantifiable. And “cavalcade” implies the said is doing something.

Forget it. It’s a (difficult to see) bird standing on the beach.

 

Ladies and gentlemen…A Flock of Seaguls. (Ahhhh, ahhhh….)

 

A few of Hitchcock’s extras loom in the foreground as the lighthouse, in the distance, stands forth as a testament to the hope of tourists approaching their destination.

 

I’m not sure what this bird has in its mouth. A twig? A worm? A piece of shoelace?

Whatever it is, it held on tight to the little sucker for quite a long time. I admire its tenacity. I think we can all learn a lesson from this stubborn little bird…no matter what the odds are, no matter what obstacles you may face, don’t EVER let go of your twig/worm/piece of shoelace. Because sometimes in life, it’s all you have.

 

Detective Bird trots over to investigate the mysterious tire tracks, the first real lead in the investigation. With any luck, they’ll lead him right to the killer.

 

This bird is not afraid of the ocean, but he’s not rushing into it, either. No, he’s facing his horizon, and he’s aware of the challenges that await him, as well as his own shortcomings. He’ll tackle the ocean when he’s good and ready. In the meantime, he is patient. Patiently waiting for…for…

…okay, I don’t know, I actually ran out of metaphor several pictures ago. Why can’t you people just be content to enjoy the pictures of birds?

 

I don’t have a stupid caption for this, I just like birds.

 

Mom approaches one of the beaches most prominent landmarks, the Big Abandoned Concrete Thing of Something.

 

The Big Abandoned Concrete Thing of Something guards the beach from the vicious tide, which has already partly submerged the hollowed-out remains of the Stone Table of Aslan.

 

Here we have the back of the Big Abandoned Concrete Thing of Something, complete with its traffic cone-colored doors and government-mandated decorative graffiti.

 

Apparently, the Big Abandoned Concrete Thing of Something is actually a World War II bunker. But you probably already knew that because you’re much smarter than I am. It’s a shame, though, because I was really getting attached to calling it the Big Abandoned Concrete Thing of Something. Maybe when it was under construction, it’s secret codename was Big Abandoned Concrete Thing of Something. I like to think it was, anyway.

 

It’s just not an east coast beach town without a good lighthouse. It’s only a shame that this is during the daytime, so we don’t know if it’s working, or if we need to get a jar full of fireflies and steal the mirror from the inn bar.

I’m sorry, I really am trying to cut back on my “Monkey Island” references in life, but sometimes they’re just way too *easy*.

 

There stands the lighthouse, just beyond the Holy Parking Lot of the Yellow Cars. The Holy Yellow Cars stand silently on the left and right, watching over the others, protecting them, guarding them. We salute you, oh noble Holy Yellow Cars.

 

Because this particular photo set is dominated by birds, it’s only appropriate that the small, timid lighthouse be dominated in this photo by the Massive Birdhouse, which seems to have nicer accommodations than many Holiday Inn Expresses I’ve inhabited.

 

This kid has a bright future as a peeping tom.

 

These two anchors locked against each other represent the futility of stubbornness, two tools designed only to stop things, facing each other head to head, instead of working together to actually start something.

Either that, or it’s just casual decoration.

 

This is apparently the jawbone of a Baleen Whale. Huh, it’s sort of shaped like whatever it was that other bird had in his mouth. I wonder if there are little tiny Baleenlets floating around, losing their jawbones to the vicious seagull menace.

 

One of your standard Atlantic Ocean waves, not nearly as impressive as your Pacific, but still more fun than the average artificial wave pool, except for the lack of climate control.

There’s also a helicopter, so I should probably make a “M*A*S*H” reference, so, um, “Attention all units, incoming wounded.”

You’ll probably notice from the lack of aerial pictures that Mom and I did not actually go *inside* the lighthouse, because it cost more cash than we had on us/were willing to spend. But we got a good look at the lighthouse, and a good walk out of the whole thing.

And that, my friends, concludes the trilogy of Posts Containing Pictures Of Cape May. Wasn’t that worth waiting almost two weeks for?

I guess it’s time to officially close the book on summer. You know, now that I’ve been in classes for a week. Here I come, Senior Year!

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