And we're off!

Yep, that's me. And that's my brother on the right. This photo is... oh, maybe 32 years old? And I know exactly where it was taken -- because I'll be there tomorrow! We're off to Cape Cod in the morning. First, we suffer 12 hours in the van. Then, we celebrate two blissful weeks!

The first week it'll be just us and my parents, and then my sisters and brother, and their respective spouses/children, will join us. Chaos! Seriously, I think it's fabulous for the girlies to spend time with their cousins. When I was a kid, when we didn't go to the Cape, we vacationed on this kind of dirty stretch of Long Island Sound, in a little beach community where we rented one house, my father's brother rented another, and his sister rented a third. We used to come and go between the houses, but mostly ours (because my mother is the best cook, hands-down). And the memories!

This was actually a private beach (they're all private down there) and it was known as the Irish beach. But a little further down the coast, separated from our beach by a little cove, was the state beach. You had to pay to get in, but it was public. One day, at low tide, we decided to wade across the cove. It took forever. And then when we got there, we were kicked out by a ranger, which is sort of funny when you think about it.

Anyhoo, by that time, the tide had risen. So I decided to walk around the cove with my little brother, and one or two of my cousins who also decided they would rather brave the railroad bridge (yeah... very Stand By Me) than try to swim across. But my cousin Ciaran -- who didn't know how to swim -- decided to go back across the cove! So there he is, neck-deep in the poop-infested water, screaming, "I don't know how to swim!" to passing boaters. And, of course, they thought he was kidding... He was very fortunate that my Uncle Bill happened by, in a little boat that sank a few days later.

"Uncle Bill, the Kerry Ann is under water in the marina. Again!!"

"Goddamnit!"

What else? We spent a lot of time trying to catch crabs with raw meat. My cousin Brian would beg his aunts for chicken parts, which he craftily hid in a garbage bag in his closet. When his mother finally found them one morning ("What the hell is that smell?"), she actually chased down the garbage men in the street, bag held high, Brian right behind her, screeching, "Maaaa! Not my bait!!"

We ate a lot of blueberry cake. We played some kind of game that involved throwing tennis balls at each other's butts, as hard as you could. We shot off bottle rockets. Once through our neighbor's window. One day, during a rain storm, lightning came through the window and rang our telephone! Oh, and another day, my brother and I were swept out to sea in a rubber boat, but fortunately rescued by Mr. Carbone, who owned an Italian restaurant in Hartford. (Why wasn't he at the Italian beach? Well, thank God he wasn't!)

We went fishing for eels, which was disgusting, and sometimes involved walking through the woods at night. Once, my father pretended to be a bear and Ciaran started crying so hard he had to go home. (And he still likes us! He really does.) And we made fun of my Uncle Bill because he would cut the sucker end off the sand worms before baiting his hook.

We avoided jelly fish. And hot pavement. It was possible, we figured out, to walk to the beach entirely on grass and cool water pipes. When we got sick of the beach, we'd bicycle to the video arcade and play Frogger. We begged our parents for quarters -- and then for 65 cents when the ice cream truck came. It was possible, back then, to get a Strawberry Shortcake bar for 65 cents. Ohhhhh...one day, I ate six Strawberry Shortcake bars and then I got covered in hives and had to go to the emergency room for a shot.

Good times, baby!!!

Anyhoo, I won't be here for a while -- see you all in two weeks!