Okay, so... Delaware

Did you know that on the boardwalk at the Delaware seashore, you can get ice cream with bacon in it? Well, now you know. There was steam coming off the cone as the girl handed it to me. The ice cream immediately started to melt as it transitioned from the air-conditioned storefront into the windy, hot, wet sea air. Behind us, the ocean crashed into the land and mother nature dared me to take another crack at it.

We had come over the Bay Bridge.

$4 for the toll and you get ten minutes suspended over the water. Delaware makes me laugh because a year ago I would not have been able to think of a reason that I would have ever ended up in that state. I still can't, but that's why it's funny. It's just a place where people live, not any different from any other place. It occurs to me that it is about as far as one can get from the fake excitement and postured confidence of LA, and that is wonderful. It was the first time that I have made contact with the Atlantic Ocean. The closest I have been before was riding the Staten Island Ferry past Lady Liberty, or looking over a rail in Boston, or, I guess pissing into the bay at Coney Island.

But this was the beach! This was waves and sand and full immersion. It was another of those great moments where nature, the natural world, the universe takes over and I was left helpless.

wet dog me

It was made even better by the fact that I was breaking rules and swimming too close to rocks, far enough out that a lifeguard eventually came along and told me to chill. (Side note, I am no longer afraid of lifeguards. I guess I'm an adult now.) Later on in the day, there were no lifeguards and it was just me against the waves. The feeling of being tossed around by something greater than yourself is fun and freeing and frightening. I don't know if you're aware of this any more than you were about the bacon ice cream, but we are not in charge of this ride. I like being reminded of that.

After exhaustion set in, Em and I took to the boardwalk.

We ate Margherita pizza, played skee-ball for prizes (with our nearly 500 tickets Em got a plastic unicorn and I got a marble), ate the aforementioned ice cream, explored beach shops full of books and nick-nacks, and bought tickets for the Haunted Mansion.

The Haunted Mansion was an award-winning cart ride style haunted house that boasts a track record of scaring happy beach-goers longer than my lifetime (38 years!) and it was worth every penny. Usually, these kind of Haunted Houses (unless you are in Disney Land) are fun because of how campy (crappy) they are. A light turns on, a buzzer goes off, a tattered skeleton pops out (if its cord isn't busted). But this one was awesome. The best I've ever been on, and that includes the one at the Mouse House.

The whole experience was made even better by the fact that the sky darkened as we were in line. The rain started to splatter on the boardwalk just as we were entering the large, clunky metal doors of the... dun dun dun... Haunted Mansion!

When we came out, we rode one more ride, the spinny spaceship. You know the one. It was my favorite in the midway state fairs of my childhood. It spins around until the centrifugal force slides your pad up the wall and you are stuck. Emily laughed like only the truly joyous can laugh. She laughs like that a lot lately and I'm proud to be involved.

By the time we were done, the rain was coming down like the dam of the sky had broken. The last I saw of the Atlantic, the waves were crashing against the beach as if they were angry that we were leaving. I felt its pain. The boardwalk and the beach were empty. One man, hiding under an overhang and enjoying a smoke, told us to try and run between the raindrops. There wasn't much chance of that. It was a wall. We ran through the warm rain in search of the car like two mad people, the only fools crazy enough to brave the tropical downpour. Emily splashed and screamed at the top of her voice, letting out all the intensity of the covenant between her and nature that I had experienced while under the surface of a passing wave.

We abandoned the thought of our reserved campsite. It was an underwhelming zone designated for RVs and tent camping, but we had been looking forward to sleeping in a tent. Instead, we drove back, listening to the first book of the Dark Tower series, an updated version that included material that was not present when I had first read the book (the man in black tells the barmaid in Tull to say nineteen to the resurrected man?). Emily nursed a sunburn on her legs that has been the bane of our existence today. "I just forgot to put sunscreen on them!" she says with a silly grin as she sends me to the store for vinegar and tea. She is beautiful.