There’s actually room for a walk on the beach again

To paraphrase a country-western song, “Thank God and Greyhound” they’re gone. OK, now that the tourists have left and we have returned to some semblance of normalcy, suffice it to say, I’m lonely. And no one knows more about loneliness than country-western music. It’s full of heartache, betrayal, broken loves, divorce and meeting up with old lovers. Most of this is relayed while hanging over the counter of a saloon at three in the morning. But the great thing about these country-western music sagas is that all is forgiven in the end. I don’t know how.

But here and now, it’s way too quiet. A small bug splattering on my windshield has me jumping out of my tight leotard, which incidentally I’m told is the new attire for the fall.

But I constantly have a thought that keeps running through my mind, the thread being that the reason no one is around is because they are off having more fun than I am. Of course that would be a given in any season.

I’ve built up such anger and rage over the summer, now I find I can’t function without it. I’m like a drug addict prowling the streets, looking for that fix; all I need is just one more distracted driver, one more rude gesture or at the very least, someone without a turn signal on. Is that too much to ask? I promise to go into anger management rehab if you’d just give me someone bolting over three lanes of traffic. I have so little in my life.

So one day, I gradually followed other cars on Route 1 to see where everyone was going, but then it turns out they were following me because they too could feel the isolation and loneliness. There is no one to yell at, no traffic to bite your nails over and worst of all, no major driving attitude.

And yesterday someone actually let me cut in front of them while I was driving the speed of sound. Now, that is just not right, positively un-American.

I’ll admit, the seasons have made changes we longed for, but now they are here, we’re not so sure. I will tell you there is one thing about this resort that never changes and is a constant. And that is the beach.

On this day, the sky woke up and smiled lazily on a cerulean blue palette. It accented itself with white puffy clouds. Someone was flying a kite, its multicolored triangle and tail bobbing and weaving with giggles. Lots of folks walked the sand, heads bent, looking for that perfect sea shell or smooth stone polished by the ocean.

There was no hint of technology here, as old friends greeted each other and young children ran in circles chasing seagulls.

The air smelled fresh, and that lazy sun warmed our cheeks. The planted dune grass swayed gently to the big band sound of its own rustle of music.

You don’t need anyone here. It’s never lonely. I think we know that we are a nation of lonely people. We often feel isolated in the middle of a mob of people. But this never happens where there is sand, water and the sound of nature.

This is the place to be for remembering. And we do that with heavy hearts for this September anniversary of 9/ll. On that day 3,000-plus souls winged their way to heaven. The tragedy, the despair will wash in and out over the years, much like the tide.

The ocean reminds us of how temporary our troubles and sadness are in the face of larger devastation. We are encumbered to keep focused on the real importance of life and how we live it. No worries here. No loneliness here.