Yes! We finally made it to Labor Day weekend. Like the last runner in a marathon, we are about to stumble across the seasonal finish line.
And as the country western song philosophizes, “Thank God and Greyhound They’re Gone.” OK, now that the tourists are leaving and we will have returned to some semblance of normalcy, I remember the feeling from last year. In other words, we are about to be 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 after this weekend, it will be way too quiet. A small bug splattering on my windshield had me jumping out of my tight leotard, which incidentally I’m told is the new attire for fall.
But I 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 that now I won’t be able to 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 across three lanes of traffic. I have so little in my life.
I remember 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 will be just a memory.
I’ll admit, the seasons have made changes we longed for, but now that they are here, we’re not so sure. I will tell you there is one thing about this resort that never changes, though, and is a constant. And that is the beach.
On any given day, the sky is capable of waking up and smiling lazily on a Cerulean blue palette. It accents itself with white puffy clouds. Someone will be flying a kite with its multicolored triangle and tail bobbing and weaving to the giggles below.
Lots of folks walk the sand, heads bent, looking for that perfect seashell or smooth stone polished by the ocean.
There is no hint of technology here, as old friends greet each other and young children run in circles chasing sea gulls. The air smells fresh and that lazy sun warms our cheeks. The planted dune grass sways gently to the big band sound of its own rustle of music.
You don’t need anyone here. You don’t need to be lonely. I think we know that we are a nation of lonely people. We often feel isolated in the middle of a mob of pedestrians. But this never happens where there is sand, water and the sound of nature.
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. Just summer memories. Enjoy your Labor Day. You’ve earned it this year.
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Nancy Katz has a degree in creative writing and is the author of the book, "Notes from the Beach." She has written the column Around Town for the Cape Gazette for twenty years. Her style is satirical and deals with all aspects of living in a resort area on Delmarva.
