There was some non-work fun

There had to be a happy medium while rebuilding a house into a hotel over the course of a couple years, especially when young children are involved; my brother and I respectively.  Once they decided that it was quitting time each evening, it became family time. One of my favorite places at that point was the miniature golf center at the top of Jackson and Beach Drive.  I was no prodigy and that clown mouth haunts me to this day.  I should also finally apologize in print for any head injuries I may have caused to  vacationing shoobies passing by.  See, my motor planning and depth/visual perception was pretty bad but man could I knock a golfball out of the fence...over, and over, and over again.  The only prize for those on the street that caught the ball in midflight was escaping physical harm.  Good eye.  But my patient parents and brother now laugh to tears when reminiscing about it.  I'll give him this now. my brother was pretty good, but even he had battles with that sinister clown.  10 strokes over par, its time to move on.

Continued...

So once the famous last words of, "I really have to go", were said for that particular hour, what were a couple of kids expected to do?   Oh there was plenty and not all great.  The blood oozing from my foot from a nail found in my bare toes, as well as an injured head when my cousin swung a rake around are just a couple of incidents that stand out.  Yes, it was my injured head, too.   Disclaimer #1: My parents nor any other adult caretakers did not support these actions.  What they didn't know, hurt us physically in warm colored red.  Disclaimer #2:  Never swing sharp objects around, i.e(metal garden hoe) especially when the body  to rake height ratio is drastically unequal.  Most amusing is that we all were playing nicely and it still ended in some tears.  It certainly didn't stop us in our exploring.  There was a large house to clean out, another family's memories, lots of construction materials...oh did I mentions LOTS of construction materials and best of all paint brushes and a gazzilion of gallons of paint.  Nothing else was needed.

The beginning of Growing Up Cape May

I have always wanted to share my childhood experiences in Cape May with those that also love Cape May and can relate to either the personal details related to the town, being a child at the beach, being a child of the 80's in Cape May, the hotel business of Cape May or where ever else meaning can be found.

 This will be my running narrative,so please enjoy and have fun in reading....

Cape May was my second home... what am I writing?, It is my second home.  Quite possibly, in my heart, it is my first and only home, the place where I first felt the peace,freedom, and spirit in being me and where only a  place that a person belongs will let them  feel.  This is not some ultra spiritual, mystical thought process, just a simple reality that as people, we can visit places all over the world or right in our backyard and feel the difference in ourselves in one location over another; energy level is high and peaceful or energy is low and restless.  Cape May was my first of feeling peace and magic in a  small historical town.

Being introduced to Cape May at a young preschool age, one would not think that a connection would be felt so early but it really must have always been there.  My weeks in childhood were split between living in the Philadelphia suburbs during the week but come Friday night or Early Saturday morning( would mean the treat of McDonalds breakfast), Cape May was residence at the commence. More even splits in the summer months. 

 

My relationship with Cape May began  when my parents, uncle and family friends bought an old, destined to be condemned Victorian mansion on Jackson Street, 42 Jackson to be exact.  I don't remember much of the earlier years as  I was only 3 when they first began looking at the house. Though my  first very clear memory is of sitting on my uncle's shoulders as we all were walking down Jackson Street looking at a sad facade and hearing 2 brothers dream of how to make her into elegance that would eventually be printed on postcards all throughout town.

"Her" ceilings were caving, spindles cracking and staircases broken. She absolutely needed some colorful life splashed upon her but there was also something majestic and stoic about her.  Even now, when looking at the original pictures, its evident that  she was something Grand, that all was needed were the right caretakers to see  and feel it in her.

Those early years in the big, brown house across from Stumpo's and The Whales' Tale were full of fun and adventure for this young child that ran through and explored every inch of this new, old place.   Pretending to be a child from years before, thinking about the family that lived there previously and continually offering my undesired assistance....ok in retrospect not wanting a 5 year old to paint hundreds of finely detailed spindles was probably a smart parenting and business decision.   Not getting plumbing as quickly as possible, not so much.  Visiting Stumpo's bathroom once an hour with me did not help their time management schedule.  Thanks Stumpo's.   Jumping forward though, how strange it feels now when visiting Cape May to not see Stumpo's there any more, parts of childhood have now gone missing.