I am missing the old beach house on Long Beach Island more and more with each minute of the simmering heat and overpowering humidity this summer is punishing New York City and Hoboken with.
I miss the feeling of serenity the second my car began crossing the bridge to LBI, which canceled out whatever stress I experienced during the work week, job-related or otherwise.
I miss the great group of people with whom I was fortunate enough to share the beach house. We’re all still friends, and we see each other off and on (although nowhere near as much as I’d like, in most cases), but it’s not the same as spending almost every weekend together.
I miss cold beer on the deck.
I miss bushwackers at The Ketch.
I miss martinis, clams on the half-shell and bacon-wrapped scallops in maple bourbon sauce at the Black Whale.
I miss slam burgers and dune fries at Holiday Snack Bar.
I miss Turkey Joe sandwiches from Pearl Street Market.
I miss Fire and Ice Scallops from Beach Haven Fishery.
I miss cheese dogs from Dom’s Drive-In.
I miss chicken cheesesteaks and white pizza from Slice of Heaven.
I miss the beach.
I miss listening to Yankees baseball on the beach, no matter how much I hate John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman.
I miss riding my bike to the end of the road at Holgate and sitting on the bench by the beach with a cold Gatorade.
My wife and I are heading down to LBI for a long weekend in a couple of weeks, but I wish that wasn’t my only time down there this summer. So far, this summer has absolutely sucked a big fat one.
I miss LBI.