......

"THAT IS AN ABSOLUTELY brand new ATM machine," said the owner of the little shop at Sunset Beach* to The Yard Man. "YOU are the first person to use it!"

So then, since The Yard Man had a pocketful of brand new cash, we went out onto the beach and saw the sunken ship, looked in the small information-wildlife center, studied the Martin houses (Just so you know, Dear Reader, the Martin is a kind of bird--a swallow. And get this--[if it sounds unbelievable, don't blame me; it's what we were told]: East of the Rockies the Martins are totally dependent upon human-supplied housing for their survival!

"I've been wanting to get me a Martin house!" said The Yard Man as we studied the four large houses in the parking lot. However, there were none for sale.
(So much for his pocketful of cash!)



They weren't selling turtles there, either.
......

So we carried on with our Cape May caper...

much as the grapes are carried along from the vineyards to the winery (our next stop).


Truthfully, I have no idea how the grapes are transported, but somehow
they end up in the casks,



and then...wait for it... into our glasses!


When our hostess at the winery pours for us the Port (our sixth sample), she makes my eyes pop open! What's that she's saying?!! Chocolate?! (It's only a few chocolate chips, Reader Dear, but chocolate is CHOCOLATE and it's starting to feel like Christmas....[uh.okay. it may be the wine)

Alas, The Yard Man is not a wine enthusiast.
(When we leave that place, his pocket still bulges)
......

But. Then. "Let's go find that cheese shop we heard about!" says he.

We spend a half hour in that tiny shop! We eat samples. The Yard Man hobnobs with the owner; he is very enthused about his cheese! So is The Yard Man! When we drive away from that store, there is a large smelly hunk of blue-veined cheese nestled on the back seat of the car beside the bottle of wine that someone purchased at the winery.
(And The Yard Man's pocketful of cash is slightly more like a pancake).
.....

*We're not in California, Reader Dear.
We are EAST of the Rockies!

MAY DAY! It's the first day of May, which always, Dear Reader, recalls for me the day I danced around a May Pole (uh-huh, wearing the mint green dress my mother had commissioned a seamstress to sew for me, and carrying the end of the mint-green streamer, weaving around the seven other seventh-grade girls with their pastel frocks and various-colored streamers [I hope it was a lovely sight])
......
First day of May here, but second day of Cape May, where The Yard Man and I are driving along toward Sunset Beach and we spot a cluster of people by the side of the road, a line of cars.
"Maybe there's an auction," I say. We drive on by, but crane our necks for a view.















"Oh, wow," exclaims the yard man. "It's a bread line!" He turns the car around, and we drive back to be part of the no-auction action.

From the locals, we get the story of this bread-baking phenomenon.
"Next time you should get here at ten, as soon as she opens!" they say.  "You should see the line in the summertime!"

We get into the line, which nearly doubles as we're  waiting.  We purchase a loaf. (And two chocolate-chip muffins that make us swoon).
.......

Now jump out of the line to today, Dear Reader, this May Day morning, the weather a rumbly gray.  The Yard Man and I are pleased to have slices of our Cape May experience with our freshly-laid eggs.* We both make appreciative noises (similar but not alike). "If only," we sigh, "we'd bought more of this bread!"
.....


*(The hens are only briefly forgiven their
wayward ways.)

......
SCRAMBLING BACK UP....and look out, Reader Dear, I've got a sack full of past experiences:

The Yard Man and I tripped over the bridge to Cape May, New Jersey, this past weekend to celebrate a long-ago event.










En route on Friday afternoon the weather was just amenable enough for us to take a little break in our journey and enjoy a walk of death while eating pastries (mmmm, cinnamon bun and peach turnover!) from a tiny bakery we spotted along the road.



There were old stones and odd stones,
and it was a fascinating forty minutes we spent there!













Resuming the drive, it didn't take us long to get to our destination--this place of beaches and boats and (lots of) shopping.

































Yes, Reader Dear, even the kind of shopping that brings to mind The Yard Man's chickens and their waywardness that irks me so!



But there are plenty more things more pleasant to contemplate, oh, yes. I'll have to tell you plenty more things another day, Dear Reader Dear.

.......

......

DO I REALLY NEED to say it again, Dear Reader?
I'm at the grocery store, okay?!
All around me at the little cafe tables folks are relaxing; one woman chats on her cell phone, a man reads the morning paper. One or two persons are eating an early lunch (though it may be a late-morning snack, alas, I can't tell you for sure.) In spite of the bright sunshine, a fire still burns in the gas fireplace.

......



Moments ago, a sweet woman stopped by my table to tell me, "I noticed your purse; it's very pretty! I love those colors; it's something I would choose!" A random act of kindness, Reader Dear, that compliment.

It made me think of yesterday's random act of kindness--a warning--also from a stranger at the grocery store. I'd solicited his advice about the preparation of salmon (Well, there we were at the counter, waiting while the store employee divided up that sizable filet for the two of us.) "How are you going to prepare yours?" I'd asked. He would simply bake it, he said. Eight minutes on each side--350 degrees. Then off he went, and as soon as I'd gotten my paper-wrapped hunk of salmon, so did I. But that wasn't the end of it, Reader Dear! A few minutes later he was back at my cart: "Always get the wild salmon!" he cautioned. "You can get intestinal worms from the farm-raised!"

"Hmm? Really?"
I discovered he had far more to say in regards to his warning! His stomach-turning saga of colonic cleanses (and even a gall bladder clean-out) lasted a good fifteen minutes! (I realize how bizarre it must sound [and I'm cringing (much as I did yesterday as the minutes ticked by]). I simply couldn't help myself, Reader Dear, standing there in the grocery store aisle with shoppers scurrying by--collecting food for their savory recipes, overhearing snippets ..."the worms looked like little bed sheets!..." My mouth was agape. His tale was so fascinating for its in-depth detail (no pun intended), but most of all for his unabashed telling of it!



Not to mention my unabashed recording!
(Consider my act of kindness, Dear Viewer: this video is brief!)

......

.....


HERE I AM. AT the grocery store, once again.
AAAaaaaargh.



(My backlog continues to grow [as well as my complaints]!)
Reader Dear.
Oh, Dear Reader.
......