Sunday, November 29, 2015

Hello Pennsylvania!

Hello Pennsylvania!

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Hey, that worked out pretty well, didn't it? Once again, it was a visceral shock -- but in a good way, honest -- to suddenly see streets around my house filled with cars with Pennsylvania plates. (It feels a little passive-aggressive, though, because unlike Jersey plates, which announce themselves from both ends, shoobie cars have, as you know, no plates in the front, so it's always a little delayed reaction in identifying the offending car that's making a sudden turn in front of you. HAH! I kid. No traffic problems this weekend at all.) But it's still kind of funny to live in a place where on a commonly agreed upon day in May, the switch is pulled and here everyone is, from Pennsylvania! I'm happy to see everyone coming around my way, I really am. I spend so much time in the off season driving up to Philly, I'm glad to be back in the place where people escape to, not from. On my block, the grandchildren of the second-home owners -- barely noticable last summer, newborn that they were, are taking over the joint this year. There were even shoobie dogs that paid a special visit to my block to see whether my dogs would still bark at them as they passed by, so they could still pretend to ignore them. The regulars dropped by, as regulars do, and we love them for it. We did a little dropping in ourself. And on Saturday, the weather was beautiful, and it felt extremely beachy and summery. Then, on Sunday, the place emptied out, a little inexplicably. The weather was still pretty good, but the masses seemed to have fled. If Saturday felt like the beginning of summer, Sunday felt like a cool, cloudy Labor Day, and what a season it was! Monday was an afterthought and today, well, at this rate, we'll see everyone on the Fourth of July. 

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About this blog

Inquirer staff writer Amy S. Rosenberg has covered Philly police, city neighborhoods, Ed Rendell as mayor, the Jersey shore, Atlantic City, Miss America and the psychology of Eagles fans. She moved to Ventnor on July 3, 1995, which makes her a local, but not really.

Inquirer Staff Writer Jacqueline L. Urgo has spent every summer of her life at the Jersey Shore, and has lived there year-round for nearly 30 years, even fulfilling one of her bucket list dreams by once living in a house by the sea.

Since 1990, she has covered the waterfront for The Inquirer — from the Atlantic to the Delaware Bay shore — and some of the mainland in between. Along the way, she amassed an encyclopedic knowledge of this tear-it-down-and-build-it-back-up region, delving into the history and the hype of a place with a lot of unexpected stories to tell.

Amy S. Rosenberg
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