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.