One of the cool things about moving down the shore more than a decade ago was our awesome neighbors, the Dominican nuns from Blauvelt, N.Y. They were, and are, great neighbors and amazing people.  One of our best memories, and maybe even theirs, is leaving our infant daughter with the nuns on their porch one afternoon and going to play tennis for an hour or so. They passed her around the porch, rocking chair to rocking chair, and had a great time. Or so they said. They often bring down children of migrant workers for a beach weekend, and for many years, the big gray house was packed every weekend with vacationing sisters. We got to know a few of them pretty well, they oohed over my daughters' growing up over the years and never failed to remember my husband's Labor Day-ish birthday, sending over a bottle of wine from "the sisters." Sweet. Oh well, times change. And economic realities of both shore towns and the Catholic church have forced the nuns to rent out their home almost every weekend this summer, except for the few that the sisters still come down. Better than selling, as the nuns next door to them did a few years back, extracting a promise that the buyers would never tear down the gorgeous green and white trimmed house with the landmark cupola, a promise that was immediately violated. But it's been an adjustment. After all, who rents out a house that has maybe 37 bedrooms and an enormous industrial kitchen? Lots of people at one time, that's who. I'm estimating maybe six different family units from New York are down this week all together, with what sounds like 700 children and teenagers who like to stay up all through the night. C'est la vie, definitely comes with the territory of living down the shore, but man, I got a headache. Last night, Ventnor police had to drive down the block to finally quiet down the rambunctious group. (I was not the one to call, though the thought crossed my mind). It's a far cry from the sisters, especially for that one weekend in October when they come down for a silent retreat (silent except for when we pass in the street and have sotto voce catching up exchanges.) I guess this is the noisy retreat. I'll try to deal.

Previously: The Mind of Margate