You know what really gets my goat (I'm bringin' it back): When Labor Day is called the unofficial end of the summer and treated as such. While there are at least two weeks left in the season, everyone starts shutting it down, shuttering their beach houses and lugging their plastic tubs of corduroy and wool down from the attic. We're equally as guilty: Jay Jay's Pool Guys were here closing up the pool as a voice on the radio forecasted 90 degree temperatures for later this week. September is the best month of the year. No doubt. It's still summer like and by the end of the month it'll be cool enough for Vito to make it all the way through a walk without conking out on the sidewalk. For the record, Snackplate Sundays will still be going down every weekend -- except when not -- well after Sept. 21.
Another goat getter: Most of the summer, these beautiful waterfront homes at the beach sat completely vacant. Labor Day weekend was no exception. At one house in particular -- my favorite on the strip -- I didn't see a single soul -- not one -- the entire season -- and we were at the beach a lot this year. The house was completely locked down, its front porch deserted, its Adirondack chairs bumless, its blue hydrangeas perfect.
(View from an empty Adirondack chair)
The house is probably one of the owners' many vacation homes so seaside luxury is likely no biggie to them. Still, the smaller cottages at the end of the road were packed every weekend. You could barely find a beach chair or porch rocker and there was always a line for the outdoor shower. Every time I'd walk by this beautiful empty home, I had an urge to bust open the french doors and start inviting strangers in off the street. At least rent it out so someone could enjoy it! There were plenty of caretakers, landscapers and gardeners tending to the place but it still looked neglected somehow. As I stood there taking digital photos of the place, I suddenly realized I was Molly Ringwald gawking at James Spader's house in "Pretty in Pink" musing, "I bet the people who live there don't think it's half as pretty as I do." I shuffled into a slow jog back down the street, feeling like a gigantic idiot. My life, once again, imitating a John Hughes' movie.
The good news is the annual Labor Day extravanza -- including a costume parade, running races and street dancing -- was a well-populated, joyous tribute to the "unofficial end" and I have a crappy LRSS to prove it. I will post it shortly.