So I really meant to blog during my vacation. Truly. I brought my laptop, took a ton of photos, and had the best of intentions. But there's something about the Shore - or vacation in general, I suppose - that saps the urge to do work right out of you. So instead of dispatches from Sea Isle, you're getting a dispatch from my desk at Philly.com. (My excuse is that there was rarely a wireless signal, but really, it was Vacation Brain.)

I spent nearly two weeks in a rented house in Sea Isle City. For that stretch, I lived with my parents, my sister and brother-in-law, and my niece. I have an army of aunts and uncles and cousins, and lots of them were there. (Some rented a house a few blocks away, others camped out in the house directly behind the one we rented.) And yes: it is expensive to rent a house, upwards of $1,500 a week for any sort of place at all. I could have gone to an all-inclusive resort for cheaper. And yes: I did share a room with my two-year-old niece, and shared a bathroom with several other people. And yes: we did cook most of our meals, so that meant that we were not immune to chores, even on vacation.

And yes: there were seaweed and shells and murky water, and I swam in it, just the same. Loved it, even.

And yes: summer wouldn't be summer without a trip to the Shore. And not a daytrip, mind you. You need at least a week to properly relax, and to eat enough Mack and Manco's Pizza to satisfy your cravings for a while, until you get the urge in the middle of winter and drive back just because.

I know it's corny, but I feel lucky to have grown up with this particular tradition.

Here's a view from the deck of Aunt Jane's bay-facing house. Boy, it's hard to be back at work today.