From the Pacific to the Atlantic (which seems pretty pacific)

My family heroically conquered the ultimate first world problem yesterday-- we got back from an epic adventure in Central America and then managed-- on a one day turnaround-- to repack and head to the Jersey shore; while both trips have saltwater in common, this vacation couldn't be more different than our previous one: our trip to Costa Rica was all about nuclear family togetherness, fifteen action-packed days of it, but now that we've moved from the warm waters of the tropical Pacific to the brisk sea breezes coming off the Atlantic, I no longer have to keep track of my wife and children-- they might be at the beach, they might be at the arcade, they might be eating hot dogs and ice cream, they might be at the surf shop . . . I don't know nor do I care; this trip is about extended family interaction . . . or lack thereof; I ran the beach this morning, alone, and then went rollerblading-- wearing my new visor-- and I was alone, of course, no one in their right mind would come anywhere near me, then I went swimming all by my lonesome; we had some family time with my brother and all the kids while we watched Wimbledon, and now I'm on my own again-- alone in this big beach house, napping, reading a book about the spread of trade and religion on the silk road, and getting a little anxious because I've been left to my own devices and that has happened in weeks.