The waves were tiny our first day at the New Jersey shore and the water was surprisingly cold--that numbing cold you never get used to. We'd heard the Gulf Stream was unusually frigid this year. Our neighbor, Joan, had just returned from the beach with tales of wearing a wet suit in order to stay warm in the water.

This made me nostalgic for the Pacific. You expect the water to be icy in the Pacific. Big waves and cold water. I'm not one of those polar bear types, the ones who run into glacial waters as fast as they can, jumping head first into an oncoming wave. I'm a tiptoer. I stand where the salt water meets my ankles for hours, moving incrementally deeper every few minutes. It's excruciating slow. The Atlantic is usually so much more inviting. But not this year.

How ironic to stay right at the beach yet take hours preparing yourself to walk the 50 feet to the shore. You can look out your window and watch the sunrise over the water. But getting everyone in the family anointed with sun block over every exposed area of our bodies takes the better part of the morning. It makes the view seem like a movie. You know it's real somewhere, just not where you are.