Friday, July 3, 2009
No, this is not Hawaii, it's Wildwood Crest
After seeing a blog that highlights a gem of a film, by Ruthless Films titled, Wildwood , I had to post. My brother sent this to me on Thursday, and it was so worth it. Not only is it spot-on. It ties into my theme of places in which time stands still, and stagnancy is seen at it’s finest. Wildwood is the epidimy of that.
My family and I summered here in the 1970’s. To me, it was my wonderland, my Disney World, my American Dream to vacation in such the splendors of Wildwood Crest. We stayed in the Compass Hotel, and our cousins stayed across the street at The Shalimar was a step up from the Compass, garnished with purple paint and a pool that included caverns and bridges. The Compass was more humble. It was a nice orange themed motel with shuffleboard, a pool, and rooms equipped with kitchenettes. All the rooms had a shared balcony, and the high light was getting a bucket of ice down the end of the hall for our folks’ gin and tonics and sodas for us. At night the lights situated on the balcony would shine down upon the pool illuminated our vacation pod with a stunning view of the long stretched beach over the parking lot. We ate breakfast in our our kitchenette; cereal from the individually wrapped boxes where you cut the top open to the cardboard and pour the milk right in. Apple Jacks for me, Froot Loops for my brother, the Rice Krispies were always the left over boxes in the mix. After a long day at the beach, we’d come back to cook spaghetti and meatballs on the stove top, and again retrieve ice from down the hall, and over look the lit pool. Aaahhhh. Honestly, what more could a person ask for. Maybe it’s just nostalgia, but as an adult I yearn to head back there for a weekend vacation with some girlfriends in hopes that these small things will still excite and thrill me, and honestly I believe it will.
If you have any Wild Wood stories yourself, I’d love to hear your comments.