Toby Goodshank Original Art 2025

Life with Chicken and Broccoli

Tag: nature

  • Review: The Jersey Shore – Diamond Beach, NJ (Part 1: Hotel & Vibe)

    Review: The Jersey Shore – Diamond Beach, NJ (Part 1: Hotel & Vibe)

    What can be said about the Jersey Shore? For better or worse, my impression was shaped early on by a little MTV show called Jersey Shore. I thought it was a carnival side-show hookup spot for young Italians trying to catch every survivable STD before summer ended.

    My first trip down didn’t really change that view. I had to come back a few times to get my mind right. We went to Wildwood Crest—Exit 0—the very end of the Garden State Parkway, the end of the line. We stayed in the Diamond Beach area, a tiny sliver of shoreline just before Cape May.

    After going over the iconic E-ZPass bridge, then an inlet stretch or two, you make your way into a different mindset. It’s the kind of place where the road is policed by the Jersey Gods who nobody dares defy. The speed limit is 25, and everyone drives 25 or less. I spent a week there and only saw one police SUV. What kind of law-abiding madness is this? I felt like the Outlaw Josey Wales doing 30, just waiting for the Wildwood PD to swarm in.

    Driving 24 mph, we arrived at Icona Diamond Beach, a boutique hotel that had once been problematic during my first visit. They’ve since transformed it into something completely new. The core of what it was is still there, but this lipstick made the pig completely lovable and livable for our 5-day excursion.

    The rooms, I believe, are all suites. Ours was nicely appointed, though the bedroom area was tight. My wife and I had to do the boardwalk shuffle to get past each other, and sharing one bathroom with four people gets tricky as the kids grow. Thankfully, our daughter stayed with her Mima and Aunt, which helped.

    Still, the tight quarters sparked some memories—back to earlier trips when the kids were little and the space didn’t feel quite so cramped. That wave of nostalgia hit hard. How quickly it all moves. How every age holds something magnificent. I tried to store it all away on that mental shelf where the best moments live, while quietly dreading how much slips away with time.

    The hallway was a long run down the length of the hotel, and the pattern made me feel like I was at the Overlook Hotel in The Shining. There are historical photos lining the hallway, and I was looking for a party with Jack Nicholson at the beach with that wild Joker smile.

    The hotel employs young people from all over the world, it seems. The staff feels more like they would on a Caribbean island than in New Jersey.

    After breakfast, we’d make a quick visit back to the room to get ready for the day. The walk to the beach is great. It’s a fair distance from the hotel to umbrella city. Once you get to the end of the composite deck walkway that runs adjacent to the beach bar, I flip my flops into the air and plant my feet in the hot, warm sand. It seems like they brush it out each night, creating a fluffy step for me each day.

    I enjoy the little walk and feel the hot sun on my face, causing me to squint like Clint Eastwood staring down an adversary in any Wild West exploit.

    The staff helps you set up any number of chairs, lounges, umbrellas, and towels you need for the day. I’m always a fan of the efficiency in getting this done, complete with their cordless power drill to dig out a place for the umbrellas each day.

    Then we set up our chairs and sit. We sit and enjoy the all-excellence that is going to the beach. The warm air, constantly stirring and flowing over your body. The sounds of summer—fun, seagulls, kids, cocktails, mocktails and waves crashing forever. The shells and sand being turned into fine elegance, millennium after millennium, as the circular waves crash down and out.

    It’s always so amazing how quickly time can move and how tired you can get doing nothing all day. It doesn’t feel the same as sitting at home and watching shows that leave you deflated. A day at the beach leaves you feeling invigorated, closer to God, and with a sense of accomplishment. I don’t know what was accomplished, but I felt like I had put in a day of work.

    Vacation work.

    Sitting around with my family and two stowaways that joined us on our trip, I felt renewed under the energy of the plasmatic sun. Taking time to enjoy this flow of time, surrounded by the people that I love. Thinking of the people that I’ve lost and inviting them to join us.

    I didn’t expect to fall for the Jersey Shore, but somewhere between the wind, the waves, and watching my family lounge in the sun, it got me. It’s funny how doing nothing can leave you feeling so full. We didn’t conquer anything. We didn’t need to. We just showed up, stuck our toes in the sand, stayed present and let the days take us.

    Final Verdict:  8.15/10  (Aruba Light)

  • Restaurant Review: Down the Hatch – Brookfield, CT

    Restaurant Review: Down the Hatch – Brookfield, CT

    On a beautiful sunny day when the breeze is gentle, continuous, and blissfully free of humidity, where can you go to enjoy it all? I’ve never been one for regrets, but I’m slightly disappointed I only discovered Down the Hatch later in life. At least I found it. What an amazing little spot to have tucked away in the heart of northern Fairfield County.

    I’ve been several times over the years, and this place is always about the location. It’s beautifully nestled on a hill overlooking scenic Candlewood Lake. There is only the outside here, not unlike in Ghostbusters when there is only Zuul. Zuul, you big nut.

    You wouldn’t want to sit inside even if you could. And if you had to, you probably wouldn’t want to be at this restaurant on that day.

    You walk down the handicap-accessible ramp to the first level of the restaurant and bar. You always get a good mix of people, though I do prefer coming earlier now to avoid some of the rougher types who seem disappointed with life after several Budweisers and are actively looking for someone who doesn’t agree with them or someone with whom they can have a misunderstanding. My misunderstanding days are long gone. I’m just happy to enjoy any nice day by the water.

    We came in with our core three — daughter Judy was at work — and were meeting my brother-in-law with his kids. They’re young and playful, so we were looking for a spot that still gave us a view without being too close to anyone else’s table. We were seated on the lowest level, and that was perfect. There really isn’t a bad view, though I didn’t want to be up top, stuck behind a few tables that might block the breeze or obstruct the view of the lake.

    The whole point of this place is the outside, and I was just so happy to be sitting outdoors. Any summer day in Connecticut when the sun is shining and the humidity is low is a big win.

    Our summer table for six was shaded under an alcoholic beverage sponsor tent overlooking the lake. The waitstaff are all young, home from college or whatever it is kids are doing now. I honestly have no idea. But they’re friendly and happy, and that’s what matters. Our waitress was a kind redhead and had a bit of Southern sensibility, though I don’t know if it was earned down South or acquired from watching too many shows set there. There’s this big amalgamation of phrases now like “I got you” and “y’all” all mashed together.

    The food is what you’d expect and good enough for what it is. I got the mahi-mahi in a wrap instead of a sandwich, along with a small crock of coleslaw. It was vinegar-based and delicious. I only wish the portion had been a bit bigger, but I suppose not everyone is a cabbage fiend like me. I also took a bite of my wife’s lobster roll, and that was very good, with large chunks of tail and claw in a buttery roll.

    It was really great that my brother-in-law came with my niece and nephew. It’s always good to see them. As close as we all are, life pushes you in different directions, and you have to push back to make time. The kids are extremely cute, fun, playful, and smart. I just enjoy taking a minute in their world, watching them do their thing. It reminds me of my own kids and how quickly they grow up.

    As I sat outside in the sun, I was hit by a deep wave of calm. The kids wandered toward the fence to look out over the water and watch the ducks go about their day. I’ve been lucky lately, but more than that, I’ve been grateful. Grateful for these kinds of days, and really, for any day to be alive. For hope and for my family.

    It’s easy to forget how miraculous the ordinary is. The weight of gravity holding us here. The sun warming the tops of exposed skin until it becomes just uncomfortable enough. A thin layer of sweat rising. The gentle whisper of wind across the skin. The smell of fried French fries drifting by. Ducks gliding silently without concern.

    There is beauty in all of it. In simply being here. You just have to want to see it.

    Final Verdict with view multiplier: 7.5/10

  • Where the Wild Things Are

    Where the Wild Things Are

    Sitting out on my back porch, I hear CCR playing in my mind: “Got to sit down, take a rest on the porch.” The lyrics feel right, but the melody is too fast-paced for this early June morning. The weather shifted from spring to summer like one of those old cartoons, where the seasons spin on a giant wheel and suddenly land on summer. The big, beautiful sun shows up without warning and says, “Good morning.”

    Last year, and the year before that, I hardly spent any time outside. Just enough to set up the tables, chairs, and umbrellas one day, only to take them down at the end of the season. We had the Fourth of July outside. It was the last outdoor barbecue my father would attend before he passed at the end of the month. In many ways, he was already gone. The strong man I had known was whittled away by worry, age, and the final blow of losing his wife. Five years her senior, he had always feared he’d go first. He was the one with the more obvious health issues, and the one we all worried about.

    When I looked at him then, he always seemed so far away. Already gone. Caught between the living and where he longed to be. By her side.

    The air is warm and dewy. My deck faces west, so the morning sun hasn’t made its appearance yet. I walk outside with my decaf coffee, filled with the latest YouTube podcaster health elixirs. I sit down in my reclining deck chair with the footrest extended, take a deep breath, and let it fill my lungs. I’m so glad I chose to come outside instead of staying in. It feels like a vacation. The trees sway gently in the breeze, and the morning animals, birds and insects have already started their day. Buzzing. Flying.

    I think of the Sermon on the Mount and the Bible verse:
    “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”

    The verse reminds me to be calm and present. It helps quiet that part of my mind always trying to worry, work, or plan for tomorrow. In this moment, I have everything I need. I am at peace.

    I lean further back in my chair and look up. Each day we’re given the most magnificent, glorious sky, yet how rarely I remember to look up or give thanks. I hear the birds chirping, each with their own song, their own language. They gather things for their nests or food for themselves. They call out to their friends and family. And they pay nothing for a cellular phone plan.

    A kamikaze bug decides to land on me, only to be swatted away or crushed as my attention snaps into focus like a laser. I had been drifting for a moment, and it was that not-so-gentle reminder to stay. Stay present.

    Still, I can’t help but lean back again, thinking fondly of other times spent outside. The only thing that could make this moment more complete would be sharing it with the people I love. It seems strange that we don’t take more advantage of mornings like this, that we allow them to slip by. I would have liked to share this one with my father. Before everything weighed him down, he loved the simple things. A good chair by the fire. A patch of sun. The sound of birds. The city kid who used to wander into the woods with his cowboy hat.

    I return to the moment as I take the last sip of my coffee and think how little the birds ask for, and how much they seem to receive. The birds don’t check calendars. The trees don’t rush. The sun rises whether we’re looking or not; greeting all of us with another opportunity, another chance to notice.

    And maybe that’s the point.
    Life is always offering itself, waiting for you to finally see. We just have to step outside.