Every New Jersey beach town is a different flavor. My first flavor was the flamingo-pink of my grandmother’s duplex in Ocean City. This was in the late ’50s, when her neighborhood on 53rd Street was so far from the action that there was no action – just the Top o’ the Waves, a restaurant high on the dune, and a corner market that sold Sealtest Dixie cups, our afternoon treats if we’d been good.

QUIRKY BUT CUTE: The author’s first house in Beach Haven was a two-bedroom Shapiro rancher with a small kitchen and bad carpeting. (Photo courtesy of Marsia Mason)

When Nana sold her house, the day trips began. Depending on the adults’ moods, we would either drive to Ocean City or Atlantic City.