I think I have a good memory. But I forgot this: Sixty-five years ago our family stopped at a Jersey diner on our way to board the Queen Mary for Cherbourg. I was nine years old, and had yet to see bare naked ladies. That would happen a month later at the Folies Bergère in Paris. Ooh la la! I didn’t forget that. But the memory of the diner faded. Decades later the Woodstown Diner became a favorite in our travels to the shore. But it wasn’t until I told my sister we had just stopped at the diner that she reminded me we visited the same spot a lifetime ago. The place is always crowded but there seldom seems to be a wait for a booth. The food is what you want from a diner. A hundred choices. The atmosphere is fun. I had flounder. Cheryl had turkey and dressing.

Mary brought us ice cream to top off the meal. We loaded our distended bellies into a wheelbarrow and hopped in the car. On the way to the shore we thanked Uncle Joe for the infrastructure bill, even though miles of massive highway construction slowed us down. That’s OK. Our grandchildren will drive on safer smoother highways. We crossed the Delaware bridge to Edgar Winter’s version of the all-American anthem “Back in the USA” by Chuck Berry. Look out, Boss, we’re headed to the Jersey Shore with our EZ Pass.