I’m a proud Jersey girl. While I wasn’t born in the Garden State (grad school baby), I lived there during my formative years. I was educated in the Branchburg School system. Attended Immaculata High School. Spent my summers eating Jersey tomatoes, sweet corn and going ‘down the shore’ with my best friend Anne. Yes, New Jersey is near and dear to my heart.

My brother still lives there. My sister just over the border in nearby Pennsylvania. I’m a frequent flyer on the SFO-EWR route. Although I’ve lived in California much longer than I ever lived in New Jersey, I still consider New Jersey home, as in “I’m going home.”

I don’t have a “Jersey accent”, whatever that is. Or at least, to me I don’t have one. Oh sure, there are words like cawfee and tawk that sneak out every now and then. My mother was very careful about correcting our pronunciation. As a young child I learned words like glottal click. (Don’t ask me what it is, I just knew it wasn’t good…) My mother and father were from Brooklyn but you wouldn’t have known it from the way they spoke. No New York accents for them.

I never watched “Jersey Shore.". I’ve always rolled my eyes when friends reference knowledge of New Jersey based on the television series. No, to those of us who grew up there, the Jersey Shore is sacred. Our days spent “down the shore” ignite our memories the way our favorite ice cream (mint chocolate chip) melts on the tongue. Sure there was traffic. And noise. And other unsavory things. But to me, growing up in New Jersey will always be about what’s best about the place. The warm summers. The snowy winters. Drive in movies. Summers spent catching fireflies. Getting “Beeburgers” from Mr. Bee’s on the Somerville Circle when my parents went out for dinner.

And summers spent going “down the shore.” Days spent sitting on the dock with my best friend Anne at her grandmother’s home. Swimming in the salty ocean. Eating peanut brittle ‘til our teeth hurt. Those memories flood my senses and fill me with warmth like my grandmother’s crocheted blankets.

And now I’m going back. I’ll be reading from THE CARDINAL CLUB at 7:00 p.m. on Friday night, March 13th at Words! Asbury Park and I can’t wait. If you’re in the neighborhood, I hope you’ll join me.

P.S. About the image. This is from a 1980’s tourism campaign for my home state. My parents had a set of New Jersey and You towels that lived in their Sanibel Island closet til they were threadbare, see through, and severely stretched the notion that towels could be used to dry wet skin. Image from here.