wherever i go, there's sand in my sheets

Living there still means you have to cross a bridge to see a movie, buy clothing or, with few exceptions, get a good meal. Living there probably means your basement will flood and the planes from nearby J.F.K. will interrupt your sleep. You might get evacuated for a hurricane. You will get stuck in beach traffic.

Hometowns incite nostalgia, seaside hometowns maybe more than most. All the sensory memories that the shore provided -- the Wednesday night fireworks, my collection of sea glass, the taste of salt on someone else's skin -- enhance what must just be a yearning for summer. A summer of my youth, most likely. An imaginary summer of my youth, perhaps.

No amount of attention can romanticize a past that is not necessarily a romantic one, but in the end, romance is personal and the present is full of potential. Today there is an explosion of construction. Real estate values are high. The water is clean. The Rockaway Music and Arts Council and the Rockaway Artists Alliance fill the cultural void. There are good waves, Dad reports. And the laughing gulls are back.

The New York Times, April 18, 2004, Jill Eisenstadt