SEE-SAW SUMMER - Part One
My mother was a worrier. I'm a worrier. They say one can inherit this trait. And did I! Of course these days they have a name for worrying: GAD, it's called. Generalized Anxiety Disorder.
The good of it is that I feel great empathy for the misfortune of others. And these people have found me. And when they do, they spill the beans. Beans, even those, are nourishing. So don't get all in a knot about it. I really do care.
The bad of this is the 'seeing' aspect, I call it. When you see and feel the pain of others to the point of feeling personal pain, or worse, project disasters which may or may not happen. No man is an island, as John Donne's famous quote described it. Like it or not, we are in it together. You and me.
We rented a cottage Maine for three weeks in August having seen pictures of it on the HomeAway site. The rustic cottage was our second choice as the one we wanted was already rented for those weeks. The Hayes cottage description was that it is on 20 acres, lake view and access. That 'access' thing is key. You'd think I'd learned after 40 or more years renting cottages. Access may mean you have to portage your boat over a cliff, or wade through quicksand to get to the lake.
The picture on HomeAway showed a grassy field down to the lake. TV, WiFi, washer dryer, three bedrooms, dishwasher, linens provided.. Sounded good, right?
D. Bought a new boat, worked through the early Spring getting it outfitted. We pictured our son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter enjoying this bright new bow rider on the lake. We packed up, loaded the dog in her crate and off we went to an idyllic vacation.
Once in Jefferson we stopped and saw Catherine and Matt's lovely new house. A happy reunion with long-time friends. It's all good. It's sunny. We're slap happy. Then off to Nobleboro to the rental on Murang Cove. Deep on the woods, off a dirt road, bumping along. OK. Still OK. Most of the lake homes along the road are beautiful.
Then turn right, you have arrived at your destination Jill says. And there it is: House a much more faded blue than the pictures, brush gown thick, gardens weedy. First thought. This place hasn't had woman's care in years.
Inside, still quite hopeful. And we are slapped silent with 'rustic'. We found out later that the cabin had been dragged up the hill some 200 yards, planted, and left while the new home was being built where it once was lakeside amost completely blocking our view of the lake. Open rafters, unwanted furniture, completely different than the pictures.
Nothing to do but bring in our stuff. The place reeks of memories, obviously; and begins to speak of these memories loudly. We've made a mistake. We don't belong here. The stuffed parrot hanging from the rafters at the entrance and the ragged kite flapping in the breeze of the fan speaks loud and clear. Three weeks? Oh my God.
We crate Lola and head for nirvana which is Hannaford's Grocery on Rt. 1. Shop for dinner and staples and dread returning to that cabin.
Try to find a place to put our stuff among the junk filled cabinets. Manage to eat something. The coffee pot leaks. Try to make the best of it. Then it starts to rain and we're in The House on a Haunted Hill, The Shining, Friday the 13th, Harvest Home. The mice come out to play in the dark kitchen.
Outside dying Hemlocks rain down needles, and ants are abandoning their gigantic hill which stretches the length of the front of the house. Straggly brush has grown up around the cottage, and dying Hemlocks.
The new door is a puzzle, and newish cabinets above the kitchen counter. The back bedroom is a new addition with skylight and a circlehead window. Another bedroom is Adirondack style, complete with crossed showshoes over the rubble fireplace in their. Original? The rest is bare rafters, a leak in the bathroom ceiling where the walls do not go all the way up. Whoever sleeps in the bedroom beyond will be treated to unimaginable sounds and odors.
It rains for two days. I'm going to heaven, as this is hell sitting around in this dump, on a lumpy futon sofa with nothing to look at but the burns on the rug from the fireplace.
There must be hundred of places like this one. A dumping ground for stuff stashed there from somewhere else: old furniture, ancient dented kitchen pots and pans of every imaginable size, 15 or so dull knives, old cookbooks, knick knacks, hundreds of plastic containers, salt shakers, pepper, matches, packets of Splenda, mismatched dinnerware, chipped cups, glasses no two alike, but cheap not bad wine glasses. Hear the whispers of days gone past, Take it to the cabin! There is not an empty space to store our own food. When the mice find us, we store boxes of things in the ancient microwave, or the oven.
The bottom cabinets are unusable due not only because of the myriad things contained therein, but reeking of mothballs presumably to ward off mice, the droppings of which were visible there. A leak in the sink drain had everything in that cabinet sopping wet. Even my newly purchased of Clorox Clean-Up and Windex are not up to the task of making a dent in this mess. The back deck is rotting, and there is a large hole in the siding chewed by some animal. The lattice below is stuffed with plastic- who knows to what effect?
By Wednesday, D. bravely gets to boat launched with the help of old Paul in town. Gassed up and ready for fun. ??
Thank God for friends in town. Catherine and Matt. A retirement party for Matt's mom Nancy. Jill and Paul Huber, their kids Emily and Nick, Tom and Margie, Jason and Andrew, old Paul. They came over a few times at the beginning. Invited us out for dinner. Thank God. I tried to put a good face on the place, but it was all a lie. I hated it. And paralysis begins its slow creep.
Our kids arrived week two. Mike on Wednesday. They picked Olivia and Chloe at the Portland airport on Saturday. Paralysis turns to panic as we watch the brief weather reports. As Hurricane Irene loomed D pulled the boat and took it up to old Paul's yard. I try to be human, enjoy our granddaughter, be welcoming to our kids while panic was gathering steam in my mind.
By Sunday afternoon trees were falling in the wind, bringing down power lines. Of course the power went off. And I have a complete panic attack such as I haven't had in years. I can't breathe or think or move. Full blown attack.
The Maine news says we've dodged a bullet. Idiots. You are not in the middle of the woods in a ramshackle cabin, rain pelting down, roof leaking, trees toppling. We all go up to stay at Tom and Marge's house. Turns out we were lucky the road was still open. D and I go back the next night also. Incredibly Mike and Olivia take Chloe back to ramshackle cottage.
Finally in touch with owner Rusty Hayes, he kindly offers us the nice house by the lake, which blocked our view, for free for the last two nights. Two nice days, I'm beginning to recover. Play with darling Chloe as the D and the kids water-ski. Chloe is a joy, and I have fun with her. We have play tea parties. She's talking more and more. Precious.
Still, we decide to pack up and drive home to NJ Thursday evening a day early. I'm relieved that the nightmare of the past few weeks will actually end. Then too, all must have seen how absolutely miserable I was. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Graves disease is well named.
No comments:
Post a Comment