In case you couldn’t already tell, I absolutely love coming home to Cape Cod. I look forward to the end of 2020 where I can come back to New England with my DD-214 in hand and set about to really getting this place in a state of upheaval. Until then, I’ll settle for the not-so-bad battery of week-long visits where I constantly run from place to place, making numerous social calls like a campaigning politician. Don’t get me wrong- I’m no Miss Popularity- but I’ll say that as a somewhat selfish misanthrope, this variation on leisurely activity is absolutely exhausting.
It seems like every time I am on the Cape, I always return to home each day absolutely zapped from spending another day around town. My father sagely observes that I simply need to do what I want to do while on leave. He’s right: I shouldn’t even attempt to run around trying to make other people happy by overloading my scant leave time with house calls or too-long road trips. If I had my druthers, I’d spend all my days at home living as curmudgeonly as Thoreau in his quasi-seclusion (remember, he’d make weekend trips into town to have his laundry done. Slacker.).
Here’s why I find social calls exhausting: every human is accustomed to his or her own variety of self-styled chaos. Whether that person is playing the role of resident or outsider to a particular situation determines his or her level of ease. Take last night for example: I am absolutely certain that I was at the only home on the planet where a household pig was induced for vomiting (apparently Aleve is tastier than Flintstones Kids). Topsy-turvy was this experience to me, the outsider, who generally guards against inviting pot-bellied pigs into her life for fear they might consume anything that they can break down in their mouths. To me, this was a hair-raising situation- especially after just coming from a yoga class- but it was part of the experience that I signed up for when I went to make that social call.
Don’t get me wrong, I am the one reaching out to make such appointments, and I look forward to them very much. Indeed, without such forays into other peoples’ domestic pigsties, life is very lonely and decidedly uninteresting. I guess I’m just saying that while I understand the value of maintaining ties with many good friends and family members, too much outward sacrifice can sometimes get in the way of the things that you really want to accomplish while at home.
What got me going on this tangent? Other (good) engagements have caused me to neglect the cellar for three days now, and only today am I finally back down there sanding away at my newest nemesis: joint compound. I feel like time is running out before my flight east, and there is still so much to be done. So I hereby proclaim that Deer Pond Road is where I ‘m going to stay for the rest of my leave period. It’s where I want to be, and if the superfine dust particles of the compound don’t choke my lungs first, I’ll have a nice looking room to admire in about a week. Anyone wants to see me they can come by and grab some sandpaper.
Another side bonus of my drywall apprenticeship: if anyone else out there wants to know what they will look like as a wizened senior citizen, go find yourself a nice electric sander and hit some sheetrock. It ain’t a pretty picture, but it has kind of motivated me to go out and get a date before Father Time steps in permanently.
