Notes from Maine - 2024/10/20
My mother and sister visited last week. My sister worked on finishing her gazebo project up at the camp, screening it in so it can be used as a comfortable outdoor sitting/dining area in the summer. Mom primarily worked on finishing cabinets and trim in the kitchen. Her paint makes the French doors look like they’ve always been there, and her polyurethane protects the island from my toes banging into it while I’m sitting here typing.
On Friday night, Mom and I went to a haunted walk up on a mountain ridge. I try to get to that one every year—it’s really well done. The walk begins with a scary elevator ride (not actually an elevator) where the instructions and cautions are repeated while the elevator appears to be climbing and then plummeting. You’re let out into a long path that winds through an orchard dotted with building after building. Each one has a different theme—haunted hotel, torture chamber, cannibals, giant spider infestation, killer clowns, etc. The performers are all young enough to cackle and scream all night with no regard for their voices.
One building had giant speakers (I’m guessing) mounted below the floor, vibrating everything with a low frequency. A crashed plane in a tree was piloted by a zombie and a nozzle shot a jet of flame periodically, lighting up the scene.
Some of the performers were insanely good at holding a pose so they could appear to be mannequins until you were passing by. You had to pay close attention to each decorative figure—some were just objects, some animated by pneumatics, and some would stand up and chase you.
In the cannibal house, one young person was a really good actor. Chained to the wall, sitting on the floor in the slaughter room, they blinked and looked up when we entered the room.
“Please help me. I don’t want to be here—I’m afraid of what they’re going to do to me,” the person said. The way they pleaded was extremely realistic. Mom and I have recently read Holly by Stephen King. The image in the haunted walk really resonated with the first chapter of that book. It was difficult to walk past that person—almost made me feel like I was failing some empathy test by not stopping to make sure that the person was actually an actor.
There’s a movie that captures that feeling. I’m trying to remember… It might be Hell House LLC.
I took my sister and mother to the airport yesterday. They’re back at home today, enjoying warmer weather, I’m sure. When I got home I checked the mail. I had a letter from the Post Office, letting me know that my mailbox can now be on my side of the road. At one point, they required all the boxes to be on the west side. I guess they deliver both directions now.
I don’t think I’ll switch. Over the years, I’ve had to replace my mailbox many times. Cars veer off the road and just take it out. Sometimes delivery drivers back out of my driveway and roll through the mailboxes without slowing or inspecting the damage they’ve caused. Through all those replacements, my neighbor and I have traded off maintenance. Now, our boxes are on the same post, on their side of the road. I think I’d rather keep that arrangement instead of striking out on my own just so I don’t have to cross the road to get my junk mail.
Good fences make good neighbors, according to Frost, but common interest is a decent starting point as well. I guess one could say that maintaining a good fence is a common interest. Maybe it’s the same point. Speaking of which, I’m still waiting to hear from my fence person. I’m trying not to get my hopes up.
