Notes from Maine - 2022/10/16
My friends had a costume party last night. It was at a camping resort about forty-five minutes south of me. Todd came in from Vermont and was staying here. Erin picked us up and we picked up Emilio on the way. With a shaved head and a leather jacket, I went as Chemo Fonzie. Emilio was some kind of plushie cartoon character—sorry, Emilio, I never quite figured out what you were, but other people got it. Erin was “404 - Costume Not Found.”
Todd went as Todd. He’s already a giant person with a giant intellect who builds rockets for one of the rich people who launch rockets. Within a few minutes conversation, he will tell you that his body is crumbling around him and he doesn’t know what to do with his life. Todd has been wearing the same costume for decades; he didn’t bother to embellish it last night. We all wear costumes. No judgement, I guess. Well, I mean, there’s a little judgement. There’s always a little judgement, right?
We were a happy foursome, traveling south to meet up with old friends. Notably absent was Christine, who is still under the weather. Tom is in Scotland, so no Tom.
At my house, I have a few hard and fast rules. The dishwasher is a major area of concern. All my guests understand that I’m particular about the way it’s loaded. Erin likes to insert silverware upside down or put bowls on the top shelf. Then she’ll laugh and say, “I do these things wrong just to watch your reaction, you know.” Last night, when Erin was driving south, I got a little revenge.
Someone attempted to pass on the right.
Todd launched into a mini lecture. “Did you have a reason to be cruising in the left lane, forcing them to try to pass on the right?”
From the back of her head and the set of her shoulders, I saw Erin’s temperature rising. When Todd drives, we’re at war. It’s his vehicle against everyone else on the road, and he won’t be bested even if he has to sacrifice the lives of everyone in the car to win. That’s why Erin drove. She had no desire to be conscripted into Todd’s battle. It’s also the reason why Erin wasn’t going to take any driving advice from Todd.
“You have to be aggressive,” Todd said.
Cartoon steam puffed from Erin’s ears.
From the back seat, I believe I said something supportive, like, “Yeah, Erin, did you think of that?”
This was payback for the dishwasher.
Erin threatened to pull over and make us walk. I don’t believe in ghosts, Santa Claus, or that free-market capitalism will self-regulate, but I believe with all my heart that Erin would have left us on the side of the road if we had made one more comment.
The party was under a dark, outdoor pavilion. Our backdrop was a long field that faded away in a starlit mist. Anything could have been lurking out in that mist. I told some of the kids that I saw a tall man with a long knife hanging around just out of sight.
Ana asked, “Wait… Seriously?”
I nodded and sighed.
“Cool,” she said. She likes that kind of thing.
She put up a sign on one of the posts of the pavilion. It read, “This party is not for you. Don’t come in here. Touch our food under penalty of death.” Teenage boys hanging around in the game room next door saw boxes of pizza. They wanted to know if it was for anybody and I told them about the sign.
That camping resort is an interesting place. Ponds, pools (one heated), hot tubs, showers, game rooms, and rows and rows of golf carts to rent. This is closing weekend, so it was packed. It’s a vagabond city. Tomorrow, it will be empty.
One of our hosts spent the whole night on the dance floor. The other drove people around in the cart—trip after trip—giving kids and adults a tour of the campground.
For months, that party has loomed on my calendar. It was a pinned moment in my otherwise windblown routine. Next weekend, I have company. A week after that is a Halloween party. Then Finn’s knee surgery, Mom’s visit, Thanksgiving, etc. The rest of the year I will be hopping from one milestone to the next.
Last night was fun.
I look forward to January, when there’s nothing on my schedule.
