So, my friend has this house up north…
(translation: a pal who professes not to see dirt, ever, has recently purchased a summer home from a very old couple whose eyesight and physical stamina were such that they could hardly care for themselves let alone a place they hung out in occasionally; said house is a good five hour drive up from Madison)
…and he’s letting us use it for the week-end!
So what state is it in?
Well, I visited there last month, as did his son, as did another buddy of his…
(translation: four guys, none of them ever noticing any dirt anywhere, as opposed to me, who notices it even where it doesn’t exist, recently went up and had a good time hangin’ out in a shack which probably has not seen the likes of Lysol in the last, maybe forty years)
Has the bathroom ever seen the likes of Lysol?
(case in point)
So anyway, we could hang out there and you could write…
(translation: I could write if it didn’t get too cold or if the animals and/or bugs that have probably taken over in the absence of a human scent don’t absolutely get to me, and I could then post things on Ocean about it all, only not while there because, nat, there’s no Internet)
…and we could go swimming in the lake and take some hikes up there and we could take nuts and stuff…
(translation: there’s no store within miles and not only would I need to take provisions, which I then would not cook because I don’t even want to contemplate the state of the kitchen, but I would have to take coffee and that means milk and of course, the refrigerator is likely to be turned off, possibly taken over by a family of mice because it’s warm and comfy and snug in there, when it’s standing empty and turned off)
Are there linens and towels?
Linens and towels? (here, my occasional travel companion, Ed, pauses and rubs his chin, trying to recall his very recent visit there) I’m sure I slept on something and wiped myself off with something…
(translation: one of the guys had a towel and they all used it and then “forgot” to wash it, most likely)
…Anyway, we can wash up stuff there. And take Lysol.
(translation: said week-end will require a half-assed cleaning job, of the type that leaves the strong smell of cleaning product on your hands)
So, I said no to the idea, right?
Oh, but the sun is warm outside and Ed is so eager and excited about this quick jaunt into the northwoods. I imagine that for him, staying up in his buddy’s cabin is like me spending a week-end in Paris. I’m not that unkind.
In the meantime, I’m reveling in the weather and appreciating, while I can, a nice skim double cappuccino. Outside. At a café. In a clean cup, with a yummy scone. You appreciate the things that are soon to be in short supply.