I guess I prefer billiards to ping-pong. I went to a friend’s house yesterday. He’s in town, enjoying his Maine abode one last time before he shuts it down next weekend. He lives with his family in New York. Their eldest is in college. Their youngest is getting ready to go next year. The house up here definitely seems like a vacation property. It’s designed for entertainment, rather than the daily grind. When we played billiards, we were able to talk. Ping-pong was too kinetic for deep discussion.
After my parents divorced, I spent my teenage years bouncing between two houses. Weekends were with Dad, tagging along and trying to fit in homework while we watched TV in the basement. His fireplace in the basement didn’t draw well, so in the wintertime the TV screen was a vague glow through the smoke. With just enough oxygen in the room to sustain life, my father and his girlfriend would light cigarettes every few minutes, adding to the pollution.
I resented splitting my time. It wasn’t about who I was staying with—the problem was that I never felt settled in one place. I just wanted to be settled. I think I have the same feeling about vacation homes. It would drive me nuts to commute 5 hours each way to “relax” and then head back for work on Monday. A lot of people seem to really enjoy that life, though. I guess I’m just not that kind of person. Being away for just a few hours was fine. I got to catch up with an old friend over billiards and ping-pong, but I was eager to get home to do my chores.
The horses were indoors all last night. We had cold rain and they were already caked in mud. Everyone needed a chance to be warm and dry for a night. They’re back outside now as the last of the drizzle passes by.
The other day, Earl broke out of his stall when he was supposed to be eating his dinner. I went outside to check and found him standing back in his stall as if nothing had happened. To look at his innocent expression, I could have guessed that he had been there the whole time. The aisle of the barn told a different story. There were hay bales everywhere—one split open at the far end of the barn. The bag of stabilized rice bran pellets was spilled on the floor and scattered. The horses all think they want to get their head in that bag of rice bran until they taste it. Then, their enthusiasm dips quickly.
Earl had trashed the place and then gone back into his stall when he heard me coming. I spent several hours watching over him to make sure he wasn’t going to get sick from all the nonsense, but he was fine. Lilly was very worked up while I cleaned the barn up. I try not to assign emotions to their behavior, but she appeared to be very upset that mischief had occurred without her participation. She adores mischief. Another day, I was tidying up the pasture and Lilly spent the whole afternoon running past me at full speed, skidding to a stop, bucking and spinning, and then running by again. When she got bored with that, she spent her time trying to sneak up behind me to put her chin on my shoulder. When I saw her shadow growing large under mine, I would spin and make my hands into claws to send her running away. She’s so big now, but she still plays like a little filly. She doesn’t mind the mud we have right now. Her parents are more likely to move indoors when given the chance.
All the rain this weekend didn’t even put a dent in our drought. For the year, we’re more than 5 inches (13 cm) behind normal, and last year ended in deficit as well. They say we would need another 12 inches (30 cm) before the freeze to catch up. That much rain in such a short time would cause its own disaster, of course, so it’s not something we’re wishing for. I put down some grass seed in the bare parts of the pasture last month. That’s doing really well. I’m hoping it survives the frost.
This week, I’ll be focused on getting the house ready for the last party of the year. A crowd will descend on my house next weekend for a big pre-Thanksgiving dinner. It’s a full day of preparation, conversation, and then cleanup, and there are enough people coming to fill my house. At some point, the kitchen windows will be thrown open and I’ll run around turning off thermostats so I’m not trying to heat the whole countryside. My mantra for the week will be, “Clean everything but the carpets.” I’ve learned that if I’m going to clean the carpets, it only makes sense to do that after a few dozen people have tromped around. It’s always a fun time.
I don’t have ping-pong or billiards, but hopefully the conversations will make up for it.
