Coming Home
Well, I'm back on Cape Cod, having just arrived home from Cape Coral, Florida and I'm sitting here freezing my ass off.
When I left Florida last weekend, it was 84 degrees. Today it's 45 degrees, and I'm wondering what the hell I was thinking when I decided to leave. Yes, I know I have meetings this week that couldn't be moved, but there must have been something I could have done to stay warm a little longer.
At the moment, I'm wearing socks (I don't remember the last time I wore socks), sweat pants, and my New England Patriots Championship hoodie from Super Bowl XXXIX. I don't yet have one from this year, but I'll be fixing that when I can get to Patriot Mecca in Foxborough, MA.
I had thought we’d buttoned up the house on Cape Cod pretty well when we left, but here is what we found when we got back:
We had the inside of the house painted while we were gone, and now the refrigerator doesn't work. Something happened when the painters unplugged it and moved it to paint. We lost all the food in the refrigerator and freezer, and it smells just lovely.
Two of the three toilets aren't working properly and the plumber can't get here until next week. At least we have one working toilet.
The televisions and the Internet aren't working. I think I can fix it, but I've been trying for a couple of hours now and I'm running out of ideas. If my next attempt fails, I'm going to have to give up and call Comcast—and I'm sure I'll have to turn in my Man Card. I've explained to the Lovely Louise that they can probably just push a button and fix everything. When she asked why I couldn’t do that, I had to explain that I don't have the same buttons they do.
When the painters were done, they hung all the paintings in the wrong places, and they look weird.
The car we left had a dead battery and wouldn't start. It won't recharge, so we have to buy a new battery before we can use it.
The Lovely Louise spent the first two days just sort of wandering around the house in a daze. I knew what was wrong, but there was nothing I could do to help. There were so many subtle changes, it wasn't her house anymore. Plus, there was dust. She hates dust. I suggested she call a cleaning company and have them just come in and clean the whole place. Unacceptable. They won't clean to her standards, and she needs to reclaim the house because right now, it's not hers. Fine by me, but don't ask me to clean anything.
There is a lot of yard cleanup that needs to be done as well. I suggested calling a friend of mine who owns a landscaping company to come help. He can send a couple of guys in and have everything done in two days. Her objection was that we've always done it ourselves and we're not that old … yet. I told her that they could also turn over her garden and get it ready for planting, but she was having none of that. “That's my garden,” she exclaimed as she stared at me with blazing eyes.
I gave her two days to think about these things. Here's what happened: the cleaners are coming Friday, and my friend Skip is coming by to discuss the yard work that needs to be done (oh yes, Louise has given me permission to have Skip's guys turn over the garden for her). Finally, Gary is coming in a couple of weeks to open the pool and get everything ready so we can swim.
I'm not completely lazy. I filled up the hot tub and flipped the switch to turn it on. As soon as it heats up, I can sit in it with a cigar and a glass of bourbon and watch everyone scurrying around doing all the work I used to do but don't want to do anymore.
It's good to be me.
