Laughing Lady

Living on the water is the height of beauty: from sunsets over a river that ripples with pink and orange while we watch from the deck; to a sky streaking up with color as I lie in bed at five o’clock in the morning and look out the window at the crab boats that putter by.

Less than delightful were the many problems we encountered in the process of coming here to Edgewater, which is another Maryland suburb next to Annapolis. I won’t bore you with too long a list. Maybe just a short one, fully told, as there is a point to my story.

Before we even arrived at our new home, the floors on the ground level—which were to be ripped out, with new ones installed prior to the move—were not get finished in time, thanks to a COVID-related shortage of lumber. Despite this, we were forced to leave behind our old home so that the new owners could take over.

Moving before our renovation was complete posed an inescapable problem, and eventually we had to accept the fact that we would have to manage the move in two parts: Part I in early June and Part II a month later. Moving once is terrible enough; moving twice is exponentially worse. I was in despair.

Everything that was to be brought into the upper level of the new house, where the floors were fine, had to be sorted from all the belongings of the first. Every box had to be labeled and sorted, with nearly all of it destined for the very expensive storage unit we found only at the last anxious minute.

We weeded out a few things to take with us from the kitchen, (definitely not the results of my extravagant hobby of collecting china and my ridiculous plethora of cooking equipment, even post-purge) but somehow the pots and pans went to the unit rather than the hous eanyway. We supped on chicken pot pies direct from the microwave, ate out a lot—sometimes even stooping to hot dogs at Sonic.

Soon after Part I was accomplished and with Part II before us, we realized that this interminable process of changing homes would have a third act in late July. Part III morphed into being when we realized, belatedly, that until the basement was finished and our contractor removed his tools, paints and power saws from the garage, and until Brad was able to relocate his model train set-up from garage to down below, we could not move in anything destined for either place. Once again the sorting process began, but this time at the storage facility on Move Day Part II.

Unexpected (and unbudgeted) issues arose as we settled in halfway: the bottom level of the house needed an air conditioner and a heater to cool, heat and dehumidify, as did the overly hot kitchen; the flooring for the main floor and the basement stubbornly remained back-ordered, despite daily promises of delivery; the carpet in every room and all the window blinds had to be changed because the former owners loved incense and it permeated every fabric; the well water needed a new purification system to keep my hair from turning orange.

The TV’s would not work until the new service was hooked up, and though we had been promised an installation date, Verizon was a continual no-show. Worse, the internet did not work for over a week. Waiting for that was harder than sitting in the dark, trying to read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by flashlight.

And then a storm raged across the river and took down one of the two trunks of the fifty foot mulberry tree in the front yard. It crashed onto, and then crushed, the neighbor’s fence and lay its considerable length down the length of their yard and their driveway. As it went, it snapped off an enormous power pole on the other side of our property and in a second we had a nest of live wires strewn about our yard and our driveway, stranding us from the rest of the world. We were plunged into blackness along with everyone else on our street. Not a good way to make new friends.

Amazingly enough, BGE arrived with a crane and installed a new pole, bringing our power back on line, in the space of only six hours. But, of course, innumerable calls to our insurance company the following day broadcast bad news: no coverage for a tree falling into someone else’s yard. A downed tree across our new neighbors fence was not a good way to start an important relationship. I offered to pay for its removal, even though not obligated to do so by Maryland law. It seemed the right move.

A few days later, in yet another storm of considerable violence—one which was intensified by a nearby tornado that drove us into the (unfinished) basement temporarily—the remaining branches of the mulberry tree began rubbing against the electrical wires in the high winds. Brad had alerted BGE to the danger of just such a situation during four frustrating phone calls.

Not surprisingly, the tree did indeed catch fire when the wires arced in the wind. As it blazed away, we called the fire department, but before they could reach us, the power lines snapped and the rain extinguished the flames. Once again, we lost electricity and internet—this time for eighteen hours. When BGE finally came to trim the branches back from the wires, the crew obviously hadn’t been briefed: “Oh wow,” the man in the helmet observed in surprise, “this tree is really scorched. Did it catch on fire?”

It took Verizon two weeks to come and fix their overhead equipment, after dispatching individual technicians four times to take care of a situation that required a line crew. Brad was beside himself, having made innumerable calls to try and get them out here. No evening news, once again.

Yet, in the evenings there was the glory of those sunsets and the abundant life of the river, which, coupled with a glass of wine, seemed to make all the hassle fade a bit. Still, I am often asked by friends how I managed to get through all these and other difficulties, which I won’t recount, as this letter has been long enough. Ultimately, rather than getting bent out of shape, depressed, anxious, and angry, I laughed. This solution kept me from losing my mind and ruining my marriage with a lot of sarcastic remarks and furious squabbling. Best of all, it kept me from crying.

I’d never before discovered the healing power of laughter, but in these turbulent days, it truly helped me to “keep my cool,” (if I may use an old phrase from the sixties). It emanated from my gut—nothing forced about it. So, when times get trying, or even border on the disastrous, I advise a chuckle that runs deep and hearty.

Now back to the wine and the view. And a prayer that nothing else goes wrong.

Yours,