I’ve been home now for two weeks after an extended tour of the UK and Europe. Oddly, I didn’t have much difficulty adjusting to the new (old) time zone, though I am having a very difficult time tolerating the amount of noise my neighbors generate early in the morning and late at night. Grrrrr.
Being away from home for so long makes for a laundry list of chores and errands to be done upon return, such as collecting my mail from my kindhearted sister, who was gracious enough to field the countless array of postcards that bombarded my residence advertising this year’s local political candidates (sorry to say that such ads are not likely to sway my opinion).
READ MORE: Mix Live Blog: “I’m on My Way Home.”
Also on my list of fun things to do upon returning home are trips to the dentist and my PCP for check-ups, a plethora of unpacking, laundering and repacking of clothes (summer closed up shop while I was gone), and cleaning the house. Yuk. I was hoping that since I departed with all the windows nailed shut that maybe the place wouldn’t get dirty while I was gone. No such luck…
Then there’s a trip to the mechanic for an oil change, researching the replacement for my defunct oven (I could never begin to imagine what a pain in the arse it is to replace a 24-inch wall oven), a visit to my accountant for a year-end review, and making sure there are no science experiments lurking in the fridge. Yikes. I probably should prioritize the fridge, lest I’m poisoned by alien spores and replicated while I sleep. The neighbors would never suspect…
Of course, there are much more important things to do, like take a trip to Pino’s on Bath Avenue for a slice of pizza, followed by a visit to L&B Spumoni Gardens for another, very different, slice of pizza, followed by a stroll to Villabate Alba for a few cannoli.
Good thing I don’t eat like that every day, or my PCP would have a heart attack yelling at me not to have a heart attack.
Any time I return home—even if it’s just from a weekend fly date—I really look forward to seeing Sylvester, the stray cat who has been visiting my back door for more than ten years. She showed up years ago, as did Mom and a few siblings, though I didn’t realize how many there were until they all showed up at the same time. Duh.
At the time I thought she was a male (thus the name), but having met the entire family and taken them out to dinner, I then named the rest of them with variations on a theme: Mama Sylvester (she was easy to spot), Sylvester P.I., who had no problem walking right through my kitchen into the dining room and snooping around every corner; Meschino Sylvester, who looked, well, meschino (look it up), and the OG Sylvester. Alas, Papa Sylvester was nowhere to be found. Scoundrel.
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I’d love to take her in as a permanent resident who’d split the rent with me, but given the nature of my employment, she’d be left alone far too often for far too long. Regardless, she seems content to show up for a meal and then lounge on the deck or underneath the patio table cover. Occasionally, she’ll come inside, park on a chair, and take a snooze while I’m spinning some of the records I’ve brought back with me from the road. When she’s had enough, she’ll walk to the back door and squeak her polite version of “meow,” informing me it’s time to open the door so she can exit.
Dorothy was right: There’s no place like home.
