Several years ago, I wrote about quiet women and how they can be just as magical as the hot messes that everyone seemed to be encouraging us women to be in order to honor our authentic selves. (You can read it right here…) In that essay, I claimed I was fine with loud, scrappy women. However, as I dropped exhausted into bed after having driven five rainy hours with a car full of furniture, the sounds of shrieks and laughter wafting across the cove straight into my window immediately brought on a scowl. I was up in Maine for a mere 48 hours to do some quick cleaning and rearranging, the reason for the exhaustion, and the last thing I needed was a bunch of loud women keeping me from sleep.
Or was it? It was only 9:00pm after all and I was on an island in a lake in Maine in July. Loud shrieking and laughing is practically required behavior—I was probably the only one who wasn’t shrieking. No, I was scowling. And if I’m totally honest, I was envious—when I hear such sounds, it always makes me wish I could be at the cottage more often and shriek right along with the others. I mean, I probably wouldn’t shriek, but I wouldn’t paint or clean or lug, either.
Complaining about having a cottage on the lake in Maine is a full-on first world problem and if I ever complain about this in person, you have permission to slap me. But from the safety of my computer, I have to say that some days it’s hard to take care of a family cottage that’s 250 miles away, no matter how lovely and peaceful and charming it is. Because it’s also old, requires regular maintenance which I typically have to pay other people to do, is in need of some costly repairs which there’s no money for and often occupied by renters so we can continue to pay for the aforementioned necessities. But, my dad’s wish was for it to stay in the family and my mom once told me she imagined Luca sitting on the deck with his kids watching the sun set behind the White Mountains. There’s not much else I need to know to keep doing the best I can to make that happen. But there are times when it’s challenging.
Like listening to others have a good time. I suppose I could have closed the window to the noise, but as I listened to those women’s voices I imagined a celebration like a girl’s weekend or bridal shower. Loud, raucous women laughing as they—what? Told stories? Shared secrets? Expressed feelings of love or admiration for each other? Drank a little wine? Who was I to judge someone’s good time anyway? Just because I wasn’t having one? And not that I wasn’t…during my brief jaunt to take care of the cottage, I also got to see an old friend who I haven’t seen in ages. We weren’t loud and rowdy, but she helped me wrangle the unwieldy red chair out of my car and shove a rug underneath a double bed. We were amazons!
My scowl started easing into a smile. What was my problem anyway? I guess, once again, I didn’t have one. The shrieks and laughter started sounding cheerful to me and I was happy that there could be such a gathering right now. I decided it was a bridal shower, because the voices sounded young, and honestly, wouldn’t women my age be in bed like I was? This island has served as a place of celebration and sanctuary for many families, and particularly mine. For over 36 years we’ve gathered here in times of sadness and stress and in times of joy and friendship, whenever we could, in our own less raucous ways. Love is our loud. Suddenly, those once disruptive voices became a lullaby that put me right to sleep.
Love love love this. You're so lucky to still have the house. We had a summer house in northern Michigan, but my dad sold it in 1980 (he was 80) because he couldn't stand the idea of renters and we kids all lived too far away. We all still miss it.
Thank you, dear heart! You always seem to voice my own inner grumblings. Having rushed to our beach house (also 250 miles away) once or twice a month for thirteen years, I realized it was becoming more pain than gain as all our family had moved too far away to enjoy this little treasure. I always chastised myself for my grumbly feelings, until I finally gave myself permission to do as you did--enjoy it, and in my case, let it go.