Give Me The Nod

This morning, I took a walk through Barnstable, Massachusetts, on Cape Cod. I’m here on a family vacation — a vacation that is taking place just 60 miles from our Boston home — because our state still has a 14-day quarantine for returning from out-of-state travel. The Cape Cod tourist economy is operating well under its normal end-of-June levels. The house we rented — normally booked all summer long — was unused until we rented it just before the July 4th holiday. It’s clear from day one that there are a lot of insects in the house. By day three, we can tell that there are also mice. It’s a well-reviewed property, but it’s also been empty for at least six months. The bugs are dead. We don’t ever see the mice. We adapt. The curtains have little anchors on them. There is wall art everywhere with sea horses and shells. The coasters on the coffee table say “Nautical..Or Nice.” The street across from us (you can look this up) is Fresh Holes Street.

Nothing is normal.

I don’t see very many people on my walk. I pick up a large Dunkin’ along the way (mask on) and get my 10,000 steps in before heading back to our rental house to rouse the children and prepare for a day at the beach. There is almost nothing notable about my walk, save one, tiny, human interaction. While walking, I’m wearing a gaiter around my neck that I can quickly pull over my face when I see someone. I walk by Blanchard’s Package…