Well. The last few days felt a bit like being tossed into a blender, finding myself in Madrid once I'd finally climbed out and toweled off.
The couple who are taking care of my teeny northern Vermont hilltop fiefdom arrived Sunday afternoon, pulling into the driveway in a minivan with South Dakota plates. Retired, looking to see some of the country, never having been to Vermont before. And good folks.
They're the fourth different housesitters I've had since arranging my life and resources to do this splitting-existence-between-Vermont-and-Madrid thing 5+ years ago -- the first ones to actually stay in the house before I'd gone. After they'd settled in some, I took them around the place, inside and out, talking about things that would need taking care of, explaining ins and outs. And at some point, I became aware that there were points when the husband, L., seemed to resist hearing about certain items, moments, apparently, when he seemed to feel that what I was saying was insultingly obvious or that he knew better. As if he simply couldn't hear me once certain judgments kicked in.
Whatever was going on came to a head the next morning, an hour or so before they drove me into town, where I'd catch a bus and be out of their hair. A final few things had occurred to me to mention, things they might or might not already know, but that should be brought up just in case. I asked L. if he was aware of the need to prime the lawn mower, a long-suffering piece of machinery that's performed at a level far beyond what it was designed for. His answer: of course -- but instead of a simple yes and us going on to the next thing, he spread his arms, making a show of big attitude re: the question's insulting absurdity. "I'm 60!", he said. I blinked, then replied, "And?" K. walked into the room, saying something like, "Right, you're 60, so you know everything."
"I'm a mechanic!", he continued, ignoring her comment -- he'd worked for many years as an aircraft mechanic -- moving on to the subject of the coal stove, making it clear he found my instructions about it all extremely obvious. I asked if he'd ever heated with coal before. A pause before he answered no, as if trying to find a way that he could say yes, then adding quickly that it made no difference, that he didn't believe it would matter.
Hmmm. Of the three people who took care of the house previously, two -- competent folks with extensive experience heating with wood -- not only found a demonstration of using the stove to be helpful, they had a learning curve of a few days (as I had when I began using it), emailing me for further input, before really getting it down. All worth it because of the quality of the heat once they'd made the adjustment. The third person -- not competent -- never got the hang of using it and didn't seek help in getting the hang of it, producing huge amounts of smoke in the process, leaving traces of coal and ash dust all over the house. The kind of thing that communicating with me -- letting me know he wasn't getting it, asking questions -- might have prevented.
L.'s point seemed to be that I shouldn't be wasting his time, leaving me with the choice of risking offending him further or leaving questions/concerns unexpressed on my part. Seems like a no-brainer to me -- a price has been paid in the past for not mentioning concerns or not explaining things sufficiently. I've come back to find damage of one kind or another, or things missing. If the choice is between pissing him off and expressing things that might prevent things going undone or done poorly, I'll go with option #2.
It was a strange display to have to wade through. All he had to do was wait another hour, hour and a half for me to be gone, give me the benefit of the doubt and let explanations he thought unnecessary pass on by. Instead, he pushed harder and more openly against me, impacting my estimation of him to the point that if his wife hadn't been part of the package -- a person who came across as solid, caring, dependable, nice to be around -- I'd have seriously considered missing my flight, sending him on his way, finding someone else to take care of the place.
And yet: I pause here to remind myself that this person is a three-dimensional human being, no different from the rest of us when it comes to being a work in progress, with his share of positives and negatives that he contributes to the mix. And it's not as if I don't come equipped with my own fairly goofy set of issues and limitations, at times causing me to create some fairly hilarious difficulties as I've stumbled through this life of mine. And it may be that this happening when it did -- at the end of a long process of preparing to shift my life several thousand miles to the east and leave my home in the care of two strangers -- added a little heft to it.
I have no doubt L.'s intentions are good. I hope whatever was going on behind his reactions doesn't get in the way. Could be he's brilliant, that what he seemed to consider my stupidly unnecessary instructions and concerns will turn out to be, er, stupidly unnecessary. Okay by me if that's what happens -- just so the place is well cared for.
[continued in next entry]
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Philosophical graffiti along la Calle de Augusto Figueroa, Madrid ('Without love there's nothing'):
Madrid, te quiero.
rws 8:15 AM [+]
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