After such a lovely vacation, we had an inauspiscious return home. The kids managed to hold off until after the flight from Bristol to start bickering. But as we pulled into the car park at home, we noticed the mounds of garbage next to the toters. Now I understand that the folks who work here were working shortened hours, but it clearly hadn't been collected since well before we left.
A chat with the neighbor revealed that the golf course had gone into examinership, which appears to be a sort of protection preceding bankruptcy. The paper had a short article on it, but it had several effects not noticed by the reporter. First up, it seems the entire staff was let go. More bad news at a bad time, though they say they will be hired back on an hourly basis as bookings merit.
So, obviously, the garbage was not being collected: it turns out that the farmer down the road where the skip lives got tired of not being paid and bulldozed a berm of earth on the lane between the properties. In addition, there was a note in the mailbox telling us to not drink the water, that they we still doing repairs. Clearly they're not doing repairs (unless they're tunneling in from underneath or have invisible cars); there's just no one left to monitor the quality.
Most mysteriously, the internet was down, even though there is clearly electricity at the hotel where the signal comes in and is rebroadcast. If you recall, the net came up less than twenty-four hours before we left: it sounds like we missed all the excitement the next day as the network company came with guarded trucks and removed their leased equipment because they hadn't been paid. In the process of unplugging, they managed to break the connection, leaving the whole village without a signal.
Of course, we know this now: at the time, all we could do was inform the landlady, and let her begin the process of sorting things out. In the meantime, we have moved from drinking bottled water to using it for cooking and teethbrushing. Rubbish is more difficult: my husband, in a gesture reminiscent of my own father, took a black garbage bag up to work to chuck it there rather than add to the mounting health hazard (the stray cats tend to rip open any bag that smells of food, and the wind scatters everything).
After four days of haranguing the net folks, she got through, and a fellow came out and plugged things back together. There's still a chance that the connection may be cut off again, so we're not selling the dongles!
Well, you say, at least things on the home front are fine. Would that it were! We received news that our endearingly curmudgeon neighbor Eric is in hospital battling a resurgence of his cancer. We are grateful for CaringBridge, which allows us to keep in touch and offer remote support to him and his family.
And then came the bombshell: as I was trying to figure out how to manage tax season remotely, our housesitter informed us that she had found a room to rent (apparently a better deal than free rent and kitty love) and would be moving out in May. Like a hastily knit sweater, it seems our plans are unravelling faster than we can darn them together.
However, as they say, we are not quitters. Our first visitor arrives tomorrow morning, and we intend to show him a few of the sites. The daffodils we planted in the fall are fairly bursting in the mild weather that has returned to the island, which means that a little boy has a birthday that needs celebrating next week as well. We shall somehow manage to get the taxes done, and somehow, somehow, line up another housesitter to take us through the summer here.
