Envy Strikes At Midnight

It's midnight and I can't sleep.

Not because I'm over-tired, not tired enough or drank copious amounts
of coffee. No, I can't sleep because there's a raucous party going on
next door to us at Adventure Bound campground in North Truro, Mass.

They're whooping and hollering, laughing and belting out songs from
the '60s. I now see 1 a.m.

I met some of the partiers earlier in the evening when we pulled into
our campsite.

"We walk through there," a very slender, very tanned mid-50s woman
said to me, nodding to the land behind our motor home. With each nod,
silver earrings jingle jangle just beneath her bobbed, blackened hair.
She's carrying a beer snug inside a coozie. We're just about to block
HER pathway so we can hook up our essentials (the power, water, TV,
and sewer).

I'm taken aback. Shocked, in fact, at her nerve. My mind smokes:
"We're paying $52 a night to stay here. YOUR walkway cuts through MY
lot." Instead I say, politely, "I don't think our electric line will
reach if we don't back up more."

"Then use an extension cord," she smiles. Actually smiles at me. Cocks
her little head. Twinkles her eyes. Then takes a sip of her beer.

I fume. Fume!!

Instead of blurting out what I thought (HOW DARE YOU!!!), I offer a
closed-mouth smile of my own and shrug my shoulders. By that time,
Allen rescues me. He's pulled our electric cord and water hose around
and proves each can reach, no problem, without us having to block HER
walkway.

The smiling petite beer drinker invites me to a tour of her
"neighborhood." Although I'm unhappy, I go, because, well, she smiles
a lot. It's contagious. I meet some of the people who use the pathway
behind our motor home as THEIR walkway. They all smile, too, and say
"Hi."

I count about six families, all who live here for the summer. They
have a community cook kitchen inside a tent (complete with hanging
pots, a Jenn-Aire, freezer and frige), landscaped gardens, and a
community dining room of about six picnic tables set up end to end and
all painted a brilliant blue. A tarp covers the tables. Along the
sides of the tarp Christmas lights twinkle.

They have fun all summer long, she says.

And at midnight.

As the party escalates, I pull the pillows over my ears and vow to
march down to the campground office at daybreak and demand my money
back.

I toss and turn and eventually sleep.

And then awaken in the morning.

As I lay here thinking about the party last night, I remember how
pleasantly the smiling petite woman conducted the tour of her little
neighborhood. And how nice all those people were. And I knew my
frustration last night was not because I could not sleep. It was
because there was a grand party going on and I wasn't a part of it.

And I know, FOR SURE, that had I thrown on some clothes and meandered
over there, they would have welcomed me to sing along. And in time, I,
too, would have been belting out a few songs.

What the heck. It's summer. The time for fun. For everyone to have
fun. I'll sleep some other night.