The Sandwich Heresy

Spring Has Finally
Sprung in Sandwich

Two weeks from today, we leave our beach house by the sea. The waning of days is probably the best explanation for my silence over the past month, as I have been falling deeper and deeper into a profound sense of anticipated loss, knowing that, literally, my days are numbered here. In April, I was blessed to have multi-day visits from two different friends who traveled up to visit me and to experience what my life is like here in Sandwich. We packed a lot into those little visits, and I actually got to do some things that TSO and I had not gotten around to in the past seven months. For example, we visited the Sandwich Glass Museum, which was a great little museum. 

"Just enjoy the time you have left," TSO counsels. Sure. Not only are the number of days numbered, they have been interrupted by detours here and detours there such that said days are actually much fewer than the calendar reflects. It doesn't help that we have nowhere to go when our lease expires and, thus, will be moving into an extended stay hotel. I suppose that, if we were moving into a house we bought, things would be much different. However, that whole subject is an issue, which I'll eventually explain in House Hunters (Part 3[a])!

I was introduced to Sandwich in 2015 when we first vacationed on the Cape. I was smitten. I called it "the Haddonfield of Cape Cod," as it is the oldest town on the Cape, having been incorporated in 1639. When we signed the lease for our winter rental, I expected to enjoy my eight months here, and I certainly have. I've met some wonderful people, especially the ladies in the local D.A.R. chapter where I'm an associate member. I'm a "regular" at certain places, such as the Cape Abilities thrift store and farm, as well as Titcomb's Book Shop, an independent, family-owned bookstore that's about a mile away from our beach house. I have beautiful views every day, no matter the weather. Yet, although I expected to enjoy my time here, to even love my time here, I never, ever expected that I would fall in love with Sandwich, with the Cape, and never want to leave. Such is the state of things right now. I am in mourning.

So, what's the heresy? The heresy is this. I am convinced that I must have lived on the Cape in a previous life. From the start, I have felt a deep connection to this land, this other country as I call it. I belong here. It's a "fit" that is so primal, so indwelling, so preternatural, that it can be explained in no other way really. I don't believe I lived in Sandwich in that previous life, however. I feel like I lived in Yarmouth Port. I may have been a bar maid. I'm not sure. It certainly would be more romantic were I a sea captain's wife, waiting for the return of my love while pacing around the widow's watch atop our majestic house by the sea. Instead, I'm afraid I was more likely working in some local tavern serving beers while dressed in a corseted medieval-type dress with my buxom breasts heaving over the top of my bodice. (I think this may explain why I like the 1972 hit song "Brandy." Just what is the "raging glory" anyway? TSO has a theory, but I won't share it.) I just hope I had all my teeth--and my dignity, of course. 

So, on May 27th, we'll be moving off the Cape to the place called "inland." To be sure, we'll be close to Christina and Lou and the kids, but my views from our hovel will be of a parking lot, not the sea. Perhaps I can get a job as a bar maid at a Red Lobster somewhere and dream of what are now my two previous lives on the Cape.

The End of a Sunset in the End of my Days Here