working from home(s)

Folks who live here in Maine are rightfully angry at vacationers who are traveling from New York City to come to their summer homes, quite possibly bringing the coronavirus with them. Others who are moving to their summer homes in rural areas to get away from the crowds are also quite possibly being selfish jerks because if they get sick, they may require care from rural hospitals that may not have the resources to care for the year-round residents.

Keeping these truths in mind, I feel somewhat sheepish about the fact that my daughters and I sometimes go to my parents’ summer place to “get away from it all” for a while. We pack everything we will need — we won’t use local grocery stores, etc. — and if one of us gets sick, we will return to our home city. That is to say, if one of us needs a hospital, we will use the hospital by our real home.

Today, I went to the summer place to check on the furnace. It turns out it needed to be bled (bleeded?) so I waited there while the repairman took care of it. This photo shows my home office this morning as I was working from one of the two homes I call home:

cast iron stove with glowing embers peeking through the bottom openings

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