The Lake House
Brief background: The Lake House was built from 1970 - 1972 by Don's grandfather, Don's Uncle Donald and Don. That's it, anyone else that claims to have helped is full of shit. It's a lovely Lake Home, stained glass windows fill the front and memories fill the inside. Some good, some horrifying, Stephen King should visit.
I was first introduced to the Lake House in 1990, aged 20. I had just driven from NJ to ME (that's Maine) in a snow storm. I told my mother I was in a caravan of Don's family. Nope, wasn't. Mom lived in a bubble, she believed what she was told and that worked for her. I was a good kid for all intents and purposes, but I knew how to protect her. The Lake House has 4 bedrooms, two full baths, a fire place to die for and it smells of camphor.
My first visit was in the dead of winter, all of Don's family descended on the house and it was a winter festival fueled by alcohol. We rode on sleds down the winding road hitting trees and rocks - we all woke with fresh bruises and had to explain to each other how they occurred. How no one sustained a serious injury is beyond me.
The Lake House has been host to so many gatherings, sing-a-longs, fights, grace-followed-by-crying-and-hugging, chases, mock fights, real fights, bickering, laughing, hitting, more fights. It's a volatile place filled with one nutjob after another.
In the summer there is a revolving door of family staying at The Lake House and with us living 5 miles away we pop in from time to time to visit and enjoy the company. Evey gathering has it's moment.
Two summers ago, we had a lobster dinner accompanied by perhaps a bit too much wine. I'll point out now that the kitchen is tight. Not much wiggle room, 3 people is a crowd and after a frenzy of people screaming that it was now 90 degrees in the kitchen Grandma fell right into the dishwasher. Right onto the door. She landed with a thud and everyone turned around to see what the commotion was. The door was broken open and we all concurred that a new dishwasher was in order. David quickly announced, "Mom, break the fridge we need a new one of those too!!"
One Christmas everyone was gathered, a Norman Rockwell moment was materializing, fire built, everyone in festive sweaters, egg nog brewing when out of the kitchen a cry was heard, "What the hell are you doing?" from Don Sr. Don Jr. replied, "I'm washing my hands??" Confusion struck a chord in all of us until we heard, "In the egg nog bowl???!!!" Well that's not good for anyone. The argument about how one can wash his hands in the egg nog bowl and how one can leave the egg nog bowl in the sink ensued. It lasted all night, it threatened to fade away, but some idiot would stir it back to flame.
Whenever we head down the road we know there is a story awaiting, our hopes are that it is stupid, funny and non-life threatening, so far so good!
I was first introduced to the Lake House in 1990, aged 20. I had just driven from NJ to ME (that's Maine) in a snow storm. I told my mother I was in a caravan of Don's family. Nope, wasn't. Mom lived in a bubble, she believed what she was told and that worked for her. I was a good kid for all intents and purposes, but I knew how to protect her. The Lake House has 4 bedrooms, two full baths, a fire place to die for and it smells of camphor.
My first visit was in the dead of winter, all of Don's family descended on the house and it was a winter festival fueled by alcohol. We rode on sleds down the winding road hitting trees and rocks - we all woke with fresh bruises and had to explain to each other how they occurred. How no one sustained a serious injury is beyond me.
The Lake House has been host to so many gatherings, sing-a-longs, fights, grace-followed-by-crying-and-hugging, chases, mock fights, real fights, bickering, laughing, hitting, more fights. It's a volatile place filled with one nutjob after another.
In the summer there is a revolving door of family staying at The Lake House and with us living 5 miles away we pop in from time to time to visit and enjoy the company. Evey gathering has it's moment.
Two summers ago, we had a lobster dinner accompanied by perhaps a bit too much wine. I'll point out now that the kitchen is tight. Not much wiggle room, 3 people is a crowd and after a frenzy of people screaming that it was now 90 degrees in the kitchen Grandma fell right into the dishwasher. Right onto the door. She landed with a thud and everyone turned around to see what the commotion was. The door was broken open and we all concurred that a new dishwasher was in order. David quickly announced, "Mom, break the fridge we need a new one of those too!!"
One Christmas everyone was gathered, a Norman Rockwell moment was materializing, fire built, everyone in festive sweaters, egg nog brewing when out of the kitchen a cry was heard, "What the hell are you doing?" from Don Sr. Don Jr. replied, "I'm washing my hands??" Confusion struck a chord in all of us until we heard, "In the egg nog bowl???!!!" Well that's not good for anyone. The argument about how one can wash his hands in the egg nog bowl and how one can leave the egg nog bowl in the sink ensued. It lasted all night, it threatened to fade away, but some idiot would stir it back to flame.
Whenever we head down the road we know there is a story awaiting, our hopes are that it is stupid, funny and non-life threatening, so far so good!
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