Was It The Egg Salad, Or Something I Said?

We are bucking up and attempting to continue our renovation-slog here on Morning Street. After looking back at the bills and blogs from 2012-15, I must be crazy. For those of you who have been following this mini-series, remember the IV drip coffee on my nightstand, the miles of boards we painted, or the bar in my basement made civil only with cocktail napkins? I may have nothing to worry about, however. No one is calling us back. We have had contractors, sales people, and architects, all here to talk about the projects and then it seems they all end up in a black hole.

I wonder, are they all together discussing my house while laughing and pulling back the latest hoppy IPA from the new brewery? Are they playing CodeNames around their kitchen tables and dismissing the thought of ever working again? Or worse, my latest theory: Are my neighbors offering bribes, paying over asking price and out-bidding me when I didn’t even know this was a possibility? When this idea came to me, I decided to take it to the next level.

When Douglas arrived for a discussion/quote on solar energy and heat pumps a couple of weeks ago I was armed with coffee, soft drinks, and lunch. I don’t need to brag but I can make a mean egg salad. So that’s what I offered Douglas. He was thrilled at my offer and said yes yes yes to coffee, sandwiches, and fruit.

After going over every possibility for heat pumps and solar panels, I asked about his family and offered tips on his new garden project. He seemed delighted, thankful. I was hopeful, encouraged. We shook hands and I hung on extra long. He smiled. I smiled.

I will never hear from him again.

My friend suggested maybe it was the egg salad. Maybe it gave him gas. I began to rethink the egg salad. I should have served lobster—but that is so common here in Maine, I wanted to stand out. I think he’s out with all the other tradespeople at the brewery, playing games and laughing. They know the ball is in their court. And I hate to picture any of them at my neighbors helping them with their heat pumps and enjoying chips and salsa.

I have thick skin. I receive rejection for my writing projects, but this is different. These people live in my town. The agents and publishers don’t know about my caving sills, my drooping gutters. I’m exposed here. I will regroup and consider my options. Maybe it’s time to learn to make vichyssoise or paella…

Feel free to send recipe-bribes my way!

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Sally Lucy Writes

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