I’m writing from my tiny vacation rental cottage. I’ve been here a couple of nights, have just one more to go. I’m just a few hundred feet from my beloved Lake Michigan. This is an ideal setting. Except for the whole shared porch design. My little screened in porch is part of a larger screened in porch, with a dividing wall down the middle that’s about six inches off the wooden planked surface. This quickly became my favorite spot to read, scroll, and nap.

My half of the porch has two Adirondack chairs with cushions on it, a little wooden table, the outlined shape of the United States between. Also, a broom and dust pan are right beside the door. I’ve swept this porch several times since arriving. I’ve been sweeping beach sand that journeyed with us, stuck to our feet through the cracks of the porch to maintain a cozy little space.

I’ve had two naps on this porch. I’ve leisurely fallen asleep while reading a fabulous book. (My falling asleep while reading is never indicative of my enjoyment of the book. It’s just a luxury to spend so much time reading, and all the fresh air entices me to slumber.) The conclusion of both naps was brought to an abrupt end when I was startled awake by the screen door of the next door loudly slamming closed.

When awake, I watched to see if I noticed a pattern of the noisy culprits. The mom muffled the noise, as if not allowing the door to slam from fully open, but perhaps halfway open. One of the kids muted the slam, one did not so much. The father let that thing slam closed no matter if he was quickly walking in and out of the unit in a loop. Time after time, whack! Whack! Whack!

It’s vacation and we’re living in close quarters, so I was certainly not going to say anything of it. Some people are more sensitive to noises than others. What is jarring to me might not be jolting to someone else. We’re only here for a short while, it was really not such a big deal.

When we came back from the beach on our second full day, I noticed that our porch was host to a pile of sand. I knew immediately that it wasn’t from us, because I had already swept after our last trip to the shore. Once we got situated, I got to the task of sweeping up. I swept the pile from my neighbor’s porch back toward their side, while also trying to get most of the sand to fall between the slats.

I continued to wipe the cooler of sand on the steps leading up to the porch. The dad from next door, whom I didn’t know was sitting on the porch said to me, “Could you not sweep your sand onto our porch?” I was a bit startled, not expecting to chat up this stranger. I looked up, saw that his family’s beach towels were hanging right above where the guilty sand pile had formed. “I wasn’t trying to…” He interrupted me, “I’ve been sitting here a while, I saw you sweep sand under the divide.” “Yea, I was saying I was trying to sweep the sand between the slats to fall down. I’m happy to sweep it up.” He offered some sort of grunt or growl to mark the end of the conversation.

I decided in one split second to say, “While we’re on the topic, would you mind not letting the screen door slam? It’s so jarring.” I said it with a smile, truly. The dad was taken aback, “Uh, I can try to tell the kids.” I turned around and returned to my de-sanding, laughing to myself. Wow, that dad totally threw his kids under the bus without at all realizing that statistically, he is the worst offender! Dude is not in touch with reality, which is why he’s unaware that the sand he felt so bold to scold me about was in fact from his hanging towel collection.

I made sure to clean up the porch before we left for supper. I even took a photo… something told me this human being might be slightly unhinged, if his departure from reality was any indication.

I tend to get stuck in my head whenever I have such bizarre interactions with fellow humans to whom I cannot at all relate. Naturally, I thought of things I wish I had said like, “The sand that is on my porch from your towels, there, mister?” And I’d point aggressively at the towels with gun fingers and then blow out the imaginary smoke from my pointer finger. Or something.

When we got back from supper, which is now-ish, I wanted to come enjoy some reading time on the screened porch before it’s time to return to the beach for sunset. And you’ll never believe it! Sand was again strewn about on our porch from, you guessed it, the other side of the wall. I took a photo, and I grabbed my laptop to write this all down. Because you really can’t make stuff like this up.

Naturally I swept up the sand, and took another photo. I didn’t dare push my broom to their side of the porch. So, beneath the wall there does remain a stripe of sand. It’s a calm night, no wind blowing. So, if that sand pile ends up redistributed, there’s only one explanation…