We may never leave...and that's why we're always late.
When I married the Mr., I was punctual. I was arrive ten minutes early and that's on time punctual. I was proud of that. Gosh, I was proud.
Mr. Lancaster has a nickname. Late Lancaster. I swear I didn't give it to him. I promise it existed way before me. Once we became a pair, I tried to bring him back from the dark side. At one point, I started giving up and it became practice that when we'd be at an appropriate time to leave, I'd look at him, notice he was still shoe-less, and I'd just head to the car. Waiting. Waiting on Late Lancaster. I didn't get it. It was getting old.
Now, I get it. And now I'm a Late Lancaster too.
Fast-forward past the purchase of Lancaster Land, and the thousands of improvements completed and the thousands more not yet even thought of. And together, we're always late to everything. I lost the fight, but I think I actually won a different kind of battle.
Lancaster Land is a black hole. It sucks you in. But, it sucks you in to a dream world. Into vivid imiganiation-land. Into nothing and everything and it's all insane. It's a money pit, and yet it's the best kind of investment. I think I've just talked myself into realizing that Lancaster Land is the biggest living contradiction in the universe. I'll always have something to roll my eyes at. I'll always have something to smile about.
Now I realize the Lancaster lack-of-punctuality isn't a flaw. It's an unapologetic gratitude to the home we've made. We're late because we never want to leave. We've turned our home into our biggest project and the place we stay to vacation. No matter how long we're here, there will always be something to ride, jump, cut, mow, trim, burn (my favorite), wrench, polish, or tend. There will also always be a deck that needs lounging, a book that needs reading, a Roscoe that needs petting,and a bottle of wine that needs sharing.
Perhaps it's best if you come to us. That way, we'll be on time.
Don't forget about the waiver. You can borrow a helmet.
Mr. Lancaster has a nickname. Late Lancaster. I swear I didn't give it to him. I promise it existed way before me. Once we became a pair, I tried to bring him back from the dark side. At one point, I started giving up and it became practice that when we'd be at an appropriate time to leave, I'd look at him, notice he was still shoe-less, and I'd just head to the car. Waiting. Waiting on Late Lancaster. I didn't get it. It was getting old.
Now, I get it. And now I'm a Late Lancaster too.
Fast-forward past the purchase of Lancaster Land, and the thousands of improvements completed and the thousands more not yet even thought of. And together, we're always late to everything. I lost the fight, but I think I actually won a different kind of battle.
We had plans to see The Lion - if you haven't seen it, do it. Shameless plug commencing - it was far and wide the best show I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot.
"Let's leave at 4:30."
"OK"
"It's 5:00. We should probably hit the road."
"OK"
"It's 5:30."
"OK, let's go."
Lancaster Land is a black hole. It sucks you in. But, it sucks you in to a dream world. Into vivid imiganiation-land. Into nothing and everything and it's all insane. It's a money pit, and yet it's the best kind of investment. I think I've just talked myself into realizing that Lancaster Land is the biggest living contradiction in the universe. I'll always have something to roll my eyes at. I'll always have something to smile about.
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| Our commute home. |
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| Meet Roscoe. More on him later. He's got his own talents. |
Perhaps it's best if you come to us. That way, we'll be on time.
Don't forget about the waiver. You can borrow a helmet.