As I sit and write this, I realise we finally are having a break from no visitors in the house.
You know what I mean by ‘visitors’, don’t you? Friends or family members you absolutely adore who drain you of energy by pushing your poor body’s limits beyond any programme a skilled drill sergeant could dream up. You go from being a homebody to thrown into a vortex of dinner, drinks and short sleeps. If there was such a thing as a Social Butterfly Boot Camp, this is it; where the weak fall like the runt buffalo and only the strong survive until the weekend and blessed recuperation.
My best friend Lynne and I share a four-bedroom house. That means that we have two ‘spare’ bedrooms, a fact not lost on myriad relations and compatriots the world over. For years, we managed to neatly sidestep The Visitor – we were in a two-bedroom apartment (with one toilet/shower), so no room at the inn. But, for a while now, we’ve had extra space, and that means we’re open for company beyond the cats and other wildlife. We call it ‘The Lyicki Resort’. (You won’t find it on Airbnb.)
One of the spare rooms is fairly pristine, but the other is a different story. When we had temporary roommates in the first year of living here, my endless collection of belongings were packed in closets, under beds and generally anywhere we could find space. The minute it was back to just the two of us, Spare Bedroom Numero Uno became the storage room. At last, I could put my old XBOX Rock Band instruments somewhere where they could be accessed at a moment’s notice! The multiple copper oil lamps shone in their corner (apart from the one I had used once that now sports a black hue no matter how many times I polish it) and a sports bag full of microphones and cords was ready for action next to boxes of costumes.
This was all very well and good, but what were we to do when we started getting visitors? I swiftly came to the conclusion that it was actually less work for me to move into the storage room betwixt the candles and Halloween pumpkin decor and give up my bedroom to guests, rather than clear everything out.
It was like filming an ‘Undercover Boss’ episode; I finally got to experience that room firsthand. Suddenly, I was privy to the rich sounds of someone bashing about in the kitchen; the proximity to the cockerels nesting in the bushes by the back window who apparently couldn’t sleep beyond 5am; the 22-inch television that had me squinting to read the programme guide … I just kept reminding myself that I was a very kindhearted person (“I would like to thank my agent, my producer … ”). The chorus of roosters was the hardest thing to which to adapt, as once the visitors were in-house, it was go, go, go, and I needed as much sleep as I could get.
What are we doing tomorrow? Can you take some time off? We heard about this delightful restaurant …
I was smack in the middle of my busiest time of year, and running my own company meant I couldn’t just put a pin in everything. From the moment I rose to when the inbox pace slowed to a crawl, I was almost overwhelmed with work. And as soon as that was done, the schedule for the night began. Instead of changing into my jammies, jumping on the couch and seeing what was on TV, it was into the shower, on with the makeup and out to hit the town. I was determined to be the consummate host (or prove that there was life in the old girl yet) and stayed out as long as they wanted to. Lynne, on the other hand, had no problem with ringing the bell early. She either took her own car or got a taxi home. Some nonsense about being sensible.
By the fourth day, I was showing the strain – bags under the eyes, grey roots in the hair that I couldn’t be bothered to colour, and my credit card a thin, transparent shadow of its former self and owner. As I crept between the sheets in the spare room, knocking a tomato planter box to the floor with my rogue elbow – which in turn hit two candle holders – and prepared to squint until I located an episode of ‘Law & Order: SVU’, I marvelled at my capacity to continue functioning.
I wasn’t the only one. Our guests, who, of course, could sleep in until whatever time they liked, would greet me constantly with cheery grins, “I don’t know HOW you do it!” and “I couldn’t keep up at your age!” But always followed by the inevitable “So, what are we doing tonight?” Sigh. Shower. Makeup. Out.
I carry on like this, but we all know how great it is to spend time with people we haven’t seen in ages, and show off the beautiful island where we live. I swear, nothing makes you appreciate Cayman more than when you see it through the eyes of tourists. I also find that I go to a number of different venues and restaurants that I might not ordinarily patronise, so I always find a new treasure or two.
When visitors finally leave, it’s usually difficult to say goodbye. Is it nice to have your own space again? Of course it is! Your coffee cup is where it should be and you’re back to having the couch all to yourself. I moved back to my bedroom and luxuriated in the king-size bed with the large screen TV, promising myself to never take it for granted again.
We thought we probably would take a break for a while from having people stay at the house, but then I believe it was just this week when I was talking to some friends of mine in Canada. I was completely sober when I heard myself say “And for goodness’ sake – WHEN are you coming down to visit??”
Maybe I can sleep under my bed instead …