William James is said to have said, “Summer afternoon: The two most beautiful words in the English Language.” Still, we take it for granted. The To do List of musty musts finds it way into our suitcases, alongside that place where we store our sunscreen and bug spray. We become sort of summer people. We bring our baggage on what used to be vacation, until computers and zooms learned to track our locations.

Once, we were house sitting for a member of our congregation, as we had done annually for a decade, while she took to Europe for her annual visit. The beach shack was on the Peconic Bay, on Long Island, near Riverhead in a place called Flanders. The shack was almost upright, the clam chowder pot showed evidence of browning a lot of celery, and the sleeping porch made the rickety plumbing insignificant. 

Our beneficiary was named Doris. I was sitting at Doris’ desk in the corner of her kitchen.

A man knocked on the door. My partner was out clamming. He was knocking on our door from the waterside, not the dirt roadside. I would have heard his car. I did not hear his boat. He wanted to use Doris’ shack for an Apple ad campaign to get summer people to buy computers for their second homes.   

I told Doris. She said, “Tell him to go to hell.” I decided to ghost him instead. I knew she was going to tell him to go to hell. But I thought she should know that he had been boating about the bay for days, looking for the most “iconic beach shack.” Hers was it. Hers was chosen. Maybe she should be happy about it? She wasn’t.

Even Apple makes mistakes. We carry our computers with us. One is enough, especially when coupled with an iPhone and a device, just in case. Then again, we could leave it where we autumn and winter and prove William James right.

Summer people do have two homes. Theoretically, we could need two computers, like having two toothbrushes — one for the cottage and one for the residence. The place where we pay the taxes and can get a beach pass and the place where we don’t pay taxes and can’t get a beach pass.

In a world where some people have no house and others have two, I am not complaining about my one computer or two domiciles. I observe. I notice. I give thanks, not as I ought but as I am able.

Plus, I have an excuse. I am working here for 10 months and signed a contract so to do. I am a peripatetic preacher, like a gun for hire, only for life purposes and not death purposes. As an interim, it is my job to clean up the place and tidy it up for the next pastor. So, I’m not like all the other summer people. You hear the echo of Jesus in that sentence; if you come to church, and you may even hear it if you don’t. “Thank God I am not like other people, said the tax collector to the disciples.”

Summer people are people most people don’t like but would love to be. This mystery joins the notorious hypocrisy of the tax-paying American. We agree the rich should pay more and also would love to be rich, which would imply we’d like to pay more in taxes but can’t afford it. We even mimic the wealthy in their wardrobes and hairstyles — and their “iconic” houses if we can. If rich people started having two computers, everyone would follow suit. Doris’s last stand was clearly effective.  People only have one computer, which is attached at the waist.

Summer people also have problems, like everyone else. We don’t get mail for weeks at a time. We miss the important letter hidden in the 1,000 pieces of mail that come into our lives irregularly. We often have two gardens and liberate the weeds in both. We cross state borders with illegal plant material. Our refrigerators never have unspoiled milk. We have double the domestic duties. All we want for our birthday is to have the deck at home one and two both power-washed on the same weekend, which weekend was supposed to be full of William James’ delightful advice.

The human knows how to make much ado about ado, even in the summer, even in the afternoon.  I think Doris took off for Europe with William James.

Editor's note: Rev Dr. Donna Schaper writes under the pen name of the Dolly Mama and is currently interim at Little Compton United Congregational Church, and lives in a cottage on the river in Westport, when not in West Haven, Connecticut. She anticipates an Apple salesperson any day.