Mud show and a difficult lot.

June 30, Douglas.

There it was, yet one more time, at the bottom of the route slip, the dreaded note: "Arrows to a difficult lot."
It's become a tradition, lately, this dreaded announcement, and the bad surprises it brings: too narrow for tractor trailers to enter or exit without acrobatics, no place to set up the cookhouse tent, hardly anywhere to set up anything else, the list goes on. Over the past two days it was a mud theater on top of no cook house tent for the fourth time in less than a month and nowhere to park backstage, and forklift show time again to two trucks out of the while mess this morning.
My friend Bitsy helped her eighty-one-year-old mother through the mud on Friday, the two of them laughing all the way about how they could now claim they'd seen to a real mud show.
It's the mudshow diaries.
After a five thirty call, we're moving tonight because of traffic.
We know the lot, it's the same lot as every year in North Andover, and no, it's not difficult.