EMILY PRATT SLATIN

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She/Her/Hers Lesbian

Retired Career Fire and EMS Lieutenant-Specialist, Writer, and Master Photographer, living in Vermont.

If Anything Else Comes Up

September 3, 2026—Stamford, New York (Mom's House)

Yesterday morning, I was awakened after partying like a rockstar the night before.

I had just gotten out of bed. My hair was a mess. I was in need of a shower, some toothpaste, and a strong cup of coffee. So when two women I had never seen before came pounding on my door with an unexpected amount of self-assurance, I was exceedingly confused.

One of them told me she was new to the area and complained that the rain coming off the roof of Mom’s garage was going to flood her basement. She demanded that the water be directed toward Academy Street, which would be the first time in a few hundred years that the water would have to change direction.

She threatened to go to the village hall over the matter. She also claimed to be the owner of the property.

I asked Amelia if she was hearing this. She said yes and immediately suggested I tell them to leave the property. Without another word, I handed her and her friend my card.

“If anything else comes up, call me.”

The woman moved in about a year ago and rents an apartment. My parents moved me into our house in 1986 after paying for it in cash, without a mortgage.

Today started with lunch at eleven across the street at TP’s Cafe. For the first time since my friend Heather founded the place back in 1994, they were out of Pepsi. This morning, they substituted my Pepsi for a root beer.

And yet, this remains my favorite restaurant.

I used to come here as a child, and on Thursdays, I would meet my parents’ friends Frank and Carol Bell and Ellen Wayman for lunch. Although I was not related to them in any way, to me they felt like grandparents.

At noon there was an acoustic jam in the park across the street from Mom’s house. After I finished lunch, Nora and I sat at one of the wooden picnic tables. There were four men from the area playing music in the park who also had a bucket of zucchini and squash for sale for $1 each. There was a man in the back wearing baggy blue jeans, an oversized grey shirt, and work boots, who decided to dance like he was at Woodstock.

A grandmother arrived with two adolescent boys. She told them to be quiet so everyone could hear the music, and quite refreshingly, they were well behaved. The woman then sat at our table and started a conversation with her friend. The two of them were very loud.

Everyone was motioning to her to stop talking. Then it occurred to me that the invention of the reply-all button proved that technological advancement and human progress are not necessarily related.