It wasn’t the sun’s rays that woke me, but the scampering of little feet belonging to who knew what. On the heels of the sound, though, the sun peeked over the horizon, and I watched as red turned to orange and pink, filling the sky with indescribable color and hope.

I sipped day old coffee (bought from the gas station the day before and surprisingly still hot) from my thermos and mulled over my options. I had one more day to explore . . . okay, I know it shouldn’t take even a half hour to explore something like my “new house”, but the things stored in the wall told me otherwise.

It’s interesting, isn’t it, what you can learn from letters, journal entries, recipes, newspaper clippings, and the like. And hand-drawn maps. Innuendo isn’t only for mainstream media, politicians, and trashy novels, you know. And some of the things that I’d read in that place between wakefulness and sleep made me think that my house was like the lid of a jar. I determined to open it. I spread out some of the things I’d read and read them again to make sure I hadn’t been dreaming.

By the time dark enveloped my property, I’d made a plan. Now I’m not saying you should follow my example. In fact, I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t. But I concluded that if I was to honestly own this place, I should be more than a curiosity seeker. What I’m saying is that some people are owners in name only. They might have something, for instance, from an inheritance, but rarely visit it and value it only for its eventual monetary worth. Getting back to my conclusion: if I was to honestly own this place, I should take ownership – you know, like people do who actually believe something is theirs and that they are in charge of it. Like that. Which meant (in my mind) I needed to be more than a visitor on convenient weekends.

It had begun raining before I went to bed, and I took advantage  of it by setting out some pots and pans to collect the water. Even I am amazed at how well I think ahead sometimes. The next morning I cleaned. Okay, I mostly swept and sprayed the all-purpose cleaner with a “light lemon scent” I’d brought with me all over everything. At least I had rinse water!

I put away things I’d planned to take back with me and locked the door. I’d written my letter of resignation to my employer the night before, but hadn’t sent it. Sometimes spotty cell (and in this case, internet) service can save you from yourself, not that I planned on being saved. You have your personality, I have mine.

I watched my new house grow smaller in the rearview mirror as I drove down the long lane and back to my normal that would never seem normal again.

to be continued . . .

Image: renaud-confavreux-C3_RV_78rGo-unsplash.jpg