Coming Home

I’m officially home, looking at my neighbors’ yards and a beautiful moon that’s hanging in the sky. It’s only 7:30, but I ventured out, down to the corner and yes, it’s officially cold. Somewhere in the thirties, I’m sure, but not as cold as Nome where my son and his family live, where last night it dipped below the zero mark. Complaining about the weather does nobody any good, so I’ll clam up about it.


Last summer my dishwasher sprang a leak and floors turned wavy and curly, so while I was gone, I had some floor renovation done. My kids suggested that I have the interior of my house painted while my furniture was out, and they dutifully toted everything someplace, but that meant that I came home to an empty house which sent chills up my spine. They moved everything back in for me, but now, I can't find anything. My bedsheets disappeared. My clocks disappeared. I have lamps that don’t work (some don’t turn on and some don’t turn off) and at least a half dozen boxes that are filled with stuff I have never seen before. I have no idea what to do with the four boxes of electronic cords that are sitting in the middle of the living room. Surely I don’t have that many electronic devices. I found three VCR’s, oops, I miscounted and found four and I don’t remember how to use them, not to mention a half dozen flip phones that are defunct. Who besides my husband Tom, RIP, used a flip phone in the past decade?


I had several bottles of wine in the cupboard when I left and now, they are gone. Did someone hide them or drink them? My refrigerator, of course, was empty, except for a few staples, which are now, of course, outdated. I plunked my mask on and went to Albertson’s. It wasn’t too busy, and I was able to find what I thought was on my list that I had, of course, left at home and now my refrigerator looks more appealing.


I still had no television access and although I like Netflix, I don’t like watching movies on my phone, so I called my kids, and pleaded with them to reconnect me with the local networks. They all came by and in a quick minute, the television was working, but still no local stuff. They suggested that I move my television to another wall which would fit the room better. I agreed and my helpful son-in-law said “Easy peasy, Gail.”


I looked at the various connections that were sprouting from a hole in the floor, and said, “What do you mean, easy peasy?”


He smiled, “Just go into the crawl space and move the wires and connection.” What part of 75 years old, achy knees and no wine did he not understand?


My knees began throbbing at the thought of going into the crawl space, so I looked at my teenage grandson and said, “Can you do that for me?”


He laughed and said, “Not me, there are black widows down there, Grandma.” I don’t really think there were black widows, but I agreed that something creepy crawly could be down there.


Now I’m on the phone with a television service provider who probably speaks more languages than I do and is asking all kinds of questions about boxes and wires and things that I don’t know about. She insisted on speaking to my husband, which wasn’t going to happen, but she was like a pit bull after a pork chop, and finally several supervisors later, she agreed that she didn’t need to talk to him.


Ninety minutes and three phone transfers later, they promised that the television will be connected sometime soon, but in the meantime, I’ll put on my mask, bundle up and go for a walk. I’m glad to be home and will even be happier when everything gets reconnected.


If you enjoy Wrinkly Bits, please share. Also, please join me in the mask wearing!