Free and Convenient (conclusion)

I spent the better part of an hour nosing around by the meter. I even opened the boxes I had moved for the meter readers, examining every single item which I removed piece by piece. It was a good thing I’d changed out of my pajamas and had a decent pair of shoes on or I would have lost a toenail over a large set of old Star Trek DVDs that slipped from my grasp as I unloaded it. I found nothing in the boxes, but the intermittent beeping continued.

Time slipped away and I would have to figure things out later. I had the luxury of a remote job, but that didn’t mean I could ignore my computer all morning.

The beeping couldn’t be heard on the main floor, and as I mulled it over while frying a small steak and broiling cut-up potatoes sprinkled liberally with seasoning salt, I realized that I probably wouldn’t have noticed it without the visit from Remer Electric’s annoying meter readers because I wouldn’t have been in the basement in the first place. I wouldn’t have noticed it this time, either, but for the boxes I had hurriedly carried down there a couple of weeks ago.

I’d done a little research over my lunch break and discovered the probable source of the beeping, though I could hardly believe it. So after supper, I went outside and squatted to examine the side of my house. There it was: a patched hole in the wall where my meter was installed. Someone had attached the wires (barely covered by shallow trench I should have noticed) from their own home to my circuits!

I marched over to the neighbor closest to that side of my house – he had moved in last August to my recollection – who, after a stuttering denial, admitted he had planned to only temporarily borrow some electricity when he first moved in, but that time had gotten away from him. How convenient.

“Electricity shouldn’t cost anything, anyway,” he continued, “You’re probably unaware of this, but an inventor named . . .”

“Tesla. Nikola Tesla. Yes, I know.”

My neighbor’s eyes lit up.

“No no no no,” I interrupted his excuse. “Tesla is dead . . .”

“As far as you know . . .”

Heaven help me. I had a nerd of the highest order next door. I hurried to get us back on track before he wandered into a wormhole.

“Someone, in fact, is paying for it regardless, and that someone is me. And I have enough keeping up with my bills without paying for yours, too!”

“Only the electricity.”

“Change it back to your house and change it by morning, or I’m reporting you.”

He held up his hand. “Has it occurred to you the sound from your meter could align your entrainment?” In explanation, he added, “I’m a neurologist.”

“I don’t care if you’re a circus clown! Besides, you’ve no need to borrow anything from me with what your paycheck must be.”

“It started out as temporary, remember? I had no intention of stealing anything from you. Please. Let’s discuss this like two reasonable adults.”

Nothing seemed reasonable at the moment: not smart meters, not pesky meter readers tromping through my house, and not sneaky neighbors.

He opened his door wider and motioned me in. Why did I go in? It was an automatic response.

A person should check automatic responses in herself every once in awhile, I realized, as I sipped on an excellent cup of tea and enjoyed a macaron.

It was midnight by the time I returned to my house. My neighbor had turned out to be knowledgeable in more than neurology. Before this, I hadn’t noticed him much. I thought he was an accountant. We ended up having an intriguing discussion bordering on nerdiness of the highest order. It would’ve been embarrassing had anyone listened in. Which they didn’t. That I knew of.

My neighbor must have stayed up into the wee hours because when I woke up and checked, the beeping was gone and the shallow trench had been dug up and covered over again.

It’s been six months. Six months of the pesky meter readers interrupting my first cup of coffee once a month. Six months of lower electric bills. And six months of talking over the fence, shared dinners, and a surprising comradery with my neighbor. And I’ve decided that free and convenient in some things isn’t so bad after all.

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Free and Convenient

“You can’t come here every week!” I said in my most politely agitated voice. The look on the face of the two service people told me they didn’t hear my effort at polite. I tried to sympathize. But seriously? How often did a meter need to be read?

Thinking to myself that everything with the word smart in it was probably smart in favor of someone other than me, I had elected to forego the free and convenient smart meter that would tell the electric company what they needed to know in favor of one that wasn’t smart (according to them). They, of course, needed to install it inside my house. And not being terribly fond of strangers knocking at my door at 7:30 in the morning while I was still in my pajamas trying to enjoy my first cup of coffee, I found their visits less than welcome; and they found them less than welcoming. At least we had something in common. This was the third visit in five weeks, and I was beginning to wonder if Remer Electric had a secret ground game to irritate its uncooperative customers into compliance with their preferences. They were clearly unaware of my ground game of living life on my own terms. Some people might call that crabby. I call it the why am I paying for something that Tesla said should be free in the first place POV. I doubted the meter reader had read anything about Nikola Tesla, but who was I to judge? Everyone knows public utilities are for everyone’s well-being.

After they left I went down to my basement to move back into place the few boxes that had been in the way of them reading the meter. A high pitch followed by a couple of chirpy beeps caught my attention and I stopped long enough to try to determine where it was coming from. The meter? I don’t know much about electric meters, but I’ve lived long enough to know it was unusual for them to make that sort of sound. A quiet hum maybe, but a high-pitched whine? I pulled the boxes away again and examined it. I wasn’t altogether convinced it was the meter. But it was something – what? Attached? Behind?

The problem was going to need another cup of coffee, I reasoned, and I jogged upstairs to fill my cup and get dressed. If I had only known what was ahead, I might’ve done something  more calming, like watching a Star Trek marathon.

to be continued . . .

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The Light

It was so dark he couldn’t see his hand even if he held it in front of his face. At first he hadn’t noticed the gradual encroachment. It was a bit misty, perhaps. Maybe exceptionally cloudy. It was possible he needed his eyes checked. No one believes a lie as easily as the one telling it, but with time his excuses started sounding false even to him. It was dark everywhere lately, and he recalled a place he could get a light to break a path so he at least wouldn’t trip. His grandmother had told him about it – the light – when he was young enough to believe such things existed, and where to find it. He hadn’t given it much thought until now. But now? Now it was all he could think of!

He counted. .7..8..9..10. Ten steps from the base of the storm cellar. He felt around. Brushing through spiderwebs and – eech – surely that was a spider that just ran across the top of his hand – dust, he persevered. Ah! At the back of the second shelf from the top there was something small and about the size he remembered from those years ago. He picked it up. It was a little bigger than an ink pen. He moved his fingers around it until he found what felt like a switch and slid it up with his thumb. Light! A burden he hadn’t known he’d been carrying fell from his body as he looked around the small room. Yes! There. Old canned goods. Metal cans of Folgers. A stack of old wool army blankets. Some matches. He held the light close to them. They looked dry. At that moment the little storm cellar felt like paradise.

After two days of selfish possession there, his conscience tweaked him. The thought of exiting the storm cellar made him a bit nauseous. But, he chided himself, he must. He had friends, even family, who would benefit. And the town just a mile from where he was? They would be thrilled with such an invention! So, too, the towns beyond. But the dark! He dreaded it.

Holding tightly to the light, he set out; first shining it at his feet, then just ahead. And so he made his way to a neighbor’s house at the half mile mark. He wondered if he should knock at the door or call from the yard. What could he do if they tried to wrest it from his grip and hoard it for themselves?! He would not part with the light. No, indeed! He would do whatever necessary to keep it, that was for certain. He needn’t have worried, though, for when his foot stepped on the edge of their property, a light ignited within the house. What? He guessed he didn’t need to stop after all. He approached his sister’s home just a quarter mile ahead. And – another light?! It appeared he hadn’t needed to make this trip in the heavy dark. Still, dark enveloped the town ahead and he continued on. And each time his foot touched a property, a light flickered on in the building it held; sometimes two, sometimes more.

It occurred to him there was a peculiar power in the light he carried that he had not before understood nor even imagined, and that by simply making his minimal effort to bring them the light, a light appeared to them without his further effort.

Soon the town was alight and the darkness seemed to recede.

He plodded on into the suffocating dark ahead. And it happened as before. One step on the property and a light flickered on; house after house, business after business. Somewhere near what he imagined would be the break of dawn except for the forbidding dark, he turned and looked back to where he’d walked. Light! Lights in buildings and on streets! People were venturing out into the glorious open spaces! Over his shoulder a line of darkness still fell. But he knew now that it would yield. Energized, he turned toward it and walked on.

 

Image: pexels-gift-habeshaw-3415211.jpg; pexels-photo-348392.jpeg; mike-ralph-0yIzvpbRFw8-unsplash.jpg; jordan-wozniak-xP_AGmeEa6s-unsplash.jpg; Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on a candlestick, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. Matthew 5:15-16; When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.’ John 8:12; The truth is like a lion; you don’t have to defend it. Let it loose; it will defend itself. Often credited to St. Augustine of Hippo, but the origin is uncertain. Charles Spurgeon is the source of: Let the pure gospel go forth in all its lion-like majesty, and it will soon clear its own way and ease itself of its adversaries. and is a more likely origin.; One basic truth can be used as a foundation for a mountain of lies, and if we dig down deep enough in the mountain of lies, and bring out that truth to set it on top of the mountain of lies, the entire mountain of lies will crumble under the weight of that one truth…from Behold A Pale Horse by Milton William Cooper

A Piece of the Puzzle (A Quick Hello on Rumble and Bitchute)

We all feel like a small piece of a very big puzzle from time to time. It’s true! During the reign of King Josiah of the Old Testament, a prophetess named Huldah was instrumental in doing her part to help the wayward nation of Israel move back toward honoring God’s law. Her name might not be well-known, but her part was important in purifying Israel under King Josiah. You might have a small part in this time in history, but it is nevertheless important. Speak truth.

Veer Right

One day off. That’s all he wanted. Just a day to roam away from the drudgery of daily discipline. He didn’t have many such days. He was dependable and so was his schedule. His fine reputation was, in part, due to keeping commitments he made whether they made sense or not. He sighed. He was tired of commitments. Well he had none today! This would be a treat! He would RELAX. He decided to take an unfamiliar road out of town and came to a five-booth restaurant in a tiny town where he stopped, made small talk with the only other customer, and got a cup of coffee to go.

He was on the road in no time and looked at the scribbles on the paper next to him. The written directions said to veer right, but there was no right – only straight and a left turn that became a frontage road. He shrugged and kept going straight.

Twenty minutes found him with the choice of a dead end or a sharp left onto a gravel road. He took the left turn. It wasn’t a bad road. He just knew it wasn’t the right road. A stray piece of gravel kicked up and made a tiny chip in his windshield. He leaned closer to peer at it, and in doing so, unintentionally veered toward the ditch, but pulled his car back in the nick of time. Turning back may have been prudent, but he’d committed back when he didn’t veer right because there was no veer right to veer. The road turned into blacktop and led to a mid-sized city.

A glass building with an attached outdoor cafe caught his eye, so he pulled into the nearest parking spot. Why not? He was getting hungry. It was close to 11:00. Close enough. As he was finishing his corned beef and swiss on rye, an eerie sound, low and wavering and unyielding emitted from a sewer grate in the street near where he sat. A few customers ignored it and a few others paid and quickly left.

As he drove away, a deafening explosion followed him. The rearview mirror showed light gray billows of smoke. Steam vapor from unseen vents? An explosion of an old boiler? He increased his acceleration and found himself at a roundabout. He hated those things, but took it as a sign.

His reversed course led him back to the original road. He parked alongside the curb, got out and examined the spot. Okay. He had to admit there was a slight road to the right, but it was nearly overgrown by weeds. He excused himself his original choice. It was understandable why he hadn’t noticed it!

A sudden slap on his back made him jump.

“Hey there, buddy! Did you find the place I told you about? Glorious as all get out! My favorite is the waterfall. Boy howdy does it make noise!”

“Noise?” His ears still buzzed from before.

His acquaintance peered at him more closely. “Guys like you should take a break every now and again. You don’t look so good. You must be hungry. There’s a cute little diner back in town. Just take your first left.” He paused and pointed. “You should get that chip in your windshield fixed. Stan’s auto is two doors down from the diner.”

The man thanked him and got back in his car. A day wasted, a damaged eardrum, and a slight case of dyspepsia. Next time he told himself he should keep going because he’d already committed, he’d slap himself silly and veer even if there was no veer to veer.

In fact . . .  He looked at his watch, started his car, and veered right.

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All The Precious Things

There it was: a little cottage at the edge of three acres of meadow backed up near an endless wood. He hadn’t been there in forever. It had existed around the edges of his consciousness, but he was very good at ignoring those kinds of things.

On a February morning he’d decided to throw together a backpack and see what a free weekend would bring. That he found himself there wasn’t altogether a surprise, though at first it took him back a bit. Without his reasoned and logical permission, his feet had wandered where his soul longed to be.

He gained the entrance easily enough though the dead grasses of winter were still high. The door creaked a bit. Dust mixed with melting snow under his feet, and a tiny pinecone skittered across the floor when the bottom of the door bumped it.

He inhaled deeply as he looked around the room. It smelled musty, but felt like home. The fireplace still held a copper pot, now a greenish hue from oxidation, over the grate. Two chairs held conversation on either side, a small table by each. On one of the tables was an open Bible. He blew the dust from it and sneezed. He peered more closely. John 3:16. Of course. Her love of beauty had always mixed with what was basic and practical. But his love hadn’t been anywhere near what hers had been and she’d left; and without her the cottage seemed to lose its light.

He wandered into the bedroom. Nothing had changed. A heavy quilt of autumn’s colors covered the brass bed. He looked in the closet. Oh! So she had been back! A denim jacket hung alone while a small pair of boots rested on the floor underneath. He hurried over to the dresser drawers. Their emptiness pricked him.

His stomach growled and he went to the kitchen. Pots, pans, plates – all there. He pulled some jerky out of his backpack, sat at the table, and allowed his memory to meander over time. He thought back, finally allowing himself to acknowledge what he missed and his own selfish part in losing the best part of his life.

They’d met in high school, dreamed their dreams, married and planned. She’d done her utmost to make their life together full and beautiful. She had a way of making the ordinary delightful. No one could coax laughter from him like she could. He missed the stories she told from the day’s ordeals and discoveries. He missed the scent of her hair, her touch, her barely perceptible intake of breath when she was startled, the soft sound of her voice. He missed their promises to each other. One, a crazy one actually, was that if for some inexplicable reason they were parted, they would move heaven and earth to find each other on Valentine’s Day. At the time he hadn’t given much thought to any of it.

He hadn’t noticed when, but pretty soon she’d stopped; stopped the stories, the beauty, the laughter. And one day when he’d returned from some seemingly important adventure, she wasn’t there. He’d waited. Days. Weeks. He’d straightened things he habitually left strewn around. He’d chopped more wood and done some tasks she’d given up asking him to do. He’d even prayed a little, certain it wouldn’t make a difference. After another month, he left, too. He went to the city and learned the gratification of money and importance.

Sitting alone in the forgotten cottage holding memories he’d pushed away, at last he admitted to himself the pointlessness of it all. And, for the first time in years, tears flowed. He held his head in his hands and bawled like a baby. For the first time, he acknowledged all the precious things. And they were more unseen than seen. Described with words, but untouchable. Loved and treasured, but not stored. Suddenly his weeping stopped. A sound. Familiar. Missed.

Her barely perceptible intake of breath.

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Nephee

He was two people ahead of me in line at the Dollar Store. Some people avoid places like that. I don’t. I just don’t have any extra left over for incidentals like peanuts, and I’m not rich enough to frequent this place because I have such good character that I’m frugal. My arms were full, the result of running in for one thing and ending up with five.

It was hard to miss him. He was taller than most people I’ve seen, and the thought flitted through my brain that a Nephilim might be that size. A small one. He had to be easily over eight feet tall, maybe nine. Probably. Maybe more. I’m not good at visual assessments. He turned and looked at me briefly. Maybe he felt my eyes on his back. If they’d been on his head, I would’ve gotten a crick in my neck. Wimp that I am, I automatically looked down. I shouldn’t have, because when I looked up again he was gone. Well that was a quick check-out. I didn’t even see what he’d bought!

I saw him again as I was unlocking my car. He slid into a Toyota. Don’t ask me how he fit. I lost track of him as I exited the parking lot and thought nothing more of it. As I drifted off to sleep that night, though, I saw his face, big as all get out, right in front of me. Just great. Why does your mind do things like that when you’re all cozy and sleepy and ready for dreamland? By the time my heart had slowed to its usual rhythm and I’d counted more sheep than a border collie, I’d lost half the night.

I was a little jittery the next day – maybe from the coffee I drank to replace my poor sleep or maybe from fear. Yep. I’m admitting it. I couldn’t shake the sight of him though I hadn’t seen him since the Dollar Store parking lot.

I started calling him Nephee to dissolve whatever mysteriousness I was feeling about the whole thing. If he popped into my thoughts, I fell into the habit of thinking, Oh there you are, Nephee. Where’ve you been? You missed that big snowstorm we had the other day!. Like that. It helped.

I’m not saying I was avoiding the Dollar Store, but I hadn’t been back for awhile. I finally worked up the courage to return. I know this sounds ridiculous. But you didn’t see him nor did his face pop up in front of you when all you wanted was to sleep. It was becoming a thing, and it needed to be nipped in the bud! I coached myself as I scanned the parking lot for Toyotas. Just go in and get some Blue Dawn and check out. Easy peasy.

Well you know how it is in those places. Before I knew it, I’d picked up a gift bag,  light bulbs, and an eight-pack of pens. That’s when I saw him. His tall self was two aisles over and heading to the check-out. Why was the Blue Dawn in absentia today of all days, now of all times!!! I finally found it and got in line. Of course. My place was right behind Nephee. I could feel him start to turn before he actually did, but decided I would NOT back down no matter how tall he was. I had as much right to be here as he did. In fact, more. I’d lived in this town forever. Interloper!

“Hey there!”, I said when he turned. We were fast friends. His lip curled and he grunted. I craned my neck to see what he was buying. Nothing! He grabbed a candy bar at checkout. I don’t know why I felt so angry, but I did. His presence was messing up whatever peace I thought I had in my life to begin with which, let’s be honest, wasn’t as pervasive as one might hope.

“I hear the weather’s nice in Miami this time of year. Maybe you should visit.” I mumbled.

I haven’t seen him since.

Image: baptist-standaert-mx0DEnfYxic-unsplash; beverage-black-and-white-black-coffee-2360894.jpg; Genesis 6:4; Numbers 13:33; https://youtu.be/dxZGbsP6ZeM?si=VYr3uBM5z5RFC22-; https://youtu.be/ERx-sP-Aezk?si=6VZFIX-3Nka6AW_i; https://youtu.be/1zz8_MxcnzY?si=aTNi73bVR_y5angJ

Resigned to Fate

“No miracles”, the doctor’s words
resounded in his mind;
And so he sat, resigned to fate,

a furrow on his brow;
He thought of all the hardship, first;

and then of blessed time;
And if, he wondered, good was then,

why could it not be now?

So through the night he tussled with
an inconvenient thought;
If blessing came despite it all,

then from where did it stem?
Or Who, perchance, worked happiness

where darkness should have been?
And if the good was giv’n, not chance,

did it matter when?

Should good days be at certain times?
And hard ones destined, too?
Or did they intertwine to make

a puzzle or a song?
He’d not believed it, not one day,

God was for the weak;
Yet in this hour, he wondered if,

yes, if he’d been quite wrong.

And as the sun peeked from the dark and
brightened up the sky;
A prayer – yes! – from his hardened heart

rang through quiet space;
And His Creator, smiled to watch him

stand and utter “why?”
Giv’n was he the answer sure:

My mercy, love, and grace.

Dear Reader, there are times when hope seems lost or when we might be tempted to relegate miracles to another time and other people. It is not so! The God who created the universe and who reached down even to earth as a baby in a manger, is more than able to work in His beautiful creation however He desires and, truly, at the request of His child – you.

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Jubilee

She knew it was a Jubilee year: a 50 year marker in which debts are forgiven, land is restored, and captives are freed isn’t easily missed. At least not for her. Her parents had named her Jubilee, after all. When she was young, she told her friends to call her Jules. Not many knew her given name. But with her 50th birthday only a few days away, the Jubilee called to her.

Oh sure. Some people, maybe even most, believed the Jubilee was dismissed with the scattering of her people. It might’ve been because of her name, but she disagreed. A Jubilee was a Jubilee! And she could use one just now.

Her nation felt anything but celebratory. She, herself, had been yanked from her home only a couple of months ago. The person with her had been killed within two days, so she was alone. She was kept in a cage in the attic of a teacher sympathetic to the cause of her nation’s attacker and given a little rice to eat on some days, nothing on others. One day she’d been forced to eat toilet paper. She’d seen things she wished she could forget, but they haunted her dreams. She needed a rescuer. She prayed for a rescuer! So many prayers.

Her people had been promised one would come, hadn’t they? The prophets had said so! Along with everyone else, she waited for Messiah to come. It was surely not the one who had come 2,000 years ago! Absolutely not! An imposter, more like. Even considering the possibility made her feel disloyal to her heritage.

But something pinged her conscience; yes, even in her present desperate state. What if she was wrong? What if His followers were right?

Then one night she had seen someone in a dream. If she had to admit it, she would. It was the One some called the Messiah, Jesus! She immediately knew she had been wrong about Him. He spoke to her about how delightful her name was. His voice had a tenderness in it she had never experienced. He was very kind, but with an edge. The edge told her that rescue was on the way.

She listened hard all the next day. And the next. Maybe she had only imagined things? She shrank down and sat in a corner. But then! Then the attic door burst open and some masked men yanked her out of the cage and hurried her to their vehicle. As dust filled her mouth and nose and the cold made her shiver, she wondered what fate awaited her.

But that dream had been so real! It gave her hope. And if hope is in the form of being pushed out of a vehicle onto her homeland, then she would embrace it with all her heart. And more; she would forever embrace the One who gave it to her!

She ate birthday cake that night with her family and told everyone to let go of her childhood name, Jules, for she wanted always to be called Jubilee! And another thing. They would celebrate Christmas. Oh yes they would. There would be no argument! For Christmas, she told them, is a time of miracles and she knew the Man of miracles; for she had met Him – kinder than her best friend, stronger than a storm, and He had given her one.

*Some believe beginning September, 2023 is the 70th and final jubilee year in the Biblical timeline. This author is one of them; Image: mads-schmidt-rasmussen-v0PWN7Z38ag-unsplash.jpg; juan-encalada-RSyYMb5Km_k-unsplash-scaled.jpg

Buyer’s Remorse (conclusion)

Deeds! There had been an actual treasure trove of stuff underneath the floorboard, but deeds – as in plural – were what caught my attention. I wondered, and not for the first time, if the information I was finding in the house had been hidden out of distress or laziness. I couldn’t tell. What I could tell, however, was that I apparently owned more than I had initially believed and most probably what the seller had known about as well.

I also learned that there was a tunnel starting behind what I had originally thought were just boards to supply a sort of underpinning to the root cellar. One Saturday I took a flashlight and a broom for both spiderwebs and weaponry – okay, I know (But still) and explored it. It traveled underneath the sleeping porch and then another two or so miles and ended at the far end of an old-fashioned covered bridge (I own a covered bridge!). I’m still not sure why someone dug a tunnel, and a long one (at least to me) at that. I found nothing to smuggle from my house and wondered what had been of such value or danger in the past. So many whys.

But I do know a thing or two about deeds and I confirmed my ownership of the additional property I hadn’t known about.

I couldn’t do things as quickly as I would have liked, because I still had to sort out “the delicate matter” to which I’d been assigned. Looking back, I should’ve figured things out more quickly. But I didn’t. I blame myself for that, but I also forgive myself for it because all of God’s children sometimes stumble even with the lights on. It took 7 days straight of waking up at 4 a.m. before it clicked. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d heard the term 4 a.m. talking points. It must have tweaked my unconscious until I made a waking connection. Once I did, I could see clearly that the information I was given – the talking points as my subconscious told me – wasn’t the whole story. I won’t discuss the matter other than to say I found myself having to confront my boss and resign from my job and what lately had been a decent remote work arrangement. Oh I could’ve stayed and lived with the pretense that I hadn’t connected him to the matter needing discretion. I could’ve kept my mouth shut. I had done so in the past, and that’s probably why he gave me the assignment. But having learned about courage from the former inhabitants of this place, I couldn’t very well do it now. Finding myself in the line of owners of this crumbling edifice, for some reason I didn’t want to let them down. I became an independent contractor and found more than enough remote work to stay at my new old rundown home. I can assert it is no longer new to me, but it is still definitely rundown.

It’s been a year! One year ago today I bought a house sight unseen. It was a ridiculous decision, and I clearly understood the term buyer’s remorse the minute I pulled in front of my ill-considered purchase. Do I still have buyer’s remorse? About the house – yes, indeed. It’s terrible and will take more time and money than I want to invest to make it comfortable and appealing. But I bought more than I knew.

And this is what I learned: The things in this life that we are given to own may look to us like a tumbledown bit of nothing. They may appear without merit or too far gone to salvage. And yet. And yet what is hidden from us, what is unseen, and what, if we make the effort to uncover, we eventually discover is far greater than what meets the eye.

Now excuse me while I drink a cup of coffee, enjoy my lemon poppy seed scone, and watch the sunset. Oh yes – and admire the sign I placed in front of my house just this afternoon. It is the name I have given my property: Hole In The Wall.

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