Tales of Homeownership: A Warm Abode

Wednesday, Jan. 17, 2018

1:27 a.m. (approx.)

The best part of this situation is the itinerary: I have my ski coat, my snow pants, thermal socks and extra pair of normal socks, a SU hoodie and my stylish green coat. I have two shovels, one that’s cracked from shoveling this year and the other is new. The latter is ergonomic, but this is irrelevant in this case.

There is firewood — two bundles and a bundle of kindling — on this porch. I can shovel my way to the middle of the yard and build a fire to stay warm. The only things missing are matches or flint. If I could remember how to start a fire from two pieces of wood, I’d do that. Alas, I have no twine. There is newspaper in the recycle bin, which is right next to the bin for empty deposits and a bag of cat poop, which I clearly forgot to bring out to the garbage.

Speaking of cats: Roosevelt is currently meowing and staring at me through the window of porch door, which has a series of vertical square window panes. He’s clearly hungry and wondering why the fuck I’m not coming inside the house.

I tell him to flip the latch, but there is no latch to unlock the door. Yes, this is probably a fire hazard.

~

Thursday, Jan. 18, 2018

Mom: Good thing I was sleeping on this side [she demonstrates]. I would have never heard your text come through. Why didn’t you call?

Me: Because you would have thought something terrible happened on a Wednesday … and wondering why I was up at that hour.

~

Wednesday, Jan. 17, 2018

1:30 a.m.

A great part of having your own house is being able to pee on the side of it in the early morning hours when you really have to go. Hide behind a bush and go to town. Melt some snow with a yellow laser beam. Being in such a desperate situation and the frigid temperatures that morning, I was standing in the light of the motion sensor.

1:31 a.m.

I start shoveling a path through shin-height snow around the perimeter of the house, so I can move easily and not get snow inside my boots. I’ve always wanted a moat. My neighbors will be jealous.

1:17 a.m. (approx.)

I get to my back door. As a plume of smoke erupts from my mouth, I reach for my house keys. My eyes dart back to the garage; the door is just shutting.

This isn’t good.

~

Thursday, Jan. 18, 2018

img_5053

My house keys. [Photo C. Malone]

Mom: I get this text at 1:48 a.m.[verified as I’m writing this post], saying “Locked myself out of the house. Bring the extra keys.” Didn’t you bury an extra one in case this would happen?

Me: Yeah, you told me to. I didn’t.

Dad: Even if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to find it in the snow.

Me: Good thought. I didn’t think of that either.

~

Wednesday, Jan. 17, 2018

1:32 – 1:40 a.m.

I easily travel around the house via shoveling snow. Unfortunately, none of the windows are open. Fortunately, none of the windows are open. (The neighborhood is a great, safe place. However, you can’t take chances with this society.)

The window to my office is seemingly open, but I cannot push the window up. Fortunately, I can’t push the window up. See previous comment.

I return to the porch, take a look around and take in what I have in case I have to sleep outside. Calling my folks at the moment is not the best idea, but I’ll send a text. It’s less intrusive and it’s not sudden enough to yield panic.

I’ll sleep on this porch if I have to.

~

Thursday, Jan. 18, 2018

Mom: Keep your house keys on your car keychain. It’s what normal people do.

~

Wednesday, Jan. 17, 2018

1:51 a.m.

I really need to combine my key chains.

~

Friday, Jan. 19, 2018

12:15 p.m.

I really need to combine my key chains. [Publishes post.]

2 thoughts on “Tales of Homeownership: A Warm Abode

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