There are some advantages to working from home. No particular wardrobe is required. Blue jeans and yoga pants, which I have actually done some yoga in, and a t-shirt work just fine. I don't have to fix my hair, especially during gnat season, because the styling product I use becomes a giant gnat magnet.
The only downside to working from home is the lack of communion with people. I can go for days without talking to anyone, except my husband. Sometimes I can see his eyes begin to glaze over when I relate what species of bird visited the feeder.
I stepped outside yesterday to take a break and I could hear something. It was a beeping noise. I listened and was trying to figure out if it was a piece of my equipment making the sound. It did not sound like anything that has a residence in my residence, but there was something vaguely familiar about it. The beeping had a rhythm, three beeps and a pause.
Mr. Henry lives catty-corner from me, in the same block. He is a kind old gentleman and on occasion we visit over the fence while he tends to his flowers. The beeping sound was coming from his house and I was trying to remember what it was. I sent a text to his son, saying that I thought the alarm was sounding and he sent a text back that he was headed that way. I decided to go over anyway, just to check on him, when my phone rang. My youngest daughter, who had been jogging, said, "Mom, that thing at Mr. Henry's is beeping and I think I smelled smoke."
Suddenly I remembered, the sound was Mr. Henry's smoke alarm. I could smell the smoke before I reached the house. I've watched enough movies about fires to know that throwing open the door is not always a good idea. Luckily, the inside kitchen door was open and the screen door was not latched. I went into the kitchen, yelling for Mr. Henry. The kitchen was full of smoke and it did not take long to find the source. There on the stove was Mr. Henry's lunch, boiled beyond recognition. I was still yelling for Mr. Henry as I removed the pan and turned off the burner. That's when I noticed the whole downstairs was full of smoke.
I yelled again, still no answer. By this time I'm thinking that I really do not want to find out that Mr. Henry has left this world for a better place. I yell again. Finally, he answered.
Mr. Henry had put some soup on the stove and went to bed. After some family members arrived and I explained what had happened, I was leaving and I heard "What are we going to do with you, Grandpa?" and he answered "I don't know." As I walked home I thought about how this could have been a tragic situation, but in a sense, it was. It was a pretty certain bet that Mr. Henry just lost his independence.
We grow up in a society that encourages us to be independent, to follow our our dreams, to march to our own drum. Before we know it, the time creeps by and suddenly we find ourselves in the "golden years" and far too often, we find ourselves alone.
I'm thinking the golden years ain't looking too shiny.....so I told my kids to just strap a pair of antlers on my head and turn me loose in the woods during deer season........and pray for a good marksman.
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