I do the reach around.
As in, before stepping foot into the basement I reach my arm around the corner, feel for the lights, and turn them on before entering the room.
It’s not a creepy basement. It’s finished. Bright. Carpeted. Cheery. It’s one of the things I liked right away when we were looking at this house. Comparatively, I remember the basement of that old house we looked at on Carlton. Aside from the flickering lights and the general horror movie setting of brick walls and creaky steps–perfect for a young girl to run down when being chased by the guy from “Scream!”–there was a mysterious wood door in the corner. Timidly, I looked closer. On the door there was carving of a man. “What’s this?” I’d asked the realtor pointing to the drawing, my voice as high as a singing Chipmunk’s. She didn’t know. “Where does it lead?” She tried the knob. It was locked. More storage? she suggested, and as she escorted us back up the stairs, cautioning me with my then ever-growing belly, she teased in that chummy reaching-for-a-connection-from-a-realtor-to-buyer way, “you know, no one has ever noticed that door before!”
Which makes me think, maybe other people’s minds don’t go there…
Maybe people go to bed without thinking maybe, just maybe, the clown from “Poltergeist” is underneath.
A friend of mine sleeps with a screwdriver under her pillow. True story. The Princess and the Pea got nothing on her. When she’s home alone she’s afraid of robbers and bad men coming in through her bedroom window.
When I’m home alone, I’m scared of Candyman coming in through my vanity mirror.
Different things are scary to different people.
I’m not into Halloween. It’s not my thing. I dress like a fool every day of the year, no need to have a special day for it. And all of the scary decorations and yards transformed into mini cemeteries complete with grim reapers and tombstones? No thanks. I’ll pass on the front lawn of death.
This year Halloween may be rescheduled. (Yes, I just learned, we can do that in the suburbs! The Grinch wasn’t successful in stealing Christmas because he was a one-man operation. Here in the ‘burbs, we organize!)
You guys may have noticed the heavy rain this morning. The strong wind. The gallons of water and cases of canned soup and crank radio and flashlights and battery-powered lanterns and generator on hand.
Here comes Hurricane Sandy.
You guys will be two on Thursday, and this will be your second hurricane. (A hurricane for each year, aw!) For Hurricane Irene, we were without power for a week. This time, we are not messing around. (See? That’s what you do with these bad experiences, you learn.)
Your dad and I don’t know what the next few days holds for us.
In the past before children or even marriage our storm plan may have been to start with bloody mary’s and then move on to wine, now, as homeowners with two small children, it’s remarkably different.
We prepped as much as we could, but this is a circumstance beyond our control.
The massive trees lining our property are swaying back and forth.
As I type, the lights are flickering, and not from Candyman.
Brace for impact, the newscasters say.
We hope for the best.
I think everyone would agree, this is scary.
Fingers crossed for safety…
Oh, and I hope you guys like soup.