Most summers my wife and son travel up to her home state of Michigan to stay for a few weeks. If you’ve never spent a summer in Michigan than you are missing out. Unlike the hot, humid, misery we have in Georgia, it is a heavenly outdoor playland. The temperatures are cool and crisp in the morning and warm enough in the afternoon to take a dip in a crystal clear creek or lake. The only crystal clear water I’ve ever seen in Georgia is either in a swimming pool or toilet bowl, but don’t get me wrong, I still love it.
The drive up to Michigan from Georgia takes about 16 hours if you do it straight through. Not something I really look forward to but sometimes flying isn’t an option. Last year we drove up there and I had to come back earlier. I left early in the morning and set forth to make a record time of 14 hours. I stopped two times for gas and finally made it home right around dusk. I was tired, dehydrated, and delirious.
When I am not under the direct supervision of my better half, I have a tendency to make poor decisions. I’ve been conditioned not to do dumb things when I’m under a watchful eye but when that eye is a thousand miles away I start to revert to my feral instincts.
I entered my house after the journey and sat in the silence for a while. It was almost dark and I needed to get the mail. I was just in my underwear, because, I could be. Somehow I managed to lock the door behind me on the way out and when I tried to get back in, I realized my keys...were in the house, in my pants. Luckily I had my phone in my hand (that’s where it always is) and I called my wife to see where the spare keys were. But she didn’t answer because when I’m not around she tends to forget about me as well. I call and call and nothing. I have no idea where the spare keys are, I’m not even certain there is a pair.
You never realize how secure your house is until you’re shut out. Barefoot, I tiptoed around my front yard to see if there was another way in. Every door and window was locked on the first floor. I thought maybe I could get in through a second-story window, I never recall locking them. My house is two stories but it is built into a very steep ravine so, from the backyard, bottom to top is about five stories. In order to get to the second-story windows, I had to get out my industrial-sized ladder which weighs about 100lbs.
Barefoot, tired, and now a storm is rumbling in the background, I move the ladder to all my front windows. All locked. I lug this big ladder around the back through gravel, pine straw, and poison ivy to every back window. Now it’s raining and to make matters worse my backyard is full of Oak trees which have an infestation of red oak worms. These worms are really goofy looking caterpillars whose only function is to eat and poop little green balls of goo which are now also raining down on me. I carefully climb up the ladder almost slipping off a few times, feet caked with worm excrement and I can’t tell if the windows are locked or not because of the way the screens are installed. I pry the screens off and of course, they’re all locked.
I am so tired at this point that when I try to take the ladder down I almost drop it on my shoulder in a way that would have decapitated me, so I leave that thing there until one day before my wife returns home. Soaking wet in my underwear it is time to make a decision, do I take a crowbar to my door or break a window? I’ve never done either but figured glass is easier to repair. I take a hammer to the window and break out a panel. This sends glass shattering into a billion pieces all over the floor. I cut my hand and arm and then get glass stuck in my feet when I finally get back in.
The minute I sit down after getting cleaned up and try to figure out how much it’s going to cost to fix the window, I get a call. It’s my wife. I tell her what happened. She tells me I should know where the keys were. They were under the doormat in the garage, right in front of the window I busted out...I should know because I was the one that put them there…Is it my fault I forgot this fact, or hers because she didn’t pick up the phone...You can guess what I think..
I learned something from this. I learned how to repair a broken window. I also learned that not all window glass is the same. Now there is a little gap between the moulding trim and the pane, which makes a rattling sound every time I close the door. But thank goodness it does because it always reminds me to keep my pants on and my keys in my pocket.