Is Anybody Home?

 

What makes a house a home?

Is it really just walls, rugs, a well used couch and a somewhat ok bed, is that drawer in the kitchen that we used to call a ” utility drawer ” until we come to the realization that a drawer full of sort of used  birthday candles and expired coupons for hot dog buns and fondue skewers for a fondue pot that disappeared back in 1984 wasn’t full of helpful items to anyone except  maybe one of those geniuses that can make nuclear reactors in their garage with salt, wire and lots and lots of tinfoil.

I suppose you could say those things contribute to making our houses a home.

But all of us know what makes a house a home are the things that live and die inside of it.

A mixture of humans, pets and in some cases reptiles, birds and fish can make a family.

They all have wishes and dreams and hopes and all of them can close their eyes or have them shut by someone else and Death can stand there in his dark robe, scythe in hand   and wonder why the candy dishes are full of empty candy wrappers from three Halloweens ago  and phone chargers that might still work  and NO candy.

I have always believed that if your house doesn’t have a ghost or two, if there aren’t stories about a body buried in the basement or next to the house where the garbage cans are then I am sorry for you.

You have a house, a home you have a place to stash your unread books and clothes that don’t fit anymore. It’s a place to keep the rain off of your head and has a door to shut firmly against the infamous wolf who finds it’s way to a door or two or three, so songs and stories say.

I have a home where the doors open and shut for no reason at all, I have a black cat with round yellow eyes named Darwin and a dog named Hamish Macbeth, I listen to Opera when it rains and Swing music when I’m happy.  I have a collection of books near my dining room stacked neatly  wrought iron  shelf that I was inherited from a dead woman I thought I knew well.

The spines on my books have been carefully broken over the years my books and they are all  about Voodoo, Santeria and  Embalming, Astronomy and people with adventure in their veins and darkness where their hearts used to be.

I also have  a collection coloring books that are almost completed- some have pictures of cupcakes.

I have a thing for cupcakes.

My dreams may be dark and my humor is suspect in some social circles but for all of my strangeness and quirks I have a home just like everyone who lives on my street and on streets just like it

And I haunt it every single night.

Daily Addictions Prompt: Resident

Count On It

Photo by Jonathan Petersson on Pexels.com

When I was learning to play board games and card games I always lost.

I.

Always.

LOST.

No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much effort I put into it

I.

Always.

LOST.

The crazy thing is, I kept getting board game and decks of cards for birthday presents and Christmas presents  and it was a joke because when my family set the game up anyone could predicate that

I.

Was.

Going.

To.

LOSE.

 

This little note about me  was as predictable and it was a solid stone cold fact that when we went out for a meal my baby sister would always spill her drink.

Every.

Single.

Time.

 

The Sun will rise, the Moon will set, the planets will twirl.

And

I will always lose at games.

 

After years of never wining a

Single.

Solitary.

Game.

I refused to play games anymore.

Because

I

Was.

Always.

Going.

To Lose.

 

I

Think

I have learned a

lesson- whether it was a good lesson or a bad lesson isn’t the point because in the end

the epitaph on any tombstone will say that

 

She.

Never.

Played Games.

 

This is not  such a bad way to be  remembered.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Daily Addictions Prompt: PREDICT

 

What Did He See?

 

Photo A.M. Moscoso

I am sure there was nothing out there

watching me and my dog.

I am sure it was nothing

that made him snarl

like a nasty ill tempered cur.

Maybe it was only  the wind

that made the bushes near the fence stir

maybe it only a bird or  mouse

that cried out and stopped suddenly  silenced perhaps by the chilly nighttime air.

I am sure there was nothing out there

that isn’t there during the day.

But I still don’t know what it was

Hamish saw

that turned his eyes dark and fiery red.

 

RDP Prompt: Pet

 

Surprised

 

Over the Christmas holidays I asked my friends for their real addresses so that I could send them Christmas cards.

I was surprised by how many people told me that  they were excited about getting mail, actual real mail that you can touch, delivered by the Post Office at Christmas time.

I thought that reaction was fun and interesting to experience because ‘sending out cards’ had slolwy turned into one more thing we felt like we ‘had to do’ during the holidays and then e-cards came along and that was that

This somewhat unfashionable ritual made  feel a bit nostalgic  for the ‘old days’  and once I sent my cards out  I put it out of my mind until my friend who lives in Australia sent me a card and some Lifesavers in flavors that we don’t have here in the States and what can I say?

This dark little thundercloud was tickled pink and that made an overlooked, formally time honored tradition fun again.

Photo A.M Moscoso

Photo A.M.Moscoso

 

Ghost Of An Idea

 

Photo A.M Moscoso

When I worked at a graveyard I used to hold back the urge to knock on the tombstones and mausoleum doors

and ask

” Is anybody there? Is anybody home?”

I wondered then and I wonder now,  what I would I have done  if someone had answered:

” Yes I am, why don’t you come on in and sit with me for awhile.”

That’s not the part that  stopped me from putting my hand to stone and asking if anyone was at home with their eyes capped shut and  their once fine clothes, selected by care and sometimes duty now covered by dusting of  mold and their small dark world  surrounded and filled  by a spider web of  decay.

The thing that puzzled me, that stopped,  me was wondering was

why was I always so sure I would say

Yes.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Daily Addictions Prompt: Decay