Waiting for the coffee machine to finish its ridiculously pompous and overly complicated process brought to mind the safe and the Yosemite Sam look alike. Looking out the back windows confirmed that the safe was still there. Such a condition brought a sense of unwanted satisfaction that, at least it, was not all a fantasy.
The almost soundless chime of the machine let me know it was time to provide direction on my preference. I could have a latte, cappuccino, cafe au lait, or coffee. Since there are rules in many parts of the world on having a cappuccino in the morning, I selected the two-cup serving of Samatra Dark Roast. Sputters and spurts followed by an aromatic stream of the stuff that’s going to save my life. A finish with a creamy head, and it is ready to drink.
Two sips in, and predictably my phone signals the arrival of someone on the front porch. My new signage that says GO AWAY doesn’t appear to have registered on the latest interloper. A click of the speaker switch allows the question. “Who goes there?” (one of my fantasy phrases that lie in waiting for the perfect opportunity)
Not an expected answer. My sigh and response begged for a minute to go through the unlocking process. The visitor also sighs but agrees. The process is more complex this week with the addition of a heat-seeking anti-tank rocket system. The iron gate is opened, bar raised, concertina wire pulled back, claymore mines deactivated, auto boiling oil system cut off, machine guns paused, anti-tank system on standby, Trebuchet disengaged, door bolts thrown, and locks undone. The front door opens, and before me stands the guy that looks like Yosemite Sam.
“Your daggone POA woke me up this morning in my home demanding to know when the safe was going to be moved.”
“What did you tell them?”
“To mind their dadgum business. A man’s home is his castle. So I ran him off with an invitation to dance to the tune of my 45s.”
Now there are real problems to consider. Not only is there a non-compliant housing unit half buried in the backyard but an insane resident who makes people dance with his pistols. Sam hands me an envelope and, like last week, disappears around the corner of the house. I open the envelope to find a warning by the POA to get rid of the safe or face a fine. Attached to the back of the envelope is another message from Linda Hill. It reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “home.” Use it as a noun, a verb, an adjective, or an adverb. Enjoy!
If you want to “enjoy,” visit Linda’s blog and read how easy it is. Here is the link.
Home by John W. Howell © 2022
“Sam is still there?”
“Well, someone who looks like Sam.”
“Why don’t you tell him to go home.”
“He thinks the safe is his home.”
“Get rid of his home then.”
“Easier said than done. No one wants to move a safe. Home or not.”
“Did you try a home mover?”
“Now, that idea just struck home with me.”
“That’s a clumsy sentence.”
“All’s fair in love and prompts. I’m going to call one.”
“Since when do you listen to me?”
“When you serve up ideas that hit home runs.”
“Speaking of ‘serve.'”
“I know my turn to buy. Call Uber.”
“On speed dial.”