The Housesitter Chronicles

It's almost more trouble than it's worth, getting the housesitter up to speed.  But we have animals depending on us (not the gophers and ground squirrels, they seem to do fine on their own). And we have a garden - a rather large garden.

So the housesitter comes to learn how everything works. And since it is hot, and since we are trying to get some miles in our legs (and other body parts thank you for noticing) before the day is scorching hot, she comes at dawn. On a Sunday. And of course in showing her how the alarm works it goes off. And in the interest of education, and making sure she can turn it off when we are gone, we let her turn it off. This takes a while.

Sunday morning in the suburbs. When the alarm finally quits banging and screaming we peer out the front door. The street is full of neighbors in bathrobes looking slightly stunned. They look like they have just emerged from a chrysalis and are not sure what to do next. Blinking at the bright light of day. Not happy. Definitely not happy. As one usually pleasant neighbor pointed out "It's not even eight effing o'clock. On Sunday effing morning." In fairness he does have unruly children who were probably up until dawn, and he was clearly caffeine deprived.

A few jars of homemade jam, a liberal distribution of home baked cookies and neighborhood harmony is restored.  When we last saw her the housesitter was prone in front of the TV watching QVC, the alarm had been conquered and the neighbors all fully caffeinated. Harmony restored. And we are off to ride the Tour de France with Butterfield and Robinson. Makes my tushie sore just contemplating it.