across the table and kissed me. Give Me a Break wasn’t the cargo hold of an Asian freighter, but it didn’t really matter.
Ed left for his meeting, and I went back to the house to check in with Cliff and lock up. It was time to shop a little and go home. Cliff was just cleaning up when I walked in.
“You’re done?” I was amazed.
“I told you it’s a very simple process. Unfortunately I only brought the prototype with me. I’m going to install the rest of them in my grandmother’s house in Michigan, and she only needs the motion detector feature. I don’t want her crossing rooms to turn on lights in the dark. Anyway, I’ve programmed yours the same way, to go on when somebody walks in the room and off when they leave. If we were doing more switches I’d hook them into a simple alarm—”
“Not necessary,” I said quickly.
“Anyway, these are the simplest version. But this is all I had with me.”
I was more grateful than he could imagine. And my enthusiasm bubbled over. “Well, thanks,” I said. “You’ve saved me so much work, Cliff. And thanks again for fixing Ed’s train set.”
I guess I laid it on too thick, because his face lit up. “After you left I realized that I’ll have some time late this afternoon and evening. I have more switches than I need for my grandmother, I could put in more.”
“Oh, no, you don’t want to—”
“It’s no trouble. They went in without a hitch. I’ll put in a couple more before we meet back at your house for dinner. I’ll start as soon as my phone calls are finished.”
I was caught. “Oh. Great.” He stood there waiting, and I realized he needed a key. I fished an extra out of my pocket. I’d lucked out and discovered a hardware store that could make copies of our unique original.
We parted outside. He seemed happy. I was resigned. Halfway to my van I realized I’d left my flannel shirt upstairs with the measurements in the pocket. I went back inside and up the stairs. Sure enough, the moment I walked into the room the lights came on. Considering my usual luck, I was surprised and encouraged. I grabbed the shirt and left, but the lights stayed on. I waited a moment in the hall, hoping this was just due to some kind of delay, but nothing happened. Resigned, I went inside and taking the old fashioned approach flipped the switch. The lights went off.
I scooted out the door, but before both feet were over the threshhold, the lights came on again.
We played this game for awhile, the lights and I. The lights won. When I left the Victorian, they were still burning brightly through the upstairs window.
Unless I wanted to drive to one of the strip malls on the outskirts of town, my shopping choices were limited. I needed more wrapping paper, which I could probably find at one of the local pharmacies. I needed a gift for Ginger, which was easier than it sounds since nothing I bought, ranging from a full-length chinchilla coat to a Chia pet, would please her anyway. I decided the pharmacy would suffice for that purchase, as well.
The closest one to the Victorian was a chain store, with nine long aisles of cosmetics, school supplies, and groceries and two short aisles devoted to pharmaceuticals. The staff gives out maps at the door on the long shot a customer might need antacids or antihistamines.
The crowd was thick, but I squeezed my way in and dove for one of the last rolls of Christmas paper, a dull silver sprinkled with demented-looking Santas. I held it against me, arms wrapped tightly around it, in case the desperate-looking mother with two toddlers in a shopping cart made a grab for it. She grabbed the last roll instead, a bright purple foil with yellow and orange candy canes and glared at me.
Next I was faced with finding something for Ginger. After squeezing my way through the aisles I was trying to decide between a Christmas CD of the Vienna Boys Choir—the nice choice—or a DVD of Psycho —the naughty choice—when somebody cleared
Ed left for his meeting, and I went back to the house to check in with Cliff and lock up. It was time to shop a little and go home. Cliff was just cleaning up when I walked in.
“You’re done?” I was amazed.
“I told you it’s a very simple process. Unfortunately I only brought the prototype with me. I’m going to install the rest of them in my grandmother’s house in Michigan, and she only needs the motion detector feature. I don’t want her crossing rooms to turn on lights in the dark. Anyway, I’ve programmed yours the same way, to go on when somebody walks in the room and off when they leave. If we were doing more switches I’d hook them into a simple alarm—”
“Not necessary,” I said quickly.
“Anyway, these are the simplest version. But this is all I had with me.”
I was more grateful than he could imagine. And my enthusiasm bubbled over. “Well, thanks,” I said. “You’ve saved me so much work, Cliff. And thanks again for fixing Ed’s train set.”
I guess I laid it on too thick, because his face lit up. “After you left I realized that I’ll have some time late this afternoon and evening. I have more switches than I need for my grandmother, I could put in more.”
“Oh, no, you don’t want to—”
“It’s no trouble. They went in without a hitch. I’ll put in a couple more before we meet back at your house for dinner. I’ll start as soon as my phone calls are finished.”
I was caught. “Oh. Great.” He stood there waiting, and I realized he needed a key. I fished an extra out of my pocket. I’d lucked out and discovered a hardware store that could make copies of our unique original.
We parted outside. He seemed happy. I was resigned. Halfway to my van I realized I’d left my flannel shirt upstairs with the measurements in the pocket. I went back inside and up the stairs. Sure enough, the moment I walked into the room the lights came on. Considering my usual luck, I was surprised and encouraged. I grabbed the shirt and left, but the lights stayed on. I waited a moment in the hall, hoping this was just due to some kind of delay, but nothing happened. Resigned, I went inside and taking the old fashioned approach flipped the switch. The lights went off.
I scooted out the door, but before both feet were over the threshhold, the lights came on again.
We played this game for awhile, the lights and I. The lights won. When I left the Victorian, they were still burning brightly through the upstairs window.
Unless I wanted to drive to one of the strip malls on the outskirts of town, my shopping choices were limited. I needed more wrapping paper, which I could probably find at one of the local pharmacies. I needed a gift for Ginger, which was easier than it sounds since nothing I bought, ranging from a full-length chinchilla coat to a Chia pet, would please her anyway. I decided the pharmacy would suffice for that purchase, as well.
The closest one to the Victorian was a chain store, with nine long aisles of cosmetics, school supplies, and groceries and two short aisles devoted to pharmaceuticals. The staff gives out maps at the door on the long shot a customer might need antacids or antihistamines.
The crowd was thick, but I squeezed my way in and dove for one of the last rolls of Christmas paper, a dull silver sprinkled with demented-looking Santas. I held it against me, arms wrapped tightly around it, in case the desperate-looking mother with two toddlers in a shopping cart made a grab for it. She grabbed the last roll instead, a bright purple foil with yellow and orange candy canes and glared at me.
Next I was faced with finding something for Ginger. After squeezing my way through the aisles I was trying to decide between a Christmas CD of the Vienna Boys Choir—the nice choice—or a DVD of Psycho —the naughty choice—when somebody cleared
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