My neighbors must really wonder about who lives in our house.
They rarely see me in the light of day. When I am at home, which lately has been only about one or two weekends a month, I walk the dog late in the evening. When I leave by car, it’s from inside our garage. The same goes for my husband … dog walks and car trips, though he is home more than I am. The neighbors see our dog more than they see either of us, as Toby loves to lie on the front lawn soaking up the Florida sunshine and watching the kids walk home from school.
Growing up, everyone’s house seemed to have a name. Schaeffer’s house, Freda’s house, the crabby lady’s house. Do they call our house the Dog-with-no-Parents House? I’ll see people look into our glass front doors as they’re walking by, probably thinking to themselves “Does anyone really live here?”
When we are outside, it’s always at the back of the house on the patio; rarely does anyone see us in the front yard. Even more rare is to the see the both of us together. My car service picks me up early in the morning, brings me home late at night. I almost never leave my house in the middle of a day for a flight.
This weekend is one of the rare occasions where I’m home. I just walked to the mailbox across the street — during broad daylight! Will I become the talk of the neighborhood dinner tables tonight with “I swear, I DID see a woman coming out of that house!”
So while I unpack from last week’s trip and start to get ready for my next, here’s a photo to show my neighbors that Yes, I Do Live Here!
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