Borgman
I am married to Mr. Security. We have an entire plastic tub full of timers. The lights in our house never burn brighter than when we are not home.
I typically spend the day before we go out of town packing. He spends the day setting up timers and reminding me what lights I can and can’t turn on.
The lamp in the family room is off limits. It will go off at 3 a.m. when the light by the piano will come on.
When all the lights in the house have been set on timers, I often resort to a flashlight. If I need to work in the kitchen, I open the refrigerator door to see what I am doing.
It’s not hard to dress in the dark — it’s putting on makeup that’s tough. The challenge is getting an equal amount of concealer under both eyes. When home security is in place, I often look like a one-eyed raccoon.
The light on a cellphone is not as helpful as you might think. You can’t really trust it to distinguish black from navy. Home security puts me at a fashion risk.
We have a motion-activated light on the driveway that works year-round. It floods the driveway with penitentiary-grade lighting every morning at 4 a.m. Cue the guard dogs — the carrier just delivered the newspapers. The poor guy. We tip big at Christmas.
It’s not like Mr. Security works alone. I place a stop on the papers. That’s right, plural. We get the local paper and the Wall Street Journal. Two different companies, two different stops.
I also place a stop on the mail. There’s nothing like returning home after a few days away and having the mail carrier back up to the house and dump a half-ton of junk mail in the driveway.
I have suggested if we really want to make it look like we are home, we should leave some of the grands’ ride toys in the front yard and scatter empty juice boxes on the sidewalk.
Mr. Security said that could attract undue attention. As if the entire house flashing like a rock concert won’t attract attention.
My final job is to activate the neighborhood watch — our neighbor Linda. I text Linda that we will be gone for a few days. She texts back that she thought so because she saw the lights flashing on and off last night.
We are 150 miles out of town when a text arrives saying a package will be delivered tomorrow.
It is from Shutterfly, the company that packages everything in bright orange boxes. So much for going unnoticed.
Thank goodness for Linda.
Lori Borgman is a columnist, author and speaker. Send comments to [email protected].
