Unexplainable

When Bill and I found this house two years ago, we knew it was special. It had a special feel about it. Bill said he 'felt' the house the minute he stepped into it and knew it was the one. I've always felt it exude a warm welcome and frankly, have a hard time leaving it. It always makes me wants to cry and feels like the house is saying, "Don't go!"

Maybe you're saying to yourself, "That's nuts! Houses don't have feelings. They're just wood and stone." Ah, but maybe you're wrong.

Of course, the thing I love most about this house is the sunroom. That's what hit Bill too when he first toured it. The sunroom facing the southeast and Apache Leap mountain blazing down on it. The first time I saw it, I knew that room was special and that's why I loved the house. The sunroom was originally the living room back when the house was first built. Later, it was remodeled to include another living/dining area and a bathroom. So the first living room, what we call the sunroom, was left as sort of a formal sitting room or front room. But since it has these great windows looking out at the mountain, we've fashioned it into a great space for meditating and reading and just gathering our thoughts.

We headed down the mountain to the valley to get supplies last Wednesday and didn't return until after dark. I was surprised to find the lights on in the sunroom and the room lit up brilliantly.

"I'm sorry!" I apologized to Bill. "I guess I left the lights on. But I don't think I did. Why would I have even turned them on in the day?"

"You didn't." He spoke shortly. "They were off. That's happened to me before. It's just the sunroom. I arrived from Dillon Beach on one trip and found those lights on."

"Ohhh." I didn't want to think about it. I felt like Sage when he says, "You cweeping me out, Boppy!"

Two days later, I took Chuy out for a nighttime walk. When I came back in, I was surprised to find the light ablaze in the guest bedroom. I went in and sure enough, the lights for the ceiling fan were bright on. "What's going on?" I asked aloud.

Kickers, the Persian, was sleeping atop the pillows on the bed, blinked her sleepy eyes as if asking it was time to get up. I'm pretty sure the cats hadn't turned them on. Neither had Bill. Chuy was blameless. One more.

Then, the next night, the strangest one yet. It was seven in the evening. We'd been watching one of the playoff football games on TV. Bill was sitting on the floor playing with Chuy. I was sitting across the room in a loveseat reading a book. Bill picked the remote up and changed the channel to Sci-Fi network since the game was getting too boring to continue watching. He threw a ball for Chuy. The remote was sitting by itself on a side table. Suddenly, the football game was back on the TV. I looked up briefly, thinking Bill was done with the Sci-Fi show. Men do like to flick the remote, you know.

"What the..." Bill stopped throwing the ball for Chuy. "Did you change that?"

"Do what? I thought you were watching the football game."

"I had it on the Sci-Fi channel. It just changed itself."

"Ooooh." Now I got goosebumps down my neck and back. Those psychic tingles. I do pay attention to them. "Somebody wanted to watch the football game?"

"Apparently," Bill said grimly. But he didn't change the channel. He left it on the football game for the next fifteen minutes. If there had been somebody in there wanting to know how the game turned out, Bill wasn't going to agitate them and turn the channel to something else. You gotta know when to keep the status quo happy, I guess.