Enter Gnome

image of mushroom


A gnome visited our house yesterday.

Before we met him, we wondered what he did for money, as he was evasive over the phone.

“Maybe he’s a dealer,” I said.

“Or a criminal,” the Director said.

“He has a dog so maybe he’s ok.”

We waited, anxious, hopeful for him to fall in love with our house like we did ten years earlier, back when it was fugly.

I had stepped out of my temporary office in the attic when I saw his car, a new subaru, different than mine.  Taller.  More chatchkis like a roof rack.  Other stuff I couldn’t identify.  It looked cool.

Out of the back of the car came the supposedly elderly Golden.  She bounded around, eluding the leash until our potential renter caught up to her. I spent a lot of time talking to her; so it wasn’t until I was back outside with just the dog so the dude and the Director could talk terms that I realized something.

He’s a little person, but taller.  And his nose looks like the guy in Game of Thrones.  I felt like a southern racist talking about bones and feet and noses and hair and whatnot.

The Director pronounced it like Gnocci.  Gnome.  “Nyome.  He’s a drummer!  It’s good luck, I’m convinced.”

We sat around the fire after he left and then noticed the first mushroom of the season.  The first flowery mushroom ever on our property.  A portent, perhaps, of other mythical creatures taking over the house and setting us loose.

What do ya think?

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