El Camino Week 4 Pre-planning: the house is pitchin’ a fit!

The path lay before us, but with the potential to become obscured. The scenery seemed just hand-picked for a traveler such as me.

“Our house is pitchin’ a FIT!”

I emphatically state, out loud to no one in particular.

It’s doing that Mr. Magorium thing,

I mumble to myself.

What else could you call it? In the movie Mr Magorium’s Wonder Emporium, the magical toy store throws a temper tantrum when Mr. Magorium announces that, after 243 years, it was time for him to leave the business.

The walls of the store start to turn black. The toys stop being magical. The store begins the process of shutting down.

“We leave Monday!!!!” I announce to the house.

“You’ve got to pull yourself together!”

You see, our refrigerator died.

And then, upon Michael placing his fire uniform into the washer and dryer, they simultaneously both decide to shut down too.

And to top it off, NOW, Michael just called from the station to tell me that the Engine broke. You know, the FIRE ENGINE!!!!!

Let me repeat myself, we leave Monday!

Is anybody listening to me?

To properly put this into perspective, it’s important that you understand one thing, THINGS love Michael. THINGS meaning machines, engines, anything mechanical…they come alive with him. They seem to do whatever it takes to get his attention.

If we have an engine failure on a road trip with two kids in car seats, the engine in the car will demonstrate this “failure” at a lone auto parts station located along a long, isolated stretch of highway between Washington and Idaho with a Police Officer awaiting who “knows a guy” and can miraculously retrieve the needed part and install it before closing time on a Friday night - and do so in a timely fashion so that we can still make our dinner date with friends in Sandpoint, Idaho.

It’s like the THINGS do a trick for Michael, a little magic trick when he’s on the scene. I swear to God, I can’t make this stuff up!

THINGS somehow “know” that he appreciates them… so, they function accordingly for him.

It’s the Mr. Magorium effect.

It seems that ALL the places Michael inhabits are aware of his impending absence and have decided to PITCH a FIT!

Call me crazy, but ever since we moved into this house, it’s become emotionally attached to Michael. Yes. You read that correctly. The HOUSE has become emotionally attached to Michael. (Not the other way around.) It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if his fire station was doing the same thing!

In our first 48 hours of moving into this house, it was broken into. The back door was completely blown off its hinges and lay on the floor. The thief stole one thing, the safe. The safe that we lost the combination to, but found during the move.

“Found it!” I remember Michael proclaiming lifting up the paper that held the combination with his right hand. “Ahhh, perhaps we can put this to use now!” He chuckled.

The thief stole an empty safe, spent a whole lot of time prying the locked safe open, and then threw the empty safe back into our new backyard.

My theory is, the house knew the door wasn’t well made when replaced by the previous owners. So, upon being blown off its hinges, Michael fixed the door properly. The house has been satisfied with his craftsmanship ever since.

The fireplace (now retrofitted with gas) was designed to heat the bedrooms upstairs -and it still does, so efficiently.

Originally, the house was crafted by a Norwegian builder named Andre. Andre wore a handlebar mustache and built the home for efficiency as well as craftsmanship back in 1875. The home is built with wood in a neighborhood of brick homes. The fireplace is located in the entryway with the rest of the home spiraling around it through 4 modest-sized floors, basement to attic.

“We have to get a new refrigerator. You fixed the old one twice.”

We each resigned to the realization that there are some things that have reached their limit of functioning. The old refrigerator began the process of slowly fading. Then, just as the shiny new replacement arrived, it gave up the ghost altogether.

The refrigerator came with the house when we purchased it back in 2005, Michael has fixed it each time it struggled. Today, it was retired.

A house’s tantrum is a wonderful servant, but a terrible master.

The washer and dryer miraculously began working the next day, but not until AFTER Michael left for the fire station. He arose early to wash his semi-soggy uniform at the station. After he left, I began my morning routine of turning on the espresso machine and decided to check out the washer and dryer. Without hesitation, they each came back to life.

It’s a magic that defies logic, one that Michael and I surrendered to from the moment we became the stewards of the home.

I wonder if the house is panicking, or if it’s actually doing its own version of preparation for our departure.

Whatever the case may be, we’re determined that the house’s tantrum will be a mere hiccup in our departure process, not the roadblock it seems all these THINGS want it to be. We’ve learned to respond to this house with humor and goodwill.

We’ve completed the Camino packing process. I’ve treated our bags, sleeping liners, and mattress covers with the highly recommended bed bug spray solution. I set aside my gear to wear on the trail and weighed the remaining supplies in the pack.

The only thing left is to go. And go we shall!

The Camino awaits, and we await the Camino.

The house can just learn a little lesson in patience as it awaits Michael’s return.

Scrappy, lying in line with gear laid out to be accounted for and then packed away. She has included herself in this list of things to bring. (Scrappy will have to wait, too!)

A simple nod, warm 'buen camino' (meaning 'good path') and a smile.