Meddle
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
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Growing up as “the preacher’s kid” had its good and its not-so-good sides. Sometimes, once the not-so-good was over, it was just plain funny.
One of the men in my dad’s little church in southern Minnesota lived with his family just one block behind and kitty-cornered from our house. The position gave him a clear view of our place, and he must have spent a good amount of time watching. He tended to be a person who felt it was his duty to meddle with the preacher’s family, keeping us all on the straight and narrow.
One night I was in the basement doing some ironing. Remember ironing?
Anyway I was minding my own business. My sister was upstairs with our little brother, and all was right with our word–until suddenly the basement lights went out! Startled, I hollered up the stairs, “Hey! Turn those back on!”
My sister hollered back that she hadn’t turned anything off. I was deciding whether or not to believe her when I distinctly heard the back door open, the lights went back on, and the door closed.
Hmmmmm.
Of course I told my dad when he and Mom got back from wherever they’d been. He got the strangest look on his face. He said, “I’ll take care of it. It won’t happen again.”
You knew the preacher was upset when he peeled out of the driveway, scattering gravel. He wasn’t gone long. Shaking his head, he told us that the neighbor had noticed our basement lights were on. Figuring no one was down there, he took it upon himself to unlock the back door, reach in and turn off the lights. He flipped them back on when I hollered.
Two big errors: One, he unlocked the door. We hadn’t known he had a key, He didn’t have it any more after that night. Two, he opened and closed the door. He’d have been smarter to just keep walking away.
I’ll never know what my dad said to him, but whatever it was, it worked. There were no more Hector Inspector light-switch events. It didn’t feel funny at the time, but it wasn’t long before the incident was added to the family repertoire of funny stories about living in the parsonage.
Just Writing! 
Oh, what a “helper”! Excellent example of meddling. Had you known it was a person poking his nose in the door you might well have been scared. But you’re right: it does make for a humorous story years after the fact.
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I was nervous until we told dad and he figured it out. Then I was just mad, but that soon turned to hilarity. Silly man, saving a penny in electricity–he could have been charged with breaking and entering!
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I love kitty cornered whether it came by autocorrect or by imagination.
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It’s something I’ve said and heard all my life. Some people say “catty-cornered.” Is it a new expression to you?
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Om my yes! I’d forgotten about the ironing bag! Sprinkling, rolling, into the bag. I don’t remember Mom putting anything in the freezer–we got to it the next day, and what we couldn’t finish was spread out to dry, then resprinkled and ironed the next day. I remember when Mom got her first steam iron with a button that would give you a misty spray. We thought it was wonderful!
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