The temperature here at 7 a.m.: 39 degrees. This really has to stop.
This morning, after a peaceful summer, the house's resident ghost started feeling its oats again. (See entry of August 14, 2002.)
There have been, during the last week or two, a few instances of the kind of quiet, unobtrusive sounds I sometimes hear around the place -- the noise of someone doing something in another room. The quiet sounds of someone moving around -- banal, gentle, nonthreatening. However. This morning at 7:20 a.m., as I sat in the bathroom, er, indisposed -- alone in the house -- a door slammed downstairs. Not closed -- slammed. The kind of impact you feel as well as hear.
I knew what I'd find when I took a swing down there to see what was up -- all doors just the way they should be: doors that had been open remained open, doors that had been closed remained closed, doors that should have been locked remained locked. Nothing out of place, no signs of mischief.
My first experience with this phenomenon took the same form -- the sound of a door closing emphatically downstairs, me alone in the house. The weeks that followed brought plenty of sounds around the living space, the kind I've gotten used to -- understated, well-mannered. Nonaggressive. Nothing as attention-getting as that first bit. Until this morning. I'll be curious to see what happens now.
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Two evenings ago:
This morning, far too early:
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 8:37 AM [+]
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