Hiding

I live in a big Victorian house by myself, so there really isn't any need for me to hide anymore. But old habits die hard. As a child I was always hiding somewhere...under the basement stairs, in the lilac bush or up a tree. I would sit for hours, usually with a book, waiting to hear those magic words "Where's Carol?"

But no one ever noticed I was missing. Eventually I'd come out tired or hungry and rejoin the world.

I still love to have a secret hiding spot. During the bad marriage years, it was my car. I'd park a block from home and just sit there usually sneaking a smoke. When my kids were young and squabbling, I'd hide in the bathroom with a glass of wine and the door locked and a J Crew catalogue.

But this year I have a real hideaway. A beautiful shed with windows that open and a French door. It has window boxes full of white geraniums. I call it my Barbie Dream House.

Today I'm going to paint those pine floors high gloss white. Yup, highly practical for a garden shed. And then I'll spray paint my wicker chair shiny black. I have a fabulous falling apart table I got at a nearby junk store for ten bucks that I'm going to pile my gardening books on. And then I'll sit in there and listen to the rain on my tin roof.

I'm not expecting anyone to come looking for me anymore. Maybe I enjoy my own company a little too much these days. However, if you're in the neighbourhood and there's no answer when you knock on my front door, you might come around the back and find me.

.

And I'm curious. Am I the only hider out there? Do you have a secret hiding place? Tell me everything.


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