'Lucy' Lives

Well, I’d thought that all of the “My Life as Lucy Ricardo” episodes would be reminiscences, but, considering the events of a couple of nights ago, I fear that’s not the case. Here’s what happened.

Mike and I had been out working hard in the yard and, when he got ready and then left for a music job, I stayed outside working as long as the light would allow. Really tired, I came in, showered, then headed out to sit on the patio for a bit to enjoy the cool evening breeze that we’re thankfully beginning to get.

As I opened the door and went out, I heard a siren or alarm somewhere, but – I’m a city girl – I paid little attention. I sat in my chair and relaxed for a few minutes, but I kept wishing that someone would turn off the irritating car alarm that was interrupting my reverie. And then suddenly it all came together. Have I mentioned that we have a home security system? We’d only the day before decided that I’d start alarming the house when Mike worked at night. I guess that UN-alarming was not yet a solid habit with me.

I ran in the house as quickly as possible and slammed in the “stop” code and prayed that no one had noticed – and that the SWAT team wouldn’t break down the front door.

Only a couple of minutes passed before the telephone rang. It was the security company. I explained that I was fine, but also embarrassed and possibly stupid. The nice man said they had already notified the police and that it would be up to the police as to whether they’d cancel the call or have to come out. Another few minutes, and the police department called. I had to tell them that I was fine, but embarrassed and likely stupid. She said that a squad car was already on the way and that they’d have to check it out. OK, a few more minutes and the policemen were at the door. I had to reassure them that I was fine, embarrassed and just plain dumb.

And then Mike called. He’d come off stage for a break, checked his cell phone and noticed a voicemail. It was from the security company advising him that there had been a break-in at his home. Here’s the sad part. He wasn’t worried because . . . he knew I’d done it. I’ve got to repair my reputation.