It's very awkward to be telling a news story that's about your own home and family, but that's the strange position in which I found myself this morning. Happily, there was no murder involved, only a bit of mayhem.
This morning's newcasts included the story of a house in Collingwood that had been rammed by a car early Sunday morning.
The house? My house.
I was away for the night, at a cousin's wedding dance while Sweetie and Dear Darling Dog slept the sleep of the innocent, never knowing there were four cop cars, a tow truck and several witnesses on our front lawn. I find it strange that no one knocked on the door to inform them of the crash. Although with a demolished car and scary mess in the way, how would anyone get to the front door to ring the bell?
Sweetie found out about the crash only when he opened the front door on his way to a day of fishing. There at his feet, sunshine where no sunshine should be. The car had hit the concrete steps so hard, there now are gaps a foot wide between some of the concrete blocks, blocks which have been solid since they were installed sometime in the 1900s.
The porch is totalled. The very lovely OPP officer I talked with last night told me the car which hit it had been stolen. Apparently, the owner had left the car unlocked in their driveway, keys in the ignition and our culprit must have thought he'd hit the jackpot when he was rifling through vehicles, stealing change.
I expect some very interesting days ahead when it comes to insurance.
The good news is, I have always kind of hated that porch. It took me nearly a year to figure out what colour to paint it to make it disappear as much as possible. Other than paint, I hadn't figured out what to do about it. I'm already trolling websites and magazines for design ideas.
Here's another weird part to this story: we sent out for Chinese food last night and my fortune cookie told me I would find luck in an unexpected place. Maybe this is it.