A couple of days ago at work, someone mentioned that the house next to their’s was almost burgled this week.  It seems a bunch of nefarious guys (four of them, actually) in a black Camry made the mistake of parking in front of my co-worker’s house, where most of the following saga was ultimately captured by his outside garage security camera.

After posting a lookout across the street, the remaining three miscreants banged on the front door of the adjacent home, apparently thinking it was empty since it was, after all, mid-afternoon.

And this is where it gets interesting.

Turns out someone was, in fact, at home.  The owner was simply upstairs and didn’t feel like answering the door.  (Hmmm.  I often feel like that.)

The bad guys then figured it was okay to carry on, and they proceeded to try to break in through the front door, whereby the owner then realized what was happening and began to scream and shout and ultimately phone the police.

The result was predictable.  Said bad men high-tailed it for their Japanese beater and fled the subdivision post-haste.  Cop Cars and Cop Helicopters were called in, to no avail, and everyone lived to fight another day.

The good news was nothing was stolen and no one was hurt for once.  The bad news was, of course, there’s a still criminal-filled, crappy Camry out there prowling our streets looking for an easier mark for their next go-round.

After hearing this story, I regaled him back with a counter-tale.  I recalled my own break-in experience when someone broke into my old pickup truck here about eight years ago and stole all the change out of the console — maybe $3.27 or so.  However, the thief (or thieves) left behind a nice stereo, a $300 custom cover, a radar detector, and various CDs covering many musical periods (some good, some bad).

I wondered if, perhaps, the interloper wasn’t an ABBA fan and took pity on me.  Then, again, perhaps he was an ABBA fan and decided not to clean me out.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, he left the ABBA’s Greatest Hits CD behind.

Or perhaps he was just unexpectedly interrupted during the deed and bailed as quickly as possible.

Who knows?

Whatever the reason, I felt fortunate because my truck hadn’t been completely trashed and the stolen goods haul could have been much worse.

Never at a loss to turn pseudo-tragedy into a teaching moment with the kids, my story to them was that “someone clearly needed the change in the truck more than I did” and that “things always work out in the end,” even though the episode sucked wasn’t pleasant.

It’s all about Karma, after all.

That may not seem like a big deal, but what my kids don’t know about me is why I like to keep a bunch of change in my cars.

Because it makes me feel rich.

Why?  I feel like I’ve spent so many years of my life returning bottles for deposits at the grocery store to obtain that $2 or $3 extra every couple of weeks, that having a pile of coins at my disposal these days feels absolutely regal in comparison.

Silly, but true.

So the theft of my truck stash wasn’t as trivial as it might have seemed, because it was a blow to my deep-seated need to hoard pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters.

Brushing it off was kind of a big deal in some ways then, but I figured Karma was at work and I would emerge the better for the experience.

Fast forward ten years, and different but related subject.

I haven’t paid for a haircut in a very long time.  My Lovely Spouse shaves my head styles what’s left of my hair on a semi-regular basis.  It is this same Loving Spouse who has draped me with potions, talismans, and all manner of herbs, stones, and minerals to better my general health and alter my specific curmudgeonly disposition.

So earlier this week as she was finishing up the latest home barbershop episode, My Better Half accidentally cut through my string necklace upon which is hung a couple of Stonehenge-like objects that Give Me Peace and Provide Me Balance during the course of my Daily Trip (dot com) with other Muggles.

She cut through my Good Luck Charm!

Not only was the necklace severed, when it dropped to the floor one of the attached precious stones shattered on the floor.

I was aghast.

What was going to happen next?

More termites in the house?  Major sprinkler system flood?  Daughter finds a job/career?   (Wait. That’s a good thing.)  Wildfires?  New Ice Age? Sickness in the Home?

I mean the possibilities are endless.

“Oh, no,” I shrieked.

Well, I didn’t shriek, but I was shocked.  “What’s going to happen now?” I wondered aloud.

Her response?

“You didn’t need it anymore.  It’s Karma.”

And, of course, as is true most of the time around here, she was right.

So she quickly tied a new knot and re-hung was what left of the talisman around my neck.

I suppose my choice was to bitch and moan about what was lost, or recover quickly and realize everything works out in the end anyway.

The proof was in the “sports pudding” in the ensuing days, because that’s typically how I measure myself — sad but true.

Anyway, I had one of my best shooting days in recent memory on the basketball court not a day later, and I almost broke 80 on the golf course today, as well.

Oh, right.  I should add that my family is relatively happy and relatively healthy, to boot.

So all’s well that ends well.

Yep.  I believe in Karma, but I still like keeping lots of change in my vehicles, too.

Namaste.

– Dad