There’s a gnome living in my home.  Oh, it’s true we’ve never met, but I know that he exists, for traces of his devious doings are everywhere!

For example, Gnome is a compulsive collector, but only at particular times.  Larges boxes of bandages and gauze can gather dust for weeks, fat and ready in my linen closet.  But at the precise moment that a six-year-old bashes his thumb, I fling open the door to find the containers mysteriously empty, and only my pink lace guest towels available to stem the bleeding.

Likewise, our kitchen drawer stocks hundreds of workable pens and markers when any of us is chatting leisurely on the phone with a pal.  But let a long-distance business message for Husband come in, and the drawer yields only a broken green crayon and a sheet of plastic wrap. Somewhere, I suspect, in a yet-undiscovered recess of our home, Gnome is gleefully examining his booty, a stolen stockpile of bandages, sharpened pencils, thumbtacks, screw drivers, one-of-a-pair socks and gift ribbon---testimony to his mania for practical joking.

Gnome’s teasing does not stop with this vanishing act, however, for his peculiar sense of timing influences other areas of our household as well.  Why else would our appliances slosh, whirr and gurgle along comfortable—as long as their warranties are all in force?  Whenever an insurance policy lapses, however, we’ve not long to wait until the TV goes blank or the drier begins its ominous bumps and grinds.

Oh, the way our Gnome can handle machinery!  The dishwasher, which has been disgorging dirty water over the kitchen floor for days, purrs and hums at the mere sound of the repairman’s knock.  As he later backs out of the driveway, however, perplexed at his inability to find the problem, Gnome merrily pulls the dishwasher’s hidden controls, and the gushing reappears.

All manner of strange things occur whenever we feel Gnome’s presence.  Shoes separate, leaving only one in view when Ten-year-old is late for basketball practice.  Clocks speed up during a frantic afternoon, but drag whenever the baby is teething and miserable.  The mail carrier arrives at the crack of dawn when she has overdue bills to deliver; we are still watching for her at bedtime, however, on paycheck day. It rains for 97 continuous hours when the children are on spring break, but the morning they return to school finds the entire earth bathed in sunshine.  Through it all, Gnome lurks silently, delighted with the chaos he creates.

At times I stamp my foot, demanding that he show himself, face me so we can have it out once and for all.  But alas, he prefers to stay anonymous, waving his wands, pushing his buttons and working the strings of our household, all of us, his personal puppets.

But there is one bright side to Gnome’s irritating presence.  If we didn’t know for sure about his existence, just WHO would everyone blame?