I recently went to my first escape room with my young adult kids. It was based on “Stranger Things,” a TV show I’d never seen. The themed room was amazing, like the set of a play. We had to work together to solve puzzles and complete tasks. And by we, I mean they. I’m not sure how helpful I was. 

We escaped—barely. We had a 7-year-old with us, who sweetly begged for “just a couple more minutes,” and they granted it (a couple times) so we could emerge victorious.

I don’t want to escape my house. I’d like to stay in it. I just wish I could crack the code. Decipher its puzzles. Figure out its mysterious clues. 

Remember the PBS show that inspired the headline? Bob Vila made home improvement and DIY look magical—like those retro houses almost fixed themselves. We know otherwise, don’t we?

Unless you move into a brand-new build, there is always something to be done. Always. 

I’ve had a leaking window for a couple decades now. Even after the original had an unfortunate encounter with my son’s skateboard and we got a new one, it still leaks. No one can figure it out. My son-in-law has clambered up his ladder numerous times to do battle, but we’re still stuck with putting cups on the windowsill to catch the drips when it rains and the wind blows the wrong direction.

Yesterday, I received a letter about insurance for my external water line. 

What? I didn’t even know such insurance existed. 

The tone was rather ominous, with a headline that read, ‘WATER LINE RESPONSIBILITY INFORMATION. PLEASE REPLY 10/23/2025.” Underneath, it read, “Rhonda Wray, as the property owner, you should know that the exterior water service line belongs to you. You may be responsible for the cost of repairs in the event of leakage or a break in this line.” 

I called my son to see if he’d ever encountered this. He did what he always does when it comes to car repairs, building decks and repairing smartphones: he researched it.

”It’s not a scam,” he texted, “just not very useful insurance.” 

Well, there you go. Consider yourself warned.

“It’s like if I told you I’d insure your house in case it got hit by a meteor. Odds are it wouldn’t happen, but I could probably scare enough people to make a living!”

A call to my homeowners’ insurance might be in order, to see if these repairs are covered under my policy. Then again, if it hasn’t happened by now, perhaps it won’t.

I called my mom and vented about my recent assorted house disasters. She and my dad live in a beautifully appointed independent living facility, where a simple call to the front desk results in a changed lightbulb and a housekeeper visits every other week. 

“See what you avoid by living where you do?” I said.

She laughed knowingly.

“I’ve thought of that often,” she said. 

She who dealt with lizards in her garage, a squirrel determined to be a long-term house-guest and the incessant rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker trying its best to destroy their house’s siding.

“Sometimes when it’s stormy, I think, I wonder if all the windows are closed, and if the patio umbrella will blow away. And then I remember I don’t have to worry about it,” she said.

For now, I’ll keep my cups on the sill and my phone on speed dial.

Homeownership really is just the ultimate escape room—except there’s no timer, and the puzzles keep multiplying. 

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