Hall of Fortune

“… And I'm near the end and I just ain’t got the time
Oh and I'm wasted and I can't find my way home...” Blind Faith, and perhaps the closest thing Crested Butte has to a local anthem.

I had intuitively arranged my home into niches and corners with pleasant ambiance, sensitive to the pattern of sunlight as it falls through windows throughout certain times of the day. Incense, candles, flowers, mirrors and crystals placed with attention to where the cat would find most intriguing for a comfy snooze spot... but something was amiss and through the feng shui article I was reading during a brief respite between my job driving bus runs, I had ascertained that my front entrance hall was too cluttered and therefore uninviting to financial prosperity.

Determined to immediately tend to the problem when I returned home for dinner break, I removed 3 full bags of plastic bottles, 2 extra pairs of skis and poles, dismantled cardboard boxes, swept the floor, hung a good luck mirror and set up the recommended indoor water garden – a small copper 3-tiered cascading waterfall guaranteed to attract everything needed into my life. My front entry was now ready to accept and manifest new endeavors of fortune. The house felt more welcoming. I left to continue driving tourists from their slopeside condos to downtown bars and back, wondering how to set up the proper feng shui on the bus so as not to attract those who couldn't hold their drink...

Gratefully home at last after an arduous night of bus circling, I slip my backpack and coat off in the prosperous hallway, greeted by my cat – and a strange male voice slurring from the living room. The cat glances sideways – talented as he is, I know he's not a ventriloquist and the last I checked I was still living alone – I cautiously peer around the wall to the direction of the grunts. Slumped into my couch is a guy I recognize from around town, mostly in bars, although I don't know his name.

“Er... hi. What are you doing here?” I manage a friendly but confused smile which, at 1 a.m., is not easy to conjure.
“I live here,” he states, quite matter-of-factly.
“Uh, no, I live here,” I offer, now rather amused.
“No you don't, I do,” he bellows belligerently.

“Ummm, I've lived here for 4 years now. Are you sure you aren't in the wrong condo? You know they do look alike... somewhat... after a long night at the bar.” I look around beginning to question whether I'm in the right place myself... but no... this is my befuddled cat, my furnishings, my front door, my fountain and prosperously welcoming hallway... I DO live here.

“What's your address?” I ask with the stern tone of a Catholic nun, hoping to get to the bottom of this, reclaim my home and get some sleep. He slowly sits up, and squints into space.
“Ok... is this YOUR cat?” I point to my suddenly horrified furry companion who bolts under the bed.

“Huh...” disoriented he repeats himself, “Huh...” now more confused, “Maybe I live next door somewhere...”
“Come on, I'll walk you there. We'll find your home,” remembering that the intoxicated fall down in the snow and sometimes fortune does not find them in time.

“I hope she's still waiting...” his mumbling voice trailed off as I watch him stagger across the tall snowbank to his door – or at least I hoped it was his house that he entered. Either way, it was up to the next person to see to it that he didn't freeze.
As I walk back into my most prosperously welcoming hallway of fortune and wealth, I lock the door, unplug the fountain, douse the incense, pile the bags of plastic and cardboard recycle back into the corner and lean the skis next to the entrance – realizing I am already most fortunate.