Giving the squirrels a break

Actually, in the house I’m moving into in a couple of months, it’s thousands of chipmunks. They run inside the walls, chirping, fighting, making chipmunk babies, making my dog crazy. I like it when they scamper up the outside of the window screens. As long as they don’t come into my space, I don’t mind.

This new place is huge; I’ve been staining/varnishing/painting inside for almost two weeks now. I still have several days to go before all the naval colors are covered, so that I’ll no longer have the urge to salute and say, “yes, sir,” every time I enter the house. I can’t wait to get finished and get back to work so I can get some rest. At the end of a ten hour day, I just want to fall down. How anyone blogs everyday is beyond me. I’m way too tired to be creative when my brain is completely stoned.

So saying, it’s time to go get another latex high. I’m starting to suffer withdrawal symptoms.

Home Sweet Home, Part -1

My mother came to visit me right after I had moved into this lovely cottage. Her last night here, we had our first cold snap, so I laid my first fire in the wood stove and lit it.

The house filled with smoke, the alarm went off, the dogs hit the cathedral ceiling yelping. I doused the fire and figured screw it, it’s not that cold; I’ll call the landlord in the morning to check it out.

After returning from dropping my mother at the train station the next day, I pulled into the drive and let the dogs out of the van. Then I noticed that both house doors were wide open, and it was cold out. Hmm…

The dogs frolicked in the yard as I stepped into the house. The place was a shambles, with broken crockery everywhere, off the shelves and smashed on the floor. The beautiful piece of hand-blown glass in the round window in my bathroom was shattered in the tub. I backed out of the house, my mind in a whirl. I already suspected that the landlord must be insane to accept a tenant with not just one, but two terrible terriers, as well as to let her plant a 12,000 pound boat smack in the front yard. What had set him off? Did he not like the new throw rugs and the floor lamp I had added? The lamp was lying on its side and the rugs were crumpled. Was it just one of those days to pitch a fit, breaking his own belongings as well as mine? I looked at the boat I just gone to great trouble to have trucked to the yard. If I had to flee, would I be able to arrange to get it out fast enough before he trashed it too?

Just then I saw him exit his house next door, headed my way. I edged towards my van. The dogs ran towards him excitedly. I tried to call them back, knowing it was futile, because Jack Russells are disobedient little brats. I tried trickery. ‘Come on, guys, lets go for a ride, let’s go to the beach, let’s have a cookie, let’s go for a walk, quick, get in the van, c’mon lets go lets go.’ They kept running towards the psycho as I watched in horror, feeling helpless. He could whack them both with whatever that was he was carrying before I could get anywhere near the scene. The dogs reached him and didn’t get slaughtered. He got closer, dogs at his heels, and I could see he was sort of smiling. Did he have a more diabolical plan? Where in the hell was my cell phone? Should I just abandon those damn dogs to their fate and run for it? Serve them right for not listening. I could now see that he was carrying a shop vac. Was he showing remorse for his actions; was he now calmed enough to not be homicidal? Or was he going to try to lure us all into the house and finish us off with the vacuum, which he had cleverly modified to super suck and compress large items to fit in the canister, sort of like a trash compactor and vac combined?

I hovered near the van’s open door, keys in hand, as he drew near and said one word:

“Squirrel.”

I sighed in relief. He said that when he had opened the woodstove door, a squirrel leapt out at him, crashing off walls, furniture, shelves, and every breakable item in the house. Apparently a veteran of this, he had opened the doors and tried to shoo it out, but it disappeared somewhere. At that point he decided to leave the house open in the hopes it would find its way out. Together we cleaned up the mess and then searched everywhere for the creature. He told me that when he and his family had lived here, he had once come home to find the place in such a mess that he thought they had been burglarized. He was about to call the police when the culprit attacked. He dodged just in time, narrowly avoiding being smacked in the head by an angry squirrel as it leapt from a shelf and fled through the open door. He assessed the damage to be about $20,000 worth of valuable artwork. They didn’t have insurance.

As soon as we were finished cleaning up, he went off to the hardware store for a squirrel baffle for the chimney top. I couldn’t help but think, why in holy heck didn’t you do that when you were attacked five years ago?

That evening, as I was enjoying a nice fire without barbequing any rodent bodies, I heard a rustling noise. I glanced at the dogs zonked beside me on the couch. Not a twitch from them. I put down my book, quietly got up, and followed the sound to the bookshelf. Scritch Scritch. SH*T. ‘Dogs, out.’ I called next door, hoping that I wasn’t waking anyone at that late hour. My landlord answered. “HELP, it’s still in here!” He dashed over with a have a heart trap, and together we managed to shoo it into the trap from under the enclosed bottom bookshelf, where it had been hiding for the last twelve hours. As my landlord left with his new pet, I let the dogs back in. “You’re both fired for never noticing that a SQUIRREL, for heavens sake, which you’ve made your life’s mission to eradicate, was in YOUR house all dang day!” And I thought, wow, wouldn’t that have been exciting if that bit of wildlife had decided to come out in the middle of the night. My dogs would have had a blast, I would have had a heart attack, and my landlord would have suffered greater losses.

Home Sweet Home

My house is heated by a wood stove and nothing else. Contemplate that, push button people. No electricity? So what? Next time you’re sitting there shivering in a power outage, wishing you had a nice hot toddy or ten, think of me cozy and warm, reading in a candle lit room. Heck, with an eight hour battery life on my laptop, I can even watch movies while eating popcorn popped on the gas stove.

A plus side to a house heated with wood is that if the party is lame, you can use the ‘gotta get home before the fire goes out’ excuse. Down side? If the party is awesome, gotta get home before the fire goes out. Or gotta sit up for an hour wasted off your head to get it reestablished. Still, there’s something about wood heat that you don’t get from any other modern heating source, other than the tropics. Maybe it’s something primordial, that “I have FIRE!” feeling.

When I first saw this place three years ago, I was hunting for a winter rental, having learned my lesson regarding living on a sailboat in New England in winter. The moment I saw the cottage, I knew I was home. Despite being well into the academic year, the house hadn’t been rented because your average garden variety college student can’t manage to put down the beer long enough to start a fire or keep it going. Also, the landlords lived next door, which made those nightly wild parties difficult.

Upon discovering that I couldn’t afford both house rent and winter boat storage, I got an idea and went to the rental agent. “Say again?” she asked. “Can I bring my 36 foot sailboat as well as my two Jack Russell Terriers?” As she wrote that down and said “I’ll ask,” I realized that NO one in their right mind was going to rent to me. While calculating just how much alcohol I’d have to buy to stay oblivious through another heinous winter frozen aboard the boat, the agent called. “Yeah that’s fine, when do you want to come sign the lease?” Really? What’s wrong with these people? Turns out that the kids were pestering for a dog. Having me next door meant having all the fun playing with mine and none of the poop to pick up. And they claimed that seeing the boat in the yard cheered them because they could pretend it was theirs without actually having any boat maintenance woes.

It was a bizarre twist of fate that I ended up back in this same cottage this winter, and hence plopped on quite a different course than I had picked out. Last summer, my former landlord and I ended up on the same ferry, not having seen each other since I had moved out of the cottage, back onto the boat, and had sailed off into the sunset. He said they’d had terrible tenants, and that it was even harder to rent the place now because of all the construction on the new addition. I told him I was fleeing to Florida the second it got cold. Next thing I knew, the rental agent was calling to make me a tremendous deal that was cheaper than living in a car. And I was still welcome despite no longer having dogs or a sailboat.

When I was driving back from my incarceration, uh, vacation in FL last month, so deathly ill I could barely drive, facing coming back to a freezing cold house was not curative. I called my landlords and said, I’m sorry to bug you, but I’m dying. Would it be too much to ask you to light a fire for me so I can just come in the door and fall down?

When I arrived home, not only was my house toasty warm, but they had taken advantage of the time I was away to fix a few things around the place, sweep the chimney clean, AND, she left me a pot of chicken soup, a basket of fruit, healing tea bags, and a box of tissues so I’d get better faster! And he continued to come over and plow me out after each of the 437 snowstorms we’ve had so far this winter.

How many people can say their landlords are awesome?

I would like to endorse my dog’s new shampoo.

I haven’t yet tried it on the dog.

Over the course of the last several days, I’ve noticed an improvement in my hair’s condition. I normally jump in the shower first thing in the morning, sans contacts, and then install my eyes after. Today, I happened to put my eyes in first. Seeing what was in the shower was a novelty, and it gave me a laugh to notice that the container of dog shampoo is the same size and shape as my hair soap.

I guess I’ll keep using it, because the dog certainly won’t need it anytime soon. Through a miscommunication with the groomer, my lovely dog came out all bald. The hair will grow back, but who knows if I’ll be able to save that lovely wire coat that I wanted hand stripped.

I’m now one of those idiots who gets their dog shaved in winter and then has to buy them a coat.

Just one more confirmation that if you want something done right, learn how to do it yourself.

Although I haven’t seen him in years, I grew up in close proximity to one particular relative whom I love dearly. He once surprised me by stating “I don’t like black people.” Huh? First, I’ve never seen a black person. Nor have I seen a white one. I’ve seen people of different skin tones, but that’s all. But I thought I could have some fun with this, so I asked him,” what color was the lady who rear ended you, pushed your car into a tree, and then took off?”
“White.”

“Who was it that broke into your house and stole all your stuff?”
“My best friend Dave.”
“And what color was he?”
“White.”

“Who was it that had sex with your fiancé in the back of your car?”
“My buddy Frank.”
“And what color was he?”
“White.”

“That time you got so drunk and fell down in the bar parking lot by your car, who was it that drove you home, helped you into your house and onto the couch, and then left a note that your car would be at the bar and the bartender would have the keys. And late the next day, there was your car and keys just like the note said. What color was that guy?”
“Black."

“And when your brakes seized up that time that you were broke and out of work and had no money and no idea of how to fix them, who was it that came over, crawled under your truck and showed you how it was done?”
“Neighbor down the road. Joe.”
“And what color was he?”
“Black.”

“In high school, who was it that used to get you into all those porn flicks even though you were underage?”
“Your best friend.”
“And what color was he?”
“Black.”

“Tell me, what has a person of color ever done to you to make you feel this way?”
“Nothing. I dunno. I just don’t like em.”

I have never understood how people can believe that god created all humanity, and then turn around and denigrate ‘another’ race. If god made everyone, aren’t we all the same? Or did he make some practice models that were less efficient?

I once loved and cohabitated with someone of a different race. Gasp, say you racists. Yes. My eyes are green, his were not. My hair is reddish brown, his was not. His skin tone was not the same as mine. He was born in a different country, and spoke a different language.

That bloody foreigner of mine desired employment in this country. Yes, one of those wanting to come in and steal all our jobs. I couldn’t object to that, because, let’s face it, didn’t our ancestors do the same?

Well, not exactly. The previous tenants of this land we now call America probably would have been relieved if only their jobs were stolen by those funny looking pale people arriving on ships, instead of their land, their homes, their families, their very lives.

Dang all pale-skinned blue eyed blond Brits. All mine did was steal my heart, but I really can’t object, because unlike the Native Americans, a drop or so of which blood flows through my mutt veins, I’m still free to roam the land. And I must admit that I have found advantages to being heartless.

Get real, folks, we’re all the same. The only differences are cultural, and for an open mind and a bit of understanding, is that really so much?

Take that

This post is in response to a certain blogger’s executive order that our posts are not cheery enough for her, and that we should suck it up and entertain her.

It’s the freakin end of Feb. OK it’s actually the beginning of March, but with 15 feet of snow and all, so what? What do you expect from a hoard of winter-bound people? Every year, as fall advances, we party hearty with a sense of quiet desperation, promising each other that this year will be different. For once, we won’t let the cold and the snow and the ice get to us, we’ll keep getting together for wild parties, none of us will go into hibernation mode and stay in bed for days on end. But after a few months, like new year's resolutions we can’t maintain, we go down, turning as bitter as the weather. The ghostly white face staring back from the mirror erases any memories of ever having danced happily in the sun, fit and tanned, unbound from 42 layers of clothing. We forget what color is, as we make extremely brief forays out of our houses only when we’ve run out of essentials, such as olives and eucalyptus. The dark, gray days seep into our souls, leaving us feeling as bleak as the landscape.

For the last three years, I resided in the tropics or semi tropics. No such luck this year. I pinned all my hopes on avoiding that end-of-winter funk by escaping the cold for a few weeks, only to have the absolute worst vacation of my life, making me dearly wish I’d stayed home to get blown down and across the ice for a quarter mile before coming to a crashing halt up against a good solid snow drift that saved me from slipping straight into the frigid ocean whipped wild by a howling chill wind.

Oh you lucky people who live where it’s not so terribly mood destroying cold. Patience. Spring is coming, and with it, our moods and our posts will improve.

Weather Report

'TODAYS SNOW AND FLURRIES IN SOUTHERN NEW ENGLAND IS JUST A TEASE FOR WHATS COMING TONIGHT.'
Since when did the national weather service become so provocative?

'THE JACKPOT...10 TO 15 INCHES... WILL PILE UP IN THE HEAVILY POPULATED AREAS…'
Who’s writing this stuff, some silly blogger? If I hit the jackpot motherlode of snow, what do I win? A snow blower? Vacation to Aruba? Spring tinted glasses? Or do I get to shovel to my heart’s content, or until my heart quits, whichever comes first?

'SNOW... WILL BE HEAVY AT TIMES BETWEEN 10 PM TONIGHT AND 10 AM MONDAY CAUSING NUMEROUS DELAYS OR CANCELLATIONS IN ALL SORTS OF TRANSPORTATION DEPENDENT BUSINESS. THUNDER MAY ALSO BE HEARD.'
Woohoo, thunder, just like summer, except no mosquitoes. Instead, it’s freezing white as the car skids into a mammoth snowdrift while the world comes to a rumbling end. Can’t I opt for the skeeters with my thunder, please?

'AN INTENSE HEAVY 12 TO 18 HOUR SNOW STORM IS ON THE WAY FOR MOST OF SOUTHERN NEW ENGLAND…WHEN A NOREASTER DEPOSITS A 5 TO 15 INCH SNOWFALL ACROSS MUCH OF SOUTHERN NEW ENGLAND... EXCLUDING THE COASTAL SOUTHEAST.'
Please please please let that be true, 'cause I am on the southeast coast and I truly don’t care to win this particular jackpot.

Spring is coming spring is coming spring is coming…Isn’t it? Will anyone be able to see it if it’s buried under white crap?