Thursday, October 31, 2013

How'd You Do That?

It finally happened!  I was so excited my heart threatened to jump out of my chest.  My fingers tingled and my stomach fluttered.  The lawn mower had broken, not while I was riding it, while Doug was using it!

This blue riding lawn mower came with the house.  It has been Doug's pride and joy.  The mower purrs like a kitten for the entire six weeks Doug is home.  He leaves and Bam!  It breaks within hours of his departing the country.

It has vapor locked on me more times than my poor preschool teachers brain can count.  Doug says, "Why does it do that to you?  It never does it to me."  I turned the ignition one morning.  No click, no cough, nada, nothing.  Doug replied to my email, "It didn't do that when I was home."   Opening the shed door another morning, the tires greeted me with a deflated smile.  Doug asked , "How'd you do that?"



I do not know or pretend to understand how these things happen.  They are an act of nature.  Now nature has acted on Doug.

I was slaving away in the kitchen cooking Doug a savory dinner.  He had been mowing all day long.  I could practically hear the angel music in his head as he roared along.  Out of the blue he appeared at the window.  "I need your muscles!" he yelled.

"Me?  The 100 pound weakling?"  (Okay.  Maybe that was 20 years ago.  But I still see that person in the mirror.) 

Doug was frowning as I rushed outside.  "What's going on?"  He ignored the question and lead me to the front yard ditch.  Low and behold there sat the lawnmower.  It listed to one side looking sickly.  Come to think of it, Doug looked sickly too.  The wheel was missing!

I tried to contain myself from smiling and jumping up and down.  Tired, but failed.  "Hey, how'd you do that?" 

He ignored that question too.  "I'm going to lift the lawnmower and I want you to push the jack under it." he instructed.   (What he meant was shove the 80 pound floor jack through the sod and mud.)  Like that happened.

Plan B.  We will push it up the ditch.  He will get the trailer and we can push it up the ramp into the back.  I quickly nixed that idea.  If my muscle bound son and I could not push the mower up a slight hill, there was no way Doug and I were pushing it up any incline.  Not that Doug isn't muscular, but his muscles are 20 some years older than Robby's.

By now he was pacing and muttering.  I stood back to take a picture.  He muttered more in my direction.

Plan C.  The lug nuts were striped.  Perhaps he could secure them enough to drive the lawnmower on the trailer.  Doug climbed on, started the engine, (Not right away.  The handle sensor has a short, has for several months.  The sensor has to be manipulated with a knife before it would think of coming to life.)   He attempted to drive on and the tires spun sending grass flying into the neighboring field.  I could see determination in his face.  He spun the mower around and flew up the ramp backwards. 

"Now what?  Are we taking the blasted thing into the shop."  I asked still trying to hide my amusement.

"Tomorrow," Doug barked out.  "I must clean it up first."

Strange, but okay.  I watched from the kitchen window as Doug blew the grass off his baby.  He wiped the dirt off the exterior.  Oil was applied to the crevices.  A soft blanket was delicately attached around it so it wouldn't get too dusty on the drive to the lawn mower hospital.  It was like giving a baby a bath and tucking it in for the night.  It was an evil lawnmower.  Let bugs splatter it.


We live on a moderately busy road.  I see people checking the place out as they drive by.  There is a sense of security knowing that if I fall off the ladder or out of the apple tree someone will see and pick me up.  People have even stopped to ask my why the lawn mower is sitting idle in the middle of the yard.  (Because it died, duh!)  However; no one drove by as Doug and I attempted to rid the ditch of the possessed mower.  I could gloat with no one at the time.  So pass this on to everyone you know.  Let the word be out that the evil blue lawnmower pulled a quick one on Doug.  Finally!


Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Uninvited Guests

Doug thinks he's flying off to go to work tomorrow.  I've got news for him.  He's not going until he fixes the problem in the basement.

This problem started when we were preparing to leave for a trip.  We shut the water off to the house when will be gone for an extended period of time.  One never knows the cats may decide to have an inside pool party while we are away. 

Our bags were packed and loaded in the truck.  The cats were fed.  Doug had gone to the basement to shut the water off.  That's when it first happened.  Doug comes tearing up the basement steps.  He looks at me, put his hands up and firmly says, "Don't worry!  I will handle it.  Do not worry!"

"Don't worry about what?  Handle what?  What are you talking about?"

"Just don't worry," he reiterated as he sped off to the garage.  Seconds later he emerged with a bucket and a child's snow shovel.  (I know.  We do not have any small children living here now.  But some day there may be grandchildren.  Someone has to shovel snow in my old age.)  It dawned on me what I shouldn't worry about.

"Is there a gross, slimy snake in the basement?"  I hopped on the counter just in case it slithered up the basement stairs in search of my toes.

Doug ignored me and tore down the basement steps.  Minutes later he walked triumphantly in the kitchen with a snake larger than my leg coiled in the bottom of the bucket.  "Got it!" 


"Get it out!" I wailed.

After our trip Doug decided to tackle the snake problem in the basement.  His solution was to get rid of the two dingy light bulbs that didn't illuminate the corners.  He installed seven large florescent lights.  "You will be able to see now if there is a snake down there."

That was conquering the problem?  Helping me to see the snakes?  I wanted the snakes evacuated to anywhere outside away from the house.  I think he must have fallen off his lawn mower and banged his head. 

The basement is like a car dealership.  Lights blind you and every dead cricket is visible.  I stop at the bottom of the steps and peer into every corner and crevice to make sure there is not a snake stalking me.  Once the initial viewing looks snake free, I creep into the lighted cavern.  I don't forget to  inspect the timbers overhead.  It could be days before someone found me after my heart attack if a snake toppled from the rafters onto my head. 


We had not had a snake sighting in a couple of weeks.  I was feeling pretty comfortable about Doug leaving.  He was in the basement sweeping the dead crickets when my cell phone dinged alerting me to a text message.

My considerate husband had sent me a picture of him and a snake!  The caption read, "I nabbed this uninvited guest.  Must have scared him because he jumped and scrambled away.  Searching.  I love you."


And he thinks he is really leaving tomorrow.

I fixed that!  Doug is going no where until the snake is found and relocated far away from the house.  My furry four legged sentries are helping me.  

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Mr. Squirrel vs. The Man

Caddyshack was a hit movie in the 1980's.  One of the stars was Bill Murray as a possessed maintenance  man of a golf course.  His Nemesis was the gopher.  He would stop at nothing to remove Mr. Gopher from the golf holes.  Doug has a similar situation on our acreage.  Mr. Squirrel has decided Doug's man-cave shed is a squirrel's cozy mansion.  It has driven Doug to madness!

Let me first say in our 13 moves we have always fed the cute bushy-tailed squirrels.  We have squandered money on squirrel food and feeders.  They have provided us hours of laughter at their antics.  Our entire family loved watching the cute rodents ride the ferris-wheel like feeder trying to stuff as much corn in their mouths before slipping to the ground.  But moving to the country has blinded Doug to the beauty of these animals. 

I noticed something was amiss when the live trap appeared beside the corner of the shed.  "Honey, what is the trap doing by the shed?'" I inquired.

A wild look came into Doug's eyes.  "There is a squirrel in my shed and he is getting dirt and grass and straw all over my workbench!"   He practically popped an artery in his neck chocking out this one sentence.

"Can't you just sweep the debris off the bench and go on with your work?"  Doug isn't prone to laziness, but he is a man.

"You don't understand.  That squirrel is up in the rafters of the shed peeing and pooping and soon the roof will be caving in on my head!"

I have been in the shed.  It had never rained poop or roofing material on my head.

Nature verses Doug was in full battle. When the trap didn't yield more than dirt, he confiscated the used cat litter and sprinkled it around the perimeter of shed.  The odor of the cat urine was supposed to disgust the squirrel and send him packing.  It must have been a cat loving squirrel.  He scurried into the shed mindless of the cat stench. 

Doug crawled like a snake around the shed searching for the squirrel entry.  He found a minuscule hole in the wood where Mr. Squirrel had chewed his way in.  I awoke to insistent banging the next morning.  Doug had gone out at predawn hours waiting for the squirrel to exit the shed.  At which time Doug began to nail every piece of scrap lumber he owned over the squirrel door. 

Next Doug stood sentry at the kitchen window, binoculars in hand.  It wasn't long before Mr. Squirrel had finished his breakfast and tried to return home for a nap.  Squirrel was not pleased to find his door barricaded.  He paced back and forth.  He stood up on his hind legs and thought.  He then preceded to chew another whole six inches away. 

Doug then tried to communicate with the squirrel in sign language.


The next plan of action for Doug was to bury cement blocks under the large shed doors.  He reinforced the inside of the doors with steel.  If the squirrel tried to get in, he was going to need some dental work.

Whistling and happy with himself Doug went to work in his man cave.  The scurry of little squirrel feet above his head stopped him in his tracks.  He didn't care how the squirrel got in.  He didn't care that I love to watch squirrel antics.  He just wanted that blank-a-dee-blank squirrel out of his space.

Doug stormed into the house and grabbed our loaf of bread.  The live cage was loaded in the shed with six pieces of bread and positioned inside the shed. 


The next morning the squirrel had a feast of bread before he was relocated to his new home up the hill.  I suppose he can be friends with Stripes.  They can reminisce about the good old days on the Kiem acreage.