Category Archives: Castle Willett

When The Ceiling Dripped Blood

We had moved into the house less than a week before. It was December. There were boxes everywhere, some neat, most not, almost none of them labeled. The gods had played Fifty-Two Pick-Up with our lives and we were trying to get it back into some semblance of order.

The house was much larger than the one we had moved from, which was a significant chunk of the reasons for moving. The small, three-bedroom, two-bath house in a so-so neighborhood with so-so schools near the intersection of two major freeways was getting to be problematic with three kids, aged one, three, and six. The large, five-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath house was in a really good neighborhood with really good schools, had a separate family room, and a much bigger yard.

Between work, moving, getting the oldest into his new school, and trying to unpack and get re-organized, it was a real three-ring circus. One daughter’s birthday practically got forgotten in all of the chaos, and it was not clear if there would be a time for a tree, or lights, or any other decorations for Christmas. Hell, between the expenses of moving and then paying for a bigger house that we really couldn’t afford, it was anyone’s guess if there were going to be presents for Christmas, let alone a lot of decorations.

It is safe to assume that I was stressed. Just a tad.

The weather had turned bad for a couple of days as it sometimes does in Los Angeles just before the holidays. It was late that night, near midnight, and there was a pretty good rain storm going on outside with some occasional thunder and lightning. Everyone else was in bed, but I was up late in the family room at the far end of the house, unpacking boxes and taking a few minutes to breathe.

I had finally found and gotten a television hooked up to the cable outlet in the family room. I was working on getting the computer put back together with some idiot late night show on the television for background noise.

I became aware of a dripping noise. Not a huge gushing surge or even a steady stream of fluid, but a drop-plopping-onto-something sound every twenty or thirty seconds. It was coming from the other side of the room, over by the door to the garage.

Given that it was pouring rain outside and we had only been in the house for a couple of days, my first thought was that there was a roof leak that we hadn’t been told about. I grabbed a small garbage can and went looking for the leak so that I could minimize the water damage.

Near the door to the garage, where there are a set of book shelves and cabinets built in, I found the wet spot. I got a paper towel to mop up before I put the trash can down and was startled to see the towel soaking up a dark red fluid that was thicker and more viscous than water.

I looked up at the ceiling where the drip was coming from and I could clearly see that there was a dark stain there. The ceiling in the family room is made of open 4×8 beams painted dark brown, with white-painted lathe hardwood laid down perpendicular to it as the bottom layer of the roof. There was a knot in the wood with a crack that I could see up into, and once I got a flashlight I could see the drops slowly forming there before they fell.

OK, so, to review. Dark. Middle of the night. Heavy rain. Lightning. Thunder. We just moved in. Chaos inside. And a thick, dark, red fluid (i.e., blood!!!) dripping from the ceiling.

I would like to say that I went to check the bathroom mirrors for swarms of flies spelling out “GET OUT!” or any places in the house where “REDRUM” had been scrawled in lipstick on a door. I didn’t. Instead I figured that there must be a rusty nail or something up in there, some tar or roofing material that was staining the leaking rain water, and that’s what was making the water look dark. There was no way that it was actually blood. C’mon!

I cleaned up the mess and put the garbage can there catch any further leaks.

Two or three nights later I was in the same room, again late at night. This time it was quiet and not raining. I had checked the previous couple of nights to make sure that nothing else was dripping or leaking and hadn’t seen anything further.

But late on this night, again, I heard something dripping near the door to the garage. And on this night another sound as well, a scraping noise coming from the ceiling.

I went to where I had found the drip the first night and could again see a thick, dark red fluid dripping from the ceiling onto the counter. It looked like blood. And every few minutes I could hear a soft scraping noise, a shuffling sound.

I thought it might be coming from the garage on the other side of the wall, so I got a flashlight and went out to check, figuring it might be rats (or a raccoon!). We have lots of fruit trees and I thought that there might be one in the garage. But there was no sign of any critters there, and from the garage I could still hear the shuffling sound, coming from high up on the wall, which would put it on the roof of the family room. The sounds and the dripping stopped after about ten minutes.

The next night I was ready and waiting for any odd occurrences or noises in the family room. An hour or so after sunset, I started hearing something again. Tonight it was more shuffling noises in the same spot as before, slowly moving along the wall between the family room and the garage, out toward the outside edge of the room. Then I heard a rush of wind, a literal “WHOOSH” sound, then nothing.

About two hours later I heard a loud thud, then more scraping, shuffling noises. This time the sounds moved from the outside wall back in toward the main house, followed by some noises like something settling and moving around. Five or ten minutes later, again I found blood dripping from the ceiling.

At this point I had yet to get up on the roof. We had only lived there about two weeks and, as I said, it was pretty chaotic. But the next day I dug out the ladder and took a look around up there.

IMG_8316_smallThe flat gravel roof is the family room. The pitched roof running left to right in the center background is the garage. The higher, pitched roof on the right is the living room and main house. Where the pitched roof from the garage doesn’t quite meet the flat roof of the family room, there’s a bit of an open space, running the width of the family room.

IMG_0104_smallDid we have uninvited guests? I got a flashlight and took a closer look.

IMG_0103_smallRunning the length of the family room (with the garage wall on the left in this view) is this triangular hidey-hole. In this particular picture from last year you can see Rocky & Raquel lurking down at the far end, but on that first day that I peeked in here over twenty years ago, I saw nothing.

It was dark at the far end and I didn’t have the best flashlight, so I went and got a better one. I crawled up right next to the opening and put my head and arm in with the flashlight — in retrospect, possibly not the best move if there was a pissed off wild critter in there and I was wedging my head into the only exit. Still, I saw nothing at first, waving my flashlight around to figure out what I might be seeing…

…and then the owl opened its eyes, looking right at me from ten feet away. Huge, gigantic, golden, glowing eyes. And it blinked and I was outta there!!

Yep, it really was blood dripping from the ceiling. This magnificent, huge owl was crawling along the gravel at night (scraping and shuffling), flying off after dark (with a very audible WHOOSH), catching dinner and coming back to take it back into its nest to eat, and as the rat/rabbit/mouse/squirrel/critter got eaten, the blood was soaking down through that knothole and into the house.

As much as I love birds and owls, it couldn’t last. The critter-friendly hiding spot under the garage roof had to be closed off.

Then, as now, my main concern was to make sure that I wasn’t dooming any critters by sealing them in, particularly if there are little critters there waiting for mom and/or dad to bring home dinner. So I cut a large piece of heavy-duty wire mesh sheeting to cover the hole to the triangular hidey-hole and waited for a good night. When I heard the owl leave, I went up and checked the “nest” to make sure that it was empty and there weren’t any other owls, adult or babies, left behind. Then I sealed it up quickly and figured that the owl would have to find some other nesting spot.

Now, with Rocky and Raquel in there (the wire mesh got taken off when we had the roof re-shingled a few years ago), it’s time to seal off the “critter nest” again. We know that there are at least two kits in there now, but they’ll be grown soon and then it will be time to again wait to hear the critters leave for their nocturnal adventures and do a quick eviction on them.

We learned that lesson the first time over twenty years ago — WHEN THE CEILING DRIPPED BLOOD!!

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Guess Who’s Back?

Around the 4th of July they vanished (we can tell because the water in the dog’s outside dish is clean in the morning), probably off to feed somewhere else in their territory. However, this morning the dog’s water was muddy, she got all poofy when she went out & sniffed the bowl, and now they’re out there on the roof rattling around again.

It’s the Rocky & Raquel & Clan Show!!

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IMG_5108_smallMaybe it’s time to bug someone at the city again. I’ve been told in the past that there’s nothing they can or will do, and I’ve been told that most exterminators won’t deal with them except to drive them out of the house if they get into the attic. Furthermore, if you can find an exterminator that will actually trap them instead of just going “shoo!”, they can’t or won’t actually exterminate them, they’ll just take them out to the hills (which are all of a mile away) and release them, which means that they’re back in two days.

There’s gotta be something to do besides that. Preferably before they actually get into the attic.

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¡Hola! Me Llamo Pablo!

It has occurred to me a number of times over the past couple of years that it would be a good thing to actually learn to speak and understand a bit of Spanish. No matter where you go in this country it can come in handy here and there, and in a place like Los Angeles it’s practically required. (Especially if you’re looking for a new job.) Also, we would like to travel more now that we’re Empty Nesters, and some conversational Spanish will be useful there as well.

Living in LA for nearly forty years one picks up more of the language than you realize if you’re paying any attention at all to your surroundings. For instance, you can find yourself with a large crowd of women that don’t speak a word of English in a work place situation where mime or charades are not appropriate but you really, really badly need to know where el baño del hombres is located. If you know what I mean.

We’ve tried a couple of times to get enrolled in a Spanish 101 class at the local community college, but those classes fill up in about five seconds when registration opens. But this summer we applied for a class on the “extension” campus and got in. Apparently the fact that the class doesn’t count for any sort of credit makes it less desirable to those trying to get an AA or fill pre-requisite checklists for transfer to a UC or CalState four-year program.

Starting last week, The Long-Suffering Wife and I started our six-week, one night for two hours a week, Conversational Spanish 1 class. No grades, no credit, no grammar, and no expectations other than maybe knowing how to say hello, count, tell time, ask simple directions, read the menus, shop, and ask, “¿Se habla inglés, por favor?”

I’ve found after two classes that I’m way out of my comfort zone when the teacher calls on me to speak. With only a handful of students in the class, we all get called on a lot.

This was really not something I was expecting. I’ve always been the obnoxious kid who sits in the front and always has his hand in the air with the answer. But languages are not my strong suit. With only six classes, we’re getting a lot thrown at us quickly. Sometimes it’s like the words are just bouncing off my ears, never making it to my brain.

But I recognized this overwhelmed feeling and I recognized that this was a safe place where everyone else was just as lost as I was. Folks weren’t laughing at me when I butchered “simple” pronounciations or couldn’t translate “714” to save my life. They were laughing with me, just as long as I kept laughing. My head knew what to do even if my gut was wondering why I volunteered for this gig.

We finished strong tonight.

Now I get to spend odd moments this week trying to get more comfortable counting en Español and comprehending when I hear others counting. The hot rumor is that ther’s a quiz next week. Grades or no grades, I want to nail it.

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Flight Or Fight?

Have you noticed how often the “Politics” category gets flagged on the same post as the “Freakin’ Idiots!” category does?

Somewhere down the road in three years, five years, ten years, whatever, the Castle Of The Willetts will be relocating out of Los Angeles for sure, and almost certainly out of California. Ronnie’s still got her job here and career to finish out. I’m looking for my next job and for practical reasons it’s most likely to be in the area here (but I would take a decent job out of state in a heartbeat if it came along). But when the day comes for us to retire, it will be someplace else.

In looking at where that “someplace else” will be, I’ve been keeping track of places that seem to have a preponderance of freakin’ idiots, particularly in the political area. I would really prefer to not voluntarily move to some place where my first reaction to every move made in the state capitol is to go there and start yelling at folks and asking what kind of freakin’ idiot they think they are!!??

That could make retirement…unpleasant. For everyone.

But these days, it’s getting harder and harder to find places that aren’t full of freakin’ idiots, particularly ideologically right-wing, sanctimonious, Faux News watching freakin’ idiots. Whether it be Texas and their little thing about banning abortions no matter how many special sessions it takes, or Ohio today with their move to do the same no matter how irrational or unconstitutional, or North Carolina and Mississippi and other states trying to re-write the Jim Crow laws, or any one of a couple dozen states not being satisfied with simply denying marriage rights to a significant chunk of the population but instead insisting on making those rights actually illegal in the state constitutions – it’s getting tough to find anyplace that doesn’t suck from some political or social standpoint or another.

I’m not saying that California’s any better – it’s not! It’s not just the fact that more than 50% of the voting public allowed their common sense and their souls to be purchased by the religious right’s bullshit campaign and vote in Prop H8 a couple of years ago. The entire ballot proposition concept in California today is so totally corrupt that it’s not even funny, with 99% of the Props being corporate sponsored and corporate opposed and signatures gathered by political machines, to the point where any actual citizen-based reform via ballot proposition is almost inconceivable.

So many places look like such nice places to live, if you ignore the politics. I look at places like North Carolina, Ohio, Kentucky, Virginia, Kansas, Missouri, and I would love to move (or move back) there for so many reasons.

Seasons. Small towns. Mountains and rivers and landscapes. Weather.

And then I see something about their politics or social mores that just infuriates me and I don’t see how I could ever live there.

Thinking about it today, I was wondering how other folks do it. For example, I follow and admire John Scalzi but I don’t actually know him. I know that he lives in Ohio and appears to love it there, yet he appears to feel like I do about the politics of the place. How does he do that? How does he reconcile that?

North Carolina seems to be a lovely place, lots of nice mountains, a good climate, some great places like Raleigh. I have a high school friend who’s a lawyer there and she loves it. But I know her political views and I see things like North Carolina passing constitutional amendments prohibiting gay marriage and passing laws in their legislature that make some incredibly bone-headed and backwards educational choices – and I don’t know that I could live there despite all of the other good things. So how does Maria do it?

While turning all of this over in my mind today a new thought occurred to me. Kind of like the revelation that the Grinch had as he heard the Whos singing in the village below him.

Maybe if you find a place that you really love except for some facet of outlandish and outrageous political or social disconnect, the trick is to live there anyway and fight to change the things that you find wrong about it. Accept that no place is perfect and even that there may be a major issue, but embrace what is good and then with determination and confidence and courage stand up in the minority for the things that you believe in and try to change things.

OK, so if the “major issue” is something like cannibalism, perhaps you need to keep looking for a starting point that’s a little closer to your own position. But if it’s the fact that 55% of the legislators are boobs who are trying to legislate pi to equal 3 just because, or legislate that third graders be taught that the Earth is only 6,000 years old, then perhaps you can work to get them replaced with better legislators. Maybe?

Is that the answer? To realize that Nirvana doesn’t exist and you can’t fly far enough away to ever find it, but that you take your best shot and fight to make it better? Or do you avoid the angst and grief that lies in that fight and keep flying, hoping that Nirvana or Shangri La is just over the next horizon?

It’s a thing to think about.

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Happy Birthday, Long-Suffering Wife!

When I saw the little birthday cake on this month’s table setting, I had a suspicion that someone in the family might be having a birthday this month and I was pretty sure that it wasn’t me. Sure enough, this morning Facebook told me that it’s Ronnie, the Long-Suffering Wife!

Ronnie 2012 Birthday

Seriously, how does this woman put up with me? I’m not even going to think about why she puts up with me!

But she does and I’m lucky to have her in my life every day, which is why I try to make her happy every day. Today I think I’ll see if I can get her some cake and ice cream to make her happy! And dinner. Dinner would be good.

Happy Birthday, love of my life!

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Critters

I just took Jessie out for her evening constitutional and stood out in the yard for a few minutes watching the bats. We’re close to the mountains between the San Fernando Valley and Simi Valley and almost every evening we’ll get a dozen or so flitting about under the street lights. I love them, they keep down the bugs.

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We also have Lester, a peacock, who wanders in and out of the neighborhood, hooting and hollering as peacocks are wont to do. With the Chatsworth Reservoir just to our north we get lots of ducks and geese flying about.

We get plenty of gorgeous red-tail hawks, lots of hummingbirds, some really big turkey vultures, the occasional woodpecker, and the usual assortment of sparrows, crows, mockingbirds, mourning doves, pigeons, and being only twenty miles or so from the ocean, sea gulls.

We also have some big owls – remind me to tell you some time about how the ceiling in our house dripped blooooood when we first moved in.

In our yard we ocasionally see some good-sized lizards (Fred, and now presumably some Descendant of Fred). I’ve seen dead rattlesnakes and other live snakey-type beasts, but I give them some space, so we’ve never been properly introduced.

A couple of days ago I wrote about the family of raccoon living on our roof. Our neighborhood also is the home of skunks (Jessie LOVES playing with them!), opossums, rabbits, coyotes, and once I saw a cougar prowling the neighborhood at night.

I’ve seen deer next to the freeway and all over the place at Pepperdine in Malibu. Finally, as in any urban environment, especially one with a lot of fruit trees, we get lots and lots of squirrels andrats.

I have had conversations with friends from the country or back in Vermont who question how I can live someplace so “barren” and devoid of “nature” and “wildlife”.

Except for the absence of moose, I hadn’t noticed a lack of critters, even in the suburbs of Los Angeles. The critters seem to be doing surprisingly well.

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Raccoon Rescue!!

We have multiple raccoon living in our neighborhood. About a year ago we found two of them living occasionally on our roof under an overhang where there’s a bit of shade and shelter. For the most part they’re not much of a bother so we let them be.

We’ve named them “Rocky” and “Raquel”.

A half-hour ago I let the dog out into the back yard (she’s still re-exploring everything after her two weeks at the kennel) and she immediately tore off into the bushes behind the empty “in-ground hot tub” (I don’t know if it’s a Jacuzzi ® or not), barking like a demon. This is known as “a bad sign“.

I could hear quite a ruckus in the bushes, growling, barking, squealing, so I hollered at Jessie until she came out, completely “poofed” and in battle mode. I was pretty sure what the issue was, so I put her inside, grabbed a camera, and carefully approached the BBQ and hot tub area.

In the dry, empty hot tub, was this:

2013-06-17_IMG_6227_smallRocky & Raquel have been busy!

As I approached the area I could hear this little girl squealing and crying like there was no tomorrow. And I could hear answering cries from the big, dense pine trees next to the hot tub, so it was clear that help was near by. Raquel was my concern since I didn’t believe that she would assume that I was harmless. (Fortunately I had grabbed the camera with the big telephoto lens, so I was about ten feet away.)

Out of the tree came Raquel (apparently still lactating):

2013-06-17_IMG_6232_small“And just who the hell are YOU?!” that look says. (“Me? I’m the guy who’s going to run like hell for the front yard, screaming like a little girl, if you take one step toward me.”)

2013-06-17_IMG_6234_small“Mom, can I get a little help here?”

2013-06-17_IMG_6235_small“I’m glad that you’re keeping on eye on the camera dude, but I’m not quite big enough to make it out on my own.”

2013-06-17_IMG_6244_small“Next idea?”

2013-06-17_IMG_6245_smallThe sibling’s arrival has NOT helped the situation. The one up top is saying, “You are in soooooooo much trouble when Dad hears about this!”, while the one below is saying, “At least I didn’t get chased up a tree by that woosie white dog!” Raquel would like them to stop arguing and get focused on the problem at hand. (I know that this is how the conversation went because I have seven brothers and sisters, and my mother had to put up with this shit for decades.)

2013-06-17_IMG_6247_smallClose…

2013-06-17_IMG_6250_small…but no cigar. Still stuck. Sibling is bored and not helping.

2013-06-17_IMG_6255_small“You’re turned the wrong way!” “I’m trying to grab on, get me out of here!!”

2013-06-17_IMG_6257_small“Let me grab you from the back!” Sibling is finally being useful, serving as lookout in case that camera dude gets any funny ideas.

2013-06-17_IMG_6258_small“OK, that’s still not working.”

2013-06-17_IMG_6261_small“There we go! Finally got you by the back of the head, now relax!” Sibling is thinking, “Whoa! That does not look comfortable! Remind me to stay out of the hot tub!”

2013-06-17_IMG_6263_smallRescued at last! Raquel is either giving me the stink-eye or thanking me for pulling the dog back and not bothering her or her kids during the rescue.

FYI, total time between the first picture and the last (from the file datestamps): two minutes and twenty-two seconds.

I tried to catch some of the chatter and action with my iPhone video while I was shooting these pictures. If I get anything usable I’ll post it later.

I guess we’re going to have to come up with at least two more names. And keep Jessie on a shorter leash in the back yard for a while.

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Mother Nature vs Coastal Commission

In Southern California, brush fires are a way of life. This year the fire season has started early and looks to be bad.

The Castle of the Willetts is close enough (a half-mile or so) to some open brush and parkland areas that we’re occasionally packing the critical documents, computers, and irreplaceable items and making sure that the cars all have a full tank of gas should we get the order to bug out.

There’s currently a big fire burning up north of the Santa Clarita Valley, about twenty miles due north of us. Here’s how it looked on Thursday afternoon at 1,000 acres (from the KTLA helicopter):

2013-05-30 Powerhouse Fire

And here’s a picture of the smoke cloud going up to about 40,000 feet, as taken from our front yard this afternoon, now that the fire’s up to 3,600 acres (and it’s over 100 F out there):

2013-06-01 Powerhouse Fire

Note that those aren’t normal, water vapor clouds – it’s all soot and smoke and ash. Billions of cubic yards of it I would think, if not more.

On a related note, a controversy here in Southern California surrounds the beach fire pits that have been iconic landmarks for decades here in Southern California. Several cities, particularly Newport Beach and Huntington Beach, are trying to get the beach pits shut down. The reason given by the California Coastal Commission is that the smoke from the beach fire pits is a source of pollution.

Does the Coastal Commission want to know why the average Californian think’s they’re a bunch of freakin’ idiots? (I’m sure they don’t know and really don’t care, but let’s go through the math anyway.)

Look at those pictures of the natural brush fires. Look at all of that smoke for days and days and days, and multiply it by the dozen or two dozen or three dozen or more fires per year.

Now let’s think about how much smoke can ever possibly come from the beach pits, even if every single one of them is used (they aren’t) every single day (they aren’t) for six or eight hours a night (in reality it’s less).

As an order of magnitude comparison, the total amount of “pollution” by the beach fire pits has to be a tiny fraction of a fraction of a percent of the 100% natural “pollution” being caused by the brush fires. It’s a drop in the bucket, a teeny-tiny squiggle in the data, a blip lost in the noise, statistically insignificant.

So why are our tax dollars being spent on this political kerfuffle?

Buried in the articles are comments from the local beach residents about how they are being exposed to the smoke from the beach fires. The people complaining to the politicians are the multi-millionaires who live along the beach in Newport Beach, Huntington Beach, Santa Monica, Malibu, and Santa Barbara. The people who will be unable to enjoy a BBQ on the beach are the middle and low-income families who occasionally get to visit the beach for a day.

Obviously the Coastal Commission can’t get any support for banning the beach fire pits base on that obvious truth, so they spin the argument into one of “pollution”. Yet they do it while clouds of smoke from brush fires rise up over the horizon and think that we can’t or won’t notice.

How stupid do they think people are?

 

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Memorial Day

Here in the United States it’s Memorial Day, dedicated to all who have served in the US military and fallen in the line of duty.

As a number of people have noted, and I agree, it’s not really an occasion to wish anyone a “happy” Memorial Day. It’s a somber holiday in which we remember all of those who have given their lives in defense of our country over the past 237+ years. Despite the three-day weekend, the baseball games, the beach, the camping & boating trips, the BBQ’s, we need to all take a few minutes to remember why the flags fly at half-staff today.

Chuck Wendig, a favorite author and blogger, tweets, “Anti-war still to me means being pro-soldier — and it’s vital we recognize and support and remember those who served and still serve.” That’s an excellent way of putting it, especially as someone who was shocked and horrified at the way our returning veterans were treated in the 70’s coming home from Vietnam.

In my teens I was anti-war (I thought it was stupid that we were in Vietnam, and I was convinced that Nixon was an idiot and one of the worst presidents this country has every seen) but pro-military (I went to Annapolis as a midshipman in 1974, fully intending to fly F-14’s off of carriers into combat). The Navy gig didn’t work out (a story for another day), but I’ve always completely supported our troops and the benefits we as a society owe them for risking their lives in defense of our way of life.

My son has been in the US Air Force for over ten years. Steve’s now a Staff Sergeant and has been all over the world, being stationed in Iceland, Germany, Korea, Japan, and St Louis, with side trips to places like Bosnia and the United Arab Emirates. I’ve had the pleasure of being able to visit him in several of those sites and I can’t express enough how proud I am of him and of all of the men and women who serve along side of him.

While you’re enjoying your Memorial Day, remember those who died, were injured, or suffered so that you could have it.

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Odds & Sods For Sunday, May 26th

2013-05-26 Proof Of Life

 

Item The First. The “proof of life” photo shown above proves that the birthday balloon still lives! Good thing, too, since I hear there’s an upcoming helium shortage. Soon the remaining He in this balloon could be worth a small fortune. (A very, VERY small fortune.)

Item The Second. Step one of the remodel went unexpectedly well yesterday as the top layer of wallpaper pulled right off, leaving the room’s walls fuzzy and white. This was misleading, a treacherous and evil turn of events designed to give us false hopes so that our souls could be all the more crushed later, as anyone who has ever stripped wallpaper knows. The fuzzy and white layer was the second ply of the wallpaper and the wallpaper glue. We’ve experimented for a while now and it seems that this backing/glue layer was designed in Hell. The backing layer comes off pretty well with some chemical gunk that we got at the hardware store. That leaves the glue, which easily gets wet with simple water, but just turns into goo which smears and sticks and does just about everything in the world except come off the wall. Unless of course it has a chance to get stuck on you or your clothes, at which point it will come off the clothes and onto you, making you curse. Scraping off the glue is going to be a long, tedious, painstaking, annoying process.

Item The Third. So that the weekend isn’t all work and no play, Ronnie and I went to see “Star Trek – Into Darkness” and “Iron Man 3” today, both in 3-D. I enjoyed them both a great deal, especially “Star Trek”. No spoilers, but I will be glad to discuss likes and dislikes with folks by email, phone, text, or other channels of communication.

Item The Fourth. The sticky glue & wallpaper paste from Hell doesn’t have a strong scent, but the scent it has tends to seep into the skin of my hands a bit after a while, and I’m realizing tonight that the smell is triggering some old and not very pleasant memories from when I was a teenager and my family lived in and remodeled a very large house in Vermont. I did a lot of wallpaper stripping in that house, and the constant, faint smell of wallpaper paste might not be good for my mood. I think we’ll have to overwhelm it and bury it under other, more pleasant smells in order to trigger other, more pleasant memories. Baking cookies comes to mind. Does chocolate have a strong smell? How about BBQ? It is Memorial Day tomorrow, that will fit right in. How about margaritas? Wallpaper paste removal might be MUCH easier with the smell of fresh margaritas in the air… Just sayin’!

Item The Fifth. I did not buy a new Jaguar F-series the other day. (DUH! If I had the resources to buy a new top of the line Jaguar, I would pay someone else to remodel my house!)

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