Hey, Woody and Buzz, Come Fix My Roof!

Don't let the rain come down
My roof's got a hole in it and I might drown.
--Serendipity Singers, "Don't Let the Rain Come Down"

Sometimes, a forty-one year old man can fool himself into thinking he is still a kid. It doesn't last for long, but there are those moments: the first day of vacation, an unexpected bout of inclement weather that keeps him from work, an exceptional ice cream cone on a hot day. These moments are quite valued, even by the most cynical and serious among us. Even a dour old coot like Ebeneezer Scrooge had a little bit of the child hidden deep within his Grinchy heart (an oddly mixed, seasonally inappropriate analogy, but, like a petulant six year old, I don't care).

Yesterday, Monkey and I went to see Toy Story 3 (2d). It was a wonderful, sentimental, exciting story, as you might expect. Disney's involvement notwithstanding, I enjoyed the film, and was even, perhaps, a bit touched by the picture's more maudlin moments. Afterward, we walked a few blocks to a favorite ice cream shop (where Monkey is apparently a Facebook celebrity (or nuisance...I couldn't exactly tell)), and spent an exquisite ten minutes sitting on a bench in the Haymarket, eating Peanut Butter Marshmallow and Pumpkin Praline sugar cones. The day was rather pleasant temperature-wise, which made the sitting outside all the more enjoyable, and, even on break, the sense of decadence brought about by a movie and an ice cream cone enjoyed on a Tuesday afternoon is undeniable and awesome.

But, days like today conspire to remind one that thirteen was a long time ago, and real life is always just around the corner to smack him into adulthood. During a recent spat of late Spring/early Summer rain, it was made clear that our roof has lost its integrity. There are three obvious spots (all on the first floor) where water has gotten into the house. Two of those three spots are brownish water spots, which, given much more opportunity (i.e., more rain) might develop into actual into-the-living-room drippers. The problem of pooled water above our heads notwithstanding, I am glad that these spots did not actively leak into our house. It saved us some pandemonium. However, there is a spot on the kitchen that left a bit of splish-splash on the floor. And, I am grateful for that. It convinced Monkey and I that we shouldn't wait any longer. We contacted a roofer for an estimate today. (Yeah, I know, we waited a bit longer...well....)

This is when the adult world really sucks, of course. A roof is going to cost a lot of money. And Monkey and I were just congratulating ourselves on the fact that we had been doing such a good job of setting aside money to put in the savings account every month. This isn't exactly why we were socking cash away, but I am glad we have it when we need it.

Now, to protest the ensuing five figure price tag that I am anticipating, I am going to go eat a Popsicle and submerge my feet in a kiddy pool. Anybody wanna come over?

***Grammar Note: The word "popsicle" is capitalized. It is a brand name of a kind of ice pop. In the same way that Band-Aid and Kleenex are brand names that have been adopted as the general name of the product that they refer to, so Popsicle. I did not know that.

Snowshine Sun, Dog Soreness, and Raven Disgust

The last Monday of the old year has been a memorable one, for sure. First, it has finally stopped snowing here, and we are almost finished digging out (as a municipality). One side of our street has been plowed, and we expect the other side to be done sometime before spring. Our own walkways and driveways have been cleared and re-cleared over the course of the last four days or so. I am pretty sure the entire neighborhood is about tired of shoveling, snow blowing, vehicle pushing, etc. As a bonus, today, the sun came out for the first time in about forever.

Secondly, Ripken had another operation to remove some tumors from his torso. He had a similar operation last year at this time. None of the tumors were on his head, but he had one right on his sternum, so he is having a hard time finding a comfortable position to lay in. He is looking pretty miserable, six hours after his operation, but, after he keeps some food down and has a baby aspirin, he should be feeling better.

In an irrelevant vein, compared to the dog's recovery, I suffered the frustration and helpless disgust that is watching your NFL team basically outplay their rivals AGAIN, yet still lose due to boneheaded penalties and a lack of execution. Most likely, the Ravens will beat the Raiders on Sunday and make the playoffs, but, if they keep playing like they have (and nothing indicates that they won't), a loss wouldn't surprise me, but a deep run in the playoffs would.

Finally, we made a pretty tasty potato soup for lunch today, and we still have about ten pounds of gifted potatoes to get through!

Household Chores

A brief respite before we are back on the travelling caravan that is Summer 2009. Heading to CoMo for a wedding this weekend, then it's off to Eugene for ten days with Monkey (who is already there), before driving back and stopping in Colorado (Rocky Mountain National Park) for a week with the Ambassadors.

But, before that, it's painting time. It seems that if it's summer around here, I must be painting something. This year, we're painting Monkey's office. We had some of the living room paint left over from when we moved in, and she decided that would be nicer than the (I don't know) avocado (?) that was in there previously. It has been a longer task than I expected (isn't it always), which has included a brief foray into the bedroom to paint some awful closet doors with the white semi-gloss I got for the trim in the office. I must say, despite the annoyance of the detail work (I am meticulous on the edges), and the dearth of joy in a job done without my favorite painting partner (and queen of the roller brush), that the room looks a hundred times nicer, brighter, and cleaner.

Unfortunately, all that painting has cut into my usual routine of reading for eight hours a day (okay, an exaggeration), but I'll be back to that soon enough, I guess.

By the way, Monkey has the camera, and she sent some photos from the road (she and a friend drove out to OR). In Chapell, NE, she found this monstrous ice cream cone in some one's back yard.

That's all for now, a cheese sandwich is calling my name.

Honing My Skills

After some reconsideration yesterday morning (" a lot of strands in the old Duder's head"), I went out front to revisit the scene of the basement flood's origin. Here's what caused me to reconsider my thinking of this case: it wasn't the south wall that was leaking, it was the west wall. So, the blowing wind wasn't a factor in the cause at all (I am really bad with directions, especially when I am underground, like in a basement).

And what did I find while out conducting my second investigation? I found that all of the down spouts on that side of the house had become disconnected. All the water from the gutters was pouring down the side of the house, insinuating itself between the foundation and the soil, and then seeping through the wall. With all the rain we had on Friday and Saturday night, it's a wonder the house didn't rise up on a sheet of water and float away.

And, so, with a bit of wet work, reconnecting down spouts and crawling through wet grass and bushes, it appears that I have solved that edition of CSI: Homeowners' case. How am I certain? Well, because for the third night in a row, Monkey and I were stirred by late night thunderstorms, and this morning, there is no new water in the basement!

Water Damage

Until very recently, it has been dry here. However, the past two nights have brought us 1 am thunderstorms that have really been impressive. Accompanied by southerly breezes, these storms have brought us a great deal of water, thunder, and lightning. Both nights Monkey and I have been stirred by the storms to close windows.

Yesterday morning brought us a new concern to be diligent about. Our basement was flooded again. This time, however, it was not a leaky hot water heater or a backed up drain. It appears that our southern wall, made of seventy-five year-old brick, is no longer waterproof. My untrained eye believes that the water, being driven by the southerly wind, is inundating itself between our wall and the dirt outside, eventually seeping through the wall and into the basement. I haven't actually seen it do this, but, my novice CSI: House Owner skills have decided to build a case that tends toward that inevitable conclusion.

The result of this new issue of home ownership: two early morning forays into the basement with the ShopVac, a never ending fan blowing on the damp rug outside the laundry room, massively peeling floor paint, and an impending "estimate" from a basement waterproofer that might send the Monkeys on tilt.

Stay tuned for fund-raising messages.

How Long Can A Sandwich Last?

So, yesterday, probably just before the time I was metaphysicalatin' on some others' words, the Monkey House Nebraska was suffering its second major appliance breakdown. As the old song goes, "The hot water heater, she ain't heating no water no more."

Good fortune smiled on the Monkeys, however, since the demise of the hot water heater did not lead to a full-fledged release by said hot water heater. You see, often, when a hot water heater (I'm beginning to see this common name as a redundancy--why would you need to heat hot water? It would be like having a hot toast toaster, right?) gives up the ghost, it often leaks all 30-50 gal. of water (depending on the size) out onto your basement floor. It's not good. This one didn't do that. Sure, there was water on the floor, but it was slow leaking, rather than flushing all about.

At any rate, I spent the rest of last night messing with it: looking at it, draining it, shutting of the water and gas lines (not in that order, by the way), inspecting it for rust and such. We decided to have a plumber come replace it in the morning, which he did. But not before I had to go to work without any hot water (i.e., no shower). And, tonight was parent-teacher conferences for third term.

So, I looked and felt my best while facing down hordes of mostly pleasant parents. Oh, but wait, I am getting ahead of myself. See, I was distracted most of today. Mostly by the specter of P-T conferences, but also by the lack of a shower this morning. I felt like I touched my hair a lot, today. It didn't feel good.

At lunch, I was so distracted that I didn't finish my sandwich. I wrapped it back up and put it in my desk. Where, distracted by the glorious end of P-T conferences, I left it when I exited the building less than an hour ago. So, what I really need to know is will said sandwich (ham and cheese on whole wheat with mayo) be okay to eat tomorrow after sitting in my desk for all of today and half of tomorrow? My future health may depend on prompt responses.

Order in the Garden of Good and Evil

The yard was nothing but a fence
The sun just hurts my eyes somewhere
It must be time for penitence
Gardening at night is never where
--REM, "Gardening at Night" (all lyrics approximate)

Nature is not an orderly thing. It’s unruly. It’s messy. Life and death usually are.

It’s about competition and dominance. It’s about procreating to the fullest and elbowing out all competition through strength, growth, and offspring. How does the European starling come to be so prevalent on a continent it never even saw until the 1880s? By copulating like mad and storming every nest they see to evict the owners and set up their own residences. That and the enviable ability to ingest everything from seeds to French fries.

Monkey and I have set up our own residence, as you know, in a house that is, ostensibly, our own (held in a minority partnership with a mortgage company already several times removed from the one we originally drew up a contract with, but, I digress). In the past, our living arrangements have been of the rental variety: apartments in giant complexes, beater houses in “less desirable” neighborhoods. (In the interest of full disclosure, there was a short period of time that involved a sort of squatter arrangement with her brother, but that really is irrelevant to my thesis.) After one year of ownership, it’s still a new experience for us. And, it involves a lot of work that I never expected myself to be doing and, dare I say, enjoying.

The upkeep of our former residences involved minimal effort. The cracker-box apartment (labeled so because it was small, not because it contained any crackers, metaphorical or otherwise) was on the second floor. We had no property at all, and no house plants to worry about. There was no mowing, weeding, whatever. The bungalows of the past demanded a slightly greater demand, usually a weekly mow in the growing season, some shoveling in the winter. In the interest of beautification, there was some experimentation with container planting, but the maintenance of those was not even enough to warrant consideration as labor. The high mortality rate of flora in and around the Monkey House was evidence enough that not even the minimal amount of care was being provided to those poor plants that had the misfortune of crossing paths with this dude. But, this is a different story, and, like all stories, we need to understand some back story in order to see where the protagonist (that would be me, for those of you with less acute skills of inference) stands philosophically.

I have railed in the past about the waste of water and the contamination of the soil that many homeowners engage in an effort to keep their lawns and yards looking beautiful, tidy, and ordered. I always thought it was stupid to water grass simply to encourage growth that required one to mow more frequently. Why would someone want to make more work for herself? Also, it seemed to me that gardens were attempts to bring some of the diversity of nature into one’s own little patch of earth, but, in the natural world, the beauty we appreciate isn’t a rose bush all by itself surrounded by cedar mulch and a few pansies playing ring-around-the-rosie at its base. Nature was a mulberry bush muscling out some joe-pie weed all in the midst of a scruffy clutch of ferns and a patch of wild onion pushing up through seasons-worth of leaf litter and other detritus. My mother, spending hours on a Sunday to pull everything that was deemed a weed was the most ridiculous thing I could imagine.

Yet, here I am, out in my own yard, slowly and systematically restoring order to patches of border that have been “overgrown” with who-knows-what kind of ground cover. What is wrong with me?

One thing, it seems, is the influence of others. Our neighbors on either side have beautiful yards and enviable landscaping. I don’t want our house to be “that house.” You know, the one that people look at and say, “What kind of trash lives there?” I’ll leave that to someone else. The goal here is not to compete with my neighbors. I don’t need my yard to be something out of Southern Living, I just want it to fit in with the rest of the neighborhood. I’m not about to weed and feed the lawn, although I have watered a few bare patches where I reseeded the grass. But, I am pulling weeds (a lot of them) and I am laying mulch (and, dammit, it looks nice). Not only that, but, this morning, I am off to the garden center to buy some hostas to fill in a few spaces once overrun by some unseemly gang of miscreant growth.

And, you know what, while I am out there violating every philosophical belief I used to have about the insanity of unnatural nature, remaking beautiful chaos in the orderly (and, somehow, more beautiful) image that I want, I am going to be enjoying every minute of it.

Missed Opportunities

The snow and ice fell on Monday, followed by righteous prairie winds. Monkey and I had a report from a driver that the road to Omaha was relatively treacherous and the wind was fierce. We decided not to travel out for Drive By Truckers. Perhaps we missed a great show, but a two hour plus trip one way (estimated due to conditions) followed by the same to return was not a pleasant forecast. Nor was three hours of sleep. Call me lame, but, I think we made a wise choice. Granted, I don't get to tell a story like this, but, that will just have to be okay.

Saturday's housewarming party was nice. We had more than twenty people show up. This may not seem like much, but, for us, it was a mob! Unfortunately, the party was over by 10:30. Does that mean all of our new aquaintances a) are old, b) are lame, c) secretly don't like us, or d) all of the above? Or, is there another, more benign explanation?

Looking Forward and Forward and Forward

This weekend, Monkey and I are having a housewarming-type party (Finally! some might say).The guest list is around thirty, and Monkey and I are a bit nervous. We have never entertained so many people. Well, except at our wedding, but that was different. We've always lived in such small places before, that after you put a half dozen people inside, it was a full house. Not that we live in some palatial estate, now, but, it can fit a few more people. We are excited to have a party, of course.

We're also excited to be going back to Omaha on Monday night to see Drive By Truckers. They are playing at the same place that Daniel Johnston played a few weeks ago. Monday night shows are a bit of a hassle, especially when they are an hour away, but, I am looking forward to it.

But, what I am really looking forward to is the True/False Film Festival next weekend in CoMo. It will be somewhat strange being a visitor in a place I called home for many years, but I am looking forward to it with great eagerness. I look froward to seeing great films. I look forward to walking familiar streets that may not be quite as familiar anymore. I look forward to seeing some friends. It will be a good weekend. And, I am taking Friday off, so, it will be a long weekend. Hooray!

The Score

Pepino , oh, you little mouse
Oh, won't you go away.
Find yourself another house to run around and play.
You scare my girl, you eat my cheese, you even drink my wine.
I try so hard to catch you, but you trick me all the time.
--Lou Monte, "Pepino, the Italian Mouse"

After a day of no mouse sightings (living or dead), but some evidence of a mouse's existence (e.g., peanut butter clearly licked from an unsprung trap by a very small, very stealthy, lightweight tongue), I woke yesterday to find an ex-mouse in the clamp of sprung steel and wood behind the stove. I was happy to see an end to our mouse problem, but a bit disturbed that I had to have a direct hand in the end of this little rodent's life. After all, he (or she) was just doing what comes naturally, right?

So, with a heavy heart, I cleared the trap. While dropping the body unceremoniously into the garbage, I spied another former mouse in the snap of a trap behind the garbage. I was very surprised. For some reason, even with ample experience with rodent infestation and removal (don't ask), I was not expecting two. And so, "the holocaust was complete." (Please refer to The Great Gatsby).

Until this morning, when I awoke to find another one behind the garbage can. I now have three little meeses on my conscience. How will I sleep at night?

"That Rug Really Tied The Room Together"

It is interesting that on the very day that we found the final chair that "tied the room together," James would comment about the search for said chair. We found it at a tag sale that we happened upon this morning, where I also saw, but did not purchase, a metal "Pigs in Space" lunchbox. How cool is that?

Anyway, I did take some pictures of the place with some of the furniture (and some of the Aunt James flair), but, I found it hard to find good angles of many of the rooms. I guess you just have to come and see it in person.

I am going to keep this short, since Monkey and I are slated to have dinner with the neighbors here in about fifteen minutes (they invited us--isn't that nice?), but the photos are of the view into the sun room from the living room , the living room from the sun room, and the breakfast nook from the kitchen (and I think they will be in that order when I upload them). See ya!

Friday Tag Sales

Monkey and I rose early this morning to hit a tag sale up in Havelock. Not much in the way of furniture (still looking for that one chair and a nightstand-type thang), but I picked up some implements of destruction (hoe, rake, pitchfork) for the low, low price of 4/$1. Shovels were not in abundance. They did have an awful lot of kitchenware and collectibles. I almost bought a really small kitchen grinder for $10., but it was so small, and I was trying not to buy anything we did not really need.

After that we cruised around the neighborhood looking at other cast-off sales, but to no avail. We breakfasted at the Enginehouse Cafe and ducked across the street to the Warehouse Liquidators store (Monkey said it scared her--I don't know why), then hit a few more yard sales. We came up empty.

This week has been pretty low key. I am trying to get the last details handled on my NE certification (the certification office is not being especially helpful, but there's plenty of time). In addition, I think we pretty much got rid of the last large quantities of moving detritus (i.e., boxes, packing paper, etc.). That makes me very happy.

No new concerts have been announced that I know of (unless you want to see the Ditty Bops, but I'm not going with you). My 'rents will be here the last weekend of July. Monkey's will be here two weeks after that. Stay tuned for those exciting updates!

Hurricane James

Aunt James whipped into Cornopolis on Friday afternoon. A little chit-chat, and we were off to various crafty-type places to buy the fixings for a good old-fashioned reupholstering. You see, unbeknownst to me, Aunt James wasn't here for just a-visitin'. It was a project she was after.

And a project she got. We roamed the Cornopolis hills and dales looking for proper furnishings and decorative items, as she and Monkey got their noggins together and worked up a proper design aspect for Monkey House Nebraska. Now, we're not talking ropes and tire swings with some plastic jugs to play with and a pail full of dirty water in the corner. Oh, no. We've left decor like that far behind us.

What we did wind up with was some fine thrift store breakfast nook furnishings (c. 1960s), a cool blue chair (it softens the room, I'm told), a reupholstered 1950s-style Montgomery Ward chair, an neat little table and lamp for the sun room, and a mess o' wall hangings (all original Monkey House paraphenalia).

By Sunday, everybody was pretty wiped, but the house looked great. We still need one more chair and some house plants, but the place really looks like a place people live in, rather than a place people are transitioning in (I am so over transitioning--I know, it's not over, yet).

So, a big thank you to Aunt James. She has some skills.

I'll be posting pics right soon.