Author: Susie (Page 25 of 48)

We’ve lived in the same place in the country for a long time.  For many of those years – most of them, in fact – we’ve appreciated the various services provided by our county and/or township.  Road repair, ditch mowing, snow removal, and animal removal are some of the many services for which we are grateful.

               During those years, we’ve had few problems with any of them, either.  Occasionally it takes a long time to get our ditch mowed, but then we are the only house on our road for the time being.  But up until two years ago, we had no major complaints.

               Then, the winter of 2021 came and the person who runs the snow plow seemed to think that a good bit of our yard was part of the road.  We were dismayed to see ruts and jagged cuts pushed several feet into our yard.            

               We waited until spring, raked and planted grass seed, and everything seemed okay.  Figuring the person had been new, we didn’t complain to anyone.  Plus, we weren’t really sure if the county plowed that particular road, or the township, so…who do we complain to?

               Then this past winter arrived and it happened again!  I stomped out in frustration and took several photos of our torn-up yard.  It was early February and I fired off the picture with a polite email to the county, asking, first, if they are the responsible party for the snow plowing on our road.  If so, I continued, we would appreciate it if the plow-operators could be a bit more careful about how far into a yard they push the scoop.

               As you might expect, I received no reply.  I had no idea if this meant they didn’t care, or that they weren’t responsible.  But when February morphed into April, we raked and planted grass seed, and our lawn was again intact by May.

               Then last week, I received an email from the county engineer.  It’s mid-July and it appears he “just received” my email.  He assured me that he had been out to our property and assessed it and could find no evidence of damage.

               Well, duh.  It makes total sense that damage to a lawn from a snow plow in February would not be evident in July.  At least, not in Ohio.

               I responded, politely, I might add, because my mother raised me right.  I mean, I had included a picture and it was six months ago, but I didn’t mention those things.  I merely pointed out that he was a bit late in assessing snow plow damage and that we’d appreciate some better training or more care from the snow plow operators.  Grass seed doesn’t grow on trees (I didn’t say that either, but thought it pretty hard).

               I’m going to assume that the county services will, overall, continue to be excellent.  But the whole exchange, while pretty hilarious, didn’t instill confidence that we won’t be planting grass seed next spring.

To be honest, I’ve never been totally on board with the idea of “self-driven” cars.  I mean, first of all there’s a tiny little trust issue.  They appear to be asking me to trust a computer more than my own senses.  So there’s that.  Then there’s the fact that people make these machines and computers and people, frankly, make mistakes.  The best quality control in the world doesn’t catch everything.  But…on the other hand, I have come to appreciate my car’s keyless ignition and that backup camera, so I was going to give this new technology a fair shake.

               Until this summer.  It all started with our lawn mower.  Spring came and since we mow about 10 acres or so, we need both our big riding mowers plus a trimmer to get it all done.  One of our mowers was reluctant to start, which caused us to have a delay in our normal mowing routine (not to mention the cost of the repair).

               Right after we got the mower back, we planned to power wash our fence and subsequently stain it.  The power washer – which worked fine last fall – was caput.  My husband took it to the repair shop and showed them the tiny crack, explaining , “there’s a crack in the manifold here.” Three weeks later, the man from the shop called to tell us the news: “there’s a crack in your manifold.”  (This did little to dissuade me that people make errors).  He also told us the cost of the repair.  Several weeks and many dollars later, we have a working power washer.  Again, our timeline for projects was delayed.

               Then I was being a good mom and took our son’s car in for an oil change.  While there, they discovered a nail in his left rear tire.  I paid additional money for the patch and felt pretty good about my supportive nature.  Until ten days later, when the same tire was flatter than a flitter in his parking garage in downtown Dayton.  He got new tires and was on his merry way the following day, but seriously, shouldn’t that patch have lasted a teeny bit longer?

               The very next day after that, we decided to go out for dinner.  Fortunately for us, the place we chose to eat was across the street from a car repair shop.  Because as we approached the restaurant, a warning light came on in my husband’s truck’s dashboard.  The warning light indicated the antifreeze was low.

               So we purchased some antifreeze and put it in, only to see it pour out of the engine under the truck body.  We left the truck at the repair shop, walked to dinner, and our son (with his new tires) picked us up and brought us home.

               The following day, the truck had a new water pump.  And we were out about two paychecks.  No more eating out for us for a while!

               I’ve been trying hard not to feel worried about the machinery in our lives and how they are messing with us.  Or I was until tonight when we went to go to bed and smelled something a bit hot.  Turns out our air conditioner isn’t working.  We turned it off and wrote a note to call the heating/plumbing guys tomorrow.

               Yeesh.  Yeah, self-driving cars.  Not sounding good to me right now.

One constant we have in our lives is our amazing fortune when seated anywhere public.  No matter when or where I have attended a football or basketball game, there is one guarantee – either my husband or I will be seated next to either the biggest person in the arena or the loudest.  I’m not exaggerating this.  There’s a famous story about the game in which my husband spent several quarters with his arm around “Bubba.” Bubba was a complete stranger, but he was such a large man, that my husband had nowhere to put his arm except around Bubba’s shoulders or straight out in front of himself.  So hubby and Bubba became good friends.

During one infamous game, I was next to a line of young men (in their twenties, but they were young to me) who were several too many drinks into the evening before the game started.  The one next to me appeared to be the designated driver, but the guy beside him kept leaning over and asking me for advice – on his love life, his dog, and even what he should eat.  I suggested he sober up and watch the game.  (He didn’t take my advice.) The youngster next to me kept apologizing for their behavior.  I was relieved when they all left at halftime.

I’m telling you this because I was reminded of it on a recent trip to Colorado.  My husband was seated in front of an incredibly loud man.  Apparently, the gentleman was nervous and was talking to his own seatmate very loudly.  So much so, that even headphones with a movie playing could not drown him out.  I guess we were lucky that he wasn’t in the seat beside us, so maybe the luck is changing a bit.

The travel adventures didn’t end there.  The night of the memorial service, a group decided to use an Uber instead of a rental car.  No one was sure how much anyone would drink or how parking would look, so it seemed the best plan.

Until the driver arrived.   The very large crack in the windshield did not exactly inspire confidence. But the driver managed to get everyone to the location without incident – though the back seat was a little packed.

When visiting Old Colorado City, we had another incident that was not related to any other people.  We parked downtown to visit a museum and as we exited the car, my husband said, “I better put change in that meter,” then walked on by and into the museum.  So it wasn’t a surprise when he found a parking ticket on the car forty minutes later.

The parking ticket, however, had been drenched by a little shower. This made the envelope nearly unreadable and there was no glue left on it.  So mailing the payment in at a later date was going to be tricky. 

 My husband decided it would be quicker and easier to just find the municipal building and pay the fine.  He did so (which is a story for another day) and we went about our business.

 Until later, at a restaurant for dinner, when the woman delivering the food to the table looked at hubby and proclaimed, “Hey, I saw you at the DMV!”

Loud people just love us.

               Just last week, I was talking with a good friend about how we don’t seem to have many pincher bugs this year.  Those bugs (which probably have an official name) are those crawly things that have two little pincher-like forks on the end of them.  I had not – at that moment in time – seen any in our home.

               My friend, meanwhile, said she was tired of picking them up at her house.  The reason this came up was that I had been complaining about the inch-long worms that have appeared around our home.  They are tiny things, but there are literally hundreds of them outside our doors, on our outside walls, and  – often – inside.  That very morning I had removed three from the bathroom, four from the kitchen, and several from the rug in our family room.

               Yuck!  However, I was feeling pretty smug about not having pincher bugs. I mean, in the scheme of things, I guess little worms are better than those things.

               But I jinxed my luck.  The very next day, I made my morning smoothie and began to drink it while my husband enjoyed his breakfast.  Suddenly, I found something very non-strawberry-like in my mouth.  I spit it out into a napkin, expecting to see a strawberry leaf or a piece of plastic.  It was a pincher bug!      

               EEE-WWW!  I was grossed out to the max!  So now I have both worms and pincher bugs.  Super.

               That very night, we went to bed as usual, with me trying hard not to remember the feel of that bug in my mouth.  When we arose the next morning and went to feed the birds, the five bird feeders were all askew.  Raccoons, we figured.

               That evening, we decided to take the feeders inside.  We looked out at them, around 7 p.m. (well before raccoon rising time), and saw a little Rascal on top of one of the feeders, eating his heart out.

               I raced out with my duck-umbrella (bright red and yellow) and flapped it open and shut at him.  My husband raced out with a long pole and poked him with it.  Neither of these things phased him in the slightest.  He crawled up on top of the beam that held all the feeders and appeared to take a little snooze.

               Finally, my hubby got out the hose and forced him down and into the woods with the water.  We carefully removed all the feeders and brought them inside.  My husband placed a concrete block in front of the door to the little house in which we keep the birdseed bags, then sprinkled Epsom salts around the shed and the bird feeder area.  Feeling we had sent the message “go away” fairly well, we went to bed.

               The next morning, we found the door to the shed had been wrenched open.  Not only was the bird seed attacked, but the dill and cherry tomato plants in my herb garden (many feet away from the bird feeders) had been picked over. 

               Now we’re seriously concerned.  Clearly, we have more than one raccoon at work here.  We have begun bringing the feeders in at night and have locked the birdseed in our garage.  We also secured our garbage cans and put a new latch and lock on the shed door.  I’ve moved my dill (what’s left of it) near the house in a pot.

               This critter infestation has upset and distracted me to the point where I’ve forgotten to look where I walk. Hence, I stubbed my foot hard enough to fracture my pinky toe.  Pinchers and raccoons and worms, oh my.