Mama Come Back!!

I’m very sad today about my coon family. As predicted, once the pheromones were in the chimney, the mama coon began to relocate her babies. According to the Critter Control man, she had four babies in there about the size of a football each. They stay in the nest for 10 to 14 weeks.

This morning at 2:00 she began the relocation. Richard woke me at 4:00am having been awake since the start of the move. She was still going at it. “How many babies are in there” Richard asked. “Four,” I said. “I think there’s more like a dozen,” Richard replied. “She’s been doing this for over two hours.”

And boy was it LOUD. The crashing and the chattering. Yes! Raccoons TALK!  I couldn’t believe the experience. The mama would come for one baby at a time. When she arrived you could hear her grunting and the babies chirping and cooing. When she left, they shrieked. There must have been 6 different sounds they made and different pitches for each.

Richard finally got up at 4:30 to get coffee and he went outside. He could hear the babies she was in the process of relocating down along the side of the yard. Dawn was coming and I feared for the last baby left in the chimney. It sounded like mama came to get him 2 or 3 times but kept leaving. We wonder if she was having trouble getting him out.

Anyhow, she left him. And he’s be crying ever since. I swear it sounds like he’s crying “mama” over and over. We have hope that she’ll come for him tonight, but if she doesn’t, the Critter man will take the baby to a refuge where he’ll be nurtured until he can be released.

I am so distraught over this. I wish I had left them alone.

And another thing, it’s become quite apparent that our dog, up from Alabama, who we googled and thought to be a mix of lab and red bone coon hound is NOT a COON hound. She got into bed with us when it all began. Not a bark, not a look…nothing. She’s simply a rescue dog from the pound and still in need of rescuing.

Tick Talk

YES! A tick fell out of my hair at work. Need I say more?

Rooftop Party at Our House Tonight!!!

Back to our critter problem. Richard now knows what’s living in our fireplace. Not squirrels but raccoons! He was out early one morning and saw this big ass coon staring down at him from the roof. Then as if to say “good night; I’m going to sleep now,” that coon climbed the chimney and disappeared.

I called the wildlife control and spoke to Jessie who plans to come out and rid those coons. I must say I was concerned about babies and Jessie confirmed that it probably was a mother coon with her babes. But what they do is place pheromone scents in the chimney. Pheromones are chemicals excreted by a species that prompt different behaviors depending on the scent, including sexual attraction if you can believe it. So Jessie is putting pheromones that will alarm the mother coon. She’ll go out and get another pad to sleep in, come back and take her babies. Richard just hopes it’s not the other end of our house. At this point, we’d better get a cap on our chimneys.

Someone at Richard’s work suggested blasting music up the chimney. The noise will bother the mother coon and she will presumably leave.

Well that didn’t happen.

Richard went home at lunch and turned the stereo on full blast to rap music. Upon our return that evening, those f’n coons were partying on our roof. I tell you, they were dancing and rapping and throwing acorns at our heads laughing.

Time for pheromones and they’d better be the right scent…not the scent of a sexual male coon because I’ll be living in the raccoon equivalent of the Hugh Heffner Bunny mansion.


"When this old world starts a getting me down
And people are just too much for me to face
I'm gonna climb way up to the top of the stairs
And all my cares they drift right into space

Oh on the roof it's peaceful as can be
And there the world below, it don't bother me

No no no no

So when I come home feeling tired and beat
I got to go up where the air is fresh and sweet for me now
I'm far away from the hustling crowd
And all that rat race noise down in the street

Oh on the roof, that's the only place that I know
Look at the city baby
Where you just have to wish to make it so
Lets go up on my roof

And at night the stars, they put on a show for free
And darlin' you can share, share it all with me" - James Taylor

Dumplings for Peonies

I have the sweetest friend Sonya from Taiwan. She has taught me so much of the culture and introduced me to the food that I love so much. She says I was Chinese in another life. She has been a blessing to me during these days of renovation as she often calls me and says, “I cooked last night. Please come over.” And boy does she cook. If she’s stressed, she cooks or bakes.

One day Sonya told me she was making a flower arrangement for her friend’s daughter, also Chinese, and I said, “hey, I have tons of flowers in my yard. They’re growing like weeds and there is no order to the planting. I’d love to give you some.”

So I picked peonies and campanula and who knows what all else. The bouquet was beautiful. She used all the flowers, added a few of her own, and the result was stunning. Both she and her friend were so grateful (for what I don’t know) that they both made me dumplings!!! I have discovered the art of bartering out of my hillbilly house.

The Billy Club

There have been two times in my life when I knew I was destined to become a redneck, a hick, a hillbilly. The first was when I began shopping at Walmart. I hated going there. God forgive me, but everyone looked like they had come out of the hills to shop. I was there for the occasional bargain I might be in need of, and one day when the store manager announced, "Attention Walmart shoppers!" I stopped what I was doing and looked up. It was then I realized I had become one.

The second time we had trees taken down in our yard and lots of brush was laying about. Richard said he was going to build a firepit. So I went along with it and you know what? It was pretty fun! We burned small pieces of wood and brush and sat around the pit in the dark, drinking beers in our pajamas.

Now a third and final(I hope) instance has occurred. Living in the hillbilly shack that we do, the deck covered with tools and tarps and empty wine bottles. I shuffled out to get the attention of the garage door repairman who had walked around front. Standing there hunched over (I pulled out my back), just out of bed with bed head, Richard's slippers and robe on, yelling "HELLLLOOO, HELLOO!" The construction workers next door stopped to look over at me and all that was missing was the bottle of beer in one of my hands and a cigarette in the other. They must have thought, "wonder where she keeps the moonshine."

So I am officially a member of the Hillbilly Club. Come join me on my "deck" and we'll drink in our bathrobes and slippers.

Handyman DANDYman

Yesterday was my dad’s anniversary of going off to Heaven. While he wasn’t much of a handyman, he did always insist on the best of quality. And that’s one of the things I learned from him. Which is why I married Richard and became this handyman’s wife.

Why am I a handyman’s wife? Because Richard couldn’t survive without a project. And thank goodness for me because he has renovated or simply improved all of our homes—those we’ve lived in and those we’ve rented to others.

And whether it’s luck or talent on both of our parts, we’ve always had multiple offers when selling. People like the look and feel of our homes.

Honestly, this new one is beyond my senses. I must post pictures, but, you just don’t get the feel unless you’re IN it. Then your mouth drops and you stare around and are happy to go back to your home, all the while shaking your head and professing how pathetic we were to get ourselves into such a “project.” That’s why people like camping. They can play rough and rugged knowing that at the end of it all they are returning to a hot shower and clean bed with food in the refrigerator that they can toss in the microwave.

I agreed to Richard buying this house on the premise that we’d be living at my mother’s for a year or so. And this “project” would give him an escape on the weekends. When it was finished, we’d move in or sell it, and my impression was we’d sell it.

Oh well, “Nothing is certain but death and taxes,” as my mother often told me. I do know that Richard will make a beautiful home for me. And I do know that paint colors, new fixtures and flooring will bring the warmth in. So I must just be patient.

This morning Richard walked through the mess that at one time must have been lovely gardens and picked a magnificent bouquet of peonies and other flowers I must learn the names of.

My Richard is not just a handyman…he’s a DANDYman. I love him!

11 + 11 = 22 1/2

A little complicated so listen closely. Our address used to be 13 Adams Way. Then they added houses to the street and had to renumber two houses. Our address became 11 Adams Way and our neighbor, who was number 11, now became number 9 Adams Way. The guy won’t change his address. REFUSES!!! Says he’s been number 11 forever and not about to change that.

The fire marshall went to his house…got nowhere.

So the mailman has two mailboxes labeled number 11, but at least we have our name plastered on the side so he will hopefully distinguish between us. Which indeed he has. He writes with a big red marker on our neighbor’s mail #9!!!!

We had pizza delivered to our house and had to be very specific with the delivery boy which # 11 he was to deliver to.

The best though is when I called for cable to be hooked up. The company won’t do it because there is a delinquent bill. I explained, “not our bill,” and then the address situation. “OK,” she said “Come into the office with proof that you’re living at #11 and we’ll disconnect the other #11 and hook you up.” Oh boy I thought. This will surely start the feud.

Richard being the man he is went to tell our neighbor. Give him a heads up. What does neighbor say? “I WON”T change my address. Can’t you tell the cable company that you’re # 11 ½"?

What is wrong with people? Lord help us if there is ever an emergency at either one of our # 11’s.