The Mole Wars

THAT DAMNED MOLE is getting on my last nerve!!!!!!!!!!  If you’ve read this blog at all, you don’t have to ask what mole.  It’s the mole on which I have declared WAR! And no, I don’t think it’s several moles, in fact, I know it isn’t.  It’s that one DAMNED MOLE which followed me from my last house and is now determined to drive me crazy!  When he started in on my neighbor’s yard last summer, I thought that maybe it was a coincidence.  Just because I had a mole in my last house didn’t mean this was the same mole.  After all, he had hit her yard, not mine.  But now I know the truth!  IT’S HIM! Hitting my neighbor’s yard last summer was just his diabolical way of “easing in.”  He knew I would let my guard down.  He was just biding his time…

Then a month ago he made his first strike.  He burrowed around one of my stepping-stones, leaving a huge mound of broken up dirt.  Well, he’s messing with the wrong woman!  I made sure my retaliation was swift and cruel.  I immediately went out with my trusty rubber mallet and I pounded down every last bit of dirt!  And I didn’t just pound it!  I obliterated that mound and made the earth as smooth as a baby’s behind!  And then I waited…

Days passed and then weeks and I started thinking that maybe it was safe to do my victory dance.  I figured I had broken his spirit.  Or, at the very least, maybe all of that hostile pounding I did gave him a horrible migraine headache which could possibly be fatal to moles.  And then I went out and saw this.  IN MY LANDSCAPING,  FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

And we’re not talking just a few grains of dirt here.  Here’s a close-up look.

How DARE that miserable little rodent mess up my pea gravel like that!  I saw red!  Literally!  I was so angry that I couldn’t go get my rubber mallet fast enough!  And, wow, you should have seen me pounding that down!  I pretended it was his head and just went to town!  I kept going long after the earth was smooth again, sort of like on TV when you see a doctor frantically giving CPR until someone taps him on the shoulder and says, “Doc, Doc, the patient’s gone!”

After I got things smooth again, I even put some fresh pea gravel in to hide all evidence of invasion.  So the ball’s in his court again.

I’d like to think that this is the end of it, but I fear that this is going to be my own personal Vietnam.  Attack, counterattack, attack, until one of us, bloodstained and weary, finally waves the white flag of surrender.

And let me tell you, boys and girls…

It ain’t gonna be me!

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Just When You’ve Seen It All…

The following item appeared in The Kansas City Star this week:

Punxsutawney, PA

Police charged a man with public drunkenness after he was seen trying to resuscitate a long-dead opossum along a highway.

According to police, one person saw 55-year-0ld Donald Wolfe kneeling before the animal and gesturing as though he were conducting a seance.  Another witness told police Wolfe attempted to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to the animal.

And people think I’m weird!

P.S.  I only hope he didn’t kiss his wife with that mouth!  Ick!

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A Cold Intruder

Well, there have been weird happenings at Star Manor!  Yes, indeed!  After one of our last snows, I happened to look out the balcony door and saw something very strange.  Look at that disturbance in the snow in the middle of the picture…

Just in case you can’t make it out, here is a close up:

It’s a FOOTPRINT!  But the odd thing is that there are no footprints leading to it or from it.  It’s a footprint smack dab in the middle of the deck!  Now let me point out here that this deck/balcony is not at ground level.  It’s above a double-car garage, thus on the second story.  And the only way to access the balcony is through my dining room!  So, we can rule out someone “just walking by.”  And it’s certainly not mine because I don’t go out on the deck when it’s snowy.  And besides, how do I make a footprint like that?  Take a gigantic leap and land on one foot????  Oh no, there is something very otherworldly going on here!  You want to know MY theory?   (I thought you’d never ask!) I think my intruder looked like this…

Ah yes!  You forgot about aliens, didn’t you?  What I think happened was, he shot down from the sky, landing on one foot.  He stood there looking around for few seconds and then realized it was too damned cold to stay!  At that point, he shot straight back up to his saucer and headed for warmer climes!

The only thing that has left me puzzled is – I’ve never known an alien to wear shoes before.  Or, I should say “shoe.”  Go figure.

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Premature Exultation!

One day this week, after feeling like literal hostages in our own homes, due to the weather, my bud, Babs, and I decided to bust out and have one of our “rambling days.”  These usually consist of going out for a good breakfast, then just letting our car go where it will.  We generally end up exploring new neighborhoods and parts of town and stopping at the odd store or two.  The joy lies in the spontaneity.  And after suffering from cabin fever for so long, we were both primed and ready!

We were deep into a cozy, tree-filled neighborhood when Babs yelled, “Stop!”  I stopped the car in the middle of the road and turned to see what had captured her attention.  There, in the back yard of a house was a large deer, standing there staring straight at us.  We stared back until she decided we weren’t a threat and then continued to mosey around the yard, picking at vegetation here and there.  When I finally started to roll forward again, I saw a second deer on the other side of the house, this one a baby.  It, too, was poking around as if it didn’t have a care in the world.  Although I’ve often seen deer around my own house, the novelty of seeing them in residential areas never ceases to fill me with wonder.

Later in the day we came across not one, but two houses whose yards were absolutely filled with geese!  What was really odd was the fact that neither of these houses was near a lake!  All these geese brought back memories of my cousin Barbara’s pet duck, Ricky, (named after Ricky Nelson, an old rock and roll singer.) When we were young girls, we used to love to fill up the wading pool, put on an Elvis Presley record, and then get in the wading pool with Ricky and gyrate around doing what we considered to be rock and roll.  We would dance around while Ricky would stand there opening and closing his beak, making it look like he was singing the Elvis song. We thought it was hysterically fun.  But, Ricky was always the last duck standing because he would inevitably poop in the pool, sending us screeching to jump out, only to slide and fall on duck poop outside the pool.  If you’ve never encountered it barefooted, let me assure you that duck poop on grass is one of the slickest substances known to man (or little girls in their bathing suits!)

Anyway, in the midst of our wanderings, we ended up by a park where we sometimes walk the track in the summer.  On impulse, I turned into one of the parking places, looked at Babs and said, “Dare we?”  She picked up my eagerness and said, “Why not?”  So we got out of the car.  Now you’d think that maybe we would have gotten a clue by the fact that we couldn’t figure out how to get onto the track because it was surrounded by a tall snow drift that would have meant snow up to our knees if we had stepped in.  But NOOO!  Not the Nature Girls!  We got back into the car and drove around to a side parking lot where we could gain access.  We jumped out of the car with the joy of elementary school kids getting out for recess.  Neither one of us had on a decent coat.  The temperature was under 40 degrees.  But all we could think about was how much we had missed walking like this.  The cement trail was covered in snow in places, so we took detours through the grass.  At one point we couldn’t see a clear place at all, and decided to take another part of the trail we’ve never taken before.  We turned and walked maybe six steps when we were simultaneously hit by an arctic wind.  And this wind was not just cold, it was like a knife trying to slice the skin off of our faces!!!!  It had a ferocity that scared me. I think I even felt my heart stop for a moment.   I turned and said, “Babs, do you think…?” but she was ahead of me, and said, “Let’s get our asses back to the car!”

Now if this were a movie, I would show us trudging to the car like two explorers on the North Pole, covered with frost, struggling against a blizzard that threatened to blow us over.  It was that hard! We were like people who had swum out to the middle of a lake but didn’t have enough energy to swim back.  The car was SO FAR AWAY! We started back slowly, but desperation was making us do this little shuffle-run.  Both of my eyes were welled up in tears and, behind me I could hear Babs making these little “woofing” noises.  Right before we stepped into the car, I heard something hard hit the concrete and bounce.  I’m pretty sure that one of our nipples froze and fell off.

But, to tell you the truth, I’ve been afraid to look…

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Working On Cheer

Well, it’s ten more days until Christmas.  And it will be the second Christmas since my little sister and I went our separate ways.  Last year was pretty grim, but I have determined that this year will be better.  So, I have a Christmas tree in the living room, one in the bedroom and snowmen out front.  Now the only thing I have to watch out for are “heartwarming Christmas specials.”  You know the ones I mean.  They start out with people hurting and misunderstanding each other right before Christmas, making it look like all is lost.  Then, on Christmas Eve, (about five minutes before the show is over,) the doorbell rings, and it’s the black sheep on the doorstep, whereupon everyone falls into everyone else’s arms and they all have a Kodak Christmas.  I’ve simply gotta stay away from those things.  I’m an emotional person to begin with, and those kinds of shows just push me over the cliff!

So, in the spirit of keeping up my good cheer, I’ve been making a point of finding things to make me laugh every day.  Not only is that a good idea in general principle, but I recently read that laughing can boost your HDL or “good” cholesterol, so hey, it’s something we should all do!   That’s why I want to share two You-Tube videos I’ve found that make me smile every time I see them.

This first one is silly and simple.  A guy has a stuffed skunk that he inches beneath a bench to catch people unaware.  The results are really funny.

This second one is a free photo booth set up in Universal Studios.  The photo booth talks to the people who enter.  It’s very clever and gets funnier and funnier as it progresses.  I can’t watch it without laughing.

For those of you who have dial-up, I apologize.  I had dial-up for years and bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t watch videos on my computer.  (You might just want to get yourself cable for Christmas!  Just a thought.) For the rest of you who watched, I hope I added a little cheer to your day and a laugh or two.  After all, “’tis the season!”

P.S.  If you’d like, tell me which one you liked best.  I have trouble choosing.

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Yes, Deer!

Years ago, I knew the  moment I had fallen in love.  It was when I told a man I would go deer hunting with him.  I mean, me, the girliest girly-girl woman I know! The woman who loves make-up, hair, perfume, fingernail polish and lots of pink, was agreeing to go slogging through the woods in the pitch black of night carrying a loaded firearm and probably stepping in who-knows-what,  with the sole mission of making orphans of countless Bambis!

Before you start hyperventilating, let me clarify.  There actually were two things I loved about deer hunting.  First was all the preparatory work.  Before the season opens, you have to go out deep into the woods and look for deer sign to determine where the deer will be.  I love the woods anyway, and this brings out the whole American Indian part of me.  I always pretend I’m Sacajawea.  Next you have to decide where you’ll put your deer stand or hide, because when you go in for the actual hunt, it will be far too dark to look for a place then.  So, all the scouting work in the woods, which you have to do several times, is fun for me.

The other thing I like about deer hunting is carrying around my shotgun.  Now I don’t mean to sound bloodthirsty or anything, but carrying a weapon always makes me feel a tad safer in this uncertain world.  And really, when you own a shotgun, it’s like having a sequined  handbag.  You can’t go walking around with it every single day!  You’d look like a doofus!  You’ve got to pick your chances.  So, when I go hunting, I transform from Sacajawea into Dirty Harry.  And I’m all like, “Go ahead, make my day!”

So, now we get down to time for the actual hunt, and here I’ll come clean with you.  I was working undercover…for the DEER. It’s true, I swear!  Apparently deer have a very keen sense of smell, so hunters have this whole list of “Don’ts” before the hunt.  Don’t bathe or shower with soap.  Don’t wash your clothes in detergent, use baking soda.  Don’t use deodorant, cologne or perfume.  Don’t smoke.  Any of these odors will alert the deer who will stay 100 miles away from you.

I did them all.

When my dear man went down the checklist before we entered the woods, I smiled and said “Yes, dear, yes dear, yes dear.”  And he believed me! I guess his own sense of smell was none too acute.  Beneath my camouflage outfit, I wore a t-shirt that read, “RUN BAMBI, RUN!”  Suffice it to say, we never shot a deer.  Somehow they must have known we were there…ya think maybe? All I know is that the deer always looked really relieved when they saw it was me.

And while I’m on the subject, I wanted to share this hilarious You-Tube video with you.  Jimmy Kimmel tied a stuffed talking deer on a car hood and filmed the results.  If it doesn’t make you laugh, you may need to take your own pulse!

Until next time,

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Mr. Booger

I’d heard about it, but had never observed it…until now…

A couple of days ago I stepped out onto my balcony in the cold to check the sky for interesting clouds to photograph.  I heard a noise and saw my neighbor’s boyfriend, two balconies over, striding out.  He walked to the balcony rail, covered one nostril with a finger, and then shot snot out the other nostril onto the driveway with all his might!!!!

I stood there frozen, turned to stone by the utter vulgarity of the action.

Meanwhile, having launched his “snot rocket,” he returned to the house like a man satisfied by a good day’s work.

What kind of man does something like that? What kind of man puts on a jacket and goes out onto the freezing cold balcony to expel mucous from his nose?  Has he never heard of tissues?  For crying out loud!  Is this guy a Neanderthal?  Is he practicing for some kind of nasal Olympics?  Gross!

And what about her?  Does she watch this disgusting display and then welcome him back inside with big fat kiss on the lips?  Call me a prude, but, to me, this would be like French kissing your dog after he had just eaten his own vomit!  Okay, maybe not exactly the same, but close enough.  Watching boogers fly out my boyfriend’s nose would not ignite my sexual passion, I can tell you that!

I had a close friend who had been brought up in the country, and she once told me that all of her brothers blew their noses like that when they were outside. At the time I found it hard to believe.   But now I’m wondering if there isn’t a veritable secret league of these “snot blasters,” going through each day shooting their snot into the wind willy-nilly.

If that’s true, it could put one off outdoor picnics forever!  I mean, imagine taking a bite of your hamburger, when a wayward stream of booger-laden snot comes out of nowhere and suddenly hits you in the forehead!  It doesn’t bear thinking of!

And here’s another consideration.  If these men are so averse to using tissues, what do they do in the bathroom when they have, uh…bigger business to take care of?  I don’t even want to go there!

Anyway, after seeing “Mr. Booger” shoot his snot overboard with such casual disregard for (a) spectators, (b) the environment and (c) public decency, I can never look at him the same way again.  And, as for shaking hands with him?  Forget it.   Maybe it’s just me, but I consider what he did the height of repulsive, nasty gross-iosity!

And it makes me wonder how many people I know do this and I’m just not aware of it.  I hope I never find out.

I guess there’s a lesson to be learned in this.  The next time you step outside for a big breath of fresh air, be sure to look around first and make very sure that’s all you’re going to get!   Just sayin’.

.

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“Danger Cat!”

In the little strip of woods behind my house, there live all kinds of creatures – opossum, raccoons, birds, deer, and the occasional woodchuck.  But, without a doubt, the fiercest, most hostile, vicious, most savage of them all is…DANGER CAT!  I don’t know if you can tell by this picture, but he has devil eyes and most of the side of his face has been torn off above his eye.

Danger Cat is most likely feral, but judging by how beat up his body is, he has mastered the art of survival.  He can often be seen dashing into the woods with some poor squirming creature in his mouth.  Once he has taken it to his lair, I often see him later, swaggering down the driveway, gazing to his left and right, as if daring some other animal to take him on.  He has obviously been in many fights and is the worst for wear.  Also, living in the woods has taken its toll on him, as evidenced by this picture of the back of him.  You can see mange and, what I fear are parasites on his back.

Once I saw a woman walking her bulldog in back.  The bulldog thought he was hot stuff, judging by the ostentatious spiked collar he was wearing, and looked pretty tough.  From the corner on my eye, I saw Danger Cat make an appearance, walking straight toward the bulldog and woman.  I remember thinking “Oh no!”  But I shouldn’t have worried.  Danger Cat got to within four feet of the dog and then sat down and stared straight at him.  The dog let out a couple of harrumphs and then a couple of mournful whines.  The woman guided her dog around Danger Cat, while he sat and basked in his victory.

Here’s a picture showing a rotten banana he killed. 

Like any predator, he played with it for quite a while before he put it out of its misery.  After this picture was snapped, he hauled it away into the woods.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a whole pantry of dead things stocked away for winter in his hideaway, along with a fifty-two inch flat screen TV!

He’s become such a legend to me, that I wrote him his own theme song, called, quite appropriately, “Danger Cat.”

Danger Cat!  Danger Cat!

No one knows where you’re at!

Slinkin’ ’round, never still,

All you do his stalk and kill!

Danger Cat!  Danger Cat!

Eating mouse and snake and rat,

Danger Cat, I must surmise

If you could, you’d eat my eyes!

Danger Cat!  Danger Cat!

Pouncing like an acrobat.

There he goes, tough and grim,

Danger Cat – DON’T MESS WITH HIM!

(Of course, I could wonder where he came from and if he’s in pain.  But, something tells me that he’d absolutely hate that.)

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Ad Nauseam

I usually don’t mind commercials on TV and radio.  I use the time to get a cup of tea or to think about other things, letting the ads wash over me like the surf over sand.  But lately, I made the mistake of actually listening to a couple and, momma mia!  I wish I hadn’t…

The first was in the morning on drive-time radio and it was for yet another male enhancement product.  (This must be a bigger problem in the United States than I ever imagined, what with all the “Viva Viagra!” and “Smiling Bob,”etc. ads!) Anyway, this was for a new and improved male enhancement pill.  I was pouring a cup of coffee when I heard, “Men!  This one little pill will make you longer, harder, and (are you ready?) wider !”  I kid you not.  I almost spilled my coffee!  Imagine all the cars filled with kids being taken to school hearing this ad on the radio! “What is wider, Daddy?”  Too much information, far too much information…

The other commercial that caught my eye was from an unlikely source…Charmin bathroom tissue.  First of all, it has always struck me as peculiar that Charmin’s mascots answer the age-old question, “does a bear poop in the woods?” In Charmin Land, apparently a bear not only poops in the woods, but also uses toilet paper!  But, okay, I’ve made peace with that.  I mean, I’ve never actually seen a bear pooping, so anything’s possible…

But, back to the latest series of commercials.  The one I saw was the dad bear coming after the baby bear saying, “You can’t pass inspection with pieces left behind!”  And he said that because the baby bear had pieces of toilet paper stuck all over his butt! Ewww!  And double-ewww! Come on, people, do we really want to think about that?  I mean, talk about the tissue being soft.  Talk about it being strong.  Talk about it having a nice fragrance.  But I don’t want to hear about paper sticking to your butt!   You should be ashamed of yourselves!

So ad people, take notice!  I know you have to make a living.  Fine.  But you are seriously crossing the line, people!  No more “wide” willies or poopy toilet paper sticking to behinds!  I mean it!  I’ve got better things to think about, so CUT IT OUT!  Don’t make me have to come get you!  Ya hear?

I think we understand each other.

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As The Yucca Turns…

Okay, yeah, I can hear you now, saying, “Not another yucca post!  What is it with this woman and her damned yuccas?”

Well, let me tell you.  I left a part of my heart in New Mexico, a place where I felt an immediate attachment the moment I first visited.  It was where my little sister and I took our “sister trips” and made a lot of memories.  So, when I wanted to plant something in my driveway divider, I immediately thought of the beautiful yuccas that dot the “Land of Enchantment.”

Once I made up my mind, I visited several nurseries, only to discover that the plants they had were minuscule or else carried outrageous price tags.  That’s when I hit eBay and bingo!  A seller in Tennessee was selling two year old yuccas for $8.00 apiece!  I couldn’t believe it.  Not only that, but when they arrived, they were healthy and good sized.  The problem was, I’m not gardener, and these plants didn’t have the kind of roots with which I’m familiar.  Instead, they have a kind of “trunk.”  So, I said a prayer, dug a big hole, and planted them.

Their first year, my prayers were answered and they flourished.  I was so thrilled! Imagine!  Star, of the black thumb had actually made something grow! And then the Evil Neighbor moved in and began to let her dog pee on them! As they started to wither and die, I felt that, as their “plant momma,” I had failed them.

In desperation, I dug them up and replanted them in pots, not knowing if I could even do that or if I would be hastening their death.  Alas, one was too far gone and finally passed on to that great Compost Heap in the Sky.  One down and one to go.  I began to pamper the remaining one and talking to it daily.  “Come on, Baby!  If you die, the terrorists win!” It was about this time when I began to wonder if it was possible to become emotionally involved with a plant!  And now I know it is.  It became so important to me to not let that Evil Neighbor take away my joy.  So, after much pampering, cajoling, comforting and caring for that sick, puny little yucca, let me present it to you today…

TA-DAH!  It’s something to celebrate!  And the yucca agrees.  It’s even manufacturing its own little streamers!

So, I’ll end this by just reminding you to never underestimate the power of love…even if it’s  just “plant love! ”

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