Speaking of nesting...

that is what I have been doing lately, in my "forever" home, as a former teaching colleague so aptly called it.  After almost three months, I am still unpacking, sorting, pitching, donating, filing, placing, organizing and remembering, as I find things buried that I haven't seen in almost two years.  There is no future in nostalgia, but objects can evoke memories of a certain time and place.  These memories can sometimes be bittersweet, but more often ...j-u-s-t sweeeeeeet!!!

I digress. Nesting is the subject here.  I soon figured out after I moved in, that there was a previous tenant, not paying rent, who had stayed behind when the previous owners left. Aren't I lucky?

I couldn't see him, but I knew he was around. There is a big hole under my shed, the latter of which backs onto a wire fence. There isn't much room there, to squeeze in between the fence and the shed.  I managed to pitch a handful of mothballs in and around the hole.  The heavy rains soon after melted those at the entrance, and as for the ones in the hole, I couldn't see them, but I soon found out the "varmint" had not been deterred IN THE LEAST. I had placed a BIG rock to block the entrance, and that darn nuisance MOVED it aside. I couldn't believe it.  A bunny couldn't do that, so I crossed "rabbit" off my list.

Then, I noticed that my ONE, lovely head of lettuce and my ONE tomato plant my thoughtful sis had given me, which I had transplanted, were suddenly looking rather pathetic.  The next morning, the ENTIRE lettuce was GONE! There was not one shred of evidence that a lettuce had been there.  Not even any roots!!! As for the tomato, the stem had been chewed so much that it keeled right over. There went my garden for this year!!! Geez!  I only have a small mint plant left.  He doesn't like mint, obviously.

I had planted sunflower seeds, which had started to grow.  I was so PROUD! I had maybe five plants, eight inches high, when I returned from my relaxing weekend (LOL) at the beach.  The next morning, this is what they looked like.  ALL the leaves had been almost completely chewed off.   NOW I AM GETTING TICKED OFF! 

My problem is though, I don't know my opponent.  Is it a raccoon, a skunk, a groundhog?

The mystery was solved last night. One of my dinner guests identified my adversary. Roger had gone up to use the bathroom, and spied the critter sitting up on the platform in front of my shed.  A BIG, FAT groundhog.  Une marmotte... maudit.  I guess I should be grateful.  Better - that - than - a - skunk!

So, now that Natural Resources doesn't lend cages anymore, and you have to PAY someone, I have to get creative.  The nice lady at DNR suggested hot pepper flakes, so that is my next plan of attack.

Any suggestions out there?  I know I can also Google and get endless possibilities.  I don't want to kill the creature, I just want him to move away.  I paid for this place, and that GROUNDHOG wasn't included in my offer of purchase.

 

All creatures bright and beautiful!

"Can you dig a few worms from your garden or flowers, put in a plastic container with dirt?"

 

That is the text I received from my sister on Canada Day.  I had just come back from my first, and great, golf game of the year.  I was getting ready to join her at a cottage she has rented for two weeks, by the water. My brother-in-law was only coming Sunday night, so I was going to help keep her company and have a great weekend of relaxation.

 

Oh!  I did say RELAXATION? Nothing could be further from the truth!!

 

Why did my sister need worms and dirt?  To try to save four newborn baby starlings that had had their nest disturbed by the cottage owner, when he was fixing the eavestroughs.  My sister, a lover of all God's creatures, was distraught at the sight of this uprooted nest. She tried to put the nest back where it had been. However, the mother wasn't coming back to feed her babies.  One of the four fell out and died before I arrived. My sis put him to rest and said to me philosophically, "They are going to die. THIS is too much yin to my yan vacation.  I can't take care of them." I came back Saturday afternoon after a run into town, only to find that she had changed her mind, and was a woman on a mission. SAVE THOSE STARLINGS!

 

To make a long story short, (I know... I have a hard time doing that!) she spent all her time taking care of them. She fretted, she fussed. Another one had fallen out of the nest Friday night, so now we are down to two babies.  Lou decided to move the nest to a sheltered spot in the shrubbery.  I helped as much as I could, however, I cringed when I had to pick them up to move them. They were so fragile, and... baby birds are UGLY! Poor little things!  Lou finally listened to me when I told her we should soak a rag in milk, and hover it over their beaks. It worked. One held on to that dish rag for all he was worth, while we scrambled to soak another corner and get it into the other baby's beak. Now with their beaks opening, we were able to shove in tiny, tiny spoonfuls of

dog food soaked in milk. Goggle is wonderful!! It knows EVERYTHING!!!

 

Other people in their trailers by the beach, must have wondered what two women were doing every hour on the hour, crouched down in the shrubbery, with their butts in the air! 

 

My sister even got up at FOUR AM THIS morning to go feed the two remaining babies. They survived the night, buried in a boot box, and covered with logs!  We knew they were going to live, so the search was now on for expert help. Calls to the Hope for Wildlife Centre in NS, the Atlantic Wildlife Refuge Centre in NB, a posting on the SPCA website in the Chaleur area, and general inquires, resulted in some angels coming forward and offering to take in the starlings.  How do you spell RELIEF?  My sister delivered the babies to a safe place not far and can now enjoy the rest of her vacation.  I don't have to drive four hours to deliver the babies to a refuge that would happily have taken them if we could bring the starlings there.

 

All is well that ends well! Dieu merci pour les anges comme ma soeur, et tous ceux qui s'occupent des animaux.

 

 

 

THEIR NEW DIGS - LUXURY!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A morning run ends up....

as a study in contrast.  Yesterday morning, Vimy and I went for a 3k run around the Basin. We finished up at the little boat launching dock you see here. It was a gorgeous morning at 7:00 am, not a soul in sight, the sun just starting to climb in a cloudless sky.

We walked the remaining way home, approximately another 1.5 km.  There was now one person ahead of me, sauntering along the causeway.  He sat on a bench for a few minutes. He seemed to be throwing out bread into the water.  Then he sauntered over to my side of the road, to a park.  I had just passed by him, when I saw he had picked up an empty beer bottle on the ground and was moving towards the garbage can. 

I thought nothing of it, and kept going, but my Vimy decided he absolutely had to do his business right THERE, right THEN, so I had to stop. Rather than drag a bag of doggie do home with me, I doubled back slightly to go deposit the bag in the same garbage can.

By now,  this man had taken the cover OFF the garbage can. I assumed he was rummaging around for more recyclables, so I excused myself and made a comment about having to make a deposit he wouldn't want, when he turned and faced me.  That is when I saw what he was actually doing. He was rummaging for food, had found some leftover chicken, and was eating it. Comme qu'on dit, en français, j'ai resté bête!  I wasn't expecting that at ALL! He mumbled a comment, to the effect it was okay, and turned away, his mouth full.

What a sad, sad, commentary on our society, our Canada, a rich country... that a grown man needs to forage in a public garbage can for leftover food. We have a social safety net, help, ways and means... not the best perhaps, but help, nonetheless. Don't we?

Vimy and I continued home... me with a lot of food for thought.  

Where was UBER when I needed them?

 

NOT in Austin, Texas. Austin drove them out of town, a-p-p-a-r-e-n-t-l-y.  Uber left because they didn't want to pay fees imposed by that city.  In the wake of Uber's departure,  all kinds of knockoffs have popped up with names like Fasten and Wingz.

 

I needed a lift to the airport at 4:30 am.  I DID NOT want my gracious hosts to drive me. They were exhausted after the magical, fairy tale wedding of their daughter, and they needed their rest.

 

I had heard on the wedding guest grapevine that "Fasten" could get me to the airport, plus they had a promo code online for $20.00. I am a TOTAL frugalista, and that $20 savings was what prompted me to download their app, and pre-book my departure by 48 hours.  A) I like to be prepared.  b) I am NOT a last minute kind of gal.  C) I like to save money. 

 

I thought I was pre-booking, when I put in my address, waiting for the screen to ask me the date and time I needed the taxi. I totally ignored that tiny, flashing rectangle at the bottom of the map, reading "real time".  The next thing I know, I get a  phone call.  A man informs me that he is waiting outside to take me to the airport. WTH? I sneak a look outside, and sure enough, there is a car parked in front of the house.  I inform him that I am trying to pre-book. He tells that I need to contact Fasten and ask them about that, because he doesn't know about pre-bookings.  He also tells me that I need to cancel this request (which I didn't realize I was making!), or I will be charged a $5 US fee.  I thank him, hang up, but too late to find that cancel link.  So (KA-CHING!)  $5 US!

 

Not deterred one bit, I send Fasten a request about pre-booking.  However, instead of leaving it at that, I go back in the app, trying to understand it better, when lo and behold, I get ANOTHER phone call. There is ANOTHER driver outside waiting to take me to the airport.  This time I run outside , (B-I-G  M-I-S-T-A-KE), only to encounter a woman driver who is now upset when I explain that I did NOT want a drive now, but in two days.   She starts lamenting about how long it took her to get to my address, yada, yada, yada.  It couldn't have been that long! The other guy was there just 10 minutes ago, if that.  She is like a dog with a bone.  I am pretty frazzled by now, so I tell her to wait a second. I run back in the house, get (KA-CHING!) $10 US, out of my wallet, and hand it over to her, with my apologies, so she will STOP complaining.  I miss out on the timeframe to cancel this SECOND inadvertent request on my app, so BINGO, I am charged (KA-CHING!) another $5 US!

 

Now Madame, mollified by the $10, (need I repeat US funds), wants to chat about her cousin in Montreal who invented 3-D animation.  I just want to get rid of her. This is turning into a nightmare.  It's 40 degrees outside and she wants to be a friendly Chatty Kathy now?

 

She finally drives away, and I scoot back inside. I immediately remove the Fasten app.  I also receive numerous emails from them about those cancellation charges, and an answer to my request about pre-booking. They don't do, but will pass on the request to their "product" department.  I should have known that before I got into this mess. Mea culpa!

 

Did I learn a lesson from ALL this?  Not daunted in the least, I now download the Wingz app and easily pre-book a drive to the airport.  I get a confirmation text from my driver, along with a notice from Wingz that I have been charged (KA-CHING!) $32 US.

 

I have now spent (KA-CHING!) a total of $52 US, and I HAVEN'T EVEN LEFT for the airport YET! 

 

Add the (KA-CHING!), $5 US tip I gave Valerie (my real, final driver) for a grand total (KA-CHING!) of $57 US to get to the airport. It's not really about the money by this point.  Honest! It's about the AGGRAVATION at the time!!! 

 

Another lesson learned. MANY, actually.  Do your homework.  Don't be so impetuous. Don't always try to save money.  Sometimes you just end up spending more. :) 

 

Hey... I felt a blog coming on the minute that Chatty Kathy told me she had a cousin in Montreal. 

 

 

 

 

Voilà, a short travel tale ...

of what happened when I cleared security at Pearson Airport,  catching a connecting flight to Austin, Texas, recently.  I was the only person, along with two other gentleman, in that entire, HUGE security clearance area. They sailed through. Did I? Of course not!!! There were eight security people, all standing around doing nothing. All Jamaican Canadians, I kid you not. I am very good at picking up on accents "monn." They confiscated my sunscreen in my carry-on and APOLOGIZED for it. They were just so darn sweet about it, those two female employees. I hardly had time to notice that they also whisked away my white, plastic bin with my purse, jacket, etc. back through the screening a SECOND time. Slow day obviously. They were looking for something to do? My sunscreen had made them suspicious? They didn't find anything, but when I grabbed my jacket, I noticed right away that it was now extremely dirty, with smudgy, black streaks all over the front of it. I was a bit dismayed when I  pointed this out to the CATSA staff. That was a NEW Old Navy jacket I had just bought. Well ... new to me. I got it at the Sally Ann! :) 

 

It seems my jacket had fallen OUT of the bin and gone BETWEEN the conveyor rollers, while under that black box. There was no other explanation for it. The same two women assured me the bins were cleaned regularly, but they didn't know about the conveyor itself. They immediately tried to clean those stains, swabbing them with water and then some kind of cleaner. Can you picture a MALE security guy doing THAT? I think not.  Those two women were just SO, SO sweet and apologetic, AGAIN. I just may write the Canadian Air Transport Security Agency to tell them what g-r-e-a-t staff they had working that day. I bet they don't get many letters to THAT effect.

After that gauntlet, I had to go through US Customs, which can be a TOTAL PITA. However, this time it was a breeze. No one there again. I was questioned by a friendly, hunky American named YOW!!! That is what his name tag said.  How cool is that! His nickname?  WOW of course!

 

 

How do you get a trapezoid into a Volkswagen?

My friends know me as a pretty "green" person;  "écolo" en français. I am a fervid, and I mean, FERVID,  supporter of reduce, reuse and recycle.

So that nice, sturdy table at curbside, that I saw when I drove by several times on my way to work, became the object of my attention.  I wanted THAT table. Covered with a pretty tablecloth, it would do as my new patio table.

A friend had popped down to have dinner with me. I suggested maybe we could go get the table under cover of darkness. I want you to know that I draw the line at "dumpster diving!"  However, I WILL pick up at curbside.  It is just that I AM a l-i-t-t-l-e shy about picking up other people's trash, in BROAD DAYLIGHT. 

"Let's go right now!" she replies. It wasn't far. When we arrived and tried to lift the table, we realized it was REALLY heavy.  Plus the awkwardly shaped trapezoid  top, made it impossible to get it INTO the trunk, despite our repeated efforts. We couldn't get it into the back seat either. By this time, I can't stop laughing. I keep collapsing into fits of giggles every time we try to lift that table.  It is SO awkward to handle.

When we first arrived, I had knocked on the door of the home.  I knew the table was at the curb for garbage pick-up but I thought it would be polite to ask permission anyway. There was no answer. In the process, my phone fell out of my little holder around my neck, bounced down four steps and landed hard on the cement path. In spite of having a decent cover, I NOW have a crack on my Smartphone screen, darn it! 

Also, I must confess that I had had a Coors Lite while awaiting my friend's arrival. It had been a really hot day.  I don't drink that type of beer, but it had been a long time since I had had a Lite beer.  It will be even longer .... next time. That beer was as I rememberd it, rank and tasteless. Furthermore, it makes you totally silly in no time flat!!

People are gawking at us, as they drive by. Vimy is fed-up with waiting around, and decides to go sit under the table.  My friend will NOT give up trying to get the table INTO the car. Then another friend whizzes by on her bicycle and I yell out, "Come and give us a hand Janet!"  God bless her!  She turns around and does just that. So now we are three women trying to get this awkwardly shaped table into her Volkswagen Jetta. No better luck!!

A truck slows down, turning into the driveway next door. Shoot! We thought the driver was going to come and give us a hand. Obviously NOT! He disappears into the back of the house.  Well, that doesn't deter my visiting friend. Not ONE BIT!!! Despite my repeated, "No, just forget it! Let's just leave the table", she takes off in search of the man.  She is nothing if not intrepid! Janet and I stand around, me still laughing, Vimy barking at passersby and Janet probably thinking, "What am I am doing here with these two crazy women?"

My visiting friend returns with the driver of the truck.  He reaches the conclusion that the table legs need to be taken off.  He goes to fetch a tool. It doesn't work. He goes back for his ratchet set. Janet decides to keep on cycling.  She knows she is not leaving us in the lurch.  She cycles away, after a hug and a thank you from me.  

Then a fifth person shows up - the owner of the table!  He has been sneaking peeks at us from his backyard. I wave him over. He gets the lowdown as I thank John (we are on a first name basis now!) and invite him to drop by for a Coors Lite anytime. LOL  The owner gives our Good Samaritan a hand to lift the table into the trunk. It is a piece of cake to do NOW, with the four table legs removed.  

I will have to get hold of a ratchet set now, so I can put those table legs back on.  Being "green" is hard work! Umm, I wonder if there is a ratchet set curbside somewhere....

It's not always easy to flush away your problems!

 

 

I have owned five homes in my lifetime, but this is the first time I've owned one alone. Flying solo in maintaining a home is a very steep learning curve. Therefore, problems with a toilet tank that doesn't refill, with the water running continuously since the flapper sticks, can make a Saturday afternoon VERY interesting.

 

My good friend Listen Linda had already shown me how to lift the toilet tank cover, push down on the flapper (aka a flush valve), and "Bingo", problem solved until the next flush.

 

However, peering down into that grungy toilet tank that hadn't been cleaned in over thirty years, I am SURE, made me queasy every time I had to lift the cover. I came to the conclusion that cleaning it could only make things BETTER!

 

A how-to video showed me how.  I watched it three times.  I followed all the steps, scrubbing vigorously everywhere inside the tank that I could reach, with my brush.

 

Now that I was done, I had to turn  the stop valve back on.  (It hadn't been turned on and off for many years.  I found out later that I should have turned off the MAIN water supply while I was doing my cleaning, just in case the toilet tank valve broke off when I touched it.  NOW THAT would have been a disaster, since I don't even KNOW where my main water supply valve is!)  As it turns out, I was leaning over the tank after I had flushed, watching to make sure the tank would refill, when one end of the bowl refill tube flew OFF! Water sprayed all over ME, all over the bathroom wall, tub and floor, before I could scramble and shut the valve off again.

 

Now I can barely see; there is a fine mist all over my glasses.  I can't figure out how to put that darn tube back properly, no matter how much I fiddle with it. So I dash to the computer and find a video that explains "HOW" a toilet actually works.  In hindsight, I probably should have watched that one FIRST!

 

By now, it is almost 3:00 and I am thinking "IF I don't get this toilet working, what are my chances of getting a plumber over the weekend, without paying an arm and a leg?"

I can't go without a toilet. I only have ONE bathroom. I break down and call a male friend, who agrees to come over and help me.  While I am waiting, I keep fiddling with that tube, and wouldn't you know it, I get it back on correctly.  "Isn't this wonderful?", I think.  I DID IT! All by myself too!

 

NOT!!! When I turned the valve back on once again, the tank did not fill up, in spite of my pressing down on the flapper.  The toilet tank was a LOT cleaner though, and I could at least see what I was doing. So I hadn't totally wasted my afternoon.

 

My friend arrived and quickly diagnosed the problem. With all the vigorous scrubbing, I guess I had manhandled the "ballcock" (aka a float) out of position.  I had never even heard the word "ballcock" before, let alone knew what it was.  It's a ball! I still don't understand how that works. It's round. So what if it was upside down! 

 

I may have a cleaner toilet tank, but it's back to shopping for a new flapper.  I have only been to three different stores, six times in all, trying to find the right one.  The search continues.