Posts Tagged ‘funny story’
Driveway Series
Imagine if Thursday the 13th was a thing. Today would be that day. Maybe it would have a good connotation, leading to “Happy Thursday the 13th” salutations! Maybe not. Just a random thought.
Walking back from the barn Tuesday afternoon, I spotted some things that prompted me to pull out my phone camera.
The first was the way icicles from a drip off the corner of the shop garage were forming on the branch of the pine tree there. There was just enough wind blowing around that corner that it caused the icicles to spread at a variety of sideways angles.
As long as I had the phone out, I saw a series of interesting shapes and designs as I walked toward the house. They have become my “Driveway Series.” It’s always difficult for me to single out one image, and in this case, I think they all belong together, to be viewed like links on a chain.
There is a story I remembered that I wasn’t able to tell before yesterday’s interview ended. I’ve hesitated to share it because it is really Cyndie’s to tell, but we have continued to laugh about it long enough that I think you all will get a chuckle out of it, too.
While in California last week, she and her friends visited a Korean spa for special salt-scrub massages. Cyndie and one of the friends had experienced a luxuriously dreamy steam and body exfoliation treatment on gold marble at a Middle Eastern spa in Vancouver years back and had visions of reliving that experience. However, this traditional Korean sauna did things differently.
Some highlights that Cyndie pointed out include the mandatory absence of any covering on their bodies to keep the water clean for all customers. After showering, they soaked in a hot tub that was so hot, Cyndie needed to sit up. She was instructed to get back down all the way into the water. When it came time for exfoliation, Cyndie said it felt like the tiny Korean masseuse put on gloves with 60 grit sandpaper and proceeded to “sand” Cyndie’s flesh from top to bottom, front to back. No time for tears, as the scalding hot coconut milk was poured over her and she was told to wash her face with it.
Then Cyndie was sent to the showers to wash it all off. Upon returning, it was time for the hot oil massage. She was ready for the soothing and relaxing massage, but received a bruising, sharp-elbow deep muscle massage.
Now, the part that we’ve been laughing about since. While massaging her, the masseuse finally commented, “Must been bad car accident, eh?”
Cyndie chose not to explain all her scars from joint replacements and other surgeries and simply agreed. Then, while her eyes were closed, she received an unexpected slap of a freezing cold seaweed facial.
The wonderfully sincere Korean woman then commented as she peeled back the seaweed mask, “You must have been very pretty when you were young.” She meant it in the nicest possible way, which makes it all the funnier to us.
The whole experience sounded like a rare massage where Cyndie came out a little tighter than when she went in. At least she came home with a memory to laugh about.
I must say, her back did eventually feel really soft after all the tiny scabs had flaked off.
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Mouse House
If you have ever heard anyone who owns a log home say their place is sealed tight against rodent intrusion, feel free to question their grip on reality. We could crawl around our foundation day and night, scale the walls to inspect every inch around the soffits, and climb to the peak of our stone chimney and still, I wouldn’t think we’d identified every teeny space of potential access.
We are well into the season of incoming mice and Pequenita is only doing her bare minimum to fatally “play” with the surprise toys. The other night it was hour after hour of romping around our bedroom floor, talking to her latest playmate while Cyndie and I feigned solid sleep in maximum avoidance mode. I was just sleepily aware enough in the morning to only step partway onto the cold, dead remains before catching myself and stopping.
Two nights ago, just after lights out in the bedroom, some busy rodent started making its presence known with repetitive scratching/chewing in the attic space above our ceiling.
Last night, as Cyndie was working on her laptop at the dining room table, something fell from one of the log beams in the ceiling by the front sunroom. It was a mouse.
From my position in the bathroom shower at the time, I heard muffled stomping and banging that instantly had me wondering what in the heck could be going on out there. Then, the sound of Cyndie saying something affectionate to Delilah. I assumed they were engaged in an energized activity to drain some dog energy before the end of the day.
Soon after, Cyndie pops in to announce, “I have a story for you.”
She grabbed a fly swatter and garbage bin that were right there and tried to capture the mouse. Delilah noticed what was going on and jumped up to help. It was Delilah who caught the mouse. Then, our canine carnivore wasted no time in consuming her prize before Cyndie had even a second to decide what to do about it.
I think that was the moment I heard Cyndie offering the dog a kind word.
After my shower, I came into the bedroom to find our cat contentedly curled up on the dog bed, clueless about being one-upped by the dog in the mouse control department.
Cyndie has contacted our pest control service again. “No, it’s not another woodchuck. Nope, not a nest of bees in the ground. Uh uh, not raccoons again. Not bats. Not this time, anyway. Now it’s just a plain old mouse problem.”
They won’t need directions to our house.
Is there such a thing as kevlar shrink wrap? If it came in a wood grain pattern, that would be cool. Just cover our whole house like the blue stuff they stretch over boats to winterize them.
You’d think the multiple prowling neighbor cats would do a better job of controlling the mouse population around here. Come to think of it, that could be increasing the incentive for mice to find new ways inside.
I’m sure pest control will be happy to invoice extensive time and effort to de-mouse our log house.
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Stinky Story
It has been a while since I put hours in at the day-job, and as a result, I have a fair backlog of stories to share that they haven’t heard regarding things that have happened at Wintervale. Yesterday, I was waxing eloquent on Delilah’s apparent preoccupation with wildlife scat and horse manure. As I spun my tales, I came to a funny story that I realized was worth posting here, and since I don’t recall having already written about it, I’m hoping I haven’t.
During the period that I was on leave, I worked on several outdoor projects that allowed me to grant Delilah the opportunity to roam freely, off-leash. She demonstrates such elation with being able to run free that it is a thrill to watch her, but since I would be trying to get some work done, there were times when I lost sight of where she was.
That was actually part of the training we have been working on. When we notice she seems to have disappeared, we call or whistle and she needs to return. Every time she does, she is rewarded with a treat or lavish affection, or both. Sometimes it takes a long time for her to return, long enough that I have usually grown frustrated and consider it a failed attempt. That presents a challenge, because she eventually does return, after all, and seems to expect a treat, but I’m reluctant because she didn’t come the first time I called.
Often times, when she doesn’t return immediately, it is because she has wandered off our property and is overly excited about exploring the unfamiliar territory of our neighbors. The plowed field just to our north is a particular favorite of hers. They weren’t able to plant any crop there last spring because it remained too wet for too long into the growing season. Instead, it became the place that our neighbor chose to dump fertilizer. He was putting some pretty stinky stuff on there from the local area dairy farms. I am pretty sure that is why Delilah likes it so much.
One damp day, after she eventually returned from a prolonged disappearance, she came back with what looked like muddy water soaking the fur around her head. It struck me as odd, because her head was dry, but I got the impression she had stuck her face into a puddle. I wondered how she could look wet around her face so thoroughly, but not show anything on her face or the top of her head. When she got close enough to me, I quickly discovered it wasn’t muddy water. She stunk something awful. There must have been a puddle of sewage up in that field somewhere.
It smelled so bad, I didn’t want to be near her. I went back to my project and hoped she would wear it off just by running through the grass, goofing off while I worked. Hours later, when Cyndie arrived home at the end of her work day, I had honestly forgotten about the mess Delilah had gotten into earlier. We all walked into the house through the front door together and Delilah jumped all over Cyndie and her nice suit, behaving like the over-excited puppy that she is, deliriously thrilled to have momma home.
“What is that smell?!” Cyndie choked.
Oops. The afternoon of activity had not done anything to get rid of the odor. It just served to dry the foul mixture into her fur. Delilah was marched right down to the tub for a good scrubbing.
Even after the bath, it seemed as though that stink lingered in her fur for a surprising amount of time. I imagine she was probably pretty proud about that.
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Relative Something 