Noises Off!

Our neighborhood isn’t exactly quiet. Well, it’s quiet most of the time, I guess. But on evenings and weekends, there are a lot of people outside laughing and shouting.

There are also a lot of people playing their music. The renters in the brown house across the street like to blare KGON and its classic rock. Curt and Tammy next door like contemporary country music. Behind us, Harvey and his girls tend toward oldies.

In a way, it’s fun when one of our neighbors has the music on at high volume. I wouldn’t normally choose to listen to any of these types of music, but I don’t hate them. Plus I feel like this gives me a glimpse into their world.

I even contribute to the din from time-to-time. If I’m working in the yard, I’ll turn up the workshop stereo. My music of choice is usually the two-disc Johnny Cash anthology (though I’ll often play big band or new wave or Indigo Girls). I’m sure the neighbors are sick of “Five Feet High and Rising” by now.

All is well and good in our noisy little world. Or was good until the other neighbors behind us joined the fray.

We think that the little red house is being rented by some college students. They seemed to move in during the late spring, during which they held loud bonfire parties well past bedtime on weeknights. No big deal. Easy enough to wear earplugs.

Now, though, they’ve found an even more annoying habit. On weekdays (and weekdays only), they begin playing their music loudly at about 9am. They keep the volume cranked until into the evening. This wouldn’t be so bad except for two things:

The volume is much higher than anyone else in the neighborhood uses, and
They listen to gangsta rap and bad hip-hop.

Ugh. Call me an old man, but this is like a torture one might devise for terrorists. Fortunately, I spend my days up at the office. If I were working from home, I might have knocked on their door to complain by now. I still may have to do so. We’ll see.

Or maybe I could make a request. Everything would be fine if they’d just play Johnny Cash.

Nemo the Hunter

As much as I make fun of little Nemo, I have to admit he’s our fiercest hunter. Mostly he hunts his sister Toto (which makes her hiss) and his brother Max (which makes him growl). But he also likes to hunt other critters, especially baby birds.

Perhaps his favorite prey, however, is the squirrel that lives in the walnut tree. He hasn’t caught Walnut yet, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

Just now, for example, I was sitting at the table eating my raisin bran, when I heard Walnut begin his awful racket. He sounds like a chicken. I looked out the window, and sure enough: There was Nemo chasing Walnut up the tree. What cracked me up, though, was that Walnut paused halfway up to let Nemo scoot right by him. “Psych!”

Blurriness is from the old glass in the window

I’m not sure Nemo is actually serious in his squirrel hunting, though. And I’m not sure that Walnut is serious about escaping. The pair of them spent about five minutes in a cat-and-mouse game (well, cat-and-squirrel, I guess), but neither seemed willing to follow through.

Walnut, for example, could have dashed up the tree at any time. He didn’t. Instead, he’d often creep closer and closer to Nemo. For his part, Nemo could have tagged Walnut during a couple of these moments — he was easily within paws’ reach — but he didn’t. Nemo and Walnut were content to jockey for position.

Blurriness is from the old glass in the window

What broke this stalemate? One of our resident crows* came along to break things up. He landed on a nearby branch and began to caw at the two combatants. (Or are they playmates?) Nemo decided that he was no match for squirrel and crow, so he retreated to the picnic table.

Walnut actually seemed disappointed. He came down to scold Nemo from close range. It didn’t have any effect. When the crow left, Nemo came into the house. He’s now sound asleep upstairs on the bed. (Which is where he usually is…)

* This year, Rosings Park is home to a family of crows. Or something. These crows don’t behave like any crows we’ve ever seen. They come down to eat at the feeder. They drink from the birdbath. They interact with the other birds. And, as I just mentioned, they play a role in the goings-on around the yard. (I mean, really: Breaking up a fight between a cat and a squirrel? Why?) We have no idea how long the crows will stick around, but it’s fun to have them.

Noises Off!

Our neighborhood isn’t exactly quiet. Well, it’s quiet most of the time, I guess. But on evenings and weekends, there are a lot of people outside laughing and shouting.

All is well and good in our noisy little world. Or was good until the other neighbors behind us joined the fray.

The volume is much higher than anyone else in the neighborhood uses, and
They listen to gangsta rap and bad hip-hop.

Or maybe I could make a request. Everything would be fine if they’d just play Johnny Cash.

Nemo the Hunter

Perhaps his favorite prey, however, is the squirrel that lives in the walnut tree. He hasn’t caught Walnut yet, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

Blurriness is from the old glass in the window

Neighborhood Watch

There’s a little white house that lives up the street. It’s a small house on a small lot, but otherwise I think it’s kind of cute. I’m not sure that anyone lives there right now — the yard certainly isn’t maintained.

For the past couple of weeks, there’s been a manual reel mower sitting in the front yard. It was sitting upright, as if somebody had stopped in mid-mow, but eventually it fell to the ground. The grass has been growing up around it: the hunter has become the hunted!

Yesterday, however, I noticed that the mower had been moved. It was ditched at the top of the hill in somebody else’s yard. Someone — probably a kid — had wheeled it a few hundred feet and then discarded it. “I ought to put it back where it belongs,” I thought. But I didn’t do it.

That’s okay, though. This afternoon as I was walking home, I noticed that the mower had been returned to the exact position from which it had been taken. That, my friends, is neighborliness!

The Year of Maintenance

Have I mentioned that Kris and I own a big, old house? We do. And for the past couple of years, I have done a piss-poor job of maintaining the thing. (Kris has upheld her end of the deal for the most part, but I’ve been absorbed with other things.)

The recent snow and ice pulled the gutters away from the side of the house in spots, which means the rain (which has been in mercifully short supply lately) just pours off the side of the house, and probably curls back onto (and under?) the siding. This problem snapped me out of my stupor, and I realized that hey! if I don’t take care of the house, it’ll fall apart. Yikes.

Over the weekend, we took a tour of Rosings Park — indoors and out. We made a long list of projects that need attention. Some are easy. We prune the grapes and the blackberries every year, right? Some are time-consuming but won’t cost much: cleaning the shop, finishing the horseshoe pits. But others will take both time and money, and they’re the things I’m most worried about. The gutters are but one example.

The southeast corner of the house — where we had an exahust vent installed for the furnace — is a nightmare. Paint is peeling away in large chunks. In some spots, it’s just bare wood against the outside world.

Kris and I have agreed that this year is the Year of Maintenance at Rosings Park. It’s going to be costly, but it needs to be done. As our home inspector wrote when we bought the house:

The national statistic on the Cash Value of Home Maintenance states, for every $1 that is spent on maintenance, up to $100 of repairs are avoided. In my experience as a professional home inspector, I have looked at hundreds of homes in all age ranges, and I have seen thousands of dollars of damage to homes that could have been avoided by spending $5 to $10 and just a few minutes of work.

It’s time for us to spend a few bucks and do a few minutes of work! (Though we’ve kind of progressed to a middle stage where it’s going to take a little longer and cost a little more.)

Anybody have experience/suggestions/recommendations for house painters?

More Winter

Are you tired of the winter photos yet? We Oregonians aren’t. Well, we’re tired of being house-bound, perhaps, but not tired of the snow. (According to today’s Oregonian, this is the most snow we’ve had in a winter since 1968-1969, which was just before I was born.)

First up, a comparison of a photo from Saturday night with a photo from Monday afternoon. The first photo was taken at about 7pm, in the dark. We had just a few inches of snow on the ground. The second photo was taken about 42 hours later, at 1pm in the afternoon. We had about fourteen inches of snow on the ground (with one-half inch of ice in the middle).

Winter doesn’t just bring snow — it brings icicles, too. Because our house exudes heat, the snow melts and icicles form on the gutters. (Unfortunately, our gutters have actually been damaged in spots.) Click through to see a larger version of this photo at Flickr, where you can see the giant icicle hanging over the dryer vent.

Winter also, apparently, brings Oliver, who still is not my cat.

Actually, Maxwell likes to be outside in the the cold. He’s our snow bunny. He whines to be let outside the moment we get up, and then won’t come when called all day long. He only returns just before bed. And where does he go? He just sleeps in the bushes. Stupid cat.

Finally, here’s Kris’ first venture out into the white stuff. Mainly, she’s stayed inside, reading, drinking tea, and snuggling under blankets. But yesterday she ventured outside to experience winter:

Depending on which forecast you trust, we could see another 3-5 inches of snow tomorrow, as well as some freezing rain. Who knows? All I know is that Christmas has been delayed in the Roth family!

Snow Squirrel

Here’s our Walnut, one of our squirrels. He’s hungry, cold, and none too happy that I continue to bother him with the camera.

Our current snowfall totals: six inches on the ground, half an inch of ice, and then another eight inches. The snow continues to fall. The forecasters expect it to stop soon, though, but I don’t know if I believe them. When I went to bed last night, they said nothing about snow of any kind today.

Winter Wonderland

It snowed all day yesterday. When we walked over to Paul and Amy Jo’s at about 10am, there was maybe an inch of accumulation, all powdery. The snowfall never got heavy, and the snowflakes never got big. But it snowed all day, so that by nightfall there were about six inches on the ground. But when I went outside to make some photographs, it was strange to see the snow so dry, like powdered sugar.

This photo is similar to the publicity shot used to sell the house. Only that shot was taken in early May, and this is taken in mid-December after one of the heaviest snowfalls in years. Though it looks like late afternoon here, it’s actually dark. It’s just a 10-second exposure.

Kris’ parents are coming for a short visit next weekend. If they’d come this weekend, they could have enjoyed our six inches of snow:

Instead, they’ll get the cold dreary rain we Oregonians are accustomed to. Maybe I’ll warm them up by taking them to Moroccan food.

Finally, here’s a shot of Kris’ outdoor Christmas tree. She borrowed a bunch of outdoor lights from Tiffany to decorate the spruce by the road. It took her about an hour to string the lights, but the effort was worth it. Even I think it’s beautiful.

I like how, if you look closely, you can see that the gutter on the second story is bowing. Sigh. The projects on this house never cease. We were already planning to hire somebody to paint next summer. We might as well have the gutters replaced at the same time. They’ve been causing us woe, and we know it. If we save enough, we can get all of the work done at once.

Update: We have six inches of new snow. It’s resting on top of half an inch of ice and the six inches of old snow below it. That’s a foot of snow and half an inch of ice. Wow.

Lactose Intolerant: The Pros and Cons of Cereal Milk

Warning: This story is funny, but it’s a little gross. You’ve been warned.

Yesterday, Kris and I went to Big Lots! for the first time. A neighbor had told us they had cheap bird seed, and we wanted to stock up. While there, I picked up a box of “Tooty Fruities” breakfast cereal for seventy-five cents.

This morning we rose to find ourselves snowed in once again. So much for playing Santa today. While Kris and I discussed what we should do, I sat in my chair, eating a bowl of Tooty Fruities. As we talked, Simon came into the room, sniffing. His “cereal milk” radar had gone off. There are few things Simon likes more than cereal milk. And although I know it’s bad for him, I always let him indulge.

Today he was a little bossy. Usually he sits patiently, waiting for me to finish my cereal. Today he pushed his striped head into the bowl, lapping up the milk as I was finishing the last few spoonfuls. I set the bowl down so that he would have easier access.

“Simon loves that stuff,” I said, laughing. He was lapping it up.

But he wasn’t loving it five minutes later.

Kris was in the other room, just starting her yoga for the day. “Oh no!” she shouted. “Simon’s throwing up.”

We’re not unused to cat vomit in this house. We do have four cats, after all. And Toto is the queen of vomit. She goes through periods where she vomits every day for weeks. It’s exasperating. But at least when she vomits, it’s confined to one spot.

Simon never vomits. Until today.

Today he stood on Kris’ yoga mat and projectile vomited fur and cat food — and cereal milk. He sprayed it all over the room. Then, to make matters worse, he ran away. While continuing to vomit. Because he’d never vomited before, he didn’t know how to handle it. Most cats would just stand still. Not Simon. He ran from the yoga mat into the dining room, to the front door. He ran over to his chair and jumped up, continuing to vomit. He ran around the table, vomiting. He was like a firehose.

I did the only thing I could think of. I opened the door and called, “Simon!” He ran outside, vomiting. He’s probably standing out in the snow vomiting even as I type.

Poor guy.

And poor us. It took three towels to mop up. It wasn’t a pleasant task.

Now I face a tough decision for the future. I know that Simon loves cereal milk, but I’m not sure I should let him have it. He seems to be lactose intolerant!