Snapshots from Eldredge

The life and writings of TJ Alexian

Category Archives: home improvement


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Operation: Moth balls

mothballs

Back to work yesterday. Ugh. And last night’s problem: tackling some cheeky chipmunks.

It all started about a week ago, when I decided I wanted to really make a consistent effort to fill up the bird feeders around Green Victoria. I don’t know why the thought popped into my head. I just wanted to. I’m just that kind of person. Occasionally thoughtful.

We have one feeder that is located right by the archway leading into our yard. The very day after I filled it, I noticed that most of the seed was missing and there were a ton of empty shells around the feeder. It looked like the end of the night at the local saloon.

“Hmmm.” I said to myself. “I doubt the birds are THAT hungry. Even if I haven’t filled that thing up for about a year.”

So, I kept my eagle eye out. And soon enough, I realized that there were an awful lot of squirrels and chipmunks visiting that particular tree. Aha!

Duly warned, I went to the old Stop and Grab and bought bird seed that birds like, but squirrels and chipmunks detest because it has cayenne pepper sprinkled in. Take that, mammals with bland appetites! I filled that bird feeder up to the rim with caliente.

The next morning, I walked out of the house. Damn tricky mammals. The fuckers had somehow managed to scoop through all the seeds in the birdcage to find the ones they like, grabbed those, and dumped all the cayenne-covered seeds onto the ground. The cads!

But we’ve kept up with the hot seeds, and the past few days, I’ve noticed that the birdseed level has gone back to normal. So either the squirels and chipmonks have moved on and accepted that this feeder is muy muy caliente or the birds are finally full.

Although perhaps the bird feeder problem has resolved, the whole experience uncovered another problem. You see, everywhere I turn since then, I’ve been encountering chipmunks these days around the hallowed grounds of Green Victoria.

No, seriously. In the trees. Scurrying underfoot. I open the door in the morning to let Kyra pee and she goes scampering after something, instantly. Crawling out of my cereal ball when I pour milk into my Rice Crispies. Those little guys sure hate that Snap Crackle and Pop!

(Note: maybe one of those examples is a lie. I leave it up to you to guess which one.)

I’d say I’ve gone a bit nuts, but Corb’s noticed it too.Last evening Corb decided to do something about it. Project Mothballs has begun.

“I read that chipmunks don’t like the smell of moth balls,” explained Corb as we hunted around the grocery store. Where do they keep moth balls, anyways?

“Are you sure you didn’t misread it?” I asked. “Maybe they actually don’t like the smell of meatballs.”

“Silly Ted. That’s only Italian chipmunks,” replied Corb. “No, what we need to do is to wrap up some moth balls in cheesecloth and throw them around the outside of the house. Around the foundation, in any holes you see. The smell is supposed to keep the little pests away.”

“The smell makes me want to run away,” I complained to Corb as we were wrapping up the moth balls later in the kitchen that evening. “I mean, I like the smell of mothballs in little old lady’s drawers, but this is too much.”

Corb frowned at me. “I always suspected that about you,..” Yeah, I am a regular Nathan Lane in Little Old Lady land. Lick me. Touch me.

“Isn’t this going to make the whole place smell like moth balls?” I asked Corb as we started tossing the little bags into nooks and crannies around the house. “Isn’t it bad enough we have an old Victorian? Isn’t this going to make it seem really old?”

“Shut up and throw,” he replied. Ah, who am I kidding? I just followed him around and made wiseass comments.

So, that’s been our life the past week. Chasing the chipmunks. Forget about Pokemon Go! We’ve got a different kind of wildlife to capture. Or at least, release. First we had deer, then flying squirrels, now this. Sometimes I’m not sure if I own a home or a wildlife sanctuary.

Maybe a combination of both.


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From Drab to Fab: Partners complete

   Partners 1Partners 2

After four months, the partner’s desk project is finally complete. Corb’s weekend in his pseudo-meth lab really paid off.

The first photo shows what the desk looked like when we initially purchased it. We found the desk in the basement of an antique shop, gathering dust and unassembled. It’s circa 1890 (although I am singularly unreliable when it comes to dates, and I am certain that Corb will correct me on that when he reads this) and came from the Point Judith Inn, located in Narragansett, Rhode Island. According to the grizzled owner of the thrift shop, he was friends/neighbors with the then-owner, whose husband was battling cancer, forcing her to sell the place. That’s how the desk came into his possession, and how it sat in his basement for about a year.

I don’t know what we saw in it, frankly. In looking at the photo now, it looks awfully scuffed up. Corb was the one who saw some potential first, of course. For me, it was the back story that interested me. I’m a sucker for back stories. I mean, who knows if it’s even true? It doesn’t really matter, it just gives me something to talk about, you know?

But the point is, he saw potential. And for the first few months, it just sat in our kitchen as is, while the wheels in Corb’s fertile little mind starting spinning. Then he started making some calls, to see what some local carpenters would charge to fix it up. Then he didn’t like the quotes that he received. Then he decided he could do the job himself. Then he freaked out, wondering whether he actually had the vision and skills to get the job done. And in the past month, he finally realized that he did–and he could.

To make it a proper kitchen island, he built two small platforms on the bottom, to raise each desk up a few inches. Next, he sanded and stained the tabletop, which is truly my favorite part of the project. After that, we took one of the paint buckets that the previous owners had thoughtfully left us in the basement, to match the color of the desk to the cabinets in the kitchen. Then came the hard part: sanding and painting the desk itself. Would it look okay? A few people were kind of shocked that he was painting over the wood. But after even just the first coat of primer, both of us knew it was going to look terrific.

And there you have it! This month’s episode of “From Drab to Fab” (a title Corb HATES, by the way. He much prefers, “From Old to Bold.” He thinks the former title sounds a little gay.)

Note: I have forbidden Corb from embarking upon any more home improvement projects for at least one whole week. Next Saturday, we are all gathering for my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary, which will begin with a small reception at the house. And if you don’t think that’s causing us stress… 


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From Drab to Fab: Progress with the Partners

meth lab

Don’t you just love this photo? Corb took it this morning.

Corb is on the final stages of finishing off the partners desk project. He’s sanded and primed the desks and drawers, and now he’s in the process of putting the final coats of paint on everything, which is why he’s sealed off our porch, so that the paint doesn’t fly everywhere (and stain the porch, which…well..the first coats of paint may have done..)

Theo says it looks like we have a meth lab in our house. He’s been watching too much Breaking Bad.


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From Drab to Fab: Progress with the Partners

partners

Back in April, Corb and I purchased a 1800s-era partners desk from an old inn for our kitchen. The idea was that we (and by that I mean mostly: Corb) would refurbish it and make it into a kitchen island. It was a brilliant idea, and I can honestly take very little of the credit (although I did push Corb to act on his idea and fund it!)

Since then, it’s been at our house, but hasn’t been much of an island. In fact, for about a month, it has been sitting on our front porch, disassembled, which Corb decided what he wanted to do.

I’m not complaining, especially because I know what he was going through. After buying it, he suffered a crisis of “how am I going to get this done?” In fact, he actually gave up on building the platforms necessary to raise it up and started calling around to see if he could find a carpenter to get the job done.

One guy was all enthusiastic about the project, saying it was just the kind of thing that he wanted to do, that he was new to the area and wanted to establish himself, that he just liked the piece and its history and would only charge a small fee, yada yada yada. He took about a week to get back to us after the initial enthusiastic call and even then, had his assistant call back with the quote: $500 for labor at least plus materials. That’s not huge, but hardly a small fee.

The other guy in the area we went to only wanted to charge $250, but he’s been completely half-ass about the whole thing. It took Corb forever to get that quote. He had to keep calling and nagging. And then, when he finally got it, the guy promised him he would be able to do it right away because he had cleared off all his other jobs and arranged to pick it up at the house. I agreed to work out of the home that day so he could pick it up. End result: he never showed and never called back. We decided not to chase him.

Finally, this past week-end, Corb decided to bite the bullet and do it himself. He was extremely worried it was going to turn out looking amateurish. So, he took Friday off from work, did a ton of research, and devoted the next three days to the project. The result: it still needs sanding and painting and trimming, but I think he did a great job and the base is built! And that was the hardest part.

I am loving these improvement projects, I must be honest. It will be great to have this one done: my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary is coming up and they’ve asked us to hold a small reception at the house before we go out for dinner. Of course, the thought is giving Corb no end of grief, but I think we will be just fine!


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Diary of a Rogue Wasp Warrior

wasp

You can’t really see it, but it’s there. Second window to the right, in the upper left hand corner.

We noticed it about a week ago. It was about the size of a baby’s fist at the time. A wasp’s nest, attached to the outside of one of our front windows. Since then, it’s grown. Now it’s about the size of a baseball.

Shudder. Wasps. How I hate them! But then, I hate anything with a stinger (unless it has vodka in it. God bless you, Elaine Stritch). And Corb, he not only hates them, but he’s deathly allergic to them. Turns out he stepped on a bee’s nest not once but twice when he was a kid and his doctor has repeatedly warned him that if he gets stung again, he could go into anaphylactic shock. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.

That meant dealing with the wasp’s nest was up to me.

Not that Corb hasn’t given me helpful suggestions. Case in point: he wants me to dress up in a giant bee costume. “Then go over to the hive and pretend to be a friend. Tell them they have to see the really cool beehive in the backyard. Then when they are out, whack the hive down with a baseball bat! They won’t know what to do.”

Thanks, Corb. wasp 2

Surprisingly, it actually wasn’t the worst piece of advice we received. It’s kind of like the deer infestation thing, where people told us to sprinkle all sorts of crazy stuff around the plants, like human hair and dead deer blood, to keep Bambi away.

Jim, who is the boyfriend of Corb’s mom, was the worst. I was surprised, because he is a bit of an expert on everything. He’s about ninety years old, loves to travel. Will eat just about anything. I honestly thought he’d be able to help with this. But, no. His “guidance”: “Take a putty knife, see, and scrape the nest off quickly. Then make sure you have a big paper bag that it can fall into. Close the bag once the nest is in, really quickly. And then, you have to get rid of the bag, so either throw it in the woods or set it on fire.”

That’s the last time I listen to a world traveler who will eat just about anything. Let’s go over things I will absolutely never be doing with a live wasp nest, shall we?

  • First, moving close to it armed only with a putty knife.
  • Then, pissing off a bunch of wasps by detaching their home.
  • Next, dumping said home into a paper bag and trying to close it as they rise up, more than a little angry at me. Can you imagine me trying to crinkle that damn thing shut?
  • Then, sprinting into the woods to set the bag on fire. Screaming all the way.

I swear I’d burn the fucking forest down. And, I’m too much of a wimp. I cringe when my avatar gets stung by a bee in Animal Crossing. Bottom line: I’m not sure what Bizzarro universe this plan of attack is ever going to happen in.

“Just get an exterminator,” was Corb’s other suggestion. But no, I don’t see the need for that. This is something we should be able to handle on our own. We are big boys, now. We don’t need to throw money at everything.

So, it’s up to me. Sigh. I spent the whole day thinking about how to kill the bastards. What I needed to do. I carefully considered all the possible pitfalls. Ted against the wasps. Major stingage. Hundreds of insane insects converging down upon me, or finding a way into the kitchen, where they would pull an occupy Wall Street. Missing limbs. Carnage.

In the middle of a movie last night, I made a sudden whimpering noise.

“Are you scared?” Theo asked.

“No,” I replied. “Just thinking about the wasps.” He looked away.

And then, at ten at night, under cover of darkness, when all the wasps were sound asleep and dreaming of world domination. I sprang into action. I had Corb stand in the kitchen with a lantern, placed right near the wasp nest. Then I ran outside with Theo. Moved a few dozen feet away from the nest, can of wasp poison in hand. Then, I sprayed like crazy. Emptied out the whole bottle. And then, I ran like hell.

End result: the wasp nest is quiet today. I spy a few dead wasps on the bottom of the window sill. Mission accomplished?

Only time will tell.