Snapshot # 1 – Jon is at the convenience store at the end of our street buying something when the cashier, who is exceptionally friendly, asks him if he might also want to buy a Chihuahua puppy. He declines,  but while she finishes the sales transaction, she explains that the reason she has puppies for sale is because her mother’s pet monkey kept opening the male Chihuahua’a pen and letting him out, giving him access to the female Chihuahua, from whom he is supposed to remain separated.  Yes, she says, the monkey is a good pet, except for this pesky habit of freeing the Chihuahuas. Oh, and the monkey also bites people, except that’s not a problem since they had its teeth removed…  Now he just gums people.

Snapshot #2 – Me, checking out at the Fellini Kroger, two or three blocks from our house. As the check out guy bags up my purchases, he complains vociferously about the raw chicken juice that apparently dripped all over his hands from the last customer’s leaky meat purchase. As he complains, he alternately wipes his greasy hands on his shirt and then runs them through his hair.

Anna Laura, who cleans for us, spent THREE HOURS on our main bathroom today.

I don’t know whether to be thrilled that it’s now so sparkly clean or frightened by the fact that it took THREE HOURS to get it that clean…

As I have no doubt mentioned before, we live in a very large, 100 year old, wooden house. It has been clear since we first moved in that we have the occasional rodent lurking about. This was mostly clear because our two cats, Mingus and Moses would find mice, and then leave them – bloody and gutted in our front hallway. As disgusting as this was, I found it gratifying to think that the cats were doing their jobs, and keeping the nasty, disgusting rodents at bay.

Fast forward to fall, 2009, Mingus and Moses are now outdoor cats (actually, Mngus is indoor/outdoor) due to intractable bladder control issues (yes, we did try the $40 special Web-order only cat pheremones. Yes, we did take them to the vet. Yes, we did have enough litter boxes…blah, blah, blah) It came down to my furniture and rugs…or the cats enjoying the sunny outdoors. My rugs won out.

So now that the cats live mostly outdoors, the rodents have moved mostly indoors. We have mice. The evidence is overwhelming…and disgusting. Jon has been setting traps in the basement, but he didn’t believe me that he needed to set them on the top floor of the house as well, He apparently held the belief that all rodents who needed to be killed would happily migrate to the basement to do so. It is my opinion, however, that the rats and mice who are CLEARLY living on the top floor – where H, J and E have their bedrooms – have never and will never visit our basement, which is located approximately one MILE below them.

Tonight J cleaned her room and closets better than she has in a year. And suffice it to say that this thorough cleaning made it oh-so-apparent that my daughter has a family of rodents visiting her room on a not-infrequent basis. I was horrified. In fact, I am so grossed out – even after even more cleaning took place – that I know for certain I will have dreams tonight where I am old and alone, and rats are gnawing off my face.

We will certainly be putting lots of traps and poison on the top floor tomorrow, but maybe we need an exterminator? Or those electronic repellents from As Seen on TV commercials? Anyone have any fantastic ideas for eradicating rats and mice in a multistory, still half un-renovated, giant old Victorian house?

Because I don’t want to have my face gnawed off …in my dreams…or in my actual sleep.

We had a very odd evening around Casa Hickju on Friday night. You can read all about it in my latest Babble blog post.

Check out this incredible, amazing house that’s just gone up for sale on our street. Our little corner of the ‘hood is full of more good and wonderful neighbors than you can shake a stick at. It’s a great place to live, and this house is a terrific bargain that hasn’t been on the market for decades. Some lucky family is going to get a real deal on a 130 year old house, mere steps away from a city park and greenway, and with a fascinating history.

The house is located in a neighborhood full of mature trees and real sidewalks, and within walking distance of things like Three Rivers Market and everything that’s happening these days in the rapidly redeveloping wonderful Downtown North Arts District, including the Glowing Body Yoga Studio and Cafe, and Magpies Bakery (who wouldn’t want to be able to walk to Magpies?). Our street is also only about 1.5 miles (maybe less than that) from Market Square.

As I have said many times since we moved here three years ago, living in a half-revitalized, truly urban neighborhood isn’t for everyone. A lot of folks would hate it, actually, and I know of at least two young families who have moved or are trying to move from our neighborhood because they found it wasn’t the right fit for them, and they didn’t want to deal with the issues specific to an inner city neighborhood like this. But I can honestly say that our street is improving all the time since we moved in (now if I could only say the same for our actual house, which needs A LOT of work that we seem to have trouble finding time and money to get accomplished, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.)

So if you are the urban pioneer type, and you like the idea of being part of a community of progressive neighbors who like old houses, city living and each other, I think our street is one of the undiscovered gems of Knoxville’s historic neighborhoods; we probably fly under the radar somewhat because our sub-neighborhood is technically part of Old North Knoxville, but the rest of ONK is on the other side of Broadway. We are actually much closer to 4th and Gill, but they don’t claim us.

If the house that was just listed doesn’t interest you, there are actually several others for sale on our street right now as well, and they are all at quite attractive prices because the market is so slow. So your historic bargain and friendly neighbors await!

The weekend that was…

Thing One is, of course, away at boarding school for the summer, and Thing Two was away on a mission trip with her dad’s church. So that left only Things Three and Four at home, and they had a lot of fun together.

We bought our first outdoor cooking device – ever – (Otherwise known as a $34 charcoal grill from Kroger), and E had a great time teaching me to use it, since he is apparently the grilling assistant over at his father’s house. We did steaks on Saturday and ribs (with significant oversight, including on the shopping part, from Dr. Neighbor).

We ended up having very fun, impromptu parties at our house on Friday and Sunday nights, with numerous friends and neighbors. It was lots of fun. I am so happy we live in a walking neighborhood, with front porches, where people I really, really like actually drop by and end up staying late into the evening, playing mandolin on my front porch as various children and dogs run around the yard.

We have one family in the neighborhood who, while hanging out with us on Saturday, shared their experience recently having their house investigated by some professional ghost hunters after they had experienced some very weird goings-on. The ghost hunters caught strange, glowing orbs and weird muttering on their recordings. If D and F release any of the recordings online, I’ll link to them so you can judge for yourself.

Anyway, here are the photos from the weekend, including an adorable one of my nephew, a sleepy little N, returning from the petshop, clutching his new fish.

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

Anyone have any idea what sort of professional to consult when you aren’t sure whether a tree that needs to come down belongs to your neighbor or to you?

It looks like it’s the neighbor’s problem to my untrained eye, but he seems to think that enough of it has crept over past our property line that we should pay for half the cost of tree demolition.

Do I call an arborist? A surveyor? A psychic?

Anyone? Bueller…Bueller?

I’ve always wanted twinkly lights strung around my front porch, and a couple of weekends ago, Jon and neighbors K & E got me all set up. Thanks guys!

Most of the time, I am very happy with our decision to buy a giant, old house that needs a lot of work. Lately, however, I’ve been feeling a bit underfunded and overwhelmed with the house’s needs (which are substantial) – especially because it turns out that Jon and I are not really DIYers, so we have to hire people to do almost anything we need done. I think I had the idea that we would be able to do more of what the house needs ourselves. As it turns out, painting is about the extent of our skills.

Sigh.

I am ready for warm weather and sunshine. Can you tell?

I can’t bring myself to put on a pair of Crocs. I know lots of people love them, and some women can totally pull them off, but to me, wearing Crocs would feel a lot like slipping into the dreaded mom jeans – an “I Give Up” moment.

But Jon does have a pair – I actually bought them for him – and he wears them a lot. And that’s where this story begins.

Last year, we fenced our backyard.

We wanted privacy, and we wanted our dogs to have a secure place to hang out. Soon after erecting the wildly expensive wooden fence, however, the two small dogs, Fiat and Mabel, began digging out under it and escaping. So we hired Gary, a great and fascinating guy (who also happens to be the brother of the infamous “Redneck Tapes” mastermind, John Bean), to create an electric fence running along the bottom of the wooden fence. He got us all set up, Fiat and Mabel got shocked once or twice, and for 9 months, they never tried to dig out.

Then, a few weeks ago, the dogs began digging out again. Jon went out and checked the fence, and discovered that the electric fence had come unhooked, and that’s why the dogs were getting out. So he hoooked it back up, and fiddled with the box and the wire, but couldn’t get the fence to go live again. So he just unhooked it, and the dogs kept getting out.

So we called Gary, who came out last weekend. He and Jon went down to check out the fence, and Jon explained that the electric fence was totally dead. Gary hooked up the wire, grabbed it, and was immediately shocked. The wire wasn’t dead at all. Jon was baffled, so he touched it. Nothing.

Then Gary pointed out that Jon was wearing rubber shoes – Crocs – which meant that the electric current couldn’t pass through him, so he wasn’t able to tell whether the fence was working or not.

So that’s yet another reason not to wear Crocs; they prevent you from knowing whether your electric fence is working. On the other hand, maybe they make you less vulnerable to lightning strikes…