Our puppy dog is named Cooper. He is one of the cutest and sweetest puppies that ever lived. This is just the truth. Just because he is our puppy and we love him deeply, does not mean were are, in any way, biased.
However, he does have a few flaws. They are very minor, hardly worth mentioning. He loves tearing up any scrap of paper he finds not in the trash, or in the trash. He occasionally barks (or more accurately yelps) at anyone walking on our road, or anyone he thinks may be walking on our road, or anyone who is thinking of walking on our road. He is afraid of thunder (but not lightning or fireworks for some strange reason) and the rain that comes with thunder, or any rain for that matter, or any water at all. Needless to say, bath time is entertaining.
He is a picky eater, pretty much turning up his nose at any dog food (but likes poaching the cat’s food for some strange reason. He likes chicken, fresh cooked or even canned, if it’s premium breast meat. He likes roast beef and hamburger, and ham in moderation. He likes eggs and most cheese (but has no use for Jarlsburg). He likes peas, with a bit of rice, but usually eats the peas and leaves the rice on the plate, or more usually, on the floor. He likes treats, but only very specific brands. So many bags of puppy treats, so many in the landfill.
Like all dogs, he occasionally succumbs to some puppy malady or other and must visit the vet. He hates going to the vet. He also doesn’t care much for riding in the car, so a trip to the vet, in the car, is pretty much the worst. He didn’t always hate the vet. His first trip there as a pup, they cuddled him and gave him treats and was quite enamored. Then they shoved a thermometer up his butt, stuck him several times with a needle, and cut of his balls. Now, the vet, not so much.
Sometimes when he goes to the vet, he gets medication to take at home. He doesn’t like to take medication, especially when it tastes bad, which it always does. He most recently got an antibiotic that he needs to take twice day. It’s a tiny pill and he only needs to take one half of a pill at a time. It might as well be a golfball, he’s not taking it. We tried grinding it up and mixing it with his chicken. He sorts through all the chicken in case some scrap is untainted, leaving the tainted chicken (oft times all of it) on the plate, or more usually, on the floor. We tried hiding the tiny one half of a pill in a bit of ham or hamburger. He somehow manages to eat all the ham or hamburger and spit out the pill, not even wet.
I’m proud to say, however, that we have figured out how to get him to take his pill. We use a clever ploy to deceive him into thinking it is just food. We take the one half pill and embed it in a dollop of cream cheese. We then roll up the dollop of cream cheese, with a few peas and bacon bits in a thin slice of chicken breast. We then lightly season the chicken roll and saute it in cream and butter sauce until it is slightly brown and crispy. When served with a bit of cat food on the side, he eats it right up.
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Monday, May 27, 2019
SHE DOESN’T LOVE ME BEST
Well, it finally happened. I knew it was coming, in fact, has been coming for some time. And today it happened. My wife no longer loves me best. I’m no longer number one in her heart.
Of course, I can’t really blame her. The other guy has only been in the picture for a few years, but from day one, he could do no wrong. He was always there, always loving, never talked back, never asked for anything, and never, ever complained. Sure, he had his faults, but it didn’t really matter what little indescretion he might have committed, one look into those sad, apologetic eyes, and he was instantly forgiven.
Oh, I knew they were taking long walks together. I knew she chatted with him endlessly, but who could blame her, he was such a good listener. I even knew about her constant praise, and all the little treats she was givng him, usually to get him to do her bidding, but sometimes for no reason at all. I even knew that they were sleeping together, and had been for years.
Yes, I knew all the details, but still felt she loved me best. Sure I wasn’t the best looking, or in the great shape that he was, but I did earn the money, provide and maintain the home, and even take the garbage to the dump. I was the one who had been there the longest, and shared the most. But he was the one who never left here side when she was sad, or worried, or not feeling well. He was the one who proffered unconditional love, unconditionally.
And so today, when I left for work, and the dog stayed home, and she was OK with that, even expected it, even desired it; I knew was number one, no longer.
I like to think I am still number two, but she is awfully fond of her son, and awfully fond of my daughter, and seems to worry far more about them then about me; so I may be number three, or even four. Of course, there is also her best friend from years before we ever meant, who has always been there for her; but he hasn’t called for awhile, and isn’t planning to visit any time soon; so, with a bit of luck, I may not end up number five, even if she doesn’t love me best.
Of course, I can’t really blame her. The other guy has only been in the picture for a few years, but from day one, he could do no wrong. He was always there, always loving, never talked back, never asked for anything, and never, ever complained. Sure, he had his faults, but it didn’t really matter what little indescretion he might have committed, one look into those sad, apologetic eyes, and he was instantly forgiven.
Oh, I knew they were taking long walks together. I knew she chatted with him endlessly, but who could blame her, he was such a good listener. I even knew about her constant praise, and all the little treats she was givng him, usually to get him to do her bidding, but sometimes for no reason at all. I even knew that they were sleeping together, and had been for years.
Yes, I knew all the details, but still felt she loved me best. Sure I wasn’t the best looking, or in the great shape that he was, but I did earn the money, provide and maintain the home, and even take the garbage to the dump. I was the one who had been there the longest, and shared the most. But he was the one who never left here side when she was sad, or worried, or not feeling well. He was the one who proffered unconditional love, unconditionally.
And so today, when I left for work, and the dog stayed home, and she was OK with that, even expected it, even desired it; I knew was number one, no longer.
I like to think I am still number two, but she is awfully fond of her son, and awfully fond of my daughter, and seems to worry far more about them then about me; so I may be number three, or even four. Of course, there is also her best friend from years before we ever meant, who has always been there for her; but he hasn’t called for awhile, and isn’t planning to visit any time soon; so, with a bit of luck, I may not end up number five, even if she doesn’t love me best.
THE QUINTESSENTIAL XMAS LETTER - “IT’S ALL GOOD!”
OOPS!
Seasons Greetings Friends, Family & Loved Ones
Just our annual missive to let you know how all the gang is doing and all the exciting and wonderful things that happened this past year.
First off, or son, Jimmy, has been out of rehab for three weeks now, and still doing great, except for that one little relapse, nothing really. And Mickey, his ex-girlfriend, has agreed to let him see Jimmy Jr as soon as he catches up on child support, which is assured once the settlement comes in. You may remember that we were sueing the rehab place after the roof collapse that left poor Jimmy with permanent PTSD and a total loss of ability to smell or taste.
Better yet, it looks like the other Jimmy Jr, isn’t really Jimmy’s at all. It turns out that the “porn star” he had a “date” with on his Texas trip, wasn’t being truthful when she assured Jimmy that he was the only one she had slept with for months.
Meanwhile Jimmy’s older brother, Billy, and his wife Milly, just had their second child, a beautiful little girl. Older sister, Charlene (formerly brother Charlie), is just delighted to have a new little sister. Charlene, by the way, has very generously agreed to be an “organ” donor from her upcoming reassignment surgery. How great is that?
Daughter Jennifer is still living with us and still bartending at the strip bar. Her boss adores her, and she has been there longer than anyone else, nearly three months. Of course, her tips are not as good as the “performance artists,” but she does pretty well working in the well (well in the well, get it?).
Ever the good Samaritan, Jen recently rescued a kitten from a storm sewer. She named her Penny Wise (like from the Stephen King Movie) and Penny is as clever and as evil as her namesake. Penny’s bad behavior is mild, however, as compared to her kitten stepsister, Twitch, who is evil incarnate, at least as kittens go. Jen certainly has a way with rescues. She is always bringing home strays, injured, and unwanted creatures. But we try to be understanding when it comes to her friends.
Also, good news about Uncle Fred. His parole hearing is just two weeks away and it looks really promising this time. The owner of the liquor store where the “incident” occurred has passed away, and therefore won’t be at the hearing. Keep your fingers crossed. If he gets out, he will finally be a free man, except for the restraining orders, and can live a normal and happy life. Freda, his “prison bride,” can’t wait for him to get to his new home and start fixing the “double-wide” up.
Finally, you will all be pleased to know that the bankruptcy is finally final. We were able to keep the house, the car, and all $600 in our retirement account. We gave the kids all the pieces in our black velvet art collection and sold a bunch of stuff including the poker chip collection and all the VCR’s at a garage sale before we filed, so the judge didn't take it all away. Things will be a little tight for a while, but with our new credit cards and credit line from Vinny, we should be just fine.
So that’s it with us. We’re doing great and hope all of you are doing as well.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
EJHS 50th Reunion
Having been to my Essex Junction High School 10th year reunion and none since, I thought it might be interesting to attend my 50th. Living in Hawaii with the reunion in Vermont, this was not a decision to be made lightly.
Put aside the cost of airfare, rental car, and lodging. Pretend that 12 hours in coach class, sitting in the middle seat, between a screaming child and a contender for “the world’s biggest loser,” pre-loss, will make for fascinating conversation and time flying. Ignore for the moment the that all my classmates had inevitably gotten old and unrecognizable, and ignore that also had I. And imagine that my first wife, my first ex-wife to be exact, who was also a classmate and would undoubtedly be at the reunion, would be absolutely delighted to see me and pine for the days lost and opportunities missed, due to her decision to move on to different pastures.
None of this changed the fact that The Class of 1964 was an auspicious group of misfits, the like of which had never been seen before and has not been seen since. We were a motley crew of underachievers, short on scholarship, but long on recreation. We didn't excel at organized sports, we didn't win scholastic prizes, we weren't voted the most likely to anything.
Our class slogan, until it was disallowed by the powers that be, was "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time." It was not our way to soar, not for us to savor the competition or bask in the limelight. We were the creepers.
Did I really want to spend the time, much less the money to reunite and reminisce with this group of losers (not the good kind)? What was to be gained from such an undertaking except for a vivid reminder of my own shortcomings. Did I really need the disappointment and grief?
Perhaps I did. After all, with all their failures and shortcomings, my classmates did have one redeeming quality… a great sense of humor.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Doing Business in Hawaii
I moved to Hawaii 18 years ago fully intending to retire, or at least semi-retire. The plan was to spend my days relaxing in paradise. I looked forward to leisurely days of sipping mai-tais on the lanai and reading all the books I’d never had time for. I eagerly anticipated dabbling in the workshop, on fun projects previously abandoned or not yet begun. I envisioned Saturdays on the tennis court and Sundays at the beach. It was a good plan, structured yet flexible, designed to stimulate mind and body yet avoid anxiety and stress. And it would have worked except for one minor glitch: reality. It turns out, that as wonderful a place as Hawaii is to live, affordable it is not. My nest egg turned out to be not much nest and even less egg. My retirement plans were shelved; I went back to work; and having been self-employed for over 25 years and thus completely unemployable, I started a business (actually more than one).
The first of many businesses was a snorkel and beach gear rental shop. Off the beaten path, with little money for marketing and lots of competition, the shop lasted about a year. I like to think of the experience as an $80,000, 12 month, non-credit (pardon the pun), postgraduate course entitled “How Not To Do Business in Hawaii.” It was proof of the popular Hawaiian adage, which we all seem destined to learn the hard way: “the way to make a small fortune in Hawaii is to start with a large one.”
The second business, a faltering attempt to salvage the first business, was a modest visitor magazine about the beaches and activities available on the Big Island, named in a moment of inspiration, The Beach and Activity Guide to the Big Island. A surprisingly popular publication, our first print run, which we could afford, lasted about three days. Our next print run, which we couldn’t, lasted nearly five times as long. The BAG, as we affectionately called it, was our introduction to the all-too-common and universally dreaded Hawaii phenomenon, “the almost-success.” Unlike real success, which can provide a living, if not fame and fortune, and unlike dismal failure, which provides a valuable lesson and allows one to move on, almost-success is a cunning creature that resembles real success, yet at the end of the day, or year, or decade, leaves you with little cash, little confidence, and little else.
Many businesses followed. A larger visitor magazine, twice expanded and once reinvented, was a real success. Eventually, it was sold, unfortunately to an unscrupulous investor who had neither much cash nor the least hint of a clue. The business was a success; the sale was a dismal failure. We learned our lesson and moved on. A restaurant-and-shops discount program, complete with a colorful brochure and embossed plastic membership card, was an almost-success: three rounds, three draws, no harm, no foul, no cigar. A luxury vacation rental property had it all. Real success for a while, admittedly a short while, almost-success for a while longer, and eventually, dismal failure. Another postgraduate course completed (you don’t want to know the tuition), another lesson learned, another opportunity for onward moving.
Today my business is marketing. Coupled with graphic design and publishing, it has all the markings of success. With lots of hard work, a little help from friends and family, and a little upturn in the economy, I might be able to retire or semi-retire, in just a few more years, only 20 years or so behind schedule. I shouldn’t feel bad: unofficial statistics indicate that of all the people who move to Hawaii and start a business, 50% to 60% give up and leave the islands within a year, usually having been very successful in making a “small fortune in Hawaii.”
With this in mind, and for all those who move to Hawaii with such dreams, my marketing company makes this amazing offer: “We guarantee to save you 75% of your first-year start-up costs in any new business.” Normally our methodology is a closely held secret, but I will divulge it here for the very first time. First, we prepare for you a thoroughly researched and meticulously delineated business plan for the first year, carefully calculating all costs associated with the first-year operation, including a specific exit strategy. Then we implement the exit strategy. You cut us a check for 25% of those calculated costs, and we buy you a ticket home.
12/09/10
The first of many businesses was a snorkel and beach gear rental shop. Off the beaten path, with little money for marketing and lots of competition, the shop lasted about a year. I like to think of the experience as an $80,000, 12 month, non-credit (pardon the pun), postgraduate course entitled “How Not To Do Business in Hawaii.” It was proof of the popular Hawaiian adage, which we all seem destined to learn the hard way: “the way to make a small fortune in Hawaii is to start with a large one.”
The second business, a faltering attempt to salvage the first business, was a modest visitor magazine about the beaches and activities available on the Big Island, named in a moment of inspiration, The Beach and Activity Guide to the Big Island. A surprisingly popular publication, our first print run, which we could afford, lasted about three days. Our next print run, which we couldn’t, lasted nearly five times as long. The BAG, as we affectionately called it, was our introduction to the all-too-common and universally dreaded Hawaii phenomenon, “the almost-success.” Unlike real success, which can provide a living, if not fame and fortune, and unlike dismal failure, which provides a valuable lesson and allows one to move on, almost-success is a cunning creature that resembles real success, yet at the end of the day, or year, or decade, leaves you with little cash, little confidence, and little else.
Many businesses followed. A larger visitor magazine, twice expanded and once reinvented, was a real success. Eventually, it was sold, unfortunately to an unscrupulous investor who had neither much cash nor the least hint of a clue. The business was a success; the sale was a dismal failure. We learned our lesson and moved on. A restaurant-and-shops discount program, complete with a colorful brochure and embossed plastic membership card, was an almost-success: three rounds, three draws, no harm, no foul, no cigar. A luxury vacation rental property had it all. Real success for a while, admittedly a short while, almost-success for a while longer, and eventually, dismal failure. Another postgraduate course completed (you don’t want to know the tuition), another lesson learned, another opportunity for onward moving.
Today my business is marketing. Coupled with graphic design and publishing, it has all the markings of success. With lots of hard work, a little help from friends and family, and a little upturn in the economy, I might be able to retire or semi-retire, in just a few more years, only 20 years or so behind schedule. I shouldn’t feel bad: unofficial statistics indicate that of all the people who move to Hawaii and start a business, 50% to 60% give up and leave the islands within a year, usually having been very successful in making a “small fortune in Hawaii.”
With this in mind, and for all those who move to Hawaii with such dreams, my marketing company makes this amazing offer: “We guarantee to save you 75% of your first-year start-up costs in any new business.” Normally our methodology is a closely held secret, but I will divulge it here for the very first time. First, we prepare for you a thoroughly researched and meticulously delineated business plan for the first year, carefully calculating all costs associated with the first-year operation, including a specific exit strategy. Then we implement the exit strategy. You cut us a check for 25% of those calculated costs, and we buy you a ticket home.
12/09/10
Importing to Hawaii
I must admit that I’m at a loss to understand why we import so much stuff into Hawaii. I get that cars, clothes, many consumer goods, boats, and building materials must come from faraway places. They’re not easy to produce here and everywhere not here is, in fact, far away. I know we lack deposits of iron ore for making steel (not that we would want to make steel here anyway, it’s very messy). I know we lack oil reserves for making plastic (not that we would want to make plastic here anyway, it’s very messy). I know we lack sand for making glass (okay, we have lots of sand, but making glass is probably very messy), and we lack good wood for making lumber (I guess eucalyptus, that grows on the Big Island straight and tall in just a few years, doesn’t qualify, and anyway, making lumber is possibly very messy).
What I don’t get is get why we import so much food, especially fresh fruit and vegetables, fresh fish, fresh fowl, fresh eggs, and fresh meat. I live in Hawaii, in part, because the weather here is nearly perfect for pleasant living year round. I believe it is nearly perfect for plant production year round as well. We have lots of sun, areas with hundreds of inches of rain a year, and lots of fertile soil (maybe not in Kona, where real dirt can qualify as a Christmas present, but most everywhere else). We are surrounded by ocean, abundant with a variety of truly delicious fish species. In fact, I could probably eat nothing but Ahi (Yellow Fin Tuna) dipped in wasabi shoyu and be a truly happy haole.
Raising turkeys and chickens here must be easy; they are already raising themselves throughout most of the state. In my subdivision you can trip over a wild turkey just trying to get to your car in the morning. And our C,C & R’s require drivers and joggers to give the right-of-way to chickens crossing the road (no, I don’t know why they’re crossing the road). Then there are the feral pigs and feral cows (maybe not so much feral as lost) and the feral mongeese (are there non-feral mongeese?). So many mongeese, so few recipes……
I really don’t get why we import almost all our energy. I know that most all energy comes from the sun. On a sunny day something like 250 British Thermal Units per hour per square foot make it through the ozone layer (I majored in Physics for about a week when I started college). Some of that sun (but not much) supports the plants that eventually die and rot and become compressed and rot some more and become compressed some more and millions of years later turn into fossil fuels. We then use huge amounts of energy, not to mention money, to extract those fossil fuels and turn them into a readily usable form of, you guessed it, energy.
I know that solar heaters and reflective solar generators and photovoltaics aren’t very efficient, returning only about 10 to 20% of the BTU potential of the sun into readily usable energy. But I have to believe it’s more efficient than the multi-million-year plant to compost to fossil fuel to readily usable energy process. Not to mention that what took many millions of years to create will only last a few hundred years. Not to mention that most of those few hundred years have already gone by.
11/16/10
What I don’t get is get why we import so much food, especially fresh fruit and vegetables, fresh fish, fresh fowl, fresh eggs, and fresh meat. I live in Hawaii, in part, because the weather here is nearly perfect for pleasant living year round. I believe it is nearly perfect for plant production year round as well. We have lots of sun, areas with hundreds of inches of rain a year, and lots of fertile soil (maybe not in Kona, where real dirt can qualify as a Christmas present, but most everywhere else). We are surrounded by ocean, abundant with a variety of truly delicious fish species. In fact, I could probably eat nothing but Ahi (Yellow Fin Tuna) dipped in wasabi shoyu and be a truly happy haole.
Raising turkeys and chickens here must be easy; they are already raising themselves throughout most of the state. In my subdivision you can trip over a wild turkey just trying to get to your car in the morning. And our C,C & R’s require drivers and joggers to give the right-of-way to chickens crossing the road (no, I don’t know why they’re crossing the road). Then there are the feral pigs and feral cows (maybe not so much feral as lost) and the feral mongeese (are there non-feral mongeese?). So many mongeese, so few recipes……
I really don’t get why we import almost all our energy. I know that most all energy comes from the sun. On a sunny day something like 250 British Thermal Units per hour per square foot make it through the ozone layer (I majored in Physics for about a week when I started college). Some of that sun (but not much) supports the plants that eventually die and rot and become compressed and rot some more and become compressed some more and millions of years later turn into fossil fuels. We then use huge amounts of energy, not to mention money, to extract those fossil fuels and turn them into a readily usable form of, you guessed it, energy.
I know that solar heaters and reflective solar generators and photovoltaics aren’t very efficient, returning only about 10 to 20% of the BTU potential of the sun into readily usable energy. But I have to believe it’s more efficient than the multi-million-year plant to compost to fossil fuel to readily usable energy process. Not to mention that what took many millions of years to create will only last a few hundred years. Not to mention that most of those few hundred years have already gone by.
11/16/10
Moving to Hawaii
I visited Hawaii eight times before deciding to move here. I visited four times with my first wife, three times with my second wife, and once with my third wife; eight times to Oahu, three times to Maui, once to Kauai, and twice to the Big Island, where I decided to make my home 18 years ago. Life here has been always interesting, sometimes challenging, occasionally sad, and for the most part fun.
Arriving with minimal clothing (it was Hawaii after all), no furniture, nor anyplace to put any, and little cash, we booked an “affordable, private, rustic, time-honored” hotel for our first few days in paradise. We knew the Kona Surf was on Alii Drive; we didn’t know where. We crept along the Drive for hours discovering that every other hotel and condo was named Kona this or Kona that or Kona Alii something or Kona Kai something else. We were sure we had finally arrived when we came to the Kona Surf and Racquet; we hadn’t. Of course the Kona Surf was the very last hotel on the strip. Affordable, it turned out, meant not very. Rustic, it turned out, meant, literally, lots of rust. Private, it turned out, meant not near anything, and time-honored, it turned out, meant old and weathered and weary: not just the hotel, but also the staff.
Fortunately, about a week and a few pizzas later (the pizza guy, coincidentally, became an employee years later, but that’s another story), we found a house to rent. The gated community was impressive, the lot was pretty, if a bit neglected, the view was magnificent. The house was a disaster. It had been vacant, but not unoccupied, for several months after being vacated by a family who were, shall we say, not very tidy. The new occupants included a mongoose, one or two feral cats, one or two dozen geckos, a few transient turkeys, and a plethora of assorted and various insects and spiders. We were convinced the network of spider webs was designed to trap large rodents and small children. The spiders (harmless cane spiders, we later learned) looked big enough to devour toddlers, if not all at once, then leisurely, perhaps with some fava beans and a nice bottle of chianti.
We nearly didn’t rent the “spider house.” At first, deciding that the house was just too trashed and too expensive, we told the owners, a lovely couple who lived in Florida and had built the house to live in, but never did, that we needed to keep looking. A few hours of looking at houses that were even more expensive and rather trashy, if not trashed, convinced us of the potential of “casa de la spider.” Unfortunately, by the time we got back to them, the owners had agreed to rent the house to a family that had been living on the beach (a family, coincidentally, that we met years later and found to be very weird, but that’s another story). It took nearly an hour of compelling reasoning and brilliant negotiation to convince them that we would be better tenants. Or it may have been my promise to fix up the house for free and my agreement to forward a deposit and first month’s rent by electronic transfer that turned the trick.
Having successfully obtained our new home in paradise, we moved into “Hale Spider” the very next day. The first order of business being a careful analysis of the work to be done, I soon realized that the majority was cleaning and painting. Most of the basic systems and appliances were, if not new or clean, at least in working order. Some hardware needed replacing and some trim, having been omitted from the initial construction, needed placing (I suspect that when the intended owners left for Florida, the punch list got real short). I did discover, however, that the heating system in the house was not of any type with which I was familiar. Recently retired from several years of being an architect and builder in Vermont, I found it odd that none of the conventional systems that I had utilized for years were being utilized here. After an extensive search of the house and property, I finally concluded that the heating had to be a radiant system, with electric coils buried in the concrete slab. It was the only thing that made sense. It still bothered me, however, that I couldn’t locate the thermostat.
12/06/10
Arriving with minimal clothing (it was Hawaii after all), no furniture, nor anyplace to put any, and little cash, we booked an “affordable, private, rustic, time-honored” hotel for our first few days in paradise. We knew the Kona Surf was on Alii Drive; we didn’t know where. We crept along the Drive for hours discovering that every other hotel and condo was named Kona this or Kona that or Kona Alii something or Kona Kai something else. We were sure we had finally arrived when we came to the Kona Surf and Racquet; we hadn’t. Of course the Kona Surf was the very last hotel on the strip. Affordable, it turned out, meant not very. Rustic, it turned out, meant, literally, lots of rust. Private, it turned out, meant not near anything, and time-honored, it turned out, meant old and weathered and weary: not just the hotel, but also the staff.
Fortunately, about a week and a few pizzas later (the pizza guy, coincidentally, became an employee years later, but that’s another story), we found a house to rent. The gated community was impressive, the lot was pretty, if a bit neglected, the view was magnificent. The house was a disaster. It had been vacant, but not unoccupied, for several months after being vacated by a family who were, shall we say, not very tidy. The new occupants included a mongoose, one or two feral cats, one or two dozen geckos, a few transient turkeys, and a plethora of assorted and various insects and spiders. We were convinced the network of spider webs was designed to trap large rodents and small children. The spiders (harmless cane spiders, we later learned) looked big enough to devour toddlers, if not all at once, then leisurely, perhaps with some fava beans and a nice bottle of chianti.
We nearly didn’t rent the “spider house.” At first, deciding that the house was just too trashed and too expensive, we told the owners, a lovely couple who lived in Florida and had built the house to live in, but never did, that we needed to keep looking. A few hours of looking at houses that were even more expensive and rather trashy, if not trashed, convinced us of the potential of “casa de la spider.” Unfortunately, by the time we got back to them, the owners had agreed to rent the house to a family that had been living on the beach (a family, coincidentally, that we met years later and found to be very weird, but that’s another story). It took nearly an hour of compelling reasoning and brilliant negotiation to convince them that we would be better tenants. Or it may have been my promise to fix up the house for free and my agreement to forward a deposit and first month’s rent by electronic transfer that turned the trick.
Having successfully obtained our new home in paradise, we moved into “Hale Spider” the very next day. The first order of business being a careful analysis of the work to be done, I soon realized that the majority was cleaning and painting. Most of the basic systems and appliances were, if not new or clean, at least in working order. Some hardware needed replacing and some trim, having been omitted from the initial construction, needed placing (I suspect that when the intended owners left for Florida, the punch list got real short). I did discover, however, that the heating system in the house was not of any type with which I was familiar. Recently retired from several years of being an architect and builder in Vermont, I found it odd that none of the conventional systems that I had utilized for years were being utilized here. After an extensive search of the house and property, I finally concluded that the heating had to be a radiant system, with electric coils buried in the concrete slab. It was the only thing that made sense. It still bothered me, however, that I couldn’t locate the thermostat.
12/06/10
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