Customer Service

(For the record, I was able to see the humor in this, which is why I am posting it. It is OK to laugh.)

So, both of my parents are now dead. (yes, yes, sorry for your loss, thanks, moving on) My husband insists a 40 something-year-old is not actually called an orphan, but I figure I can say it if I want. Yeah, we have had some pretty weird conversations. ("Well, she's dead so I can return her Christmas gift!") Maybe I will get into the funny family stuff sometime. There are some whoppers in there, like the time I had to drive Mom to the funeral home to make arrangements for Daddy, but hadn't driven an automatic in forever, so trying to back their car out of the drive, between two columns, was a mess. Her seatbelt worked so she didn't actually go through the windshield, and we laughed/cried the rest of the way there. I took back streets, just to be safe. Never did get used to not having a clutch. That doesn't even touch on the adventure that led me to be driving their car....

So, I am trying to get things sorted out. I called a credit card company and explained the situation. The agent was very nice, and we got it sorted out fairly quickly. She asked if I needed any cards left active, and I said no. She made a note that both card holders were deceased. All in all, it wasn't too bad. A couple of weeks later I got a letter in the mail with a credit card...in my Dad's name. Due to the recent death of the account holder, the account has rolled over to the spouse. I called the company and they were very sorry for my loss, read the notes left regarding both account holders being deceased and said they would shut the account if I was sure we wouldn't be using it. There was a zero balance and $19,000 available. I briefly considered using it to buy Mr. Frugal the cute low-mileage used Mini Cooper I saw him looking at online, but didn't do it. So, they shut the account. We shall see, but if they send Mom a card because Dad is dead, I am buying the dumb car. (The parents would totally approve, too. We are probably lucky Dad never got behind the wheel of one of those go-carts!) 

I cancelled Mom's cable service for the third time. I explained the situation, telling them both Mom and Daddy were dead and the house was vacant and being prepped for sale. (Mostly a true statement, except those last bits. Not selling it and someone is living there, but otherwise 100% true.) We went through the whole song and dance about death certificates and all that, and the woman explained that they left the account open after Mom died so Dad could enjoy the service. He is more dead than Mom is!! "Yes, I can see that in the notes." Fine. Let's really cancel the account now. "The notes show a return label was sent out for the equipment several weeks ago." Yes, that would be when I cancelled the service during the previous call. "So, your Dad is sure he wants to cancel his service?" I would ask him, BUT HE IS STILL DEAD!!! Everyone is dead! The house is empty! There is NO money to pay the bills!! (thought that one might get her attention.) So she closed the account. She did more typing and more closing of the account and more note taking and I really have no idea why this was so difficult. I felt like we had finally reached an understanding when she offered her condolences on the loss of both of my parents. "Losing both parents at the same time must be so difficult." I didn't correct her, even though Dad has been gone for 3 years. Then she said, addressing me by my mother's name, "before we hang up, what if I told you I could get you and your spouse a special discounted rate to continue your service?" I simply declined and hung up. Then I laughed. I laughed a lot. I know it should have made me super sad to have to say my parents were dead eleventy million times, but each time it just got "stupider and stupider" and it was all I could do not to laugh while I was on the phone. What a circus! I know there is a script and certain rules they follow and retaining clients is paramount and all that but could you just pay a little attention? Please! 

A couple of medical bills are still outstanding, so I called the companies and told them that Mom had passed and blah blah blah the estate will pay them blah blah blah... "That's fine, but you should know that if we have to turn this over to a collection agency it could impact your mother's credit score." At least that one caught herself. "Yeah, your Mom probably wouldn't care, would she?" 

It is funny. I find myself getting irritated at people for basically using muscle memory and doing what they do a million times a day because they can't remember that Mom is dead...so I hang up and start to call Mom to tell her how funny it is that they can't remember that she is dead...

Yep...I'm an idiot. But she would have thought all of it was funny.

My parents seriously did what they wanted. 

Outlook Good

So, Mr. Wildlife's team of squirrel-tamers came out. I told them I liked the squirrel and to just leave it. They said they would get in trouble and had driven two hours to get here, so pretty much needed to do the job. I almost started to cry.

I showed them the bare spot where my glorious tree once stood and informed them that their boss was to blame and I still hadn't forgiven him. They reminded me that he wasn't actually going to feed my squirrel to the homeless, so I should give him a break. I showed them the other tree that he wanted to be cut back, and how I rebelled because I do what I want, plus I wanted the squirrels to have an escape route, so Mr. Tree left it. By this point, they were giving each other little looks and stepping back slowly. Obviously intimidated by my rebellious streak and refusal to back down when faced with a bully Wildlife expert. Or they thought I was a bit crazy.

So, they did whatever they do, and fixed this and patched that and messed with that other thing, and then came the time to set the traps. I had been watching the weather for even the slightest change. If the temperature was going to get below 50, the squirrel would get stuck in the cage on the roof and be cold. The guys told me it would be fine. I asked if I could leave it a blanket. They looked at each other and said, "um, I guess...".

Finally, one of the guys told me that they really weren't seeing evidence of anything having used the openings recently. There certainly wasn't any indication that a nest was being built, so chances are they wouldn't catch anything. I was thrilled. He asked if we had heard anything in the attic in the last few weeks since the tree came down. I thought about it and there hadn't been any noises. At all... Then he did the greatest thing ever...or at least the greatest thing I could imagine right then. He said he would use the trap with the missing door for the roof, so it would be a one-way door. Since there wasn't a nest, the squirrel might just go off and squirrel somewhere else. Also, he should me how to open the trap I could reach, but warned me that he wasn't responsible if I got scared releasing the squirrel.(I think he was trying to say that if I got scratched he didn't want to hear about it, but was too nice to come out and say it.)

Once it was all done, we started talking about how I needed to check the traps and let them know if there was anything in them, but they would come by every couple of days, anyway.  I asked why they didn't just have a little thing on the cage that notified them when something was in there, or like little webcams? One guy's face lit up. He said he was going to make an app that would message his phone when a trap was full. He said I couldn't steal his idea. I explained that the closest thing I could come to creating the app was to hire neighborhood children to sit up there and call me when something came out. Since that was unlikely to be approved by the HOA or the parents, he was pretty much it as far as Trapper Apps go.

So, it has been almost a week and nary a sound. I have been watching the squirrels, and they are all staying away from the house.I did sort of put the feeders waaaaaaay in the back, tucked behind a tree so no one could see it. Everyone seems very happy with it, and no one comes up to the house. The crew is coming back later this week to remove the traps and finish the job, so the outlook is good.


I will be so glad to have this whole thing done so I can focus on bringing in new plants.

I do what I want...sometimes.

Chaos, Destruction, and Death Part III

Death:

Let's just not. It is much easier to complain about tree killers and their evil henchmen and wildlife specialists who like taunting me than focus on real issues. I will say that death certificates do not make good Christmas gifts, so maybe go with a gift card to Lowe's or a Christmas cactus. Everyone loves those.

Cats are fine, the six million dollar squirrel is still with us, nursing homes are wickedly expensive, probate is a pain, and "lawyer" is yet another job I am either unwilling or unable to do.

We can add it to the ever-growing list:

• Vet
• Retirement actuarial consultant
• Sentry with the Queen's Guard
• Naval nuclear reactor engineer
• Smokejumper
• Welder
• Sous Chef
• Snake charmer
• Long haul trucker
• Bus driver
• Taxi driver
• Pre-K child wrangler
• Victoria's Secret model
• Role model
• Army general
• Anything involving pneumatic tools
• High-pressure salesman
• Plumber
• Cattle rancher
• Arachnid specialist
• Etiquette advisor
• Butcher
• Portrait painter
• Happy the Clown.

..and diplomat. I am so not diplomatic.

Good thing I can do what I want...and have a good lawyer.

The end...

Chaos, Destruction, and Death Part II

Destruction.

Mr. Tree showed up and we started walking around the house. We weren't even halfway there and he said "uh-oh". I said "no uh-oh. Slight trimming. We are not uh-ohing". Turns out "The Show" is something called "Bradford Pear" and this was not going to end well. Mr. Tree Expert said the tree was near the end of its lifespan and was about to crack. His crew could trim it back like I wanted, but he was fairly certain someone would be back within a couple of months when it cracked, probably landing on my roof.  See, once they trimmed it, the tree would be unbalanced and the cracking would actually happen quicker. I asked him if the wood was also going to the hungry so they could have a fire to cook my squirrel? He said it could if I wanted it to.

We talked more. I told him "no" a lot. He said "sorry" a lot. I learned more about "inclusion" than I thought possible.  Then I stupidly asked him to walk the rest of the property and show me what else he wanted to kill. Two of the large trees out front, the holly on the side of the house, drastic trimming of the few in the back by the stairs, take the young oak out and seriously cut back the ivy. "Really not that much. You will still have some trees." I laughed right at him. "Are you nuts? I bought this house for the trees! You are not taking my trees!" Then he explained that most of it could wait, but sometime in the next couple of years the ones out front would fall, this one would wreck the roof, that one will damage the foundation and the pipes for the irrigation system, and the other one just looked scraggly. (He's not wrong.) He told me how I could put in other trees that would really look fantastic and this and that and tried to make it look rosy and bright. Murderer.

We decided to start with the one tree. Then I cried. A lot.


Mr. Tree arrived bright and early on Death Day. He brought a band of guys that looked nice and friendly. I told Mr. Tree that they didn't look much like a death squad, so it was probably easy to

The death bringer of tree death killer death...that was going somewhere.
This is what they pulled out of the trucks. Honest. Maybe. 

sneak up on unsuspecting trees. He said they only hired happy assassins. I told him I changed my mind. He said no. I told him he had better explain to me that the fate of my roof hung in the balance and if I didn't cut this tree down little children in Nepal wouldn't get Christmas and the sun probably wouldn't come back up. He said the kids in Nepal really liked Christmas. "Fine, but you aren't cutting it down. you are going to aggressively trim it...down to the stump. But you are not killing it. Got it?" He directed the death squad to aggressively trim it, but watch the skylights.

Next came the question of what to do with the wood and mulch. There was a rather intimidating chipper in the street, so evidently I could get some wood mulch from the tree and it would be like the circle of life thing and I could still have my tree..sort of. OK, fine. But how much mulch did I want? So, I went inside to ask Mr. Decider (who was Very Busy), and he told me he didn't know, but only taking half a truckload seemed a little silly considering how much I wanted to do around the house with paths and seating. "Just get the whole thing and let me get back to work." Hmmmm...the whole thing. Since I was expecting him to say I shouldn't take any, this was a bit shocking. I told Mr. Tree to dump it all, and he looked at me a little oddly but told the mulcher to put the pile over "there". You might be amazed to know how much wood mulch a small dump truck can hold. The pile was at least 8 feet tall. I couldn't stop laughing. I was like a crazed lunatic in the yard, pointing at the pile with tears rolling own my face. Once I got myself under control, I went inside to find my husband in an absolute rage. He thought I was talking about the F-150 or whatever Mr. Tree was driving. He hadn't noticed the rather large dump truck parked a little farther down. (Remember, he was Very Busy.) Too late now! So I scurried back outside. Mr. Tree asked how far down the trunk I wanted the trimming. I was disinclined to go back inside and face his wrath, so I said, "whatever you think". **When the option to check with someone called "Mr. Decider" presents itself, it is best for everyone involved if you do. ** As you can guess, it didn't go well. Evidently, Mr. Decider and I had spoken about the stump earlier in the week and he told me he wanted it (X) tall. It was now significantly shorter than (X). Mr. Decider and I agreed to never speak of it again.

So, before they left, Mr. Tree got out his personal (and very shiny) chainsaw and cut down the little oak...for my own good...no charge. He said he couldn't let it grow that close to the house. He was right, it was rightupagainstit. I told him his chainsaw was little and cute. He told me my wheelbarrow was childlike and we really needed to get me a bigger one. Low blow, Mister. I told Mr. Tree I had changed my mind and needed him to duct tape the tree back together because I hated not having it. He reminded me that there wasn't enough duct tape in the state to do that, and the kids in Nepal were grateful. Jerk.  Mr. Tree sort of kicked the mulch around and told me it was pretty light and I could just pile it on a tarp and drag it where I wanted it. "Should be easy! That'll be eleventy thousand dollars, please." My yard was bare except for a giant pile of wood chips and I was starting to sink into despair, but then he reminded me that we were going to put in new trees. "30-foot tall ones?" He couldn't guarantee that. Double jerk.

Before I continue the story, I would like to say how amazing it was to watch this crew. It was like a ballet...but with chainsaws. We were so impressed. And scared. If they had been using butter knives they wouldn't have been less concerned about the blade. The saw was an extension of them, and between that and the ropes, it was like my personal Cirque du Soleil...of tree death. So, while it was traumatic and horrible and made me hate everything, I couldn't help but be fascinated. We ran around inside like morons trying to get to a window with a better view. I know the guys were laughing at us, but I didn't care. I did make sure to tell the foreman that we weren't inspecting their work, more like acting like groupies and being dumb. He said they knew that.

The next day my youngest and I went out to move mulch. Wow. Not quite as easy as Mr. Tree led me to believe. Oh, and the tarp thing? Yeah, we got some on there, but there was no way it was moving. Mr. Tree stopped by on his way to another job to see how we were doing. I said he was not even my favorite murderer anymore, and the tarp didn't work. He said he meant grown men could move it, but probably not us. Grrr. Then he made some snide comment about my wheelbarrow being the right size for my daughter at least. Jerk. For the record, this was all in good fun and not offensive or mean-spirited at all. Then we talked about his kids and virtual school and going home for Christmas and all sorts of stuff that helped me forget that I had 50 tons of mulch to move.

That night....it rained. Hard. Then it got really cold. Wet wood mulch is even less fun to move when it is 46 degrees outside, but it does do this cool steam thing. (yes, yes, thank you science.) Then there was Christmas, then the New Year, then Bowl games and Playoffs and Superbowl and...now we are getting back to the pile...Just in time for AT&T to come out and plant little flags and spray paint lines where I plan to put more of the mulch. Ugh.

Yesterday I finally called Mr. Wildlife back. I told him it was his fault that my yard was bare and I hated my back porch. I told him it was his fault that my cats have no Show and are bored stiff. (They actually got over it about the time the wood chipper shut down, and now have a better view of the Robins in the leaves. Oh, and more sun. ) I told him if there are baby squirrels the deal is off and I really don't want to do this and please just don't hurt anything. He is coming next week. The plan is for them to Pied Piper anything in the attic out the door, and I am going to plug my ears, sing show tunes and figure out where I want to plant flowers. They are going to make a bunch of noise going up there, and hopefully, the squirrels will be out...squirreling and everything will be fine. And don't tell me if it isn't. Seriously, don't. He has agreed to lie to me for no extra charge.

I am starting to see a pattern of me not getting to do what I want...not good.

Chaos, Destruction, and Death Part I

Chaos, Destruction, Death.  Sounds fun, doesn't it?

First off, the cats are fine. Everyone knows you start there. Cats are fine, kids and husband are fine, and on down the line.

Now that we have that out of the way, let's get on with the story.

PART 1:

Chaos. Remember how I talked about "The Show" and the tree and the yard and the cats and their love of "The Show"? Well, silly me. When you take a tree leaning on your roof and add to it a lovely bird feeder and birdbath, sprinkle in a bit of a drought and an oncoming winter, you get...guests. Yes, we had a squirrel in the attic.Guess part of the stories were true! Stupid me, I thought it was cute because he was warm and cozy and like that pet you just couldn't cuddle. Then the cats noticed him. They started climbing walls and standing on very tall things and risking life and tail to reach the ceiling so they could claw through and play with their friend. The cats were seriously annoyed. So, it was time to do something.

Not the culprit, rather a cutie I photographed several houses ago. 

I called a wildlife expert who looked nice and kind and caring on his website. I said I had this issue and wanted the squirrel removed and returned to the yard where he could make a new home and stay out of mine. Under no circumstances was the squirrel to be harmed. Mr. Wildlife Man said of course not, stuff stuff stuff poison inside is illegal...can't kill...relocate...stuff. Phew. OK, so he is a humane wildlife guy. Perfect. They would have to relocate him at least 5 miles away or he will get back in. That stinks, but at least he will be OK. We talked about when and how and my stupid brain kept slipping back to what happens after. I finally blurted it out. "What seriously happens after you take him? Will he survive out there? Maybe we should just leave him be." I got a heavy sigh. "Well. ma'am, that's where it gets a little complicated. See, I actually use them to feed hungry families." My brain said "ACK BLAG GARR WHA WHO ACK GLARB". My mouth made a sound I have been told sounded like a cross between a sick duck and badly played bagpipes. My phone said "HAHAHAHAHAH!Oh, that was a good one!" Mr. Wildlife was practically falling out of his chair laughing at me. I was having a complete meltdown, trying to figure out if I could choose between a squirrel and starving children and maybe I could just buy those people food to save my squirrel and oh, gosh I had no idea! And this guy was LAUGHING. So I started laughing.  Holy cow, I did not know what to do with myself, but at least I found someone with a sense of humor who would take care of my "problem". Once my heart stopped racing I found the whole thing absurdly funny.

So, Mr. Wildlife came out to the house to check on my squirrel. I didn't even kick him. We did laugh. I showed him the bird feeder I had right against the house so the cats could see it well. I showed him The Show feeder, hanging in the tree that kept rubbing against the roof. I showed him the pole feeder system I wanted to put up near the big window. Then I asked if I was the dumbest client he had ever had. He said, "Well....would you like me to throw those feeders away or are you gonna?" I told him the whole story about why I bought the house and how The Show was essential and how it was his job to make my house secure from wildlife intrusions. He said, "well, do you wanna throw away the feeders or should I?" Evidently, the feeders had to go. I was devastated. He said that if I felt like I just HAD to have them, I needed to wait 6 months before I put them back out, and then they needed to be at the very edge of the property. I thought that was kind of clever. I don't have a squirrel problem, but my neighbors get one and Mr. Wildlife gets more business. Ha!

He checked everything out, told me he had done some other work in the neighborhood, and I was not alone, and he could handle this pretty easily. (And replace this, patch this, cover that, clean this, do that, and don't forget the other thing.) "That'll be eleventy thousand dollars, please. Oh, and that tree in the back? Yeah, it has to be trimmed way back before my guys can do anything."  Um, that is "The Show" tree, so no. "Well, enjoy your squirrel." At this point my Google research popped back into my head with visions of the house on fire and children with rabies and all the other things the evil internet suggested could happen. Mr.Wildlife gave me a general idea of what he needed, told me it was best for the house and to prevent additional guests, and asked me to give him a call when it was done. Ugh, Fine.

So, I called Mr. Tree Specialist. I explained my situation, told him that I wanted as little removed from the tree as possible, and maybe he could call Mr. Wildlife to discuss. Then I told him about the starving people and how Mr. Wildlife thinks I am an idiot. Mr. Tree also thought it was hysterically funny, but decided to come out and take a look around before he called Mr. Wildlife.

Next stop: Destruction!

Dill Kitten

My small child insists Scout smells like pretzels. I sort of get where she is coming from, but it isn't exactly pretzel. A couple of weeks ago, Jem started to smell like pickles. It took me much longer than it should have to figure out why...

Evidently, if you replant your Earthbox, place it in a sunny spot, and forget to use the mulch cover thing, it qualifies as a cat bed. So much for the dill. He did come back to crush the parsley and eventually the cucumbers, but at least he used it as a bed and not a litter box.

I am now going to re-re-plant the boxes, only I will use the covers this time. Little Man does what he wants, but maybe the covers will make the box less inviting.

The Great Pine Straw Adventure 2016

The Great Pine Straw Adventure of 2016

I grew up in a state where we used mulch to edge flower beds and such. We had both regular wood mulch and some rubber mulch for around the playground equipment. Seems kids don't like falling on pointy chunks of wood. Wimps. Anyway, there were also pine trees on the property, so I spent as much time pulling pine needles out of the mulch as I did weeding out the garden. It was a mini obsession. When we moved to this neighborhood (in a different state), I discovered people here prefer pine straw to mulch. It made so much sense when I actually thought about it, since pine straw can be obtained without damaging trees, is much cheaper, comes in bales and NOT in plastic bags, and it actually breaks down to fertilize the soil.  I guess if you have pine trees maybe you don't want to landscape with pine needles because you would just look like you hadn't raked the yard, so you go with mulch so people can tell you care. If you don't have many, or any, pine trees, then you are safe to go the cheaper route. All these "rules"!

When we first moved in, I decided to order fresh pine straw to brighten the existing beds. For the first week, I freaked out every time I looked out the window because what my brain said should be mulch was covered in the hated pine straw. I finally got accustomed to seeing it, just about the time the leaves started to fall. See, I also come from a state that doesn't have seasons, so I forgot fall actually meant "fall" in some places, and two weeks after it was delivered, my pine straw was being buried in leaves. Grrr. I felt so dumb. I bet my neighbors got quite the chuckle out of watching the newbie waste money....but not this year!

This time around, I ordered the pine straw early. OK, I should have ordered it at the beginning of April, and it is mid-May, but still not fall. I placed the order online Saturday morning, and they advised it would be 5-7 days for delivery, or up to 6 weeks if I wanted them to install it. Having watched a professional crew lay it last Autumn in a matter of minutes, I figured I would do it myself. Sounded both fun and way cheaper.  My mom ordered me the wheelbarrow/dolly thing from Amazon, but unfortunately, the original wheelbarrow got lost somewhere in Kentucky, so Amazon had to ship me a new one. This meant that instead of arriving on Sunday, the wheelbarrow wouldn't arrive until Wednesday. Shouldn't matter, since I wasn't expecting pine straw until Thursday at the earliest, so I would still have plenty of time to assemble it and all that. Naturally, Monday morning the pine straw folks had a delivery to make on our street, so they tossed my stuff on the same truck and I got it less than 48 hours after I placed the order, well ahead of my predicted Thursday (best case) arrival. This thrilled me to my toes until I realized...no wheelbarrow. So, pine straw but no wheelbarrow just means more work, and as problems go, I am still a pretty lucky monkey. On with the show.

The Great Wall of Pine Straw

There was this lovely pine straw calculator online that allowed you to put in square footage, and it would tell you how many bales you needed. Since I am adding a new bed to the back, and I am not totally sure how large I want it, I decided to order what I knew I needed, plus some, for a total of 60 bales. With only a $5 delivery fee, I could always order more. You know something? 60 bales of pine straw stacked in your front yard is a little intimidating, especially when you are looking at hauling it without the benefit of a fancy wheelbarrow. Nonetheless, I pulled on my official yard work uniform (nasty t-shirt, jeans, boots, gloves, and a baseball cap) and headed out. I've learned a couple of very important things: I am super lucky to live where the high was 76 degrees at 2 pm, and pine straw does, in fact, weigh less than mulch...even though after hauling my 40th bale I was beginning to wonder. Also, a crew of trained professionals can do the yard in no time flat, but being neither a crew nor a professional, it took me considerably longer. However, I got probably 30 bales down, and the rest moved around to the side/back of the house...by hand...all in one afternoon.

Bunker with moving blanket roof.

My youngest child did "assist" by building a pretty cool bunker out of half the bales and a moving blanket. Not sure it was a ton of help, but it was pretty funny. I tell you, I was so exhausted by the time I got the stuff installed that I wasn't interested in moving the rest around back..and then the smallest of the small ones started talking about how she would help more when the wheelbarrow arrived, because going down the hill IN it would be awesome, and she was sure pine straw made excellent air bags. I suddenly found the motivation to haul the rest around the house and down the hill, thereby hopefully avoiding the whole wheelbarrow kamikaze experience. I am sure there will be other reasons to attempt it, but crisis averted this time.

Update: Wheelbarrow arrived, was assembled, and tested by the cats. When they finally got bored, I decided to take it outside to test it myself. Pretty awesome. Then I saw some weeds desperately in need of whacking, so when the small child asked if she could haul some rocks for me, I thought nothing of it. 30 seconds later I heard giggling and squealing and knew that the child was now accompanied by at least one other child, and they were careening down the hill. I told them they couldn't ride down the hill because it was dangerous and because the other neighbors didn't want to hear them screaming. About 7 minutes later I was knocking on the neighbor's door because her child was bleeding on my bench. Seems when I said they couldn't go down the hill in the wheelbarrow, they took that to mean they should go down the driveway, instead. Poor kid tried to stop herself from running into the back of our car, and her foot got stuck between it and the wheelbarrow. Soooo much blood. I felt horrible, but the child was back to playing about 20 minutes later. No stitches. What a trooper.


So, there are stacks of pine straw bales along the back of the house, and now it is raining. All three weather apps on my phone predict more rain this week. (And Weather Kittens are never wrong!) I guess if I can't go outside to play with my pine straw I can start looking into the sod vs. seed options for the remaining "lawn space" out front. Mr. Man thinks we could actually grow some grass out back, despite everyone saying there is too much shade.  I WILL grow grass because I do what I want.