Gummibunny

What began as a minor skirmish has now turned into a war. Lee vs. the pigeons. The battles are played out nightly outside our home.
A while back, Lee noticed that pigeons were roosting in our eaves. They didn’t really bother me, but for some reason, they drove Lee nuts. He would scrounge around for a stick and hurl it at them, sending them flapping away.
As the weeks passed and the pigeons returned nightly, Lee grew more incensed. We’d be sitting down to dinner, and suddenly you could hear the pigeons cooing outside the dining room window – and my sweet, gentle husband’s face would suddenly turn rigid and his eyes would turn cold and his blood may have even turned to ice.
He found his old BB gun, and loaded up. He’d spend a little time each evening in the driveway, shooting at the pigeons. It was disturbing watching him walk out our front door with a realistic looking gun – an eerie look of evil anticipation on his face. I’d hear him outside shooting – laughing – shooting – laughing. I was afraid our neighbors would call the cops.
The pigeons started getting on my nerves too because their droppings were collecting in the driveway. That’s just nasty. We hung a plastic owl in the eaves to scare away the pigeons. They weren’t scared.
When we would pull into the driveway in our car and Lee didn’t have his gun handy, he had a favorite stick he would throw at the birds. His aim continued to improve, and most nights he could actually hit the pigeons. But one recent night, he launched the stick at them – and it didn’t come down. Lee was sure they’d caught it with their beaks and kept it. Score one for the pigeons.
Finally last weekend we decided to put chicken wire around some of the eaves to keep them away. While I was up on the ladder, I found the stick wedged in the eaves – as if the pigeons shoved it there for safe-keeping. I recovered it.
Unfortunately, the chicken wire hasn’t done the trick yet. The pigeons moved to the other side of the house. So we put chicken wire up there too, but not around all the eaves. So they moved to the eaves we left open, of course.
During lunch today, Lee was in the yard on that side of the house chasing away the pigeons. Then minutes later as he turned to walk inside, he says a stick fell from the sky and hit him on the head. Score two for the pigeons.
I guess they could be hitting us with something far worse. And it may eventually escalate to that, because we’re not giving up on the fight to keep them away. We will prevail.

My hands are shaking a little. I’m not sure if it’s because of the force it took to make the staple gun work (I’m weak), or the fear of using the staple gun at great heights. Maybe both.
But I should start at the beginning. It’s been a good work-on-the-house kind of day. It’s nice outside after several days of rain, and it’s not cold. I got up this morning ready to do house stuff, but soon faced a setback. Almost zero water pressure from the kitchen sink. Lee checked out the pipes, etc., but we couldn’t find any visible problem. So I called a plumber we’ve used before and left a message, already dreading the bill.
Someone called back a little later, and to my surprise, walked me through fixing the problem myself over the phone. Lee was able to fix it, and I couldn’t believe they were willing to help us without coming out and charging $100 to do it themselves. I’ll be using them again. H.E. Coleman Plumbing. Good folks.
Then Lee and I went to Home Depot and finally bought an extension ladder so we could get on our roof. Leaves have been accumulating in the valley again, and we don’t want more leaks. Lee also really wanted to put hardware cloth around our eaves to keep the pigeons away.
I thought it would be fun to get on the roof, so I volunteered to sweep off the leaves. I climbed up the ladder, and about halfway up noticed how shaky it felt and how high up I really was. And once it came time to get off the ladder and onto the roof, I freaked out. It took me a while to get up the nerve, and then I scrambled on the roof and got behind the chimney and held on to it for dear life. How was I going to sweep anything if I had to stay huddled behind the chimney? It was really a lot higher and scarier than it looks in the picture.
After a while, I got up my nerve some more and finally got the limbs and leaves off. I also got a chance to peek into our neighbor’s backyard. I confirmed our suspicions that he has a jacuzzi. He also has a hot pink bar with lights on it, some stools, and some rusty patio furniture. Not nearly as impressive as I’d imagined, aside from the hot tub.
After cleaning the roof, Lee and I took turns putting the hardware cloth on the eaves. It was harder than I thought it would be, but I think it’ll do the trick. The worst part was that as I stapled the metal to the eaves, I needed to be able to push against the eaves – which were covered in pigeon poop. Isn’t that toxic? We’ll soon find out.

Four years ago I bought a new sofa, and was pretty proud of myself. It was the first piece of grown-up furniture I’d ever bought.
Soon after, my cat started shredding it. And shredding it. Until the arms looked like ripped rags.
Then Millie moved in, and took up residence on the couch. She’s drooly and can be kind of smelly, and soon the couch was looking dirty. I had it professionally cleaned, but it didn’t really make a difference. I bought a slipcover, but it didn’t really fit and shrank in the dryer (so I wasn’t supposed to dry it that way, but who has room or time to let a slipcover drip dry?)
Now our entire living room smells like dog-couch, and neither or us really want to sit on the sofa. We especially wouldn’t want to invite company over and have them sit on it.
After months of searching, we finally bought a new sofa tonight. It’s leather. It’s sleek. It’s very pretty. The cat is declawed now (not because of the couch, but it’s an added benefit). And the dog won’t be allowed on the new sofa.
But of course, breaking her habit will take time. So the saleslady encouraged us to buy the leather protection plan. If anything stains or tears our sofa over the next five years, we can get it cleaned or replaced for free.
She was doing her darndest to outline all the possible scenarios (she paints her toenails on her couch and would be protected if the polish spilled. Too much information). But Lee and I nearly lost it when she tried to persuade us with this statement, “And if you have your grandmother come over, and she’s incontinent on the sofa, you don’t have to worry about it.”
What?
Thank goodness, she walked away after that statement to let us talk it over. That was good timing, because I don’t think we could have stifled our laughter much longer. I mean, I’m sure there are people who’ve been through that sort of unfortunate incident, but to make it a sofa selling point?
In the end, we bought the stupid protection plan. Not for fears of incontinence, but because we know Millie will still manage to get on the sofa and drool when we’re not watching. But hey, if our friends end up with bladder problems, they can come on over. We’re covered.

When I got ready for church this morning, I spent extra time on my hair. I cursed my makeup for not doing a better job covering the two pimples on my cheek, and asked Lee for the fifth time if my outfit looked okay.
At 10:30, my parents arrived to pick us up. We were in Fitzgerald, staying with Lee’s mom, and going with my folks back to my old church. My mom and dad were in town for a special service, so we came into town too so we could see them.
I hadn’t set foot in that church for 2 and a half years – not since my parents moved to Tennessee. I have good memories of the church, but I’d always felt it would be too weird to attend a service without my dad in the pulpit.
We pulled into the church parking lot at about 10:32 (it’s a really small town), and couldn’t get in the door without stopping to greet old friends along the way. It was good to see many of them, but I felt a little nervous like I imagine I’ll feel at my high school reunion later this year. I hoped to make a good impression on the old hometown folks – and not have them wondering, “what happened to that girl?”
Two of my old high school friends were there, which was a surprise since they both moved out of town after graduation. It was good to see them, but a little awkward. After the traditional, “How are you? Where are you living now? What are you doing?” there wasn’t much else to say. So much time had passed since I’d seen them last.
But one thing was oddly comforting. The church hadn’t changed at all. The same red carpet. The same wood paneling. The same choir robes. It was unnerving to see the new pastor up at the front, but that was the only thing that seemed different.
It’ll probably be another 2 years or longer before I attend church there again, and I’m sure I’ll remember even fewer names and faces. But it’s nice to be reminded of your past, while also appreciating the new people and places you’ve discovered since.

Yesterday, I was nursing a sore throat. Not because of the sudden chill in the air, but because I spent Saturday night screaming.
It was the annual hockey classic – the one chance each year to see ice hockey in Savannah. Lee and I watched the UF/FSU game (which went into a shootout and was quite good, especially because UF lost), but all the cheering was done during the UGA/Ga Tech game. It, too was very close. And the best team won – the dawgs of course.
There were plenty of good fights on the ice for me to scream about. But there were also fights off the ice too. There was a young kid with a very big UGA flag who was running circles around the arena, which was filled with mostly UGA fans. This was cute the first time, silly the second time, and annoying the tenth time.
But he still didn’t deserve getting tripped. A kid about his age, wearing Tech colors, tripped him right in front of us. The kid went flying, his flag went flying, and it got ugly. He started yelling at the Tech kid, whose parents – instead of scolding him – congratulated him for knocking the flag kid down. Great role models.
The flag kid left, but the cops came over soon after. The family talked itself out of getting tossed out of the arena, the flag kid took one more lap (surrounded by friends) and then all was quiet.
Except for my screaming of course.

The closer I got into town, the more yellow ribbons I saw wrapped around tree trunks and telephone poles. On the bridge over the viaduct, several dozen American flags flapped in the breeze. Along the highway, in front of businesses, small crowds of people stood. Waiting.
Just before noon, hundreds of children from one of the elementary schools marched from their classrooms to the roadside. It was very warm for January, a pleasant day to be outside. They spread blankets on the ground and sat down. Nearly every child wore red, white, or blue, and each small hand gripped a small flag. They waited.
Right on cue, I could see blue lights flashing further up the highway. Soon, the police cars neared and slowed, as they escorted a convoy of military vehicles and busses. When the camouflaged trucks pulled near, the children cheered, and began to sing “You’re a Grand Old Flag.” Hundreds of small flags began waving furiously. Several children held up posters with letters painted on the front, spelling “Our Hearts Are With You.” Children rushed to the vehicles as they stopped, pushing bags of candy and boxes of cookies into waiting hands.
The men and women in the vehicles were leaving for Fort Stewart. They’re in the National Guard, and the unit was just activated for the first time in about 60 years. After training for a few months, they will be sent to Iraq for more than a year. The small town hadn’t sent troops to war for a long time, and its people were determined to show their support.
Further down the highway, students from three other schools stood on the sidewalk, posters and flags ready. The high school band warmed up. Soon, you could see the blue lights, and the students started playing patriotic songs.
When the convoy drew closer, the crowd couldn’t wait any longer. The vehicles were on the opposite side of the road, so the children rushed into the street, stopping traffic on the four-lane highway. They pushed to be close to the front, cheering, waving flags, yelling for the soldiers. I remained on the sidewalk, watching and trying not to get in the way.
It was moving, looking down the street and seeing people stretched along the highway in both directions, so eager to show support. While the scene made me feel patriotic, I also felt sad. I support our military men and women 100%, but they’re headed to such a difficult place, to do such a difficult job, for a war that seems so confusing. I wish it were a situation where right and wrong, good and evil, were clearer. Instead it’s a place where every person could be an enemy in disguise, and where the people you want to help are afraid of you and your intentions. And it’s a place where soldiers are dying nearly every day.
But I hope while the soldiers are in Iraq facing challenges I can’t imagine, they can remember the sight of eager children, running across the highway to wave their flags and show they care.

I will either need to apologize to some of the people receiving gifts from us this Christmas, or I’ll need to do some last minute rewrapping. Our animals have put their “stamp” on many of the gifts beneath our tree.
Luca has decided this present makes a perfect bed. Unfortunately, she’s so fat, the box has collapsed in the middle under her weight. You can see her fat hanging off the front. Thank goodness the gift inside isn’t breakable. This is where she spends most of her time now – beneath the tree, on the gift. I’ll definitely have to rewrap this one. I’m not discouraging her though, because this keeps her off the other gifts.
Or so I hoped.
Just this weekend, she began rummaging through the others, and I think there’s a box in the very back that may be another casualty. I’ve piled up the presents around it in the hopes she won’t be able to reach it, but it may require re-wrapping as well.
The cat is not the only offender. The dog doesn’t lay on the presents, she tramples them. In her haste to attack the cat or chase a toy (one and the same to her) she has stepped on a couple of presents. One box has been crushed on two ends. Fortunately it’s a “white elephant” gift for my family get together, so I don’t think I’ll rewrap it. I think it adds character.

When I graduated from high school almost 10 years ago, I thought that ended my high school drama career. But it was revived this weekend. The folks at the Savannah Arts Academy invited me to be in their “1940s Radio Show” production. I did a comedy sketch, an old Burns and Allen routine.
It was a bit crazy trying to memorize lines and make it to rehearsals during the middle of my work day. To be quite honest, opening night – I was terrified. What if I dropped my lines? What if I tripped? During dress rehearsal, the zipper on the back of my dress had come completely undone. What if that happened during the real show?
I don’t remember getting that nervous during high school – but I think it’s because I felt more prepared then. I had only managed to make it to 2 rehearsals, so I was still very unsure of everything. But thankfully, none of those horrible things happened. I remembered my lines, and my clothing stayed in place.
I was nostalgic sitting on stage and watching the other high-school aged actors. Lee and I both commented that we could see some of our old friends in them. The experience did make me miss theater. One day, if my schedule allows, I’d love to get into it again.