052321

 

searching for shelter

should we tear out the damp wall

to see what's behind 

010620d

 

the walls closed

in on muffled screams

 

answering the classified ad

he saw a

rivulet of blood 

across the porch

121720d

 

tornado’s path
daffodils bloom
in empty lots 

071520c

jolt

as the floorboard snaps

wheel held fast

122619b

The couch concealed rotten floorboards. A new hole nearly engulfed my spouse. Carpenter on vacation. Good, though!

110719

Yesterday (Nov. 6), the house painter, who has done nothing for five weeks and almost nothing for two months, called and wanted to finish the job this morning. And get the last part of his fee. I had just two days ago lined up somebody else to do the last part of the work, but I will tell him never mind if the original contractor, a guy named Fredrick Micken, actually does finish. I have serious doubts, but however this turns out I will definitely let you know.

Update: The job was started in late July, and finished in Nov. 27, 3 weeks after his last promise to do it right away. 4 months to paint a house and build a ramp. They probably spent one month on the actual work.

102819c

21st century life: homeownership


As the painter
struggles to overcome sloth
or whose eyes are bigger than his paintbrush
so the homeowner
averts his eyes
from his piebald house
banks future payments
and earns inadequate interest

102319c

under the bottom
shelf something's hidden
no one knows what

091319

The shotgun double glided into the lead
Elbowing aside the flashy Tudor
Which had led the field for several laps
Open doors had been ruled in
The previous year
Benefiting shotguns
With their lined-up doors
Wind whistling through like a buckshot blast
But coming up on the inside
Here's one of those new tiny houses
A doghouse, really
Shouldn't have been allowed in
No one could have any kind
Of life in a cage like that
But here it comes
Skating the white line
Passing the double
Taking the lead
Oh no!
The big house strikes back
Angling left, it crushes the upstart
It's gone, this is awful
But wait, what's this
Out the god damn front door
The pipsqueak hurtles
Across the finish line
For the win
And proves:
Size IS everything!

090819c

This retro wooden house was perfect, until the warranty expired after 90 days. Cheap-ass glue!

080919d

So this guy came walking down the street, and talked my wife into hiring him to paint our house. The house definitely needed a new paint job. We have lived here for 25 years, and only painted it once before. Plus, eight years ago, a tornado threw things at the wall and knocked a few holes in the siding. We never fixed them. Anyway, he quoted a price, which we checked out, and was high but reasonable. So she told him we would have to save up the money, but we would have it in about eight months. That was too long for him to wait! He gave the impression they had no work right then. This was not true. So he cut quite a bit off the price if we would start right away. We agreed, and they started painting. Then he said I needed to have my ramp replaced. This was not quite true, but it would be soon. He quoted a reasonable price and I said we could do that after we finished paying for the painting job (we had three months to pay). Well that was too long for him to wait. So he said he would cut a good bit off of that price if we could pay sooner. We agreed, and they started working. They have been doing very good work. and they have finished more than half of the two jobs. But he has already come back to me to ask me to pay sooner than we agreed in exchange for a further reduction in the price. I explained that I didn't have the money he wanted and that that was why I had agreed to the schedule we had settled on. He kept on talking and I finally agreed to pay as much as I could then (which wasn't really very much). So now, there's some more painting to do, a board that he promised to replace, ramp staining to do, and work has slowed to a crawl. In one sense, this does not bother me very much. I still owe him half of the money, and he is not getting any of it until they do more work,.and he is not getting the last of it until everything is done. But it is nerve-racking coming home to see that nothing was done all day, to hope that he is not about to ask me for more money, and to wonder whether I will have to turn ugly in the end to get him to finish. Stay tuned!

041119c

These giant fungi
edible houses if you will
once you have too many windows
you just move on

010119

Five Little Piggies

Folks call me Deadbolt, Hasp Deadbolt. They do that because it's my name. I'm a PI. Some free advice? Never get involved with quintuplets. Mothers of twins say the kids double-team them from infancy. I've never raised children so I wouldn't know, but it might be like having quints for clients. Four of them anyway. This is how it started.

Alma and I were cuddling on the couch. Or rather, she was talking about how to decorate the nursery, should we ever need one, and I was cuddling her. My cell phone rang. I let it go to voicemail, but later I listened to the message. It was from someone with a squeaky voice.

"Help me, Mr. Deadbolt, you're my only hope. My brother went shopping this morning and never returned. The police will do nothing. My brothers and I are frantic!"

I called him back. He said his name was Long Borsson.

"The police don't consider a person officially missing until they've been gone for 48 hours, Mr. Borsson. Why do you think your brother is in trouble?"

"Sir, he was planning to cook lunch, and now he's missed a fabulous roast-beef dinner. This is not like him, not like him at all. Food is very important to my family. Plus, a big scary-looking wolf has been hanging around and slavering. I suspect fowl play."

"Wolves are not birds," I said absently. I hadn't seen BB since an incident involving Mother Hubbard and a set of triplets*, a few years back. The wolf had escaped, and I wasn't happy to hear that he might be operating in my town again.

"Lemme let you talk to my brother," Mr. Borsson said, and I heard a new voice on the phone.

"Mr. Deadbolt. This is Forthright 'Veggie' Borsson. My brother might not have made clear the gravity of our situation." He went over the whole thing again, but I knew nothing more when he finally ran down than I had when he started.

"Mr. Borsson. 'Veggie.' If the Big Bad Wolf was stalking your brother, the police would have taken it seriously. Did you tell them about that part of it?"

"I'll give the phone to my brother. Maybe he can explain it better."

I started to ask how many of them there were, but a new voice, even higher and squeakier than the other two, started in. "Mr. Deadbolt. I am Squeaky Borsson. Perhaps my brothers did not make themselves clear. My brother, Opposable Borsson, has been kidnapped and eaten by a wolf. I want you to do something. Save him!"

"I am as opposed... err, against cannibalism as the next guy, but how can I save someone who has already been eaten?" His logic wagon had lost a wheel somewhere.

"Mr. Deadbolt. You don't understand. My brother isn't dead. He's standing right here."

"Let me talk to your brother." Maybe the next one would be a better listener.

"Which one?" he asked.

*

I decided that I needed to speak to these guys face-to-face. Maybe that way they'd make more sense. At nine o'clock the next morning I knocked on the door of a large brick ranch house. Closely shaved geometric topiary filled beds between the windows on either side of the door. I didn't know what to expect, so I wasn't surprised when a pig wearing overalls and a clean white T-shirt opened the door.

"Mr. Deadbolt, I presume."

I nodded.

"I'm Homer Borsson," he squeaked, shaking my hand, "please come in."

The foyer contained a small table under a mirror in a large gilt frame. On the table was a framed family photograph: five brothers, arms linked in front of the house. Down the hall I could see heavy dark furniture, and more photographs hanging on the wall. The first room on the right was the den. Three other pigs stood in front of a massive brick fireplace. Above the fireplace hung a gigantic painting of an elderly swinish couple, dressed conservatively and with not a trace of a smile. The three brothers who stood below the painting wore identical overalls, but with different colors and vintages of T-shirts. OMFG.

"Your missing brother, Opposable, he's identical too, right?" They nodded in unison.

They started to tell me the story again. The first one had been home all day, and hadn't seen or heard a thing. He wanted to make sure I understood this, and impressed it upon me vigorously, to the tune of 30 minutes plus. The next was the fellow who had enjoyed dinner. He had _really_ enjoyed it. By the time he was through I could have drawn you a timeline of each bite. Roast beef, medium rare, the tip of an asparagus spear (lemon butter), potatoes (not much gravy, but it had been made with oysters), etc.. The third didn't eat meat at all, he explained, but his vegetarian meal had been more than adequate, I gathered. The last was a timid sort, emphasizing how terrified his missing brother must be, and how much more terrified he would be if he was in the same situation. Don't think this story came across as coherently as it appears in the summary I just gave you! Two hours after I got there, I knew less of importance than I had when I walked in the door. I _did_ know the complete grocery shopping list that Opposable had taken with him to the market, but I wasn't sure how that was going to help me find him. In the end, I took the case in self-defense. I could discount the cacophony of his overprotective brothers, but something didn't smell right about Opposable's disappearance. I thought he was in trouble.

*

I decided to start by tackling the problem from the wolf angle. At first I couldn't find a thing. www.circleoflife.com didn't list him under "Predation Forecast," and the Carnivory Service (www.cs.gov) had not issued a Wolf Watch, much less a Warning. Then, taking a break with the Citynews.com, I spotted a notice about the neighborhood watch program in Heritage Hills beefing up its security patrols. The Hills weren't far from where the five little pigs lived.

The gatehouse at Heritage Hills was staffed by a goose.

"Petunia! I'm surprised to see you working for The Man."**

"A girl's gotta eat. Don't worry. I put in my time for the workers when I'm not on duty. Not to mention raising my goslings as responsible global citizens. What brings you here, Mr. Deadbolt?" I explained about the wolf, and she told me where to find the security chief. It's a small world. This is the kind of town where you can't go any place without running into somebody you know. That's why I'm always amazed when people seem to think they can keep their affairs secret. If I was going to cheat on Alma, I'd have to go to the next county to do it. Gas ain't cheap.

The chief of security I hadn't met, but Mr. al Rashri had heard of me.

"Mr. Deadbolt!" he exclaimed. "So good to meet you." He shook my hand vigorously. "I follow your adventures assiduously. The Humpty Dumpty case?*** Brilliant! What brings you to HH? Thinking of moving up?" He laughed. Picture Santa Claus, but with a louder voice.

"No sir, although you have a wonderful place here. I want to talk about wolves." He lost his smile then.

Al Rashri motioned me to a seat and offered me some coffee. He waited until we were both settled before he said anything else.

"I'll tell you, Mr. Deadbolt, in this business you hear things."

"Like what?" I said, taking a sip. I shuddered, ever so slightly, and set the cup down on his desk, far enough away so that I wouldn't absentmindedly pick it up again.

"Things like howls in the night. Heard something last night. I'm not sure what it was, but it wasn't no coyote." He leaned forward. "Can I trust you to be discreet? I don't want to hurt sales over something that's probably nothing, really. The owners don't like anything that hurts sales"

I nodded. "Mum's the word." And it is, if you're buying flowers for Mother's Day.

He was whispering now, and I had to lean forward myself. My hearing hasn't been so good since the little drummer boy moved in next door. "Pets have been disappearing. Dogs, cats, chickens, a couple of hedgehogs. I can't keep it quiet much longer. I've doubled my patrols, but half the herbivores quit, and I haven't been able to hire enough tough guys to fill the shifts. Some of the residents are threatening to move out, and the owners are on my case. I don't know what to do!"

I gulped my coffee. Gah! It was all I could to keep from hurling it across the room. I set the cup down and clasped my hands together.

"Let me handle it. Give me a security pass."

*

That's how I found myself out in the woods at midnight with a taser and a pair of night vision goggles. I've been on some stakeouts in my time, but out there, with the owls hooting, and the stars peeping between the leaves above my head, peepers peeping down by a woodland pond, was one of the most pleasant I have ever experienced. That is, it was until I felt something touch the back of my neck, and all of my muscles contracted violently and simultaneously. The next thing I knew I was lying on my back. A huge wolf had his jaws around my neck, teeth gently indenting the skin of my throat.

Been there before, but I can't say I care for it.

"Hey there, BB, long time no see." I smiled weakly. "Since when did you start using a taser?"

He growled, and bit down slightly.

"I know you're not supposed to talk with your mouth full. I promise not to try to get away."

He let go and backed up a pace. He knew I wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm a predator, Deadbolt. Kung Pao Tofu just doesn't do it for me. Besides, if your meal doesn't try to escape before you pour the barbecue sauce on, it's not worth eating."

He had a point. Not a good one, but he had it.

"I hear where you're coming from," I said, "but in this multicultural and multi-species civilization of ours, you can't just go devouring citizens willy-nilly. I suggest you get your kicks virtually, or, here's a thought. Why not check out paintball? It can be a pretty challenging sport. I have the bruises to prove it." I could feel the strength seeping back into my limbs, so when he lunged for my throat, I grabbed his paw and jammed his own taser right into his mouth. He was something else. Oh, he had it all right. He was smoking. And by the time the judge got through with him he'd be making license plates until the end of time. At least.

I found the missing pig bound and gagged in a hollow under some brush. The wolf had been using the place as a den. The little guy was starving, dehydrated, and filthy, but as soon as I untied him and took off the gag, he ran screaming all the way home. As for me, I'm relieved to see the wolf behind bars at last.

And one more thing. Alma and I are going with a barnyard theme for the nursery, in pastel pink and blue, if you're thinking of purchasing a gift. Don't spend a lot, and think spring.

The end

* "Give Your Dog a Bone," _Nursery Rhyme Noir_, Sam's Dot, 2008.

** "Encounter in St. Ives," _Nursery Rhyme Noir_, Sam's Dot, 2008.

*** "The Addled Egg," _Nursery Rhyme Noir_, Sam's Dot, 2008.

Nursery Rhyme Noir: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42875 

121918c

in the house of cheese
mouse looks  up
moon's effulgent light

110918c

100 women
going to the House next year
things will change

051018

wild shrubs concealed
the row of growing houses
rentals open

021118

Not at home

Some people swore that the house was haunted. People would say that about the oldest house on Mars. It was there when Snow landed in 2028. Gray weathered pine, joists and rafters spaced haphazardly, not level anywhere, it was the farmhouse that the farmer and his field hands had built on their own a century ago. There was one in my town, was there one in yours? The house number was 1313, darkened brass numbers screwed straight into the wood above the front door. The place was completely ordinary in its eccentricity.

Snow and Jenkins were first inside. He was the commander and she was the best shot. It was a big house by modern standards, its 2100 ft.² divided up into 8 rooms, and not a stick of furniture in any of them. Pull-down ladder to the attic (nothing up there), crawlspace floored with red sand just like all the other red sand.

Carman and Uriyev got pretty antsy during the 20 minutes or so before the other two came back out. It shouldn't have taken that long, but I guess they took it slow and easy. By the way: antsy. I love that word.

The mission planners had them continue the planetary survey, but kept them away from the house. After they returned home they were sequestered for months. Rumors flew. Snow was dying of some aggressive new cancer. Carman had gone crazy and killed the other three. Jenkins was pregnant. No word about the house leaked. Eventually, the astronauts were let out. Obviously, Carman had not killed the other three. Snow didn't look sick. Jenkins was fit.

But time went by and no colony ship was launched. Somebody told the tabloids -- Carman needed money. But the house. It showed up on Earth. Anyone could walk right in the door, wherever the house appeared. In the middle of a parking lot, on a crowded baseball diamond, in one of those oversold subdivisions from 2008 where the houses had never been built. It could show up in your parents' front yard, or right in the heart of the city, squeezed between two buildings that, you could have sworn, were not 10 feet apart the day before. But you went in that house and it was always full of people. Websites were devoted to following the thing. One, a global real-time map, showed that the house was appearing simultaneously in dozens of places. Then hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands. People, even children, flooded into the house wherever it was, mad to be a part of the phenomenon. You could run in the front door in Tucson and climb out the back window in Kuala Lumpur. Some people tried to destroy it, some practically worshiped it; thrill seekers packed light and took their chances. Then, all of a sudden, there was only one house again, the original, back on Mars (as it turned out). The house was empty again, but if you dared to go in and listen, you heard voices. The longer you stayed the more you heard. All those people who'd been in the houses when they collapsed back to one and returned to Mars, it sounded like they were still inside. You might listen for somebody in particular, your kid sister perhaps, and eventually you would hear her, screaming or crying. At least 200,000 people were missing.

112817

the lizard is warm
cats drink from the waterhole
next to their food dish

haus

So we have to put plywood across the attic front, for stability, on a roof that's stood since 1913, & that's already been repaired a few years back, till we build a new porch roof, later this year. City! Waste of a day & $$, but it gets 'em off our back. Spose it will save a little on cooling this summer. At least they did pick up the debris pile.

occasional update

This week, we started watching the BBC murder mystery series Midsomer Murders on Netflix streaming. It features chief Detective Inspector Barnaby, his stupid sidekick Troy, and a bunch of weird British people who live near them and kill each other. Or seem like they might have until you find out who the real murderer was. It's pretty good and there are 73 episodes. Many of these BBC series are more than 1 1/2 hours long, and this is no exception. Most nights this week we watched two episodes. It's just that we didn't watch the same two episodes. First, the spouse watched the episode from the night before, that she slept through the first time. Then, we watched the next episode together. After that, I watched the following episode, but she missed most of it. Yesterday was almost unique in that we watched two episodes together. At this rate, we'll be done in about two months.

Yesterday was also the first day she was able to work in the garden for a long time. In the morning it didn't rain. The soil was still wet from the downpour of a few days ago, but she was able to pull a lot of weeds. In the afternoon, of course, we got a torrential downpour that lasted for about half an hour. More weeding today?

I have been reading Pearls Before Swine books. I got three of them for my birthday. I think I still lack two. I think it is the funniest comic strip going right now. It is definitely the best of the seven I follow online. Each book has a cover that is a parody of a famous painting. A few of them I am not sure of, but they are definitely parodies of something. Even the cover of "Da Brudderhood of Zeeba Zeeba Eata" is a parody of Greek culture as a whole.

No progress on our house lately. For the past three months our contractor has been wishing he could find the time to work on designs for our greenhouse. There has been progress, but it could all have been accomplished in a week. The next step is plans for the current design that are sufficiently detailed to come up with an accurate price estimate. That will be when we decide whether to go with this design or scale back a bit.I think he wasted time making this design. I'm 99% sure we will scale it back. In fact, I strongly suspect he made it this way on purpose because he doesn't have time to actually do the work until the spring. If it happens that way the spouse is going to be angry, because she wanted to use the greenhouse this month and next month. But we shall see.