What Kind of World Is This? Part 2

A few weeks ago a guy came to the door wanting me to buy his pest control services.

Believe me, the above sentence is the bottom line, which I wish he could have drawn a lot sooner than he did. It's a condensed, very condensed, version of the very lengthy sales pitch he presented.

Trust me in this, I listened politely, then said, "Thanks, but I already have a pest control service and am happy with it."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"Well," he said, "you have spider on your house." Then he left.


The other day, another guy came. Actually, it was after 8 p.m. when he came. He had a truck in the neighborhood, he said, and was just stopping by let me know about their pest control service. Vanguard, was the name.

I admit it. I broke in during his sales speech and said, "Thank you, but my house was just treated last week." This was true.

"Oh," he said, looking around at my house and yard hoping to find bugs, I guess. "Well, can I ask who does your service?"

I thought for a second, then said, "No." And with that I closed my door.

Whatever

• Are you kidding me? Water on cold cereal? Twice in one week I've been told about that. People actually do that.
  

• Some people who own electric cars are complaining they're too quiet, the cars. And so the drivers don't feel like they're driving real cars. Duh. So now engineers are going to work on how to make those people happy, put noise into the things. Car noise, engine noise. Okay. For me, I'll stick to the cars with real engines, the kind that run on gasoline. And I'm not apologizing.

• Opened my living room blinds at about 6:30 yesterday morning to find a small robin sitting on my porch railing--right next to my fake owl that is supposed to keep birds away. But really, I put it there to scare the crows and magpies. This little robin was puffed up to keep warm, but he was clearly a young bird. I stood and watched a while. Before long his dad came and fed him a worm. Quite a sweet thing to watch. Don't know how long he had been there before I came down. Still there at 7:10. Gone five minutes later. Today I'll go out and wash off the evidence of his visit.
  

• Question: What ever happened to Al Gore? Haven't heard from him for quite a while. Too many people figuring out his science was flawed? (That's putting it politely.) The divorce? He was getting too fat? Who knows? Maybe this bullet belongs on Lotta Torres. Oh well.
  

A Few Things.

• I count it a good day when I hear from my children. Four out of seven called today--the four who don't live here. Hmmm. Can't call their dad, so they called me. I'll take it.

• Axel Brimley Schiess, two years old yesterday, celebrates today with his family and his Grandpa Derbowka in Canada. He does not know his Grandpa Schiess, which does not mean Grandpa Schiess doesn't know him.

• Rained again yesterday and last night. Tomorrow is summer--or is it Tuesday? Whatever. Supposed to be near 90 on Wednesday. I don't doubt it. That's the way it is here. Cool, cold, mild, cool. Then suddenly HOT.
  

• After a couple of sleepless nights, I slept well last night. Hallelujah! Not much I enjoy doing in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping.
  

• My front lawn looks good. Wonder how long that will last.

• My neighbors, the Contas, are Ron and Janice. He always calls her Jan. She always calls him Ronald. They are good neighbors. Have no children. She a Jehovah's Witness. He not. He a veteran of the Vietnam War. She a bit of a hypochondriac. (Now I'm sorry I said that. It's probably just ailments attendant to aging. Is that any better?) Their dog, Fred, is attached to Ron. Really. Can't let him out of his sight. They are going on a short trip, and I am to watch their house and collect their mail. Fred's going with them.
  

• I found the little basketball out in the gravel. Pumped it up. Don't know why. Those little Darrington boys aren't here to play with it.
  

Okay, so I sometimes watch birds

My neighbor Jan has no use for sparrows. If I mention the word, she visibly bristles and tells me again they don't belong here, were brought from England, force other birds from their nests and take over, and so forth.

I have told her that sparrows nest in the bird house on my bedroom deck.

"Oh yes," she'll say, "and they'll probably have three or more clutches in a season." And she's not happy about it.

She is right, though. They have at least two, sometimes three clutches. And they've been doing it on my deck for several years now.

But I can' help it. And I confess, I take some pleasure in watching them. Just now they're feeding babies. I can watch the swoop down to the grass or over to the trees and the return and careful entry into the house. I can hear the babies asking for food, and I often see father sparrow sitting on top of the bird house, calling out some important message.

As I said, it's not my fault they're here. But they are here. And, actually, they're ubiquitous, which may also bother Jan.

I don't know who is to blame for their introduction into America. Some sources say it may have been accidental.

Jan, I think, would like to blame someone. Sorry.

This from WikiPedia:

"You can find House Sparrows most places where there are houses (or other buildings), and few places where there aren’t. Along with two other introduced species, the European Starling and the Rock Pigeon, these are some of our most common birds. Their constant presence outside our doors makes them easy to overlook, and their tendency to displace native birds from nest boxes causes some people to resent them. But House Sparrows, with their capacity to live so intimately with us, are just beneficiaries of our own success."

Starlings. Now that's another matter. I don't care for them. Probably Jan doesn't either.

And besides

Don't be thinking I didn't spell my name in the first place.

I ALWAYS SPELL MY NAME.

With a name like Schiess, I have to.

I'd like just a nickel for every time I've been asked, "Can you spell that?" I'd be rich.

And I'm not always a smart alec. I don't always answer, "Yes, I can" and make them ask me to spell it. I usually just spell it. Slowly.

Often like this: Schi . . . ess.

And this time, when I bought the season tickets, I remember the conversation.

"And what was your name?" she asked.

"My name is," I answered, "Schiess." And I spelled it. And I spelled it again when she asked me to spell it.

So, yes, when I bought the season tickets, I spelled my last name. And I spelled it correctly, Blanche, I mean, Holly.

You people should listen, pay attention, transcribe it correctly. It's my name, after all.

What's in a name?

I bought a season ticket to the coming year of concerts by The Boise Philharmobic. And today I received a CD in the mail. It has some of last year's selections, chosen by Maestro Franz.

It came to Carol Scheiss.

So I called and got Holly. Because her name was Holly, I had a certain expectation. Like, she might be friendly, at least.

Silly me.

I thanked her for the CD. Then I mentioned the name misspelling.

Silence.

I said, "It's spelled ei instead of ie, kind of like me spelling philharmonic with a b instead of an n. That would be philharmobic. Not good."

What is your name? she asked, with no discernible intentions towards friendliness. You know, something about the tone of her voice.

Schiess, I said.

How is it spelled on the envelope? she asked.

I told her,"With ei." That's a repeat.

How should it be spelled? she asked.

I repeated, ie, and said, "When you spell it ei it means something--what your dog does on someone's lawn. Not good."

So that's iess? she asked.

Yes, I said. (And I just now thought to hope she includes the sch.)

Okay, she said. It's now corrected in our records.

Thanks, I said, and thought her name might just as well be Blanche.