Category: Personal News

Paula’s maternal grandfather died earlier this week. He died very peacefully and comfortably, as far as anyone can tell. It was one of those expected things–he was 80 and had been ill for quite a while. He’s survived by his seven children and his wife.

I only met him a few times, but I liked him. He was a very kind man and very skilled at making things. Also, I think it’s cool that he spoke Cajun French at home to his family. A lot of people from southern Louisiana seem just like people from Genericville, USA, but he was the real deal. He was like all those Cajun chefs you see on television, except he made birdhouses instead of meals.

He’ll be missed.

Fortunately, he had such a large family that his wife will be well-looked after. Almost all their children live within a few miles of the family home.

Mildly Annoying: our neighbors having a loud, late party
More Annoying: it being a karoake party
Pretty Darn Annoying: having Bloodhound Gang’s Nothing But Mammals on the playlist
Extremely Annoying: listening to it sung off-key with gusto

Dana is 18 months old now, and her two biggest words are opposites and Rochester (a friend of hers is on vacation in said community).

It’s really funny to watch her say them. It takes all of her mental power to get all the syllables out in the right order and with the correct emphasis.

Kids are great.

On a related note, my pastor’s youngest son has starting saying suffering succotash, but is tragically prone to confusing his s’s with f’s. I leave the ensuing mispronunciation to your agile imagination.

I never remember my dreams, and so I was very surprised this morning when I woke up and remembered an extremely bizarre dream sequence.

In my dream I was reading an op-ed piece by someone–I’m pretty sure it was Victor Davis Hanson. As I read a sentence stuck in my mind, “If you sneak around on private property long enough, you will convince yourself you have a right to be there.”

How bizarre.

Tonight I’ll probably have a dream about hearing Hugh Hewitt say something like, “If you trash-talk a nominee long enough, you will convince yourself she is unqualified to be a janitor.”

Lindsey Hawley (who will soon escape the frozen tundra of Alaksa and move in with Paula and I) burst into flame the other day, prompting reflection (and no small amount of laughter) on our part.

Our thoughts:

• We’re fortunate not to have a gas stove.
• We’re fortunate not to favor flammable sleepwear.
• We’re fortunate not to have large windows in our kitchen.
• We’re fortunate to have learned of Lindsey’s proclivities so early. New rule: Lindsey can’t cook coed. And we’ll start storing a spare robe next to the fire extinguisher.

We thought our rat problems were over.

No such luck.

Like the Sith, our rats come in twos. We have slain the apprentice, but the master is still at large. Lurking. Waiting.

We found strong scatalogical evidence that the rat had spent some time browing around our bedroom, and Paula was so freaked out that I thought we were going to have to pack up and move into a new apartment on the spot.

We hereby declare a state of war on any and all rodents which have the misfortune to be found in our apartment. And to all “bystanders” just remember–you are either with us or you are with the rats.

In response to our crisis we set out two rat traps last night, behemoths capable of removing your toes. We awoke to find a dead rat.

Thanks to Jerod for the advice, we’ll keep it in mind for the future.

So we have a rat in our apartment. At least some of the time.

We’re not certain of this, but our best guess is that he’s a refugee from our neighbors’ place. They’ve been trying to evict a rat for months.

And last night Paula and I saw him in our dining room.

We set out traps. He ate the food off of them and laughed at our antiquated technology. He must be a stainless steel rat (how’s that for a gratuitous geek reference?)

Our other neighbors have cats, and so we asked for a cat toy to set out. We were operating under the theory that rats fear cats and that the smell would drive him to safer realms. Alas–this is a bold rat who enjoys playing with cat toys.

So as a last-ditch effort, Paula and I are resorting to psy-ops.

We left a note on our neighbors’ door to woo him home.

Dear Rat,

Please come home. Our food is organic and better-tasting. Also our kid is cute and wants a pet.

With much love,

Dirk & Emily

In a very canny move, however, our neighbors demonstrated that they have careers in counterintelligence in case other things don’t pan out. The following was affixed to our door, directly facing the note that we had placed on their door.

Dearest Rat,

Ignore the sign on the other door–they just want to kill you! We looooove you!! And our kid is at a developmentally appropriate age to appreciate rodents. The other kid will try to eat you. Or your poop.

Love,

The Davises

Fortunately, Paula discovered a handwritten missive from the rodent at large which she delivered to Emily moments ago.

Dear Davis Family,

Thank you for your hospitality. You place was a great vacation spot. But now that the Robinsons are back I think I should go home. After all, winter is coming and their kid would be more useful in a blizzard, if you know what I mean.

I appreciate the thought behind your note, but I know the Robinsons quite well. After all, we share a bedroom (heck, sometimes we share a futon).

Signed,

The Rat

Yes, it actually says, “Signed, The Rat” at the end. Rats don’t get much instruction in writing letters at elementary school.

Anyway, I’ll keep you posted as developments warrant.

Quite a few people have contacted Paula and I because they know we’re from Louisiana and they’re concerned about our relatives and friends.

Thank you.

For those who might be curious but haven’t contacted us, our immediate relatives were hardly affected. Extended family members and friends all survived but some lost everything.

When I was a kid we used to joke about how stupid it was to build a port city below sea level. Every year it seemed that New Orleans would have a near miss with a hurricane and we’d start joking about how dumb we Cajuns were. We knew with all the certainty childhood produces that New Orleans would be wiped off the map one day.

Of course, when you’re a kid you don’t really think about all the suffering such a catastrophe will entail. The news out of New Orleans is staggering. The scariest thing is that it could easily have been much worse. Times like these remind us of just how frail and fragile all of humanity’s accomplishments really are.

Anyway, all this leads me to wonder what jokes kids in California make about the “Big One”. New Orleans finally got a bullet it couldn’t dodge. I wonder when California’s is coming… I hope I’m not here to see it.

Convoy of Hope is doing a fine job of helping people. If you’ve been wanting to give in some way, I know several people who work for the outfit and can assure you that they’re doing a standout job.

Dana has been getting quite confused–it seems that every morning she wakes up to find someone new in the house.

Four nights ago Andrew spent the night. Three nights ago it was Katie. Two nights ago it was Will & Jen Klier (incidentally, I helped them set up a new WordPress blog while they were here: TheKliers).

And in that whole mix we went out to lunch twice with alumni: Gareth and Elizabeth.

She’s warmed up to everyone pretty quickly, but I suspect that today she’ll be happier since this morning arrives without strangers and we’re not planning to travel anywhere.