Island Fever

“Welcome to Paradise,” said the girl behind the counter with an orchid pinned to her hair. A balmy breeze was ruffling my hair as I checked into the resort. It was early afternoon with the sun in full blaze in a cloudless sky. This was check-in Friday. There were so many people and kids coming and going they give you check-in days, like college.

She handed me a welcome packet about tours, restaurants, shopping and rainbow shaved ice treats. All at the resort. They don’t want you wandering off the property and spending money elsewhere. You want to grill your own meat? They have the latest grills, all ten bright and shiny ones, next to the lagoons. You want massages? Step this way. Brunhilde is waiting. How about hula lessons? Sign up for an all-exposure class on the lawn in front of the restaurant. You’re the entertainment while guests gobble fish tacos with pineapple salsa and garlic fries at double the price of anything on the mainline.

Alf and I noticed that mos Image result for koi t of the guests were our age with our same body shape. We felt right at home.

They sunbathed on chaise lounges by man-made lagoons, by periwinkle pools and under thatched trees made in Mexico. No one minded the artificial landscape except me. Why did it come to this? Was it a way to control and contain it? What was wrong with a more rugged look?

The koi in the pond were overweight by a few hundred kilos. It was because they had regular feeding hours like we did. Too many fish tacos.

The drinks tasted the same no matter where you were and what you ordered. They were all sugared up and splashed with ice and straws.

The big surprise for me was the pineapple. Never a big fan because of its tartness, the ones on the island turned me into an addict. They were sweet, juicy, crunchy and thirst quenching. I had to visit a plantation and see for myself how they were grown. This led us to the Dole plantation, which when we arrived was packed with visitors from around the world. It was more a souvenir shop with a few plants growing outside, but they were real. I also saw cocoa trees with pods. When I asked where the real plantations were, I was told, “Costa Rica.” I was buying and devouring Central American pineapples in Hawaii? I was in shock. What else were they not telling me?

Calvin says, “You don’t believe all beagle breeders come from England, do you? Remember, I was a Napa pup.” beagle

Noises in the Night

We’ve had a bit of trouble in our roof these past few nights. Probably because the temperatures have dropped into the low 30’s and everybody is freezing, critters included.

We’ve been woken up in the middle of the night by scratching noises. Sometimes they’ve been in the kitchen area, at other times in the bathroom. At no times have we been happy about it.

Alf went into the attic with his super-powered flashlight to startle the intruder.

“Nothing,” he said as he climbed down the ladder.

The next night we heard the noises again.

This time Alf went into the attic and sprayed it with a horrible smelling liquid that makes them gag and hack.

The noises were back again the following night.

Then Alf asked our neighbors. Their fixes ranged from throwing poison pellets into the attic to setting killing traps.

With our luck, we’d end up with a rotting carcass in a corner somewhere that would stink up the house for weeks.

That’s when Alf struck on an idea.

He pulled out the trap he uses for squirrels in the backyard, filled it with peanut butter and shoved it into the attic.

Sure enough, the next morning we had a very fat and happy rat in it.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

“Export it,” Alf said.

He put the cage in the trunk of the car and let it loose at the foot of the mountain where he hikes every week.

It just so happens the foot of the mountain is in the most expensive part of town.

“Upscale housing,” Alf said.

Calvin says, “What a genius fix. I wonder if you’d export me to a rabbit habitat if I bayed once too many times.”

Carry On As Usual

Overheard conversations in the office this week:

“I have a rat in the house I can’t get rid of.”

“Have you tried peanut butter in the trap?”

“Yep. The bugger shook the trap, turned it upside down, and scarfed up the peanut butter.”

“Savvy rat.”

“I heard him in the living room wall while watching TV.”

“Coat the electrical wires from the outlet in peanut butter, and then turn on the lights.”

“I’ll set my house on fire.”

“But you’d get rid of the rat.”

—

“My cat is still spooked from the move.”

“So re-move him.”

—

“When the property management for my condo complex finds out we’re looking at other management companies, it will go over like a turd in a punchbowl.”

—

Calvin says, “I’ll sniff out the rat. I’ll pin it into a corner and bay my guts out. I’ll be so loud, the neighbors will think I’m being murdered.”