Month: September 2016

The possum king

Sometimes, you’re just where you’re supposed to be in life.

I was off to my local grocery store recently, as I was hunting and gathering for the night’s spaghetti and meatball dinner. I parked and headed into the store. As I approached the entrance on the right side of the store, I noticed there was a barricade of carts blocking off the entrance. Odd, I thought. Perhaps the door was broken. Perhaps a customer had dropped a jar of Newman’s Own spaghetti sauce, and the staff was cleaning it up, and it was the last jar of fire roasted tomato and garlic and thus I was not only going to be inconvenienced but spaghetti and meatball night would be just ruined.

I walked toward the other entrance. I saw a young employee emptying trash cans and asked him why the door was barricaded, bracing myself for the possibility of there not being fire roasted tomato and garlic sauce. “There was a possum by the trash can,” he said.

My time to shine.

I reversed course and went back to the barricaded area. I separated two carts and stepped into the quarantined area. There, behind a trash can, was a medium-sized possum, doing what possums do, which is mainly nothing.

As I was sizing up the situation, the door opened. A manager emerged. I took the lead. “I’ll get the possum for you.” He was not quite sure what to make of this. “Trust me, I’ve done this plenty,” I said. Which is true.

I pulled out my phone and called my son, who was on a bike ride in the area. When he answered, I said, “Hey, meet me at the grocery store. We’ve got a possum.” “Be there in a second,” he said. It’s how we roll.

The manager said that he was going to call a pest control company and that he was absolutely not asking me to get the possum. “It’s OK,” I said. “All on me.” I should carry around an “I’ve got this” waiver form.

About that time, my son pulled up on his bike. “Where’s the possum?” he said, in full-on mission mode.

A crowd was gathering at the store door as well as on the sidewalk. I saw the little critter’s tale at the back of the trash can. I told my son I was going to grab it, but he was the front flank, should I miss. (Fun fact: I never miss.)

I darted my hand in and grabbed the possum’s tale and pulled it out from behind the trash can. At this point, I realized I had not planned my exit strategy 100 percent. I said to Parker, “Here, hold this,” and handed him the possum. As I walked to my car to get a cloth bag, I looked over my shoulder and saw a lot of folks staring at my 13-year-old, standing just outside the grocery store front door, holding a possum. I am sure several folks had some parenting questions about me.

I returned with the bag and Parker dropped him in. I tied up the handles, which would be plenty sufficient for the short transport to some nearby woods.

I had quite a few questions from the onlookers. What was I going to do with it? Can’t it bite you? Why? (Answers: Release it. Yes. Because why not?)

I know we’re not the normal family when it comes to wildlife. I’m the son of a biologist who grew up catching critters. My son has led a similar path. We know which ones we can handle and which ones we can’t. Possums, we certainly can. I just wanted to get the little fella off into some woods so he could go do his possum thing for the rest of his life, which I hope does not include staring blankly into oncoming car headlights.

When I returned a short while later for my actual grocery shopping, the store staff shared with me that their day at work had been kinda cool thanks to the possum adventure. Glad I could help.

The grocery store now has, by my count, zero possums. And, more importantly, by my count, plenty of fire roasted tomato and garlic spaghetti sauce.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Home improvement

Life hacks. But, you know, good ones…

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date September 22, 2016
No Comments on Life hacks. But, you know, good ones…

If there is one thing the internet is good at, it’s spreading ill-informed information at light speed. And one area we as a society have gotten really proficient at sending out bad information is in the form of “life hacks,” those tips that are designed to make your life better with some simple twist on a common problem that makes your life changed forever.

Only problem, most of these “life hacks” are often unnecessarily complicated or just don’t plain don’t work. For example, I once saw one that solved the non-problem of putting pancake batter into a pan. It suggested you put the pancake batter into an empty ketchup bottle, and you then could easily squirt the batter into a pan. There are a couple of flaws with this. First off, putting pancake batter into a pan isn’t really something that needs improving. If you’re having trouble with it, you probably should just go to IHOP and let them handle the pancakes. Second, while I haven’t tried doing it, I am just guessing the task of getting the ketchup bottle clear of ketchup smell is no easy task, and that pouring the batter into said ketchup bottle is WAY more messy than just dropping it into a big ol’ pan.

So I normally don’t even bother reading these things any more when they pop up on my computer. But recently one caught my eye as I saw it several times.

It said that for stubborn stains in a skillet, soak the pan in soapy water, but add a dryer sheet. An hour or so later, no scrubbing or scraping. The funk in the pan would slide right out. So I tried it.

And you know what? It worked. Like a charm. Thanks, internet. I have actually added something useful to my world because of you.

So I started wondering if perhaps I had some actual functional life hacks that didn’t involve old ketchup bottles. And I do. Since the internet so often feeds us misleading information, today I give you these Mike’s Life Hacks that, like the dryer sheet trick, actually make your life dramatically better. OK, not dramatically. But maybe nominally.

When you have a gift card for a store, go the store to browse. And leave the gift card in the car. This is especially helpful with kids. That way, you do not buy the first thing you see, and actually go through the store and find something you actually want beyond the first aisle. And when you decide on an item, you may be surprised how much you actually don’t want it on the walk back to your car to retrieve the gift card.
When you are going grocery shopping for a big grocery haul, park next to a shopping cart corral. I have been to a lot of parking lots in my life. And never have I been to one where even the farthest parking spot is that far of a walk. Load your groceries, put the cart up right there, be on your way. So many problems solved.
Speaking of shopping, if you are like and me and use cloth grocery bags, you are probably also like me and routinely get into the store and realize you left the bags in your car at best and sitting on your kitchen counter at worst. So, when you get ready to go, thread the handle of one of the bags through your belt loop and sit on it for your drive to the store. Even if you forget over the course of your three-minute drive, you’ll quickly be reminded when you get out of your car.
There is very little chance you will drive anywhere without your keys. Need to make sure you bring something with you when you leave? Put your car keys with them. On at least two occasions, co-workers have come to me and said, “Uh, are these your keys in the fridge?” “Yes,” I tell them. “Because I bought milk at the grocery store at lunch and put it in the fridge to make sure it comes home with me. So back to the break room with my keys!”
Next time you go through a drive-through for some fast food, there is a good chance they stuff about 20 napkins in your bag. Rather than throw them out with your quarter-pounder wrapper, put the napkins in your glove box. I don’t know when you will need them, but you will.
The next time you take out your household garbage, pitch a couple of empty, folded trash bags at the bottom of your now-empty trash cans, and then add the new trash bag on top. That way, for the next few times you take out the trash, your replacement is there. If you are not using trash bags, ewww.

I hope these help make your life so much finer that you are in an eternal state of bliss from this point forward. But, if they are not enough for that, maybe we can figure out someway to include a ketchup bottle.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Family Home improvement

Home sweet home

Two years ago, I was relocating my family to Charleston. My new job was starting just about the same time school was starting, so this was a perfect time for everything to just magically fall into place and all of us start anew together.

Turns out, the Charleston housing market doesn’t believe in short-term magic. We made several trips down looking for places to live. Because we had not sold our house, we were just going to lease for the first year.

We looked at a few places with our Realtor, and at one point we were pretty sure we found the right place. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work. For one thing, it was on some water, and my son saw an alligator, so as far as he was concerned, it was perfect.

And then that fell through. Plan B. Nope, taken. Plan C. Taken. Look online and see a listing about seven seconds old. Taken.

And school was approaching. We had decided on the schools we wanted the kids to go to, as I can drive to work from anywhere. Unfortunately, the school district doesn’t accept “We promise to move here just as soon as we find a home” as an address. Some friends of ours who have a second home here said we could use theirs as a stop-gap, which was incredibly generous and kind, and at least made my wife and me slightly less insane for the short term. It also thankfully ruled out my plan, which was just to camp under the Ravenel Bridge.

Shortly before school started, still not having a permanent residence, our Realtor called. “I made an executive decision and got you a house to rent. I hope you like it.”

She had been to enough places with us to know what we needed in a home. We trusted her.

After the first year in the house, we started looking at houses to buy. We again went to our Realtor and starting talking about various houses we found online. And pretty much every house in our neck of the woods, when it goes on the market, immediately gets 8 bajillion offers on it. So we upped the lease for another year.

As the second year of the lease neared expiration, we began talks with the homeowner. And by “we” I mean my wife, because, let’s be honest here, she’s the brains of this operation. It’s why I turned over bill duties to her some 20 years ago, as apparently you are supposed to pay them EVERY month. Who knew? (She knew.)

Turned out the homeowner was getting tired of having a second home and would be willing to sell the house to us. The house would never see the light of day on the open market thereby avoiding 8 bajillion competing offers for the house we had occupied for two years.

We decided to ask the kids what they thought of buying the house we were in. It’s a pretty darn good houses in a great location with wonderful neighbors. Turns out, opinions on such matters are as fluid as the teen hormones flowing through their bless-their-heart bodies. Their opinions ranged depending on the time of day, the weather, astrological signs, etc. But the end of the day, however, they both agreed that not having to box up all of their belongings and move again pretty much trumped anything else.

A few weeks later and with virtually zero effort, and — boom — we were sitting at closing. OK, there was a lot of effort. My wife did all of the heavy lifting, as she often does, because she is good at this type of thing. My main tasks involved driving paperwork to the mortgage company and signing things. Again, not the brains.

There are some things I will miss about leasing a home. Mainly, the next time something breaks, I have to fix it. But I am looking forward to making this house our home and putting some touches on it that we have held off on for the last couple of years because, well, it wasn’t ours. We’ll make it our true home in due time. Everything, it seems, is falling into place. It just takes magic about two years to happen here apparently.

Uncategorized

The calm during the storm

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date September 12, 2016
No Comments on The calm during the storm

After two years of living on the coast, we have experienced our first named tropical system to directly impact us in the form of our good friend Hermine.

Fortunately, we just got lots of wind and rain, and only lost power for a few hours. But I learned a few things over the course of the storm:

I already knew many people can’t drive. They can’t drive even more during storms. And the main way they become infinitely worse drivers occurs when traffic lights go out. Folks, it’s simple: If the intersection you are approaching has actual traffic lights, but the traffic lights are not on, it becomes a four-way stop. Simple as that. And even if you choose to ignore that fairly basic rule, could you at least slow down a little when you barrel through the unregulated traffic intersection?
The beach is as fun as you would expect. During one break in the storm, I told my wife that I was going to run down to the beach with my son and one of the dogs to see what the ocean looked like. She had that look on her face that she has a lot. The break in the storm lasted far less than I thought, and as we were walking up to the beach, the rains started again. And this was a blinding, stinging rain. “Daddy, it hurts!” said my son. “That means it’s working!” I said. When we got right up to the beach access, the swirling winds were picking up sand and whipping it at us, giving us a lovely sand blasting. My dog is still not speaking to me. And my car smells like wet, angry dog.
I have found my wife’s tolerance for tropical weather, and it’s right at whatever level Hermine was at when it rolled over Charleston. During one point in the day, as the winds were swirling and the rain was going sideways and the trees were whipping back and forth, she said to me, “You know, this is just a tropical depression. The moment someone says the word ‘hurricane’ I’m hitting the road.” I noticed she didn’t say “we” were hitting the road. I think she is allowing for the real possibility I say, “Eh, let’s go have a look at the beach first.” And she’ll give me that look. And then promptly evacuate.
Speaking of those swaying trees, I am not sure why I (and probably you) have a fascination with watching the trees sway back and forth in heavy winds. At one point, I was standing in our front yard, watching trees go back and forth, and I said to myself, “What exactly am I doing this for?”
Kids getting a weather day off from school? Awesome! Kids cooped up at home on a weather day? Not awesome. When my daughter said she wanted to go to a friend’s house, my wife said, “Allie, you are not driving over there.” Being the quick thinking problem solver I am, I said, “But I’ll drive you over there.” My wife gave me her other look, the one that says, “Maybe he’s got a couple of brain cells still functioning.”
A power outage is a good reason to try a new restaurant. We opted for an Irish pub near our house. My son ordered what he thought was burgers and mashed potatoes. It was bangers and mash, which is slightly different. When it arrived, he saw the sausage piled on top of the mashed potatoes, and he said, “Um, where is the burger?” I said, “You ordered bangers and…” My wife cut me off. She did a masterful mom misdirection and started describing the fantastic Irish offering he had been served and did some kind of voodoo sleight of hand only moms can do. In no time, his plate was cleaned.
I had to run into work to take care of something, and I am reminded how much fun it is driving in high winds, in particular on tall bridges. I cross the Ravenel Bridge to get to work, which is roughly 83 miles up in the air. Local news estimated the winds at 40+ mph. If that’s the case, I am fairly certain that 50 mph can pick up a Honda Civic up and carry it away Wizard of Oz style.

So we have literally weathered the storm, and hopefully things will be back to normal in no time. I’m sure there will be another tropical storm event in our future. I just hope I get a chance to check out the ocean before I have to catch up with my wife’s evacuation.

Childhood Family

Back in my day…

I remember the first time that I really saw how much smart phones were changing the world.

My wife and I had gotten iPhones in probably 2009 or so. My wife and I were heading back from a trip to Atlanta and we pulled off the interstate to get something to eat.

We saw an Arby’s, and my wife and I both said, “Let’s get that.” We pulled into the drive-through line. The backseat chorus chimed in. “What do they have!?!?!?!?” My wife whipped out her phone, hit a few keystrokes, and in no time had the Arby’s kids menu pulled up. She rattled off the kids menu choices, and by the time we were at the speaker to order, we had everyone’s selection. This … this changes how we live, my wife and I said. Immediacy. This is the future, and the future is awesome!

That said, I cannot let the technological advances of our day overshadow my parental obligation to harp to my kids about how their life is infinitely easier than our incredibly difficult childhoods.

I, of course, tell my children all the time what it was like in my day.

I use foreign phrases to them such as “card catalog” and “land line” and “1984 was one of the greatest years alive because Red Dawn — the only Red Dawn I recognize — came out.”

But I do have to remember to keep a few of the other ones in the reserve bin for when I need a good “Back in my day…” comment. Among those I have stockpiled:

Back in my day…

We only had to dial five numbers to make a phone call, which, oh, by the way, was on a rotary phone. My wife is from Atlanta, so she was all fancy and dialed all seven numbers in her day. City folk.
If you need an immediate answer now, it’s easy enough. Our Google? The set of encyclopedias sitting on the shelf, or our parents. Let’s say we had a paper due the next day on, say, Venezuela. We could grab the World Book (U-V edition), and look up what we wanted. Or we could ask our parents, and possibly then include in our term paper a fun made-up fact our dad thought was funny, such as stating that Venezuela got its name because they were big fans of Fernando Valenzuela, but didn’t want to be too obvious.
Our TV shows weren’t on demand, and the concept of “binge watching” was nonexistent. My daughter watched the entire run of “Friends” over an especially unproductive weekend. I told her it took her mother and me a full decade to watch “Friends,” and we did it because we liked it that way. Harumph.
We had to read maps. Made out of paper. And that could rarely be folded back into their original form. My father-in-law is a real estate appraiser, and my wife brags that she learned early on not only how to read maps, but how to fold them back like a champ. Kids today…
The phrase “Be Kind, Rewind” means something to us. Sure, you get your Redbox DVD or your iTunes download. But we used to have to do some heavy lifting in our day, and that required waiting patiently while your VHS copy of “Weekend at Bernie’s” wound all the way back to start, lest you get fined by your movie overlords at Blockbuster.
You kids today have your privacy on a phone call, because you have a cell phone and you can go anywhere to make your calls. Back when we had those wall-mounted phones, we had to get our privacy the old fashioned way — with a 20-foot cord that you added to the phone so you could go far away from everyone else to make your call. This was exceptionally challenging if you were one one of my three older sisters and, during that call with your friend, your little brother repeatedly opened and closed the sliding glass door on the cord, hoping he could introduce a little chaos into your life because, well, little brothers are awful. (Source: I am a little brother, and also the parent of a little brother.)

So the world has gotten better than when we were kids. But kids today need to remember that their parents endured some mighty struggles. And I am sure they, too, will one day be able to tell their kids about the hardships they endured, with non-Wifi hotspots and such. I wish them well, and hope they can convey to their kids the struggle they endured. In particular that terrible time when Redbox was out of their movie.