High School Madness and Magic

I was recently in San Fransisco, CA. for a conference. I walked around downtown San Fran one night, but I was not as scared there as I was this past Friday night... 

Last week, Josh says to me, "Want to go to a basketball game on Friday night?" I said, sure. We like sports and always enjoy going in person. He told me it was the local high school in town that was in the sectionals (like semi-finals) for the championship. Sounded fine to me.

Middle of the week, I learn that the game is not being played here. No...we will be traveling to Princeton, IL. About an hour and a half away. Um...okay...seemed kind of crazy to me, but Josh use to referee high school basketball games and I know this is of interest to him. I figured why not. On Friday, it is snowing...I am concerned... "are we still traveling to Princeton?" Yes, yes we are. Okay!

We got to Princeton, and as we went to park, I immediately wondered what was going on. There were cars everywhere around the Princeton High School gym, where the game was being hosted. There were people walking everywhere to get inside. What the heck was going on? Surely there was another event at the school or in the surrounding area. Were all these people here to see a Monmouth high school basketball game?

We walked inside and the gym is PACKED! (So, yes, they were.) This small high school gym is swimming with people. Who were these people? As we walk in, people are saying hello...people we know. People from Monmouth! As we enter to look for a seat, which we luckily found, I am staring in awe around me. There are all kinds of Monmouth town people there -- an hour and a half away -- and I say to Josh, "Do they all have kids in the high school?" (Knowing full well that some do not...). He says, "No. They are just here to support, like us." Oh yeah, right...there's us. As I wondered who would be crazy enough to follow a team that your kid is not connected to, I realize...we drove an hour and a half to be there too...

We sat down and I just looked around at the sea of people. The sounds of the small gym were out of control. Cheerleaders practicing, students from the two high schools (likely bused here as groups) dressed up and cheering, townspeople of all ages cheering as the team comes out on to the floor. The bleachers were tight and we were all crammed in, it's hot, it's noisy, it's unstable (I feel the bleachers give a bit as everyone stands to cheer and worry about our safety)...and it's...utterly amazing!

I tell Josh that I have never seen something like this in my life. He looks at me confused, asking me, "Didn't you ever go to a high school football game?" Um...yes, I am sure I did. But two points should be noted. First and foremost, high school was a long time ago for me so if I did have this experience, I do not recall. Second, I went to a high school with thousands of students (GO Bolingbrook High!), and even if we had a high school basketball game, I don't recall it being like this. Sure, we went and cheered on our team. We followed our teams to championship games. We stood by their side. But I don't think the whole town did. I explain to him that it is not the same.

As the game proceeds, the crowd is truly engaged. I look around and men are taking notes in their program on who is scoring at which time; people have headphones in to listen to the radio broadcast, children are cheering and wearing their Monmouth t-shirts and sweatshirts, and not one single person looks disengaged or bored. Everyone is on the edge of their seats. The crowd is huge. I look around. It's packed. I turn to Josh and say, "I would hate to have a heart attack in this place." No way out. All these people came to watch their hometown team.

That's what it is, I realize. Circle the wagons for the hometown team. It didn't matter if you had a kid in high school. These were all our kids. Everyone knew them, grew up with them. They were all one. It was a community coming together. It was a small town experience like none other.

In amazement, I watched men in the crowd, grown men, yell at the refs. Really yelling. It made me laugh. They can't hear you, and even if they can, do you think they are going to change their call because of you? Yet, they yell. It intensifies. Scarier than downtown San Fran at night! (I later told Josh that the refs should leave out the backdoor in a disguise, and ask Josh "why would you ever want to do that?!" His response, "Oh but it is so fun!"). People get angry, people cheer, people scream. Some of the team starters foul out and have to take a seat on the bench. I stand, sit, stand -- all smashed in the middle of it. The game is intense and at the drop of a basket in the last seconds, it goes into overtime. Then four minutes of play later, it goes into double overtime. People are on the edge of their seats. I am finding myself cheering and screaming now too -- on the edge of my seat. Our hometown heroes have to win. They have to. Every waits with their breathe held -- for the final buzzer. We lost, sadly. But the pride in the team never diminished. And, in town, all week, you could hear people talking about the game, as if their own son played as a starter. Because, in a small town, it's everyone's son.

I loved it. It was magical. It was truly a small town moment that I thanked Josh for exposing me to and sharing with me. Friday night, I enjoyed living in Monmouth!  

Only in a small town...

Life has settled in and has been much quieter...and nothing too crazy to report...but then again, am I just adjusting to a small town so the "crazy" seems normal?

Last week someone met Josh and said "Aren't you Mishelle's fiance?" - I loved it. I said "How does that feel?" Usually it is the other way around, if you remember me reporting! I'm becoming a big deal around here, even without the last name Oaks. Of course when I went to the local car dealership, he said "Aren't you Josh Oaks's wife?" Um...not yet...and by the way, my name is Mishelle...

I am here to report some noticeable things that I think would likely only happen in a small town...

1. Josh serves on the committee for the Prime Beef Festival. I took him to a meeting in January. The meeting was at the local bank, where we keep our money, and I said "why are we going to the bank?" He looked at me confused, and commented "that's where the meeting room is." Of course. The basement of the bank. Makes perfect sense to me! I found it odd that they would keep the bank open late, after hours, to host meetings. Oh...they don't. They just give the President of the Prime Beef Festival a key. Of course they do. (Imagine my shock, especially since I mentioned that we keep our money there!) In 2014, Josh will be President, so I guess we will possess the key. It's like the key to the city. Only in a small town...

2. This one did not happen to me, but to a friend, who also moved here from a city...and it is worthy of reporting. She attended the Chamber of Commerce dinner with her boyfriend at the Legion. I asked Josh about this dinner and this is where they award Citizen of the Year. What an honor and nice delight in a small town. Josh's Great Uncle won, and we missed it. We also missed the exit gift. As my friend and her boyfriend were departing the dinner, they were each (as were all the other guests) handed a pound of bacon. Yep. You read right. Bacon from the local Farmland distributor of bacon in town. A pound of bacon. Where do we live? Only in a small town...

3. We were out to eat at the local restaurant in Monmouth that we frequent often. We were with Josh's family, including his nephew (age 3), who ordered chocolate milk. The waitress soon reported that there was no chocolate syrup left. We offered water, lemonade, regular milk -- but this adorable 3 year old, put his head down with a sigh and the pouting ensued. This was not a good situation. Nothing could shake him out of it and we were headed for melt down time. They sent someone from the restaurant down the street to the grocery store to buy the syrup so they could make the chocolate milk. Really? They gave him a big glass. He didn't drink it all. Before we left, I commented to the Oaks that someone at this table better drink that chocolate milk or we would be the talk of the town! Only in a small town...

4. There's a wine shop in Monmouth. Really nice. Not opened too long after I moved here. Gets good business. Two weeks ago, I was going with some ladies from work for wine -- trying to make friends and all. Only to find out that my future mother-in-law and future aunt-in-law were also headed out for wine, at the same wine shop (limited choices as you can see). I told the girls from work to behave. My future mother-in-law told my aunt-in-law that they needed to behave. We cohabited in the shop nicely with no incident. Everyone behaved. My lives converge. Only in a small town...

5. You can leave the dealership with a vehicle to test drive and just bring it back the next day...or whenever. You can also have work done at the dealership in town and just leave...they send you a bill...and you pay it later, whenever. Only in a small town...

6. You have work done at your house and they do it "whenever" they become free (which means you could be waiting) vs. making an appointment and committing. And, they may come back at their leisure to finish the work if there is some follow up needed. No one seems concerned about this (except me) because people trust people's word, and the payment comes later. Only in a small town...

On the flipside...
...only in a small town are you able to find deals at County Market like none other I have seen at a grocery store;
...only in a small town are you able to get the best cheeseburger made by locals at the American Legion on Saturdays;
...only in a small town are you able to frequent restaurants and have them recognize you because you eat out a lot and there are only about three restaurants to choose from;
...and only in a small town do you have the option of counting on your neighbors in a crisis, finding peace in the solitude of the country (despite how much the wind blows), and knowing that when you are asked to leave your car unlocked for less than 2 hours so your future aunt-in-law can drop off Valentine's cookies to your car when you are at work, you sigh a deep sigh but agree and know it will be okay...because, after all,...
...it's only in a small town...it's only in Monmouth!

Merry, Merry Moments

The cows were out again earlier this week. And I didn't even really flinch, which maybe means I am a country girl now. We caught two-three mice in the house (that still causes me to flinch). And, I have now heard the coyotes outside at night. Oh, and there is the issue of the zonkey...well, I am not sure that is what it is really called, but what people at work referred to it as. It's an animal on the farm near by on the corner. It's a mix between a donkey and a zebra -- therefore, a "zonkey" sounded logical to me. We think the zonkey is gone now. It hasn't been seen for weeks. And, it has been noted that there is a white cross in the yard. Which made me say "What?!" Is this zonkey buried on the land on the farm? Someone said it could be. They said it costs to have someone come pick up your large animals so some just get buried -- horses, cows, pigs...and zonkeys. So...in my mortification...I realized...I could be walking on ground where your horse or cow is buried? People said "what do you do with your animals in the city?" Yes, it is true, we have been known to bury a fish, a bird, or something of the small variety. But once we start getting to dog or cat variety, it seems a bit big for the backyard. I looked at our own ground that night. Nothing looks like it has been disturbed in years, and there are no white crosses...but you never know. And Josh probably wouldn't tell me if there were animals buried here. I am about 90% confident there is not...but I won't be able to say the same when I walk on your farm land!

If you have not seen it, here is the photo of what happens when my fiance decorates...

Oh yes, he got very excited about this purchase when he presented the idea to me, and next thing I knew, we had this fabulous sign. I have to admit, it's very humorous. Especially with the deer next to it...deer that were from his grandmother and don't really work to their full extent -- but no matter, he still saw their purpose this holiday season. I wanted to put something outside in the ground, and my lovely said "The ground is too hard now, it's too cold out." Yet, soon we had this -- rooted in the ground. Needless to say, I put up my own sign, hard ground or not. And, I never did comment on this purchase...it makes him happy...and there was those two trips I took to JoAnn Fabrics last month...so we might be even.

Hard to believe I have lived here six months now. I still can't burn the trash and I am still working hard to figure out the recycling, what can be trash (to be burned) and what goes in the junk pile. It's more complicated than it sounds. I am still adjusting to well water, and the wind that blows right through our empty fields into my chilled bones. I am still learning how to get around. But many things are better and even nice. I enjoy the peace and quiet. Josh will never get use to locking the doors. I will always miss not being able to have a pizza delivered. But we are making it work! Happy New Year!!!

One Horse Town

The phrase "one horse town" (according to the internet) was an expression first used in the 1850's when there were more horses than people in some American towns. If a town had only one horse, it must have been really small with very little happening. Monmouth -- my one horse town. Not very little happening but you will see why I label it as such if you read on...

Here is some background on what you need to know about me if you do not already. I have this fear of childbirth. No, I am not pregnant now -- this is a fear that is always there. It's not your normal, nervous, scared to be pregnant fear -- this is a very real "I don't believe this is natural or possible" fear. In general, I really get nervous about illness and being where you need to be when you need care. So, when Josh asked me to move to the country with him -- well, all I could picture was giving birth in a straw pile in the barn with Melissa Gilbert (Laura Ingells Wilder) assisting me -- with no drugs. Or, even in other instances, having something happen to one of us (heart attack, seizure, etc) and taking forever to get to the hospital. Irrational -- probably? Real feeling -- definitely! But, I tried to calm myself and said it would be okay -- even if I ever do have a baby and then I have to camp out at a hotel (no joke) near the hospital when I am nearing my eventual due date some day (hospital being at least 15 miles away). 

The other thing you should know is that I love crime shows -- CSI; Criminal Minds; Law and Order: SVU. I watch them religiously. I love them. I study them. I learn about them. I live vicariously through some of these investigators. I also realized that most killers (specifically on Criminal Minds) are out in the woods, or the country, if you will. And due to this, I sometimes have to stop myself from watching this show at night when Josh is gone -- and I am not usually freaked out. But it happens now.

So...as you read on...remember those two items and perhaps you can understand my mind set as I engage in this conversation with my fiance.

Josh was telling me a story about something that happened at work and within the story he says..."...., and so we figured we should call the sheriff..."  I let the story complete, before I ask, "what does that mean?" He seemed confused so I expanded to ask what the difference was between the sheriff and the police -- fearing the answer but praying it was just another country term and they meant the same thing.

It didn't. My fears were realized. The police, as we know them, do not service the country. The sheriff meets our needs if we need something out where we live -- but since he services the whole county, he might take awhile to get to us. WHAT?! I have flashes of labor, heart attacks, and escaped prisioners breaking into our house...

How does one call the sheriff? I am so perplexed. I say "Can't I just call 911 to get help???"
Josh confirms that I can - but that they will forward me to the sheriff. Who apparently may be busy or too far away to help me. The police...will forward me to the sheriff. My future father-in-law confirms this -- that the sheriff might be busy and that I might be better off calling a neighbor for help. Oh my gosh!

As Josh tells me this, I sit in stunned silence in the car. Now do I think we are going to need the "sheriff" often? No. Are my fears over the top? Well sure. But that still does not mean that this is not a concern...getting help, any kind of medical or police help, when you need help seems critical to me. I advised Josh that he left these details out, and it is amazing when you live a life, you sometimes forget what other people may not know. It never occurred to him to mention the police will not come and there is a mysterious sheriff who may come to my aid if he is not drinking coffee in Roseville at the bowling alley.

Needless to say, my phone contacts are now filled with neighbors. And when asked, "So, how do I reach this sheriff should I need to call?" Josh said, "Just call 911..." Well, that is if my phone service works...

Oh Monmouth -- my one horse town...

Stranger Danger does not apply in Monmouth, IL

I'm in a new place, with a new job, and let's face it, with limited friends. This means lunches are a little quieter than they use to be. I often spend that time alone, which I am finding is good quiet or planning time in my day. Since I love to read, I am often found armed with my Kindle in hand for some down time over lunch.

Today I went to Subway for a quick bite to eat before running a few errands. First, when walking in, I see my future sister-in-law in the drive through (how does that happen?!), and we chat. Then I go inside and hear a familiar voice behind me, only to find Josh's friend and groomsmen, Sean Lee. Small world. Familiar faces. I just laugh at how small this town is if we are that limited in our lunch rotation locations.

I sit at a table, open my Kindle, and begin my lunch - my introvert side takes over and I am pleased to not have to talk to anyone and rather escape into the solititude of my most recent book. I hear someone UN-familiar now say "excuse me".

When I look up, it seems like a nice older man, and he is standing at my table. He begins to inquire about my Kindle. This is not foreign to me as this happens more often than you would think -- both in Monmouth and elsewhere. People always want to know if I like the Kindle, do I use it a lot, etc. In this case, this man is thinking of buying one for his wife for Christmas so wants the details. I am happy to smile and provide them, especially when he apologizes and says that he does not intend to take me away from my reading long.

As we chat for a minute, he seems to develop more questions and then says "Mind if I join you?"
Ummm...guess not...
What do I say? So he sits.
I think, no big deal, just wants to rest his weary feet while he asks me his plethora of questions on the Kindle vs. the Nook, how easy it is to set up, which version of Kindle to buy, what if she doesn't understand technology, etc., etc. So I give him the scoop -- freely and happily -- because I LOVE my Kindle.

Something odd happens while he sits though -- he begins to open his lunch on the table where my lunch is already opened -- and now I am having lunch with this perfect stranger -- talking about where I work, how long I have lived in Monmouth, where he lives, Western Illinois University (yes, he went to school there too, but as he commented "probably graduated well before me"), and his comments on what my transition from Chicago to Monmouth must be like.

This is very odd to me -- I do not feel in danger (oddly since I am practically providing my life information) but rather just kind of weirded out that no one thinks this is out of place but me. In the city, this does not often happen...or maybe ever. You don't really even make eye contact sometimes, sadly. Maybe that's a problem in many ways. Not as open and friendly, I get that. Do people ask people questions, sure...as I said, people in airports or elsewhere have inquired about my Kindle...but no one has ever done it over lunch!

We never exchange names and I soon pack my lunch up to leave, with little of my book read. He apologizes for tearing me away from my reading but thanks me for the advice. He sells insurance, that's all I know. I hope his wife gets a Kindle for Christmas, and told him so.

I texted Josh immediately telling him that no way did a stranger just join me for lunch...only in Monmouth!

In Chicago we learned about strangers -- "Stranger Danger" -- don't talk to strangers. In Monmouth, I think they have different rules. As Mr. Outgoing (Josh) says, "I have never met a stranger". I, on the other hand, know plenty...and met another one today...WILD!

Visions of Ratatouille

I had this great heating pad...I loved it. It's not your normal heating pad...the old school kind with a cord that you plug in. No. This thing was high tech -- small, padded rectangle, with something inside (never knew what was inside), you put it in the microwave, warm it up and ahhh....relaxation. What a treat! I used it over the years and quite appreciated the ease of using it.

Mr. Country Mouse apparently also enjoys my heating pad --- and was happy to show me what was inside...corn! Yes, about two weeks ago, I opened a drawer to look for something and saw my heating pad. It was ripped open with corn all over. I knew immediately what this meant, despite being a city girl. I knew it didn't just get a hole and spill out corn. Nope, this was an animal. It had to be. I showed Josh and he said "I think I know what caused that." Really? So do I, country boy. I remain calm...for a few minutes...then I lose it a bit. I mean, come on! I don't want to share my space with these creatures. Josh is sorry, but it's not really his fault.

So with all my strength, I get it together, I smile, and I throw away my heating pad, simply saying that if I knew corn was inside, I could have probably made my own...or will now make my own, as I am sewing again, and we clearly have access to corn... but alas, this is not the end.

I know it's just a mouse. A small field mouse, likely. He can't do much harm. But I begin having visions of this mouse being out and about as I walk into the bathroom, now afraid I will step on him in the dark. Is he watching me at night? I imagine he is -- at the end of the bed -- like Ratatouille (even though that was a rat). Twitching his little whiskers, getting the last laugh on this city girl. Rationally, I have no clear thoughts on this mouse. All I see is this creature in my space.

And, he is. Because then I pull out some clothes...and yes, remenants of him nesting in my tshirts! AGH! I call Josh into the room, and he sighs. I know he is afraid I am about to lose it again. I am not about to lose it emotionally,  but I have a bad gag reflex, so I am literally about to lose it. I have to leave as I am gagging over this experience. Josh sadly tells me that it would be best if we wash all the clothes that were involved in this vicinity, which leads to 3 more loads of laundry. But I don't want to wear tshirts with mouse poop on them so, after my bitterness fades, I am okay doing this laundry. 

Now what? This is my big question, over and over. NOW WHAT?! I hope he's gone. But how do we know? And, even better yet, how do we keep him out again? Don't say it...I have already heard it at least five times in the last few weeks -- "get a cat", "get a dog". How does getting more animals solve my problems when I do not want the ones we have??? Two points I will make to counter this argument -- #1, our dog would stay outside so that does not help me if the mouse is already inside; and #2, if the mouse is not yet inside, I hear the dog can catch it -- and then shows up at the door with the mouse in his mouth. Not a sight I need in my life anymore than knowing I stepped on or saw a mouse in the dark. There are certain images in life you don't need.

My future in laws give me some "mice advice" -- my future mother-in-law states that sometimes the mice eat the poison, go into the walls, die between the walls, and then it will smell for about two weeks...and you can't do anything about it. Josh screams "Mom! Don't tell her that..."  But, she says, "It's true and she must know the truth." Only two weeks...could be worse...

So, we bait the house -- or we talk about baiting it a lot -- and then I push my fiance on the urgency of this situation. Since we have no dog/cat or even other yard animals that we care about (see story on raccoons), Josh puts poison around the house to help keep the animals out. Yay! Now on to traps...I saw them when I moved in -- the black box traps. Where are those? Josh says, "do you know how expensive those are?" Um...first of all, no (why would I have any clue about this?); second of all, I don't want to spend a lot of money for this so I don't disagree, but; third of all, weren't we just talking about paying an exterminator to take care of a snake? Priorities...

I don't care really so I will settle for any trap that gets us 1-0 over this mouse. Josh is working on traps that he says will have peanut butter or cheese on them and trap the little guy. I said, "In my closet? So basically, I will open the closet and see him dead there?" Josh says, "Um, no, you will open your closet, hear some squeaking, and then call me and say get this mouse out of here." He won't be dead. Just trapped. Special. I celebrate animal rights everywhere.

We are still on the hunt for this mouse, and I still creep into the bathroom at night. He won't get one up on me. We will battle and I will win...because after all, Mr. Mouse, you don't mess with a girl's heating pad!

Pranks are only funny if they are really pranks!

We live in an older farm house that we are updating as we go. We have a stubborn storm door. It's not in the best shape and it does not seal well. It has been known to blow open with a strong wind, leaves and other debris can sometimes be found in the mud room, which leads to our door to go into the house (up four stairs), and the door makes noise a lot. Josh is always saying "we need to get a new door". However, in the big picture of life, a door is not your priority really.

The other thing you should know is my fiance and those in the "neighborhood", have been known to play pranks on each other from time to time. They warned me about these pranks, as I am not necessarily a fan of pranks. But boys will be boys out on the farm.

Yesterday, I came home from work. I was distracted, talking to my sister on the phone, juggling my work bag, our mail, grocceries, including milk, and I threw the door open, ready to tackle the stairs, barely glancing downward. I saw it though...out of the corner of my eye. A snake. Laying there on the second step.

I didn't scream or even react. As I said I was on the phone with my sister. In my head, I said "Oh, that's not a good prank." Josh, my fearless fiance, is not scared of much, but he did tell me about his fear of snakes. They give him the creeps, as they do for most of us, but they REALLY freak him out. They did for my grandpa too -- you couldn't even talk about them. So I understood. So when I see this "snake" laying there, I assume his buddies have played a prank and put a rubber snake there for him to find. I decide (all in my head as I am talking to my sister) that I need to get it out of there before he gets home, as he will not think it is funny, and that's just the kind of helpful fiance I am. Plus, he's working late hours so he would come home in the dark and see it, which would only make it worse.

I stumble into the house, put the bags down, still talking to my sister and open the door leading back to the steps and the mud room to get this stupid rubber snake out of there. As I step downward towards it though, it moves. Maybe? Just a little. Did that just really happen? Surely I am now freaking myself out. So I stomp my foot a little harder on the next step, and the snake moves for real...and now I scream and gasp...and my sister wonders what is going on. Oh crap. That's a real snake...practically in our house!

Now I don't love snakes, but I am still thinking it is my responsibility to get rid of this thing before Josh gets home. But I tell my sister, I don't have a clue how to get a snake out of your house. She helps me brainstorm, but with our city ways, we really don't have a clue. So I stand there staring at it, while it peacefully lays near the door of our house. How did this darn thing get in here? All I know is that I can't just put it right outside the door as it will be back.

I hang up with my sister and I make the dreaded call to my fiance. He's in a tractor, I can hear it, and I sweetly say "I hate to bother you..." I know he will not want to hear this news. I don't need him to take care of it, as I know this is his worst nightmare (one he is not afraid to claim, even in his most manly moments), but I need advice. You see, in the city, we don't find snakes in our house often, and I don't know what to do or who to get to help me. This is not welcomed news to my fiance. He wants to know where it is, how big it is, and I can tell from his voice that this is not going to be a good situation. I offer to take care of it, I offer to call his dad, I basically offer to do anything I can to help...but he says he is on his way there, and I should just "keep an eye on that little bugger". So I wait and I watch him.

As Josh arrives home, he cautiously pushes the door open to peek in at this snake. A snake I have been close to many times already (and am so thankful was off to the right hand side or in my distraction of getting into the house, I would have found said snake under my foot! Then I might have been the one who needed counseling instead of my fiance). He calls his friend, Sean, to come help. He is surprised how close I will get to the snake, so I try to help with the process as best we can, as Sean is 20 minutes out and this is a crisis.

If you don't know Josh, you won't know that he opposite of me in many ways. He's the calm one. He's the laid back one. He's the one with patience. He teases me about my lack of these traits sometimes, especially patience. My friends, I want you to know what I saw in that moment was none of those traits -- and it was glorious! He was not calm and he was not patient. He couldn't wait for Sean, or come up with a plan with me. We paid the price. He got brave and went after the snake, with much struggle and much swearing. We got the snake outside, which was good, but the snake got pissed. And as we struggled to get it into a container to dispose of it, the snake slithered away -- yes, slithered so quickly in the blink of an eye. My fiance did not like this -- he got pissed right back. He went after the snake, calling him a lot of names, and stepped on his tail with full force. And that is when I had to look away and cringe. Yuck.

So I thought we were done, except for another animal carcuss. But apparently stepping on a snake does not kill him, and Josh moved his foot...and the snake left. But by leaving, I mean he slithered alongside the crack in the foundation by the house, getting away or at least burrowing himself into a new location. This did not make Josh happy at all. (I wasn't thrilled either). He said he did not want that snake getting into our house, into the basement, and I could finally agree with this thought process. But he was gone. We couldn't do anything.

I suggested we spray Raid in the crack. This is often my solution for unwanted pests, as my K-State staff will recall a certain gecco getting into my apartment and my mad Raid skills taking care of him. But, apparently this is not the solution for snakes in the country. He is very concerned about this snake, when Sean finally arrives. They hatch plans but none of them work because, as I get down on my hands and knees near the foundation crack, with a flashlight, I inform them that the snake is gone. Nothing there.

Josh says he now has to hire an exterminator. (I want to laugh but I don't). Um...okay. I understand this fear. I really do. Because I don't want a snake in our house, nor do I want many other things, like mice. I remind him though that I have seen a dead mouse in the basement, and no one seems concerned about that. He said "Dead mice I can handle. Live mice I can handle. Not a snake." Okay. I get it. But when I don't want the mice, I hope we get as urgent about the exterminator as we are in this moment -- and if not, I will show him this blog as a reminder.

It gave me the creeps. I almost reached out and grabbed that snake thinking it was a prank. I would have been traumatized. As a loved one told me, "With the bird and now the snake, I would be OUT of there!" Farm life. Although Josh says that is not it -- he says he has never seen a snake there before. Well, it does stay in your mind, although we were not allowed to discuss it anymore. The snake, similiar to Voldemort in the Harry Potter series, is he-who-shall-not-be-named in our household. When I left this morning, I did look down at my feet through my journey in the mud room and out the door.

And, after much chaos, drama, swearing, fear, and panic...Josh says we are getting a new door THIS weekend!