I don't usually do diary entries here, but today was a pip.

Things to know first: I work something called a compressed schedule; in two weeks I work eight nine-hour days, an eight hour day, and get one off. Friday (payday) is my day off. That was coming up day after tomorrow.

The operative word is "was" for this week.

So I get up as usual, lunch is made by James night before (thanks, sweetie) and I go into one of the freestanding cupboards to get my two granola bars.

Surprise! We have little visitors again! Talk about "same time, next year."

Royally pissed, I start killing the marching line of ants and lifting up containers and boxes to see what the little bastards are after this time. Great. They found the one single unopened package (crackers) in the entire cupboard. Sigh. Out it went, along with a box of oatmeal that was possibly compromised.

Next I put on an old long-sleeved shirt so the mosquitoes in the back yard don't kill me and go out with my trusty jug of Ortho Home Defense to spray the sliding glass doors under which the marching marauders are coming. As I spray, I look upwards and what I see is not a happy sight. In the meantime I have run out of Ortho since the jug was almost empty and am a little uncertain about how to attach the detached spray head of the new jug.

Flashback: Last year. We have ants in the same cupboard, on the sink, in both upstairs bathroom. Cause: dogwood tree branches touching roof over bathrooms. Ants have climbed up and made a nest in leftover fall leaves on the roof over the kitchen, which is next to roof over bathrooms. I was flabbergasted; grew up in house without any trees nearby and didn't know ants scaled houses and formed thriving communities on rooftops. Anyway, leaves got knocked off roof, James sprayed, no more ants.

Now, back in March this year, before it got hot (read: over 70°F), James and I dutifully went out into the yard and cut back all the tree branches we thought might touch the roof as they grew. We did about a two-hour pruning job on both the live oak and the dogwood, and also the privet bush which is now a small tree. There were, I noted, some more leftover autumn leaves on the roof, but since the branches were gone, James didn't consider them a danger.

So as I look up from my empty jug of Ortho I see Mr. Dogwood Tree has had a summer growth spurt despite all that pruning we did and there is now a branch again right over the roof. You guessing what I'm guessing?

James worked Saturday and had today off. I'm sure he was looking forward to sleeping late when I came in the bedroom and told him I needed some help with the jug of Ortho. He got that set up, I sprayed behind the cupboard and then, just in case, around the kitchen window.

At this point, it was seven o'clock, I was already late, and I should have gone off to work. But my brain was in turmoil. I was pretty sure where those ants were coming from and I didn't want them staying up there. I talked to James, who groaned, but agreed, and then I called in to work asking if it were okay for me to swap today for Friday (no one called back so I guess it was). I was looking forward to sleeping late and mailing something to my mom, but ... well, a homeowner's gotta do what a homeowner's gotta do.

So between James and I and the extendable tree pruner, we trimmed back the dogwood, a little of the live oak, and a little of the privet bush (just in case). But it was James who went up on the shed roof to cut the majority of the branches, and up on the kitchen roof to run a rake over the small pile of dead leaves and...

...yep, another ant colony: mature adults, hundreds of white grubs, the works. He tossed it all off the roof and I raked it back into the yard and sprayed it. While he was up there, he cleaned out the gutters, too, which were clogged, even after cleaning last July, with what looked like about three year's worth of pine straw.

When we were done with the holy mess, he said, "We deserve a treat. Let's go to IHOP for breakfast." So we showered, left our muddy, grubby clothes in the washer to soak, and did. It was more of a treat than he'd dreamed: I paid. I mean, I had to do something after awaking him on his day off to carry on the Ant Crusade.

Anyway, on the way home, we stopped at a target range called Hot Shots. James wanted to see what their hourly rates were; we saw the sign that said "Wednesday Ladies' Day: Women Shoot Free."

Quickie flashback: My dad confiscated a German officer's pistol in World War II. After he died my mom, who was always terrified of the thing, gave it to me via James. He cleaned it up and had shot it, but I hadn't.

So we went shooting for an hour. Oddly, this pistol, which uses 25mm bullets, is small enough for my hand, isn't comfortable for me to shoot. I understand now why when you see films with ladies in the early part of the 20th century shooting small pistols, they are wearing gloves. The darn thing pinches the skin between my thumb and forefinger, and also pinches my trigger finger.

I did better with James' late father's two guns, a Ruger Bull Barrel Mark II and a Ruger "Single Six" revolver that looks like "a cowboy gun," which shoots .22s, and consistently got close to the target. Ironically I shot better with them than James did, with all his experience and my dicey eyesight; he did better with his own Glock.

My best round was the last one. I squinted at the bright orange target and not only got very close on all shots, but I hit the bullseye once.

That round I imagined the target as an ant. :-)

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 2:58:00 PM

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