by cheri sabraw
A tall handsome man with grey hair, nice teeth, and a positive attitude arrived at my house this morning to turn off our propane so that a fumigation company can tent our house (and kill all of my Boston Ivy vines that I have been enjoying for 16 years).
Although the fumigators are supposed to arrive any minute, they have not arrived.
It’s funny how once you know the heat cannot be turned on, you become conscious of the cold. You wish you could start the dishwasher or do a load of laundry. You wish you could chop kindling and make a fire in your little stove. You are cold.
You wish you could make a cup of hot coffee but then remember the coffee is packed up and sealed in a gas-proof bag.
You mosey to the pantry for an almond or two or three. Or a cracker with peanut butter. But then you remember that all your foods in plastic packages need to be sealed and packed in a gas-proof bag.
Yep. Ten gas-proof bags hide in the pantry, the refrigerator, the freezer and even in my bathroom.
You might be developing a headache, just thinking about the future unpacking, cleaning, and sorting all of the food, medicine, liquor, olive oil and anything else that could possibly become contaminated and kill you when you return to your home.
But the aspirin is packed in a gas-proof bag.
Your dog is off property.
When the gas enters the tent, your plants around the house will die, along with their friends the vines.
All of this because you saw a 1-inch piece of evidence that dry-wood termites “might” be in your tower on the second floor.
“Cheri, why are you dragging your feet and not calling the termite people?” the Man of the House asked over 1.5 years ago.
” I don’t want my vines to die,” I grumpily answered, taking a drag on my cigarette (just kidding).
“OK…let’s evaluate your logic…your vines or structural damage to your home? Which is more important?” he questioned in a rational tone.
With my hands on the Sunset Garden Book, I swore to God and my country “My vines!!! and ran to the couch, sobbing (just kidding).
Today is the day.
The vines die.
And so does the one termite that is probably living in our tower.