Will The Geese Get Gone?

Duck, duck, goose.

Five years ago I talked Barb into leaving our home of 25 years and doing a bit of downsizing, shrinking both our square footage and my daily commute. Barb’s biggest must-have was a spot with some visual interest; something like a house on a pond.

We found the pond, we bought our lot, we built our house. All has gone swimmingly. But the beautiful, calm, relaxing pond is also the source of our biggest annoyance. As a kid I loved Garfield Goose; as a senior, I hate all geese.

Migrating geese have always made their summer home in the area. The Homeowners Association rents pairs of swans for each of the subdivision’s three ponds, in an attempt to keep the geese away. And through the years the swans have been moderately successful in their task.

This summer has been different. Our swan pair did not breed, and since they have no cygnets to protect, they have minimal interest in keeping the geese at bay. In fact, the swans’ performance has been downright lackadaisical. I am giving a thumbs down for this years’ Swan Lake.

And without the Swan Police, the geese have been having their most prolific season ever. Three brooding pairs with a total of 15 goslings, none name Ryan, reside around our house.

So 21 geese in total, the babies now as big as their parents. The geese block traffic. The geese honk. And the geese poop. Oh lord, how they poop. Viscous, lumpy, black, green, and white poop. All over our lawn. All over our driveway. I am so ready to foie gras those damn pests.

Barb and I hose down the driveway five or six times a day, and within 20 minutes the geese have reloaded it. They tend to scatter when Cooper our labradoodle is out, but they return as soon as he disappears into the house. And when Cooper is outside he loves eating all that poop. Don’t ask me to describe what it does to his GI system.

I have been scouring the Internet and the aisles of Home Depot and Menards looking for the best goose repellant. Lots of geese-ridding chemicals are advertised, but the reviews say they don’t work, and who wants to use more toxic, staining, chemicals anyhow. Solar-powered strobe lights and electronic bird noises are sold as deterrents, but the lights are too intrusive and the noises too eerie.

After weeks of suffering, I found a product I am willing to take a chance on. Dog Decoys. Silhouettes of dogs, life-sized, meant to be loosely anchored to wooden stakes and allowed to rock’n’roll in the breeze, are advertised to scare away the geese. They are a counterpart of the blow-up owls many neighbors hang from their eaves to chase away woodpeckers.

I ordered two, and they arrived yesterday. I hammered their posts into the ground, said a little Bracha over them, and hopefully, said goodbye to Cooper’s goose-poop-smorgasbord.

Will this work? Day one has been a success. Our driveway is clean and shiny. But is this a long-term solution? I don’t know, but I promise to pass the word when I find out!

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Now We’re 64!

Hi Babe,

We were in our 20’s when we first met. Barely in our 20’s. We were each 21, legal for most things, and pretty advanced in our education, but really just kids.

We were living in adjoining dorms, in a neighborhood where people just didn’t hang out for the weekend. Yet there we both were, for reasons of our own, in the TV lounge on a Friday night in the winter of 1977. A holocaust denier was on the tube, leaving many of us aghast. Someone (was it Jeri?) introduced us and we talked a bit. The conversation had more gaps than a Nixon Watergate tape, but we still must have hit it off. A few weeks later we were dating–an ancient courting ritual that no longer seems to be practiced.

Remember our first date; watching a polo match at the old Chicago Armory? “What does someone wear to a polo match?” you asked your roommate. No more polo after that, even while Ralph Lauren’s horsey emblem became a staple in my wardrobe. On the other hand, we ended the evening with pizza at Gino’s East, something we would do on every anniversary for years to come.

By 22 we were married, and you dragged me kicking and screaming to the suburbs. Our first landlord interviewed me at a table by the backyard pool, a pseudo-Mafioso who wanted to know if I had the right stuff. He felt no need to interview you; women did what they were told. We stayed there a year. We made a few moves after that, but never again to a place with a swimming pool–or a gangster wannabe.

By the time our early 30’s rolled around we were mother and father of 2, but you no longer had either of your parents. Your mom’s most memorable words to me? “Barb can do anything.” She and your dad raised you that way.

The rest of our 30’s and all of our 40’s raced by–raising the kids and sending them off to college, our careers, the Women’s Board and the School Board. You were there for me when Mom had her terrible accident and when Dad passed away. And together we witnessed the tragedy of my sister’s fight with cancer.

Our fifties and early sixties (the new 30’s, right?) began with my move to UroPartners and sped on from there. We have enjoyed incredible travel around the world, incredible weddings for our kids and their wonderful spouses, and an incredible new house (Ok, I admit that the process of building that house was less than incredible. More like a nightmare. Blogs available on request.) And then we arrived at the best of all, becoming Nana and Baba. We have enjoyed our grandchildren’s first smiles, first laughs, first steps. And best of all, we can always give them back to their parents!

As of my birthday yesterday, we are both 64. Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? I hope so, ’cause much of the best is still to come.

Loving you for all your years,

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Five Things We Have Learned About New Home Construction

If you build it…

…they will come.

It has been fifteen months since we started this project.From an idea, to an empty lot, then a plan. The excitement of a hole in the ground, and finally a real structure. We have walls and ceilings. We have plumbing pipe and electrical conduit, insulation and dry wall. Each room has its shape. The main floor, loft and basement each have their own flavor. The finished product, while not quite in sight, will soon be rising over the horizon. Thanksgiving in our new home may yet be possible.

What have we learned so far? Five rules we can share:

Raff Construction Rules

Raff’s Rule of Time Frames: In a construction project, time is meaningless. Financing delays, weather delays, contractor delays. All can make the project schedule evaporate. Balancing patience with cracking the whip is an art, as is finely tuning the good cop-bad cop approach. Learning to laugh also helps.

Raff’s Rule of Hidden Surprises: In a construction project, you never know what is going to hit you next. Soil borings are great, but they aren’t perfect. Who knew about that one corner of the lot where the ground water level was higher than the borings predicted. And who would have known about all the extra water-proofing, sump pumps and architectural changes that higher water lever might lead to. I still don’t understand all the mechanics and engineering involved, but somehow our basement seemed to grow and grow.
Raff’s Rule of Perspective: In a construction project, things look different when built then they did on paper. Perfectly adequate spaces on architectural drawings have a tendency to shrink when walls and ceilings close in. Sometimes the issues that arise are remediable. In our entrance foyer a change in lighting plans and furniture arrangement will solve the “problem.” Sometimes the issues are less remediable, as with our mud room coat closet that now looks much more like a broom closet. That’s OK, who ever wears a coat in Chicago?? We were given a warning on this before we started. A friend suggested we have the architectural drawings rendered in three dimensions. We didn’t do it. Our bad.
Raff’s Rule of Ca$h Out: In a construction project, dollars flow downhill. The Hoover Dam couldn’t stop the tide of dollars rolling to the sea. Barb has found some cost savings measures, including finding the perfect floor tile at a warehouse type store we weren’t expecting much from. But since one of the reasons for making this move is to make my commute to work shorter, it is poetic justice that every change we make will just mean my retirement will move further into the future. As I have said before, it is all just karma.
Raff’s Rule of Find the Fun: In a construction project, the opportunities are endless. Barb and I aren’t construction virgins, but this was the first time we really had total control and say over virtually every detail. Yes, that leads to sleepless nights and sometimes endless flip-flops. But it also gives the ultimate satisfaction when the bits and pieces do fall together and the vision that began 15 months ago starts to come together. Peace awaits us.

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To the Family Who Will Buy Our House, Whoever You Are

Our house…

…was our castle and our keep.

Madness, 1982

It is late February now. The weather changes from day to day, bright and sunny on Tuesday, windy and stormy by Wednesday. Most of our trees are bare, though we fear these temperature shifts may confuse them into early budding. And we don’t want confusion. We want it all to be perfect. This will be the last spring we will watch the lawn spring to life, the last Mother’s Day weekend Barb will spend planting her brilliant mix of annuals, the last season we will enjoy the magnificent white explosion of the magnolia at the end of the driveway. By spring of next year we will be in our new home, loving it I am sure, but missing this house, the house that has been our castle for so long.

We trust you will enjoy this home and this neighborhood as much as we have. This is the place where our children grew from toddlers to graduate students before heading out on their own. A place of backyard dance parties and Grand Staircase prom pictures. Kitchen table games of “Sorry” as intense as any episode of “Game of Thrones.” Annual Father’s Day driveway basketball challenges against my sister’s family, that always seemed to end with Laury in tears. The chanting of B’nai Mitzvah practices and the tinkling of piano practices. Technology progressing from dial up modem to hardwired home network to whole house WiFi, as Barb and I binged on our favorite anti-heroes: Tony Soprano, Walter White, Jax Teller.

Will you understand the love and care that Barb put into choosing every fixture and floor tile? Will you cherish the master bath light fixture we stumbled on in Las Vegas, the kitchen fixture we discovered while staring through the window of a closed lighting shop on a cold Thanksgiving Day in Charleston, South Carolina? We hope you will appreciate the skill of Stan the Cabinet Man, whose creations support the beautiful marble countertop on the kitchen island. Or maybe you will just like the bones of the house, and will choose to make major changes in the decor. It will be your house, your opportunity. We just hope you are gentle!

We are still debating when to put the house up for sale. Assuming (should we assume?) all goes well, our new Ranch on the Pond won’t be ready until autumn, so we will prefer not to move much before then. But we imagine you are a family with children. You will want to be in your new house by mid-August to take advantage of the great neighborhood schools. We understand– and don’t think for a minute we would be moving out of the Stevenson School District if we still had teens! So we will put the house on the market early, probably a spring real estate listing. Maybe you will see it online, or maybe your realtor will bring you to the house and you will be blown away. Mortgage rates should still be low, so that should be a plus. And who knows, after you see the property you might Google us and come across this blog and maybe that will help convince you to buy. But if the timing is just right, that graceful magnolia at the end of the drive will be in full bloom. And this house will win your hearts.

CORRECTION: The original version of this post stated the Las Vegas fixture was in the dining room. Oops!

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Turning 60 Along With Some Of My Friends

They say it’s your birthday…

…it’s my birthday too yea.

The Beatles, 1968

This is it. Today I am 60. And no, I don’t feel ancient or even feel senior. I don’t feel creaky, and I don’t feel like I am on the downside of the slope. Personally and professionally, I still feel on top! Of course, right now the new house is a low point. What else can you call a hole in the ground? But I am sure it will soon begin to rise, even if Barb has to commit a few homicides on contractors to get it going. Believe me, she is motivated AND capable!

Who else is turning 60 this year? Most of our friends have already hit that milestone, but lots of celebrities join me as mid-to-late baby boomers born in 1956. We grew up with black and white TV’s without a remote control, music spinning on vinyl, and movies shot on film. But we have grown and mostly prospered in this changed digital world. A few memorable 56’ers:

Tom Hanks: A great actor, and if he hadn’t starred in Splash, Madison would never have become such a popular name.
Carrie Fisher: When we caught her one woman show in Chicago, didn’t realize we would be seeing her back in Star Wars. Who knew?
Bryan Cranston: Sure, we liked him on Seinfeld and Malcolm, but Breaking Bad was our first TV binge. Was it because of Mr. White, or did Barb have a crush on Jessie?
Joe Montana: A 56er by birth, a 49er forever.
Rod Blagojevich: A believer in tradition- Step 1 become Governor of Illinois, Step 2 Go to prison. Good thing my political career ended at School Board President.
John Lydon: When your band mate’s name is Sid Vicious, it’s amazing that you reach 60, even if you are Johnny Rotten.
Geena Davis: Great memories of Laury’s favorite movie, A League of Their Own. With Tom Hanks as her manager, what could go wrong?
Bob Saget: Another hero of our kids’ childhood. But Fuller House? Really?
Maureen McCormick: Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. I have NOTHING more to say. Really.
Mel Gibson: Mad Max Fury Road was one of my favorite movies of 2015. Oh wait, Mel wasn’t in it. Loved Charlize though.
Marc Trestman: One last Illinois tradition. Step 1 become Bear coach, Step 2 lose, Step 3 Get fired.

60 will be grand. And I promise to write all about it.

Cheers!

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Building A House; It’s Not a Sprint It’s a Marathon

You know where it ends, yo

it usually depends

on where you start.

“What it’s Like”, Everlast, 1998

“Good Afternoon Ladies and Gentleman, it’s a beautiful afternoon at Riverwoods Park. This is your racetrack announcer Phil Georgeff on the call as the horses come out for the final race, The Empty Nester Derby, a stakes race for seniors. We have eight magnificent contenders. The track is fast and we anticipate quick times, but you never know what surprises this course may hold.

The horses are at the gate, they’re at the gate…aaaaand they’re off! Gotta Buy a Lot takes the early lead, but is quickly eclipsed by Might Change Our Minds. It’s a two horse race for the first few furlongs. Now Might Change our Minds is fading as Gotta Buy a Lot reclaims her place at the head of the line.

Moving past the quarter mile pole, Banking Blues is really picking up speed and challenging the leaders. He gets in front and then slows down the pace! These horses are barely crawling around the track. Friends I have never seen anything like this before! Finally Financing in Place is shooting through a gap as his jockey sends an angry glare at Banking Blues. Banking Blues rider is dismounting in disgust! Even she can’t believe how slow her steed is running.

The horses are approaching the far turn with Draft Those Plans and Homeowners Association Rules dueling it out for the lead. These horses are really steaming Not a nose separates them. It is a battle royale as these magnificent horses pound the track. What’s this? Homeowners Association Rules’ jockey is pulling out a muntin and flogging Draft Those Plans! I’m telling you, this race has everything!

Here they come, spinning out of the turn. We have a new leader as Show em the Shingles gives a late kick and Homeowners Association Rules fades into the pack. And on the outside for the first time there is some action from Get that Permit. Get that Permit is roaring into the lead. But she is not alone. Village Fees is coming on strong. It neck and neck, nostrils flaring, as they thunder down the homestretch. Village Fees just seems to be getting bigger and bigger! But what’s this? Village Fees stumbles and at the wire it’s Get that Permit by an eyelash! Get that Permit is the winner.”

That’s right we have a construction permit! The building can commence, and you are here at the beginning. It’s like being with Elvis in Memphis, the Beatles in Hamburg or Springsteen in Asbury Park. So have fun and enjoy the ride, the next race, The Construction Stakes, is about to begin!

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Home Building; It’s Not A Sprint, It’s A Marathon

You know where it ends, yo

it usually depends

on where you start.

“What it’s Like”, Everlast, 1998

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Menagerie à Trois: Almost As Much Fun As It Sounds

We gotta get out of this place…

…if it’s the last thing we ever do.

The Animals-1965

You all remember Max . Our 90 pound multi-breed will greet you at the door with his Irish Wolf Hound-like smile, a loud but friendly bark, and a demand to be loved. He is Barb’s shadow, though happiest when I am giving him his nightly chin rub. When I do, his swishing tail cools the bedroom like a powerful Casablanca fan. Phoebe, our featherweight kitten, is much less likely to be seen when you stop by to visit, but for Barb and I she is a rolling ball of fluff who loves a good tummy massage and racing us up the staircase. Although Max’s aging joints will love living in a ranch home and Phoebe the speed burner might hate it, the two are our Model U.N. picture of peaceful coexistence.

This Thanksgiving our weekend has been livened up by a visitor primed to end our domestic tranquility. With Laury travelling for the holiday, we have stepped in under the provisions of the “Forever Plan” to baby sit Charlie, Laury’s six year old Havanese puppy. Charlie was Laury’s loving companion through her years in New York City and transition back to Chicago, and is always a welcome visitor in our home.

The American Kennel club describes the Havanese breed as ” a small, sturdy dog of immense charm”. Charlie is indeed small, is indeed sturdy, and does his exuberant best to demonstrate immense charm. He can bounce high off any floor or wall, gobble up cat food faster than Phoebe can come out of hiding, and his playfulness has helped Max remember what it was like to be a doggie adolescent again. Like all dogs, he loves Barb to death and tolerates me as necessary. He comes equipped with little blue pills for us to slather in peanut better and give him nightly (the pills are for behavior, not for the other blue pill type of problem,) as well as a limited supply of Valium. The Valium is to be ingested when he demonstrates too much “Crazy Havanese Time”, but the instructions Laury left were unclear. We are not sure if we are supposed to give Charlie the Valium or take it ourselves. Fortunately, Charlie was on a leash when a magnificent looking coyote trotted across our front yard yesterday; if not, Charlie might have waggled over to say “Hi!” and become an excellent appetizer.

Laury will be picking up her pooch later today, ending our Thanksgiving holiday. But before the weekend closes, let me give thanks. I am blessed with a loving wife and healthy, growing, family. Nothing brings me greater joy. I am thankful for the professional skills and opportunities both Barb and I have that allow us to be of service to our community. I celebrate the roof over our heads, and the fun we will have doing it all over again while building our empty nest home. And I am grateful and proud that I have been able to chronicle it all in these posts, and that so many readers have gotten to know us and say “I didn’t know you could do that!”

In closing, an entertainment note for our local readers. “We Gotta Get Out of This Place”, the big hit for The Animals, was written by the Brill Building songwriting team of Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil. Their story is a part of the Carole King musical “Beautiful”, which is just coming to town. If you love music, King, or just a good time, you must see this show!

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Food for Thought–37 Years of a Great Wife and Great Chicago Restaurants

Food glorious food…

…hot sausage and mustard

Oliver!–Lionel Bart, 1960

Not much on the housing front this week, but today is a special day. Barb and I are celebrating our wedding anniversary! We have been married since 1978, and for thirty seven years we have used our anniversary as a chance to indulge ourselves. Travel (for the family), jewelry (his or hers), and a designer purse or two (all hers). But those of you who know us best know that we like nothing better than sampling Chicago’s fine restaurants. Looking back over our anniversary dinners is our personal timeline through the chefs and trends that have been earning their Mobil stripes and Michelin stars here.

We didn’t start out as foodies! Our first favorite restaurant was the Gino’s East Pizza. The original one on Superior, not the less stellar suburban outposts. Our admiration of Gino’s started on our first date, a polo game at the Chicago Armory followed by deep dish cheese pizza. It’s a good thing Barb liked the pizza, she was less than thrilled with watching polo. An afternoon wedding at the Drake Hotel meant we were close enough, and hungry enough, for dinner at Gino’s on our wedding night, and we followed that up with anniversary pizzas through the next several years.

When we finally broke the Gino’s streak, it was to return to the Drake for a fifth anniversary dinner at the Cape Cod Room, one of Chicago’s longest lasting fine restaurants. It was a little old and creaky way back then in 1983, and I hear it is getting little older and creakier, but it will go on forever, just like our marriage. Hey, we are getting older and creakier too!

Over the next 30 years, Chicago Magazine has been our guide and directory for Anniversary Night. If a place was at the top of the Best Restaurant List, we had to check it out. Booth One at the Pump Room. Traditional French cuisine from the late Jean Banchet at Les Francais. Charlie Trotter, Graham Elliot, Carlos, Jackie, Jimmy and Yoshi, you name the celebrity chef, we toasted our anniversary at their place. From airborne Everest to subterranean Les Nomades we indulged and always found room for dessert. Tru and Ria were good, Trump Tower’s Sixteen, and the Belden Stratford’s Ambria were better. There were a few stumbles along the way; Grace didn’t get our blessing and we weren’t too surprised when L2O sunk.

Most special of all? Let’s go back to the early 2000’s. We read the great reviews for a place called Trio in the north suburbs. An anniversary dinner without the long drive downtown, a double treat for us. We loved the meal, but I said to Barb that “this chef is a little too avant-garde for conservative Evanston. I hope he makes it, but I predict he doesn’t last too long here.” I was right, sort of. Within a few years that young chef, a guy by the name of Grant Achatz, had left Evanston behind and had cooked up Alinea. For an anniversary dinner or any other reason you can think of, there is nothing like Alinea. And Halsted Street might not be as close to home for us as Evanston, but it is still a lot closer than the Loop!

What’s on tap for Year 37? If you see us at Brindille Saturday night, buy us a drink! And Barb, the restaurants have been great, but they have only been special because I have been there with you. Happy anniversary, Babe!

Send your anniversary wishes, or any other news of note to les.raff@post.com.

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photo credit: Tommy’s Chili Dog via photopin (license)

First “Doctors without Borders”, Now “Pathologists without Houses”

All in all it’s just…

…another brick in the wall

Pink Floyd–1979

WARNING–PARODY ALERT–WARNING–PARODY ALERT–WARNING

(The following script for a never recorded television advertisement for “Pathologists without Houses” was discovered in a drainage ditch somewhere in Chicagoland.)

Narrator speaking in hushed tones with an upper class British accent:

This is a lot in suburban Chicago. Its measurements and exact location are unimportant. What we observe is that it is empty, save for the grass and wildflowers that grow naturally in this semi-temperate climate. Adjacent to it are homes, roads, a large pond. But whilst the surrounds are teeming with life, this lot lays unimproved, uninhabited, and defenseless as another winter creeps its way into the suburban milieu. Excavation and concrete may be in the future, but for today they are held in abeyance, hostage to permits and licenses and laborers with the skill and desire to exercise their trade in the the hinterlands surrounding the great metropolis.

Narrator continues:

These are the homesteaders, a pathologist, a therapist, who seek to tame this square of Midwest savannah. Their weapons are many, but cause no harm. Stone and Sub-Zero, muntins and Maytag, windows and Wolf. Choices must be made, the totality of the task assessed and each decision correctly fitted into the jigsaw puzzle that will produce order from chaos, a home on this virgin land that was once graced by golf balls and pitching wedges. For this will be their territory, the center point of their life and the spot their brood can return to. To live in harmony with the surrounding tribes, and to defend against the wild animals that roam.

Further Narration:

Not all the beasts are wild though. For the couple has domestic creatures in their household. A canine beast of burden that delivers the news of the day through blinding blizzards and swirling Sirocco. A feline that dedicates her life to preserving the wealth of the clan by spreading her fur across all pieces of furniture large and small, marking them with the family crest. Loyal to the core, these quadrupeds have earned their spot in the home.

But how is this house to become a reality? “Pathologists without Houses” seeks your help. We ask for no funding. We challenge the loyal reader to continue to follow along, and to spread the word. You can show your support of ‘Pathologists without Houses” in the following ways:

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No architects were harmed in the making of this advertisement. “Pathologists without Houses” is an imaginary 403B non-profit organization.
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