The Simpson Blog

Man, this house. It's been a year now since we moved to our rancher in London, and it's been a never-ending series of calamities, puzzles, annoyances and expenses. The story about the concrete steps that were poured last fall and proceeded to sink a foot will have to wait until another time -- we're laying the groundwork for a legal case against the contractor. For now, let's stick with the frustrating but amusing story of the raccoons. At the start of May, we took a shot at cleaning out the garage. We took it back to the walls. The walls were filthy with animal smears. Footprints, body grease, and general gunk from years of having assorted wildlife come in through the unable-to-be-closed garage door. Amanda wanted the walls torn down. I wanted to paint the walls. I liked having walls and was willing to do the painting, but not equipped nor motivated to tear down drywall, scoop out whatever was in there, and haul the debris somewhere. So, I painted. Looked gr