Hasn’t Ended Yet!

So, today, we rise from bed. (No, it’s not Good Friday; it’s Saturday.)

Minutes later, Hubby says, “I think we have a problem.”

“What?” But did I need to ask?

Nope, I didn’t.

“There’s a missing trap.”

Hubby had three traps set in the kitchen–only at nights when I’m in bed ’cause I don’t like to see them. Apparently, he got up in the middle of the night.

“We did have three, right?” he asks.

I groan. “Yes, there were three.” I sigh. I want to go back to bed. This is totally ridiculous. And out of control.

Coincidentally, mice scurried through my head while sleeping. No, not a dream. Some sort of wafting thought that invaded my tranquility when it hit me that carrot pieces and nuts would surely be behind the refrigerator and under the dishwasher, and perhaps that’s where they were hiding.

So, after our showers, etc., Hubby finds the trusty broom handle and flashlight, lies on the kitchen floor, and tries to see/sweep out the trap (with or without the dead/alive mouse). He soon gives up on the broom and devices a coat hanger contraption. Low and behold: a live mouse on the stickie trap. OUT IT GOES, thanks to Hubby…BACK IN THE FIELD, SOMEWHERE. (I didn’t watch except to supervise.)

I’m thinking now the point of entry (a dreaded thought that went through my head during the night) is behind the dishwasher again. A couple of years ago, my sweet dearly departed ever-missed son Matt covered the surface behind the dishwasher with heavy plastic and duct tape (duct tape works wonders, does it not?). Problem solved, we all thought.

That problem may have been solved. The dratted critters could have discovered another entry point, but there is no way to know for certain until we pull out the dishwasher. At the time Matt “solved the problem,” we had just installed a granite countertop and had the devil of a time re-positioning the dishwasher. I dread moving it again. It’s not a job for Hubby and Wifey, for Wifey does not enjoy these types of events. So, I suggested that tomorrow, AFTER dinner (and numerous drinks) we utilize the two men guests who will have enjoyed a scrumptious dinner (thanks to Wifey). Surely three able-bodied men can pull out and push back a dishwasher!

Nope, Hubby says we can’t do that. Not on Easter Sunday. Not after we’ve invited them to dinner.

But they’re family! Family helps family, right? And if it doesn’t get done tomorrow, when will it get done? Never, that’s when!

So, I’m here, languishing with my vino. Wondering…pondering… Is there a safe haven anywhere in the world?

 

ANOTHER SEGMENT—OR TWO. Will it ever end?

Today is Good Friday, supposedly a day of relaxation and to remember “whatever.” For me, it’s remembering my mother who died on Good Friday in 2016. Of course, she didn’t die two years ago today since the date of Good Friday changes every year. I thank Facebook for reminding me of her death on March 24 cause I’m horrid with dates. I’ll never forget Mom died on Good Friday, but I won’t always remember the 24^th.

We have family coming for dinner on Sunday. EEK! Thirteen people, now that I count; that’s unlucky and I don’t need more bad luck, so I’ll set a place setting for Matt and put his photograph on the chair. This will be our second Easter without him.

For the past few weeks, I’d been searching for my high stool that magically disappeared. The only place it could have been was in our large, walk-in linen closet that was stogged so full you couldn’t see the floor or the shelving. I asked Hubby to help me organize it. He’s always eager to throw stuff out, so perhaps he had the wrong impression re my request as he was most accommodating.  We got a few things moved out, and low and behold: my stool! Sadly, I’d accused Hubby of taking it and forgetting where he’d put it; I had even gone as far as saying “someone must have stolen it.” (Who, I didn’t know.)

And then I saw them: turds. Oh My Gosh–to put it mildly. In my linen closet?! Never, ever have they been in the closet. I needed to remove everything. Long story and job that was, so I won’t even start that tirade.

Needless to say, it was more than a morning’s work. And then I had to wash numerous precious items, most of them by hand. And NOT how I wanted to spend Good Friday–or any day, for that matter. I needed a drink (or two) badly, but 11 a.m. was a bit early, even for me.

So, now I have an extremely (for me) neat linen closet.

Okay, so it doesn’t look THAT neat, not in the photo. And it’s way bigger than it looks, too. It’s very deep and long. Six (or more) people can easily fit in it, not that THAT matters!

But, GAH, mice in my linen closet? What the heck! And where are they coming from?

After that, we tackled the TV cabinet. [If you’ve read my earlier post(s), you’ll understand.] Hubby removed all the electronics. GAH: more peanut shells. He was great, though, he dusted like crazy. First time I’ve seen him dust–or clean!

PART TWO TO THE SAGA:

Once the linen closet and the TV cabinet were clean, I tackled the office (where I spend my days writing stories no one ever reads). It wasn’t in that bad a shape, but the surfaces needed organized and books replaced back on shelves. It’s also my library.

So, I opened the bottom drawer of Hubby’s desk to stog stuff into it.

Low and behold: peanut shells and turds.

Oh my! What has my life become?

I had kinda been joking in earlier posts when I said how I constantly look over my shoulders, but you know what? I need to. They’re everywhere. And who knows where!

It’s now 4:44 p.m. Time for a drink, right? (Maybe two…maybe three…)

And this is how my Good Friday went. I hope yours is/was better.

“Happy Easter,” says Oliver the Rabbit.