Chef Boy ‘R Mine

A Mouse in the House and a Bat in the Bedroom

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scared

There is evidence of a mouse in my pantry. I hope it’s just a mouse and not mice. Or worse, a squirrel. I’m pretty confident that it’s not a bat.

I loathe mice. Loathe them. More embarrassingly, I’m afraid of them. I think it’s the surprise of the scurry factor – a startle and a cringe. Since they arrive each year about this time, I’ve come a long way. A long time ago, I lived in a rental house that had a mouse. A mouse so brazen, he or she would pop its head up from the burner, saunter across the counter and dip into the dishwater for a drink – the same dishwater that I’d had my hands in nanoseconds before. I was so unnerved by this mouse that I moved into a motel until The Ex could offer proof the evil creature was dead.

I would prefer to have snakes in the house than mice. Snakes are cool and they eat mice. The brief period of time I did have a snake camping out in my home, the vermin problem was nonexistent. Worse than mice are squirrels. Those creatures are nothing but big mice with a flamboyant tail and damaging incisors.

squirrel-eating-acorn

I’ve had squirrels in the house. I found pockets of acorn stash here and there. It took quite a bit of money and perseverance to evict the squirrels. I was pert near ready for the insane asylum by the time that problem got solved. To my credit, I guess, I did not move into a motel. Like I said, I’ve come a long way.

There was the summer of the possum that wanted to sashay about my family room. I put an end to that pretty quickly. No, I merely convinced the possum to move on. No harm came to the possum.

And then there was Willy’s Toad. I wasn’t fond of the toad either – that startle factor thing again.

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Ain’t No Son Shine When He’s Gone

/ wvfurandroot / 1 Comment

a boy and his dogChef Boy ‘R Mine was here for a week and just left Monday morning.  I am all verklempt and singing “Ain’t no son-shine when he’s gone.”  (H/T to Mona and Dena.)

My son lives in Atlanta and, as a chef, works crazy hours including weekends and holidays.  I don’t get to see him often and, when I do, it’s usually just a brief visit.  A whole week was a gift.

chef boy r mineI’m fond of saying to expectant parents that no one ever tells you how much fun kids are.  And, hoo boy, young souls make my soul sing.  But I’m learning that there’s a lot of fun and satisfaction in older children.  My son is very much an adult and living a self-actualized life.  He’s intelligent, articulate and has a wicked good sense of humor.  I enjoy talking to him.  I enjoy sitting in companionable silence with him.  I enjoy watching him play with his dogs.

He cooks for me, sometimes, when he comes home.  This time I bought a filled-to-the-brim grocery cart of quick and easy stuff so he wouldn’t have to cook, but he chose to anyway.  We had a quite marvelous Ricotta Gnocchi Bolognese that was so good we ate it for 3 days without tiring of it.  I said, as I often say when Chef Boy ‘R Mine cooks, that it was the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.  And it was.

gnocciAfter the first round of Gnocchi Bolognese when I was still high on the endorphins of good food, I had no sooner settled into a glass of after-dinner wine when he announced he was going to go wax my car.  I wondered aloud if I was dying and no one had told me.  He had cooked and done most of the cleaning up and was still willing to spend 4 ½ hours waxing my car.

At night, by lamplight, he waxed my car.  Not just waxed it, but washed it, clayed it, compounded it, did this and did that and then something else.  This was not just a wax job, but the kind of attention a car gets with a $400 detailing job.

When I walk to my car, I see a sparkle and shine that reminds me that I have a son who loves me and is willing to spend his vacation days with me.  Adult children, I’m finding, are a great joy.  Life is good.

Candles and Mournful Trains

/ wvfurandroot / 2 Comments

010It’s Sunday evening after a 3-day weekend.  I’m so pleased with myself.  I had an agenda for the weekend and I ticked off most of my items.  Since my agendas are usually very ambitious, most is a good thing.  My baby boy is coming home to visit on Tuesday and I’ve been a whirligirl of activity getting ready for him.  Well, no, not really.  But I got a lot done.

My method, this time, was frenetic bursts of activity punctuated by long periods of rest and relaxation.  This puttering method worked out well.  I’m pleased with all that has been accomplished and at peace with what still needs to b e done.

I celebrated myself and my accomplishments by drinking wine and watching candle flames flicker.  Try as I might, I can’t get the camera to capture what I see as I sit on the couch and survey the coffee table/altar.

There’s a train off in the distance that sounds mournful, but which makes me feel snug and safe.  It’s been a good weekend to be me.