Happy New Year!

Here's a favorite moment of mine from 2008. (It's in Cornwall, but there were others like it in Maine.)

May 2009 offer many sunlit days with books, for all of us.

Pondering Mickeycide

I am a heartless woman. Why, just this afternoon I was sitting at the mechanic's hoping he'd suck a mouse into his vaccuum cleaner. (Some friends of mine actually did that with mouse babies once. They didn't recommend the experience. That's why I was hoping it would be the mechanic's vaccuum cleaner, so it would never be mine.)

A mouse seems to be living in my car's heating system, decorating. It's a busy mouse, Pete the mechanic says, one of the Many Very Energetic Mice (who) Jumped Slowly Under Neath Peter when I was trying to remember the planets back in grade school, back when there was still a Pluto.

My car smells like an untended hamster cage and the heater fan sounds like a jet engine eating a streetlight. I've been in twice to have Pete vaccuum out clumps of mouse architecture, and the fan sounds normal for a day or two before it sucks more m.a. into itself. No idea whether the mouse is still making his/her (their? oh lord) way back to the nest, or whether this is all the handiwork of autumn. (Or maybe of summer, since it seems to me the fan was slightly noisier than usual in August.)

I'm going to have to get mousetraps, and place them in the engine, and then hope to hell I remember to take them out before driving away. (What are the chances of that?)

I know, I know, I could get a have-a-heart trap. We've used them in the house, catching the critters and releasing them a fair distance away in the woods. Surely, we thought, they'd be distracted or eaten on their way back. Then Rob started to see a strong family resemblance in the mice we caught, so he painted the current one's tail red. Sure enough, the next mouse in the trap had a red tail.

I suppose we could drive them off in the car and dump them far, far away. (That's assuming I remember to take the trap out of the engine.) But the next question is whether a have-a-heart will even fit in the engine anywhere.

I suspect that Mickeycide might be easier, if less pleasant.

Don't suggest the cat. She's an indoor cat, because of all the coyotes and hawks out there. I know, it's nature's great plan--she rids my car of mice, a coyote exacts revenge. But if we send her to her death, who will scratch the woodwork for us? And it's no less Mickeycide if you let the cat do it. (Sort of like extraditing the mouse to another country for less humane treatment, to introduce a somber note.)

Lessee. Cheese or peanut butter? If you were a mouse, which would you prefer?

Eye of the Beholder

I've been meaning to link to this for a while but kept forgetting. Since I bad-mouthed Rhode Island corruption when the Blogojevich thing broke, it's only fair to point out that, statistically, other states are much worse than Little Rhody.

Notice the charts beside that story, though. Although other states scored higher on "number of guilty officials" and "guilty officials per capita," when you ask state house reporters how much corruption they see around them, Rhode Island wins (or loses, depending on your point of view).

So I guess that means Rhode Island officials do all the same things Floridians do, but manage not to get caught. Which explains why corruption stories in Rhode Island have such a fond, humorous tone. There's nothing as endearing as a dextrous crook...an attitude left over from our frontier days, possibly.

Aftermath

Mentioning no names, someone within the sound of my voice--someone within the sound of my brain, actually--is going to have to get reacquainted with her NordicTrak, and right quick. The sad thing is, we still have tons of cookies left, plus half a squash pie.

I'm just grateful that the scale is upstairs, and I'm still showering downstairs so I don't get on it anymore.

Here's why I am girth-enhanced:

First, a tableful of good cooks, replete with each other's bounty, yukking it up in the postprandial segment of our neighborhood Christmas feast. There were 13 of us for dinner, 17 for dessert, at Cope's and Greg's house. That's Cope at the end of the table in blue, next to Rob. I decided not to use the previous shot, which was better in some respects except that Rob was flipping the bird at the photographer. Ah, forever young.

Nancy and Viv serve pie, while Tim and Greg salivate.

The young-uns plus Greg, whose wonderful daughter Golda is on the right. Also in the photo are Andrew and Luke (seated) and Josh, Golda's estimable partner.

And finally, in the true Christmas spirit, Cope and I blur out. (Boy, do I need a haircut.)

Santa Sightings

Santa is in Gori, Georgia, as I type.

Oops, nope, just checked again, and now he's in Azerbaijan.

I know because NORAD tracks him using "radar, satellites, Santa Cams and fighter jets," and broadcasts video of him on-line.

What an utterly cool thing to do. Thanks, NORAD.

And, in case I don't get back here, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Lovely, Dark, and...

Pissed off.

This applies only to Rob, who had to scoop and shovel all 18 inches of snow singlehandedly because His Beloved is a knee jerk. All I managed to do was clean off the cars, which seemed like it wouldn't involve much knee action.

I was so thrilled by it all that you'd almost think I was capable of skiing. If I were permitted to ski, I'd be insufferable right now.

Here are some shots, because I can't help myself:

Season's Greetings, a Minor Rant

Happy Hanukkah/Yule/Solstice!

Speaking of which, I've had it with the Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas debate. I keep seeing letters to the editor griping about how this is a Christian Nation (huh?) and how anyone who says "Happy Holidays" is somehow dissing Christmas. (The same way gay marriage is an attack on straight marriage, I guess.)

If you want to wish me a Merry Christmas, by all means do so, and I hope we both have a wonderful holiday. But don't complain when the rest of us acknowledge that other important cultures have celebrations at this time of year, too.

In cold climates, late December is a dark time, greatly in need of light and cheer and the promise that Old Sol hasn't gone for good. We're all in this together, so stop letting the dark win, OK?

It may be that Maine newspapers get more letters on this subject than elsewhere, so pardon me if my tone seems overwrought. On the other hand, I've noticed that TV newscasters are tending to say: "Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!" Which seems like a neat response to the problem.

In other seasonal news, the annual carol sing at the Rockbound Chapel (pictured at left) got canceled by this afternoon's snow. It's a big disappointment, but a wise decision considering the number of older folks who turn out. Here's what the carol sing looked like two years ago:


That's my friend Leslie with the red scarf in front. I hasten to add that I wasn't including her in the "old folks" comment. Nor myself. Heh.

The wind's starting to howl out there. I have to admit, I'm glad I won't be driving home from the Rockbound Chapel in half an hour. Perfect weather to brew up a nice cuppa and settle down with a good book. Rob's making chocolate chip cookies as his contribution to the annual sack of cookies we give the neighbors, but of course I won't have any.

Right.