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mlerules'Twas just a tad too chilly out for a sustained weeding session today. Instead I roamed around CopperMoon, taking care of stuff inside (laundry, dishes, packing for o'mnorrow's return drive to the Hive, uploading music, burning CDs, &c.) and outside (chopping wood into kindling, shunting firewood to the Wood-Housenear the house (as well as an armful inside for a fire tonight). I do so like having a Wood Stove here at CopperMoon/home North and the eves're still cold enough to justify FIRE).
I enjoyed t'other outside activity far less than dealing w/wood, although 'twas equally necessary.
Kess the CuMoon Kittenhead has had a fine time switching from indoor cat to outdoor cat, even as she's enjoyed reverting at least part-time to the former at times recently. As a successful member of the latter category, she's recently earned her Mousing badge. Apparently this requires leaving behind evidence of her prowess.
So, this afternoon I found yet another handy-dandy use for nitrile gloves (supplemented by a bright red Rogue brewery bag): scooping up torsos, heads, guts (some combo of kidneys/liver/heart, I think - it's been too long since I've looked at rodent anatomy pics to know for sure) of three mousies.
Of course I could not help but think of the children's poem "3 Blind Mice"...and filking it into "3 Dead Mice." After that, since I was already on a roll, I emptied the mousetrap of its long-dead stiff mousiekin.
My mind zips back to the summer of 1983. After escaping a Very Bad Situation via a last-minute cross-country Greyhound bus adventure, LJ-free Danno & I got jobs at Crotched Moutain Ski Resort in New Hampshire. They held company retreats/picnics there to bring in some moola in during the off-season. We did a variety of work at the place, including painting the building indoors (me) and out (Danno), working in the kitchen (I'd come home reeking of steamers), &c. At one point they sent us over to the other ski lodge to clean it up, as nobody'd apparently done so since it closed for the season the previous Winter. It was now Summertime.
Long-story short: rats + box of Lost & Found items (warm wool clothes) + poison left behind when they'd closed for season = many Many MANY dead rats + rat heads + (for some unfathomable reason) lotsa rat brains which'd oozed outta skulls + some leftover LIVE rats springing out unexpectedly.
Keep in mind that I at an impressionable age when I saw both Ben and Willard on the big screen. *eep* Danno & I worked out a good division of labor. I would deal w/all dead rats 'n' rat brains &c. while he had to deal with the live ones. For some reason my squeamishness made me less willing to dispatch live ones while his trouble came w/the dead ones.
And I'm not even gonna go into details 'bout the upstairs bar where they'd left a garbage can of fruit behind, other than to note that I HATE MAGGOTS and that I will swear in a court of law that I heard 'em SCREAM/SQUEAL as they squirmed. I deal with them then - and I have done so since, but I really Really REALLY dislike 'em.
Okay, I've been listening to Ben on repeat for a while now. And I've gone into a full-blown nostalgia kick, thinking back on that summer in NH (1983), on Toad Rips to Boston, MA, to Hampton Beach, NH, to my r-ship(s) then, to so much from & about so long ago, to connections, to intimacy, to roads shared, to paths followed, to choices made. I wanna - and will - head back to San Diego on one of my SoCal jaunts and visit w/Danno again.
Emotions: bittersweetness, yearning yet getting nostalgic for what's nearly gone/past/done. Wondering what's next. As someone reminded me recently, there's no shame in hope. Not sure where to set my sights next.
Wandering into realm of wondering how yearnings shift to might've beens, 'bout accepting that potential/possibilities don't always manifest, 'bout decisions to move on, mixed w/my preferring to live mindfully & actively rather than just letting things happen yet also feeling a need for things to unfold organically. Again w/the balance 'tween rut/security/passivity vs.* activity/mindfulness/change/uncertainty. Not sure if'n *VERSUS is the best/only way to consider this balancing act - or even if'n these're what's been balanced/versus'd.
I enjoyed t'other outside activity far less than dealing w/wood, although 'twas equally necessary.
Kess the CuMoon Kittenhead has had a fine time switching from indoor cat to outdoor cat, even as she's enjoyed reverting at least part-time to the former at times recently. As a successful member of the latter category, she's recently earned her Mousing badge. Apparently this requires leaving behind evidence of her prowess.
So, this afternoon I found yet another handy-dandy use for nitrile gloves (supplemented by a bright red Rogue brewery bag): scooping up torsos, heads, guts (some combo of kidneys/liver/heart, I think - it's been too long since I've looked at rodent anatomy pics to know for sure) of three mousies.
Of course I could not help but think of the children's poem "3 Blind Mice"...and filking it into "3 Dead Mice." After that, since I was already on a roll, I emptied the mousetrap of its long-dead stiff mousiekin.
My mind zips back to the summer of 1983. After escaping a Very Bad Situation via a last-minute cross-country Greyhound bus adventure, LJ-free Danno & I got jobs at Crotched Moutain Ski Resort in New Hampshire. They held company retreats/picnics there to bring in some moola in during the off-season. We did a variety of work at the place, including painting the building indoors (me) and out (Danno), working in the kitchen (I'd come home reeking of steamers), &c. At one point they sent us over to the other ski lodge to clean it up, as nobody'd apparently done so since it closed for the season the previous Winter. It was now Summertime.
Long-story short: rats + box of Lost & Found items (warm wool clothes) + poison left behind when they'd closed for season = many Many MANY dead rats + rat heads + (for some unfathomable reason) lotsa rat brains which'd oozed outta skulls + some leftover LIVE rats springing out unexpectedly.
Keep in mind that I at an impressionable age when I saw both Ben and Willard on the big screen. *eep* Danno & I worked out a good division of labor. I would deal w/all dead rats 'n' rat brains &c. while he had to deal with the live ones. For some reason my squeamishness made me less willing to dispatch live ones while his trouble came w/the dead ones.
And I'm not even gonna go into details 'bout the upstairs bar where they'd left a garbage can of fruit behind, other than to note that I HATE MAGGOTS and that I will swear in a court of law that I heard 'em SCREAM/SQUEAL as they squirmed. I deal with them then - and I have done so since, but I really Really REALLY dislike 'em.
Okay, I've been listening to Ben on repeat for a while now. And I've gone into a full-blown nostalgia kick, thinking back on that summer in NH (1983), on Toad Rips to Boston, MA, to Hampton Beach, NH, to my r-ship(s) then, to so much from & about so long ago, to connections, to intimacy, to roads shared, to paths followed, to choices made. I wanna - and will - head back to San Diego on one of my SoCal jaunts and visit w/Danno again.
Emotions: bittersweetness, yearning yet getting nostalgic for what's nearly gone/past/done. Wondering what's next. As someone reminded me recently, there's no shame in hope. Not sure where to set my sights next.
Wandering into realm of wondering how yearnings shift to might've beens, 'bout accepting that potential/possibilities don't always manifest, 'bout decisions to move on, mixed w/my preferring to live mindfully & actively rather than just letting things happen yet also feeling a need for things to unfold organically. Again w/the balance 'tween rut/security/passivity vs.* activity/mindfulness/change/uncertainty. Not sure if'n *VERSUS is the best/only way to consider this balancing act - or even if'n these're what's been balanced/versus'd.
