Skip to main content

Hail The Conquering Heroines!

Yesterday, I got an email from my cousin that said, "I've been noticing your tweets on your blog and I wanted to buy you a gift, but Ikea is closed when I'll be in Toronto on Friday...I thought it could keep you company when Nadine's not around and your "friend" has been, um, taken care of. :)"

Thank you, Lisa. You know, I kind of think they're adorable and cute and would welcome their company any day! (Can't wait to see you next weekend either!)

---

Nadine stuck her head in my room this morning to tell me that we had caught a mouse in our trap (HALLELUJAH!) and that she had put it in the garbage (ALL BY HERSELF!) and that she was now taking the garbage out.

We have overcome. 

Ironically, we got a memo from our superintendent yesterday that they're doing a pest control sweep of our building after a few mouse sightings... on Monday.

Well. Hopefully we have killed both the building's varmints (all y'all naysayers better not tell me, "It's never just two mice, Beth...") and the management's efforts will be in vain. I wish this, not because I want them to waste money, but because I want all the mice to be gone.

I told someone recently who suggested we adopt the mouse as a pet, "If I ever have a pet (I doubt I will),  I want to be sure that it is disease-free. And be spayed or neutered so that my pet population doesn't unintentionally increase." Frankly, if I knew our now-dead-mouse was disease free and not reproducing, and if he kept up his habit of pooing outside our apartment, I don't think I'd mind him all that much.

Comments

  1. Didn't your family have a pet mouse when you were little?

    ReplyDelete
  2. Yep. We did.

    I cried when it died. It was very upsetting. But now I don't even remember its name.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I thought it was your family, but I wasn't sure. I remember being scared of it :) Thanks for the shout out! See you soon!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thi...

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro...

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...