Our little hole

Did I actually refer to our little hole two posts ago? Did I say cheese was one of my favorite things? I am prophetic. Oh, there are oodles to tell. Stick with me.

Back from a late church service last night, Walker has just called his parents and I'm mashing potatoes for an 11 o’clock (mid-western) snack. Our potato masher is plastic, and has been abandoned for not being able to perform its sole function. I'm focused on pressing the fork to the pan when I see a leaf blow toward me and lift my foot out of the way. And. Then. I. See. It. Has. A. Tail. I shriek WALKER!!! and run, and jump up and down, and twitch, and shiver, all while still shrieking. My husband thinks I have burned myself and my mother-in-law has no idea what has happened on the other side of the line. Let the truth be known: a mouse was in our house.

When it comes to bugs, I am not squeamish. Same deal for snakes (except in Tennessee). But with mice, suddenly I have visions of bubonic plague, and my toes being bitten off. So, let it further be proclaimed, we are going to the mattresses, good people of Blogland.

It was off to the hardware store this morning for me, who has never bought, set, or studied a mouse trap in my life. Standing in aisles of fertilizer and light bulbs, I felt at long last like a true adult. And surreptitiously snapped a photo of about one twentieth of my choices with the camera half in my purse, further proof of maturity. Watch out, FBI.


Stay tuned.


Once I stepped outside and the imminent danger of squishing a rodent had disappeared, the world had turned to November, and it was all yellow.


There is nothing so satisfying as waking up at 7:30 on a Sunday to wonder why you’re so awake. Here's thanksgiving for phones that automatically adjust to the time switch.

With November comes more dark, and so the light we get is that much more loved. Take a sec to scroll sslloowwllyy and luxuriate in the yellows, the golds, the light so full-on it pushes even color aside.


Leaves have scented the sidewalks at last with their pleasant must.


I postulate that doors are painted to match the seasons, even if I know that's ridiculous.


Mellow yellow and groovy red, thanks for stoppin' by the party!


Despite Nordic gusts and little light, my floral hero remains alive in our garden. Chin up, buttercup!


Yellow, yellow, it is all yellow this November.

Now, I’m afraid my description of St Andrews so far may be a bit lop-sided towards the perfect. In a stretch for journalistic integrity, allow me to walk you through the main street in town. They are going to the mattresses, baby. Every sidewalk has been ripped out, every store has its own gangplank to allow access. I find it amusing that all this is for only slightly (as in, one foot) wider sidewalks, but I also find it endearing that there isn't an extra inch between these ancient structures. The construction bothers me not at all, as I am in the blissful state of being car-less. For the faithful blog-readers, this is the spot of our infamous pedestrian traffic jam.


And for all things imperfect, yet beautiful, this post is for you. For my lop-sided pumpkin gnocchi tonight, for the bruised apples in our yard, for handwritten signs getting dusty at the hardware.


(I have a not so secret obsession with hardware stores; the lines, the colors, the new wood and old paint smell, the fascinating things, the possibilities. They are like libraries of stuff stacked so perfectly imperfectly.)


For stacks of books in the wrong spot and the never-empty laundry basket, you mean there is life, and time for people instead of perfection. For you, photos with not quite the right focus, but lots of volume and passion . . .


To a house with a mouse, a shower that is being de-clogged, a spiderweb off a lamp, we'll get you soon enough. To this sentence which is being confused by my husband telling me he loves me, I say, give up the concision. Beauty is still being dumped on this imperfect world; that is a miracle worth living for, that grace. Find it in something imperfect (and tell us what you find in a comment! Shameless, I know.)

Fast Forward
We are armed and ready. Every slot between appliances wide enough for a mouse has been jammed with paper towel/toilet paper rolls, and the banquet of brown goop is eagerly awaiting the arrival of its lord. Come to the feast, your highness!


I do not deign journalistic integrity to include an entire documentation of my day, and hope that never happens. But, I will mention that in a happy serendipity I got three surprises in the mail today and squealed. Two letters and package. There is nothing as wholesome as tearing open a really thick envelope with inked words inside.

And, goodie, goodie gumdrops of all: we are planning a vacation this weekend. More to come!

Enjoy today, and hope for tomorrow: the best is always yet to be.