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As Thanksgiving 2013 rapidly approaches, I’d like to take a moment to send out a blanket of thanks. A warm, fuzzy blanket of thanks to all the wonderful people in the world, and in my case, especially in Rolfe. We picked the right place to ride out this storm of life!
Tomorrow the “Iowa Agles” will be heading out to Utah for our father’s memorial. It will be good to see our family again and to finally be able to hug each other after the news of our patriarch’s passing. It will also be our chance to say a collective farewell – until we meet again.
Since I’ll be on the road and since Nina needs a little time to catch up, this here blog will be going on hiatus until next Monday. The chapter release will pause for a week as well.
But I digress: As usually happens in time of harvest, a little critter entered my house. A mouse! A mouse! It entered my house!
I’ve been doing fall cleaning in preparation of the holidays and the royal visit of my son, Adam. In doing this cleaning, I found some dried Lima beans at the back of my silverware drawer the other day. YIKES!!!!!!
As a seasoned Iowan, I knew what that meant. A MOUSE HAD DONE IT because that’s what mice do: they take food from one place and move it to another.
After boiling the drawer and boiling it again. I put it out of my mind and went about my business.
The time had finally come to clean the cupboard beneath that drawer. The cupboard that held the bags of dried Lima beans in the first place. The Source. EEK. With Julie on the phone to figuratively hold my hand, I got my dollar store grabber, and prepared. What would I see? Would a horde of the critters now fully grown and fattened come running out at me to gnaw at my ankles and demand their Lima beans back? With Julie’s encouragement, I picked up the first bag of beans.
And immediately dropped it.
In that split second, I had seen my second worst fear: The tiny gray corpse of a dead mouse. In my cupboard. With my popcorn bowls. And remaining dried beans, apparently. Turns out, Julie is as afraid of mice as I am, so she sent Scott over. He bravely went to work as I cowered ten or 12 feet away, lifted the bag of beans and looked beneath it, and….
It was a potato! A shriveled dried potato!
“Of course! Of course!” I cried. “I would never have a dead mouse in my cabinet, Martha Stewart type that I am!”
Although I bet she doesn’t have shriveled potatoes in her cabinets, either.
So let that be a warning to you: Beware of dead potatoes masquerading as dead mice.
And on that note, Happy Thanksgiving to my wonderful friends until we meet again!! May your potatoes be mashed and creamy and not…..I’ll stop right there.