an outing and a quiet day

In the middle of the night, a story idea comes to me. I must remember it for tomorrow -- I tell myself. But I don't trust my memory from these wakeful hours of the night and so I take out my computer and start typing. And I continue for many hours.

Isie boy has been fetched and brought back to the farmhouse and he is happy to be on the big bed with the very puffy quilt. The night is quiet.

Until I hear the telltale sound of mouse feet downstairs.

Ed goes down to check -- the traps are now closed but empty. He resets them. In a few minutes, the noise is there again. This time I go down and sure enough -- we have ourselves two mice tonight! Surely we are now reaching for the last cousins of this very extended family!


We wake up to cold again. The snow outside is pretty, but not heavy enough to allow for skiing. Honestly, it is a perfect day to stay home and work on my essay ideas.

But I do have one task for today and it is a wonderful one: after breakfast with Ed...






...I go with my daughter to pick up a Christmas tree for her home. I wont be here to assist with the trimming, but at least I can keep to the tradition of helping her select one for this holiday that she loves so much.






As the tree is being tied to the roof of the car, I notice, to my dismay, that I have the two traps with the two mice still in the car. I was to release them in the fields. Predictably, I forgot.

Our next stop is at Clasen's Bakery -- the place of the wonderful chocolate covered gingerbread that truly does remind me of similar sweet treats in Poland (the bakery is German).










For a minute I entertain the thought of releasing the two mice just outside. While I'm remembering them. After all, there surely must be a litter of crumbs from the bakery. My saner side prevails. If a mouse slipped inside, what chaos it would bring to this world of candies, breads and cookies!

I leave my daughter with her tree and drive back to the countryside. Out you go, micies! Into the fields and through the woods.


The farmhouse is quiet today. Guests gone, cheepers stubbornly hiding in the barn. I don't see a single one the whole day.





I work on my essay, I make changes to my manuscript. Ed tells me -- why would you want to travel when you look so happy doing just this?
I have no explanation. For now I stay with the sweet clicking sound of my little laptop, not minding the cold, or the light cover of snow, or the quickly darkening skies outside.