Poor Mouse

This photo is actually over a month old, but even into the midst of December, this pot was almost as green as ever on our kitchen patio.  It's one of the sap buckets Grandpa Smith bought at an auction some time ago.  Mom and Aunt Andrea planted them all with mint and annuals to decorate our wedding reception and we brought one with us, yay.

The real reason for the random picture posting is that today we finally caught a mouse!  Finally. 

I post pictures because I like looking at pictures and figured that other people probably do, too.  But I already promised that there would be no mouse pictures.  In fact, I hardly looked at it myself.  (This is yet another benefit of having a husband who works from home.) 

To back up, when we returned from our January travels, I kept finding mouse droppings all over.  Oh, they were on a cookie sheet under the stove, on the binding of a cookbook on the counter and, yes, still in the towel drawer where I stashed the dryer sheet.  It seems I spoke too soon about the effectiveness of dryer sheets in scaring mice away.  Just a few minutes ago, I was dusting around the computer and found mouse droppings back there.  I do realize that some of you are probably resolving NEVER to visit us on cottage lane as you read this!  But please reconsider; we're trying to fix the problem!

I can just imagine those little mice having a fiesta while we were gone.  There were certainly plenty of nibbled gingerbread ornaments on our, ahem, still standing tree to keep them busy.

It was when I found some droppings in the linen closet that I finally alerted John.  It was just too much and he agreed.  We've had the traps out randomly in the kitchen and I didn't honestly expect to catch anything last night, but he set one in the linen closet anyway.  Success.

Of course, the moment I saw the poor mouse I felt pity for it.  Hey, I wouldn't have minded if they'd enjoyed our gingerbread cottage for a Christmas feast, but they can't be soiling our house.  I know that I could have cleaned the trap myself, and therefore didn't need to prove it to anyone, okay?  My sweet husband dumped the little thing and expressed some pity on it himself.  Yet, in the spirit of manly and womanly dominion (the subject of a conference we both recently attended), we're confident that we're not trespassers on this earth or in our home.  The mouse and all his friends must go.  If you're a friend of that dead mouse, you may fear for your life.

Thoughts to Hate

My handsome husband

We spent January away from home, a fact which I feel the freedom to disclose now that we're home!  One day we went up to the camp of a family from church in the Adirondacks to enjoy the beauty and a big fire. 

I spent a bit of time walking in solitude, drinking in the fresh air, and communing with God. 

 That awful night in December when my worsening pains drained away the hopes we had for the life of the baby we were expecting, my eye fell on a photocopy of a selection from Spurgeon's Morning and Evening.  It reads,

If none of God's saints were poor and tried, we should not know half so well the consolations of divine grace.  When we find the wanderer who has not where to lay his head, who yet can say, "Still will I trust in the Lord;" when we see the pauper starving on bread and water, who still glories in Jesus; when we see the bereaved widow overwhelmed in affliction, and yet having faith in Christ, oh! what honour it reflects on the gospel.  God's grace is illustrated and magnified in the poverty and trials of believers.  Saints bear up under every discouragement, believing that all things work together for their good, and that out of apparent evils a real blessing shall ultimately spring--that their God will either work a deliverance for them speedily, or most assuredly support them in the trouble, as long as He is pleased to keep them in it.  This patience of the saints proves the power of divine grace.  There is a lighthouse out at sea: it is a calm night--I cannot tell whether the edifice is firm; the tempest must rage about it, and then I shall know whether it will stand.  So with the Spirit's work: if it were not on many occasions surrounded with tempestuous waters, we should not know that it was true and strong; if the winds did not blow upon it, we should not know how firm and secure it was.  The master-works of God are those men who stand in the midst of difficulties, stedfast, unmoveable,--

"Calm mid the bewildering cry,

Confident of victory."

He who would glorify his God must set his account upon meeting with many trials.  No man can be illustrious before the Lord unless his conflicts be many.  If then, yours be a much-tried path, rejoice in it, because you will the better show forth the all-sufficient grace of God.

[And then, the part that most reached my soul,]

As for His failing you, never dream of it--hate the thought.  The God who has been sufficient until now, should be trusted to the end.

(March 4 Morning)

My brother, Derek, in action

Mittens

The title of this post makes me smile because "mittens" is also a Latin word for "sending."  (Present active participle, if I remember correctly, for those who know and care!)

This is the second pair of four-needle mittens I've made and kept; the fourth, I suppose that I've actually made, because I ripped out a couple of early attempts with weird patterns I tried.  This pattern is from freevintageknitting (http://www.freevintageknitting.com/mittens/615-mittens-pattern.html).  It's great because it has numbers for five different sizes!  I just added the cables and some increases to adjust for the cables.  And since I was using Paton's Shetland Chunky yarn, they came out a bit larger than the pattern said, which, come to think of it, may be why one of my attempts got ripped out.  Anyway, it's a nice wool-blend yarn with the washability of acrylic.  They were a present, along with an Olivia book, for John's dear little niece turning 7. 

It's great to be back at our home on cottage lane, though I do feel a bit overwhelmed with all there is to be caught up on.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

It's been a while, and Christmas has come and gone in a flurry of travels and family time.  Besides busy-ness, it's been a time of sorrow for John and me.  But, to quote hymn-writer George Matheson,

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.

Personally, the"rainbow" line always irked me as either pre-adolescent or 1970s.  John says I'm not allowed to judge like that since I wasn't around in the 1970s.  :-)  But the rest of the words are true, and more true for me now that I've felt them.  Our sorrow has not been without joy, and as much as I do not wish to stop up the natural-flowing grief, neither can I close my heart to the joy which comes but once a year.

As a side note, since this blog is technically public, I'm still going back and forth about how many life details to disclose.  You think that only your closest friends will take the time to actually read what you've written, and then you get random comments from Timbuktu, which must be representative in nature . . .

Here are a few snapshots from our first Christmas as man and wife, some already shared. 

Our tree, trimmed with its white lights and gingerbread.  Maybe I'll actually do the cranberries next year.

Christmas was a time, joyfully, of sewing for me.  It was Heidi's idea to make new stockings for the family since some of them were getting rather shabby and neither John nor Harvey had one.  It was an exciting project!  We used all fabrics that Mom had in the house, from wools to denim to upholstery, with red velour and cotton batting for trim. 

It was loads of fun to mix textures and styles. 

 

We had remnants of flannel Scooby Doo fabric, which we had to use for Harvey's. 

Mine's the pink one, of course, with John's beside.  :-)

Heidi wanted to do something special for Mom's, so we cut up a bunch of squares and made it patchwork.  We trimmed it, like mine, with an old lace belt.  Yay.  And yay for fun, easy, repetitive sewing.  :-)

Mom and Dad's Christmas tree, decked by Heidi's skillful hand, was gorgeous and rather put ours to shame.

More another day.