Drum Roll, Please...........

The award for most compelling mood swing in less than twenty four hours goes to:

Me.

Last night I felt as if I had insight. I had touched my core beliefs again and felt as though I was reminded of why I am here.  I was able remind myself of why I do what I do and why I'm here.

Then I awakened to my house.

I have a dirty little secret from the last week.  My husband disemboweled the kitchen cupboards Wednesday night.  I was looking for the Decaf Chai that night, looking for a nice cuppa to lull me to sleep and relax the day away from me.  The doors to the cupboard were wide open.  As I perused the glass jars of varied sizes, searching for my favorite brew, a cute little gray face peered out at me between the containers.  A cute little, big brown eyed, gray furry face with pointed nose and nylon whiskers.  A mouse.

I can deal with a lot of things. But the one thing that can unglue me, unhinge me and turn me into the stereo type of a shrieking female is a mouse. When I was a little girl and we lived in Hawaii, there was a period of time when my mom  was in Tripler Hospital in the psyche ward.  My dad did his job on the air base during the day and we went to school. My sister and I would stay with Alma in the unit on the end.  It was my job to go home after school and let Pierre, our apricot colored poodle, out to pee before I went to Alma's where she loved my sister's platinum blond hair and I would put my fingers up my nose to stretch my nostrils like Alma's, because I loved her and I wanted a big, black nose like hers.

I digress a little.

I went to let Pierre out. I don't know if this memory is accurate, but I remember somehow having the knowledge that there was an outbreak of rabies on the island. I let Pierre outside in the back yard where he sniffed and peed. Under the plumeria tree with its fuschia blossoms was a mouse. A very sluggish, very good smelling to Pierre, mouse. I yelled at Pierre to come back, because I was afraid of my dog getting rabies from the mouse.  Pierre paid no attention to me.  I was screaming, scared that my dog was going to die, paralyzed with fear, wishing someone would hear me and rescue me and my dog.  Eventually, Pierre came back to me, no one was bitten, no one got rabies and died.  I, however, came away with a problem with mice.

So fast forward some forty one years, and picture me in my cozy kitchen with my funny little friend playing peek a boo and me keening.  We've known we had some mice in the house, but we didn't know the population was so big.  Between the cat and The Chief, a good half dozen have been dispatched.  I don't like it when they die though.  It seems mean and senseless. 

So I called my henchman, I mean my husband, and reported the presence of my little furry fiend.  The next morning I awakened to find the cupboards emptied.  All the contents were on the counter and dining room table.  It was chaotic and reminded me of the home in which I grew up.  When I return home from work I need it to feel more neat and orderly than the busy office atmosphere in which I work. It's how I recharge and restore. 

Thursday night I cried myself to sleep because the kitchen was the way the kitchen was and I knew if I stayed up to clean it- which was what I wanted to do- that I would be thoroughly spent and unable to do my job properly.  I had a hard time relaxing, letting go of the need to reorder and reclaim my kitchen.  Fortunately, I had my husband's support.

Friday night I was in the right space to stay away from cleaning, but when I went to bed, the urge came up to clean and I read until it disappeared.  This morning I awoke, went to farmer's market to pick up my son and some of the best garlic this side of the Gap.  We came home to clean and found a dead mouse in the clean dish drainer.  Erik disposed of the corpse and I started bleaching the dishes from the rack. 

It's been a day long chore cleaning the cupboards, wiping down the contents, throwing some things away and getting angry intermittently because the contact paper was so old it wouldn't stick, or The Chief was waxing his Jeep and leaving me alone with the mess which he stated he would help clean, or my son had returned to a book.  Needless to say, my compassion was flown out the window and my patience was very short.  Eventually, we got it done and things are better.  I had dinner with my husband and son outside, out of sight of the still incompletely tidied kitchen but within site of the beauty in my garden. 

After that long rant, tonight I am grateful for the first little cucumbers in my garden, the first pole beans and the surviving carrots that made it through the canine play period the week after they had germinated. 

I am happy from sun ripened blueberries grown in my own garden.  I am grateful for my son and husband helping me with what seemed like an overwhelming task.  And I am content to have Dylan in the same room with me, watching television and just being. 

Blessings abound