“Helaine, do you have any idea of the temperature in the bedroom” I yelled from upstairs? “I’ll give you a hint: it starts with a five!”
It’s that kind of day. It’s cloudy, misty and raw. Fall has definitely taken hold and I have even more proof than I had yesterday.
The sprinkler man came to turn off our system. There’s just too much lawn to pull a hose around. I know it’s a gutsy move, watering on a timer, considering we’re on well water.
The sprinkler guy comes every fall to blow air through the lines. Otherwise they’d freeze and crack the pipes. As it is, every year when he comes to turn the system back on, he miraculously finds broken sprinkler heads.
How does that work? It’s one of the most consistent parts of our life.
Helaine pointed me downstairs. A mouse had found its way into our basement and either eaten some bait I’d left there or committed suicide on the slab floor.
Part of my job as husband is being in charge of wildlife. I kill bugs and spiders and dispose of the dearly departed. There’s a pair of work gloves in the garage just for this purpose.
Living in the country, a few mice from time-to-time are to be expected. I’ve probably carried out a half dozen in the seventeen years we’ve been here. I’ve never seen one while he was still alive.
Oh – before I showered, I did turn on the heat briefly. It really hurts to do that before Halloween.
Oh, who’s kidding who? It just hurts to do it at all.