My family began last week with three deaths. I was going to write about the experiences because each one was different and left me musing on where these deaths took me as we coasted through the week on various emotional roller coasters and numbness. But then this happened.

As you might guess, this is my wonderful walk-in pantry. It measures 6’ x 9’ and usually holds various foodstuffs, appliances, and serving dishes. My friend Rosemary likes to tell me this is actually her apartment and I’m simply her landlord keeping an eye on things. This room was one of the things I loved about the house when we moved in twenty-six years ago. Then it was violated.

A couple weeks ago a young door-to-door salesman came to the house wanting to know if we had trouble with mice. Apparently, a neighbor up the hill had ‘a mice problem’ and this young man was able to sell her a solution that involved chemicals and the quarterly return for inspection and re-application. Hubby assured him that no, in our twenty-six years here we’ve had maybe a couple, but never a ‘mice problem’. We live within woods that house a pair of lovely barred owls and snakes that control the mouse population quite well. If a few escape talons and maws and find their way into the garage, they’re ‘captured’ and offered up to the owls. The young man seemed impressed and asked if Hubby minded if he checked around back in the woods. Hubby said yes, he kinda minded and the young man went on his way.

Now I’m not saying the young man released a mouse on his way, or the neighbor’s mice had to find a new place, and we still don’t have a ‘mice problem’, but a mouse did visit my pantry. So, I decided if one of my favorite columnists, Connie Schultz, could write about her dog’s encounter with a skunk, I could write about my encounter with a mouse. It gave me a lighter topic to post about. It’s all good.

We did ‘capture’ the mouse, but he of course left his marks–teeth and otherwise. On the first shelf the critter nibbled my protein bars and a bag of multi-grain cereal. On the second, it was my baking supplies where he found the baker’s chocolate, and the bag of candy the Grands use for decorating their Christmas gingerbread houses. I guess the little bugger didn’t like the raspberry-flavored dum-dum he found, but the walnuts and almonds–still in the shells–were a hit. The third level didn’t offer much food, just Hubby’s favorite oyster crackers and my tea basket, but maybe a penthouse view as he roamed around the roaster, blender, and my aprons. Just the thought of him scurrying up and down the multi-level restaurant and emporium that is my pantry, ramped up on protein and sugar, had me pulling out EVERY big and little thing. But it was all good. The pantry needed cleaning and reorganizing anyway.

Instead of writing on Friday, I spent part of the day wiping down the shelves, the walls, the floor with a bleach solution. I pitched the bags with rough-edged holes that dribbled cracker crumbs and grains of quinoa, steel-cut oats, and rice when I picked them up. I’ll have to replace the chocolate that was shaved into a neat little pile. But it’s all good. I store most of our food in glass jars and tins so we didn’t lose nearly as much as we could have. I was reminded again of how blessed we are to have such a large pantry and it’s never been without something on the shelves to eat. Though Hubby will pass on the black olives every time.

Instead of writing on Saturday, we spent a good part of the day wiping down with antibacterial wipes all the items that couldn’t go into the dishwasher or the washing machine. Every canned good. Every box of cereal. Every gadget and attachment. Every single thing I forgot I’d stored behind the things I don’t use every day. But it was all good. Our dishwasher was repaired on Thursday, so it was ready to handle the bulk of the washing. We got rid of things we didn’t need. We’d read that mice don’t like the smell of cinnamon so we wiped down the shelves with cinnamon oil so my house smells like Christmas.

Instead of writing yesterday, I spent part of the day restocking the pantry, ordering more jars and tins, and finishing up handwashing my serving platters and special plates for the Grands. And it was all good. I love washing dishes by hand. I’d never had a dishwasher until we moved into this house, and I find it meditative. As I lathered and rinsed, I thought of my grandma who worked a bar of Fels-Naptha soap into suds and washed dishes in water so hot we could barely hold them to dry off. I thought of all the meals my family and friends have shared with these special platters, and wondered how long the Grands will put up with Nana’s penchant for serving their meals on plates with whimsical, cartoonish characters.

As for last week’s deaths, one was anticipated, one was not, one was a death of a different kind. My family and I are sad, but we’re okay. And today I’m writing. It’s all good.

May your week be a good one … free of mice! But if you have a mouse story, I’m all ears.