Of Mice and Men

I recently discovered that mice had taken up residence in our garage, where they had chewed their way through all of the pumpkin seeds and garden seeds we had stored to plant (but did not, because of the drought).
And I must say I did not find their cozy nest and the mess they left behind as charming as they did.
And so, after declaring an all-out war on them (either they were going, or I was going, and I most certainly was not going!), the nest and the presents they so generously left behind were gone.
But like a Hallmark card, the memory lingers on — which reminded me of another time when we encountered similar gifts from their cousins.
We’d had so much fun at Mom’s/Grandma’s in Blanding that we stayed much longer than planned.
All of the sudden it was dinnertime and we still had to drive back to Monticello. What’s more, I had no idea what we were going to have for dinner when we got home.
“Spaghetti,” Mom said. “It’s quick and easy, and I know your kids love it.”
“That’s perfect!” I said, and then remembered that I didn’t have a stick of spaghetti in the house.
“Here,” she said, handing me a long box. ‘Wholesale Foods,’ the label said, ‘Spaghetti ends and pieces’
“I’ve used most of this,” she told me, “but there’s still quite a bit in there in a plastic sack and I wish you would use it up.”
As a widow, she certainly didn’t need a 20 pound box of spaghetti, but having spent most of her life cooking for a family of eleven, she still couldn’t resist buying and storing plenty of food, either.
I gratefully took her suggestion and her spaghetti.
At home I mixed up some spaghetti sauce, opened a jar of home-canned grape juice and put a large pan of water on to boil.
The children set the table and chased through the house in their pre-dinner excitement over having their favorite meal.
Derryl wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours, so I would need to save him a plate of food.
The water began to boil and I merrily dumped about half of the sack of noodles into the pan and gave it a stir.
I thought something small and black kept bubbling to the surface of the pot, but it went down as quickly as it came up, so I decided I was seeing things.
When the spaghetti was done I drained it and put it into a pretty serving bowl.
Funny... there were soft little black things distributed throughout the spaghetti. I fished out all the ones I could see and examined them a little more closely.
Sometimes a few teeny little black beans can be found mixed in a bag of rice, but I had never seen anything like this in pasta noodles before.
Since there were only a few of those little beans, or whatever they were, I picked them out of our dinner and put the bowl on the table.
I called the kids to gather around for a blessing on the food. They were hungry, and as I said, it was getting late.
I said the prayer — a real sincere one, too — just in case, and told the children to dig in. I didn’t eat any myself, though. Somehow, I wasn’t as hungry as I used to be.
Those squishy black things just didn’t seem quite right. Instead, I busied myself fixing a nice big plateful of spaghetti with sauce for my husband. He would be home soon and ready for some dinner.
When the children encountered an occasional dark mystery ingredient, I cheerfully advised them to “just pick it out,” which they obediently did.
After all, whatever it was, it had been boiled for at least 15 minutes, so it couldn’t be too bad.
After dinner, we began clearing the table and washing the dishes. Grandma’s large pasta box was very much in the way, so my eldest son offered to take the box to the dumpster.
As he lifted the sack of remaining noodles out of the box, I could see a jackpot of additional black somethings through the bottom of the clear sack. My suspicion grew as I reached for the sack to see once and for all what we had been eating.
Yep, my worst fears were confirmed. Only mice leave presents like that. And the sack was full of them!
I had been feeding my family spaghetti a-la-doo-doo! And this at the very height of the Hantavirus scare!
Before I had time to decide whether to laugh, worry, or dispose of the evidence, my husband drove up.
The boys went tearing out the door. With horrified delight they shouted so loudly I was afraid the Health Department on the other side of town could hear, “Daddy, Daddy! Mama fixed us spaghetti with mouse poop in it for dinner and we saved you some!”
He settled for a bowl of Frosted Flakes.