At 10 pm last night I found out what the rustling, fluttery sound was in my dining room. When I was sitting on the sofa and this appeared in front of me on the carpet!!! YIKES!!!!
We had a mouse in our house once. Our cat caught it and had it in his mouth .. but had no clue what to do with it! We picked them both up and tossed them outside to work it out ... lol!!
Years ago I had a problem and had some left over glue traps. So put a few flakes of cereal on them and in a half hour caught him:) Quickly took him out in the back yard and tried to shake him off the trap so he could get away. It was raining hard so went inside to disinfect the premises. Will check today to see if his remains are out there:( A cat would have been handy last night for sure!!!
I really can’t think of anything. So maybe that means that I refuse to see the truth and I live in denial. So I just discovered that as a possible truth....terrifying.
The day before my wedding, I learned that the man who I thought was my father was actually the man my mom was married to when I was born who legally adopted me. My real dad was a musician in a band who was on the run at the time for attempted robbery. The only reason I learned about this was because I accidentally overheard my mom on the phone with my aunt talking about the police finally capturing the guy, 21 years later. He was hiding in Arizona under a different alias. Just kidding. No terrifying truths have been learned here.
It takes a lot to terrify me, so it's been a while. The closest I can come in recent times more fits into the unnerving or unsettling category.
A couple weeks ago, my daughter and I discovered that someone who leads her school district was my teacher in junior high. That's a little odd to start with, but when you add to it that my school wasn't anywhere near where my daughter goes to school now, it's twice as weird. I decided to pull out my eighth grade yearbook to see if I was remembering right.
My daughter thought the whole thing was the bee's knees. She came over and started looking at the book with me. "Wow, Mom, you had lots of friends," she remarked as we turned through the pages. That year, I taped dozens of extra sheets of paper in my book to make room for all the signatures. "Where are you?" she asked excitedly. I paused on almost every page to point out group photos from all the clubs and activities I was in. She was astounded. I think it was probably the first time she realized her mom was a person with interests and hobbies of her own. lol
"Gosh, you were pretty," she said when we got to a photo of me on stage in a musical I performed in. A moment later, we arrived at my head shot. "You look exactly the same now as you did then! That's so weird. Most people look old when they get old," she remarked. Nice touch. I wasn't sure if I should be happy I still look young or upset that I'm old, but before I could say a word in return, she darted off to do something else, leaving me alone with my yearbook.
I ran my fingers over the signatures and paused to read a several notes, locked in a bit of nostalgia and pondering how much different I really was from the naive girl staring back at me. Near the end of the book, I discovered a page with the words "Reserved 4 (boyfriend-at-the-time's-name)" scrolled in my penmanship at the top. The boyfriend in question was someone I dated throughout seventh and eighth grade. That's practically a lifetime when you're a teenager. He and I had it all figured out. We were going to be together forever. Get married. The whole nine yards. For those following my other questions, this is the same kid I stole a car with and ran away with. Anyway, below the notice saying the page was saved for him... nothing. Absolutely nothing. In a book with hundreds of signatures and well wishes, the person whom I had the most meaningful relationship with and had set aside space for left me with a blank page.
The part that got me- in more than 20 years, nothing has changed. My relationships turn out the exact same way. I make space for someone and I'm always left with a blank page.
Benedict Arnold 