A Simple Lesson in Humanity, Or is it Insanity?



Mrs. Mouse, before her parole.

I've come to accept that the occasional mouse in my 100-year-old house is to be expected. I'm even able to swallow my initial scream at the sight of such vermin if my boys are nearby, with the intention of not making them scaredy cats, too.

However, while I've accepted that rodents will find their way in to our home, I will not provide them with unlimited room and board. When identified, they must be, well, evicted.

Which brings us to our recent removal/replacement of a 30-year-old, over-sized basement fridge that led to the discovery of a mouse, of the dead variety. The kind delivery man calmly asked me for a plastic bag, and he disposed of the corpse. I didn't give it another thought.

... Until later that day when I started down the basement stairs only to be met with an excited, confused, grieving Mrs. Mouse. I called to Toby, my middle guy, who was nearby, to share my excitement.

"She's soooo cuuuuute," he responded, "can we keep her, you know, as a pet." [read: because Dad won't let us get a dog.]

Me, "Oh, yah, she is cute, you know, but, I really don't think she'd be happy in a cage. Why don't we help her get home, to her mouse friends?"

To the garage I went, where, miraculously, I remembered we'd left the Live Mouse Trap, given to me a decade ago by the woman after which my parents named me, when we were plagued by mice at a previous home. Karen died many years ago, and we'd moved many times since the original mouse problem. Never had the heart to tell her that we poisoned the life out of those mice, but I also never had the heart to get rid of the "Humane Mouse Kit."

Seriously. The packaging on this contraption includes, "Teach peace. Be Nice to Mice!" Also fun is the illustration of a mouse peeking out of a traditional mouse door and the words, "Mommy, must we kill the mouse?" ... "No, Honey. The world is big enough for all of us."

So I recently made a trip to an undisclosed location just outside my sleepy suburb, where we released Mrs. Mouse.

Live long and prosper, Mrs. Mouse. Just don't come home to visit any time soon.

Returning for a Bite of the Big Apple

Somehow I had managed to not return to New York City, a city I 'heart,' but a city I fled just as soon as my employer could get me a rental car after the horrific events of 9/11 ten years ago. 

At first I simply couldn't. I didn't want to leave the safety of my townhouse, which we were readying for the birth of our first child. I didn't want to travel anywhere, much less to the epicenter of the nation's worst (current generations') nightmare. I was scared. And like everyone else, I was sad and even a little shell-shocked from what I witnessed that otherwise-perfect fall Tuesday morning.

Like most of us, I got over it. When conversations turned to the attacks, sometimes I shared my story, but sometimes I was just so bored of it I couldn't imagine anyone would want to hear it. I still tear up or worse when I catch news coverage or when I quietly and truly reflect about all our country and our world lost that morning.

But still I didn't go back. It started to become a 'thing.' Kevin would suggest I join him on many of his NYC trips for work, and I always had a good reason why I couldn't (starting with one, then two, then three children).

As this much-hyped 10th anniversary approached, I decided I would return. Whether it would be an emotional, gut-wrenching journey or simply a great couple of days and nights in the Big apple, it would be done.

So last month, with the boys under the loving care of my generous in-laws, we caught an early morning flight. I spent my time in the air reading a Fodor's history of Manhattan, which gave me wonderful perspective of my walking tours the next few days. While I'd been to NYC many times prior to September 2001, mostly for work commitments, I never approached it like I did this time, with eyes, arms and heart wide open.

The morning started with a walk to The City Bakery for pretzel croissants (the maple-bacon biscuits were sold out) and gazpacho. Yummy. I was back in love already. Kevin left for his meetings, and I started my journey uptown, to the Museum of Modern Art. Six floors of art! Looking out the windows was a feast for eyes alone. 

So far, all I felt was excitement and gleefulness for my good fortune to be out-and-about in NYC. I started to walk back toward Gramercy Park, where we were staying, but stopped at the Lego Shop at Rockefeller Center. I asked the clerk why they were cordoning off the plaza. Was someone really famous coming to NBC? No, in fact, he explained, there was 'a jumper.' Someone was about to jump off the building. Why, I asked were thousands of people standing around with their cameras, then? Sick! Just 10 years ago people were jumping to avoid being burned alive, and now this sad soul was jumping, and worse, people were standing around waiting to capture it on the cell phone cameras? (A New Yorker friend of mine said that things weren't so bad, that before 9/11, people would have been shouting "jump!")*

I moved on, enjoyed a great evening of drinks, dinner and grown-up conversation with Kevin and his team, then started our next morning with a run to and around Central Park, wondering why we didn't live there. We stood at the bar at Antica Bottega del Vino for a creamy, very traditional cappuccino, then a little bit later enjoyed lunch, if you can call it that, at Doughnut Plant in Chelsea. Carrot cake, coconut creme, creme brulee, chocolate chip cookie. This was no Dunkin'.

Then it was time to visit Ground Zero. To take in as much of the city in as short of time as we had, I insisted we walk from our hotel to Ground Zero. It was also because I was very intimidated by the subway system. Above ground, I don't get lost. So we managed to take in most of Mid and Lower Manhattan's highlights as we strolled to the memorial site.

At the memorial preview site, we read individuals' stories and viewed a chronological photo and video essay of the morning's events. I cried, just a little cry. We made a modest contribution to the memorial fund, peaked at the beautiful fountains, still under construction then, and it was done. It was moving and cathartic to stand on those streets and bump elbows with a menagerie of the human race. But it was done.

It is done. New York City is as wonderful as its advertising claims. I look forward to many happy returns.

Peace.

*The man did jump, but I'm happy to report that NYC's rock star firefighters caught him.