On Overcoming Troubles

Some people drop their kids off at school on their way to work; others drop a mouse off at the park.

Today, we arrive nineteen days into the New Year. I wonder how these past 19 days have been for you? Thus far, I have had some lovely days and faced a few challenges, one of which will provide fabric for this post.

If you had been in my neighbourhood on the evening of the 9th day into the year and had the opportunity to watch as like a fly on a traveling wall, you would have seen what might have appeared a somewhat puzzling site involving me walking down the street in my pyjamas (though bundled up in winter clothes), wearing a headlamp with winter hat snuggly pulled over top so that only the lamp portion was visible (though not initially turned on), and carrying some squarish object in one hand, my face slightly cringing. If you could have taken a read of my vitals, you would have found my heart racing. You would have observed this site, not once but twice.

Ibergekumene tsores iz gut tsu dertseylin: Troubles overcome are good to tell–a Yiddish proverb I read in a book by Primo Levi some time ago.

This particular set of troubles begin with my fear of mice when they are inside my house (or any indoor space I am staying or place I am sleeping)–something I more fully discovered this summer via a series of mice encounters, one set of which at my home when a number of mice decided to move in. I believe I first noticed the signs in a kitchen drawer, what I have now come to think of as the “jackpot” drawer for any mouse. It is the place where all manner of dried goods are stored, among other things. At any given time you might find in it: rolled oats, flours, dried fruit, sugar, etc.

The mice’s feasts and travels in my house in the summer were very, very stressful for me. Catching the mice was also extremely stressful. However irrational, the whole experience bordered on the unbearable for me. I was jumpy, on edge, hyper-attuned to all sounds and stirrings…and becoming sleep-deprived. The situation led me to don my headlamp one night around 1:30 a.m., grab some of my camping gear and pitch a tent in my backyard. Likely, by about 2:00 a.m., I was settling in to what became my new sleeping quarters for the next series of nights. It was too much.

Eventually, I caught some mice in traps, very stress-full, and the population of mice appeared to dwindle to zero. E-v-e-n-t-u-a-l-l-y after that, I was able to relax again in my home, began re-stocking the jackpot drawer, took down the tent and moved to sleeping inside again.

Of course, living with a plethora of mice in the summer at an outdoor education centre part-time didn’t help. This included a high stress, breaking kind of point for me when at least one mouse was actually running over me while I was lying on my bed. When I put my glasses on, there, in clear focus, was a mouse looking up at me from beside my pillow. Needless to say, I moved out of that particular cabin immediately.

I had been told in the summer that, among other things, mice do not like Irish Spring Soap. While researching all things related to mice in the summer, I read conflicting views on this. I was, however, also desperate. If Irish Spring Soap might act as a deterrent, I was up for trying. It was inexpensive and I was game. I put a bar of soap on a saucer on the floor in a corner in the basement in the room where the hot water boiler, hot water tanks, and laundry machines are. I also put a bar under the oven in the kitchen–a place where I could see that mice had been. Every time I opened the oven drawer to get a pan, I could smell the unpleasant aroma of this soap. Eventually, the scent dissipated. The bars remained in place, in tact.

Until one day in mid to late December, I thought of my kitchen’s dried goods drawer as the epitome of fine dining for a mouse. On that winter day, however, I began to discover that Irish Spring Soap can also offer mice plenty of hours of dining pleasure. Based on my observations over the past month, I would now suggest to anyone who is curious, some mice do seem to like the soap and, rather than being repelled, they will come back for seconds.

That perilous day in December, some scales of inner comfort began to tip from relaxed to increasingly anxious and jumpy while at home. I was in the basement room doing laundry or cleaning out the kitty litter or some other task (yes, I have a cat) when I noticed the bar of Irish Spring Soap that had been sitting on its saucer unchanged for months had suddenly reduced in size by half. Feeling the first tingles of unnerved, I zoomed in for closer inspection. There appeared to be sharp indented markings all over the soap. That’s strange, I thought. Does soap ever evaporate and create such a pattern? Though I wished otherwise, I strongly suspected the answer was “no”. Though I wished otherwise, I did suspect what I was viewing were toothmarks, that something had eaten the soap. Likely, there was a newcomer in the house.

My heart sank.

At that point, I should have thrown the rest of the soap in the garbage. I didn’t. No, instead, I put it back where it had been, sitting neatly on the floor on the center of the little dish. I suppose I had hoped it might do what I wanted it to do: to discourage mice from living inside. Instead, it was like I was saying, “Seconds, anyone?”

Sure enough, a few days later, the rest of the soap was gone leaving the plate spotless as if licked clean. Around the same time, I discovered a few mouse droppings in the drawer under the oven. I knew a mouse was around. I knew I would have to do something about this. My heart sank again. My nervousness and stress blossomed. It was too cold to pitch a tent in the backyard.

Then I was away for a few days a few times. The second time I was away, in addition to feeling very stressed about the situation, I also gained a sense of quasi-strength or at least the sense of resolve that I was going to have to face the situation and deal with it somehow. When I returned home, this sense remained although I did not take any specific action. I hoped in earnest that the mouse had decided to move out.

On the morning of the 9th day of the year, a Wednesday, I was sitting on my couch when I saw a small ball of fur literally fly down some stairs toward the basement. Hear-sink number three. I had to do something. I called my neighbour and borrowed a live trap, all significant anxieties fully in tact. What you witnessed that evening (as a fly on the wall) was me twice taking the trap to a nearby open space (park-like though it isn’t actually a park) to potentially release a mouse caught inside. I say potentially because the trap had closed and moved but I couldn’t decipher by weight or sound if there was actually a mouse inside. I was so terrified, I could not open the trap from inside my house to check, nor could I check in my yard out of fear and not wanting it to escape so close to it’s former home. I was very nervous. It was a production simply for me to touch the trap, let alone pick it up. I was scared. It took a lot of effort, a lot of courage in the midst of a lot of cringing and fear.

It is funny in some ways, I know. I do laugh when telling the story and the fear and stress were also very real.

I walked down the street aware of the hilarity of my headlamp (which I was wearing to be able to see into the trap if needed given it was completely dark outside). I walked down the street with trepidation. I also walked down the street knowing that if I did get through this, there would be one less mouse in the house.

Well, both walks that evening were false alarms. There was no mouse in the trap either time. Nevertheless, there was nothing about the scene while going through it that felt like a false alarm to me, like there was no mouse and this was simply a practice run. I picked up the trap and walked with all the fear my body seemed to think was necessary for the situation of having mouse on board.

The next morning, the trapdoor was closed again indicating mouse activity whether there was a mouse inside or not. While I observed the trap sitting on the cement floor and before picking it up, it moved. I knew it was the real deal. With trepidation, I carried it outside once again. This time, I was without headlamp or pyjamas. Instead, I was wearing work clothes, carrying my briefcase, lunch bag, and, of course, lots of fear. I had, however, learned a few things from the previous night’s outings, so came up with a new idea for how to carry the trap and ensure the mouse could not escape unexpectedly. Like so many things, the more we practice it, the more we refine our technique. I managed to release the mouse from the trap, with my fear and its own no doubt both fully in tact. I watched as it hopped across the field–literally hopped. I continued to walk to work. That night, I found myself wondering how the little guy (or gal) was doing. I felt care toward it and hoped that it was okay.

I also hoped that that would be the end: a one mouse in the house only kind of story. It wasn’t. Since then, I have released two more mice in the park, both while on the way to work. At the time of this writing, I have no confidence that the house is now mouse free, and I will be setting the trap again. (I seem to need to take a break between settings.)

Troubles overcome are good to tell.

This story is not about all trouble overcome, nor is it about all troubling aspects of a specific problem being overcome. I am not even sure it’s about overcoming–at least, it’s not about feeling I have fully overcome something I’ve found extremely hard. I remain anxious and my anxieties related to mice in the house and them potentially running on top of me, as one example, has not diminished. I remain more on edge, more jumpy, and more sleep-deprived, finding it hard to fully relax and let my ears stop listening for all sounds that might indicate the threat of something four-legged and very small. But I could say here we do not have to fully overcome something to move forward, nor before we can experience or speak of some overcoming. That I have been dropping off mice on my way to work and refining my technique speaks of a significant personal victory for me. It has been no small feat. It doesn’t matter if some people do not find living with mice or catching them as difficult as I do. No doubt, they will have challenges of their own.

The expression (and book title) feel the fear and do it anyway has come to mind to me while writing this; also, remembering individuality or idiosyncracy, the variability in meaning and context that any given situation may have for a person, and how this impacts the person’s experience of and in it…and valuing that.

Troubles overcome are good to tell. Has there been a trouble you’ve been overcoming or fear you’ve been facing in these early days of this year? Who might you tell? Who would be most likely to respond with understanding and appreciation for what you are facing or what you are trying to do?

May mice live happily but not move in to the house and may the overcoming of trouble shine out hope and strength in the face of troubles themselves.