Mummified Mice and Enigmatic Writing: Basement Remodel Part 2

Okay, okay, I did catch a bit of flak after all–I did leave you all hanging a bit after that last post, since I had promised you mummified mice pictures and all. But you all know how I can go on and on and on and on and on

and on

and on

about things. I’m trying to do you all a favor, by writing shorter posts, you see.

It’s not working out very well.

I just have a lot to SAY. And I enjoy the writing process so much. Putting the words down to paper and then reading and changing up what I just wrote. It’s just so much fun to me.

Here’s something that I’ve learned about myself: if I am enjoying what I’m doing (writing, drawing, playing the piano, reading to little Mack, cooking, baking, pulling out slivers), I don’t hurry to get to the end. I just relax and enjoy the process. This gets me into trouble time and again. However, If I’m doing something I don’t particularly enjoy (cleaning, let’s say, paying bills, cleaning out the cat box, hauling wood in sub-zero temps) then I do it as quickly as I can, so I can get-it-over-with.

Can anybody relate with me on this, or is it just me?

Anyway. I know why you clicked on this post, and that is so you’d get to see the mummified mice pictures, and I will not disappoint you two days in a row. If you didn’t read Part 1 of this Basement Remodel Saga, you really ought to and you can find it by clicking here.

To recap: Amalia and I pushed our fears roughly aside and spent a dusty, dirty hour or three pulling down ancient (I think it pre-dated Noah, to be honest) dusty, dirty insulation from our basement ceiling. I love it when I find treasure in our house, and I have found plenty (but that’s another story for another time). But when Amalia and I pulled down the old insulation, we found some beautiful old-wood beams holding up our house and two (count ’em, two) mummified mice, and some old chalk writing.

Treasure? Well, maybe not, but fairly interesting finds, you must admit. And I must remind you that old saying, Treasure is in the Eye of the Beholder. That’s how it goes, right?

Here’s the first mouse we found. I’d say this is a true mummy, in its entirety just completely dried out and preserved. It weighs nearly nothing. I think it’s awesome.

I named him Yorick, so I could say "Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well."

I named him Yorick, so I could say “Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well.” Even though I actually didn’t know him. Not well, anyway.

Probably an old mouse who died a peaceful, quiet death. You can tell how relaxed he was when he . . . moved on to his eternal reward. Pretty cool, eh? Now aren’t you glad you stopped by today?

And here’s the second fellow we found. I don’t think he’s a true mummy (I know a couple of boys who would argue this point) because part of him is rotted away. And I have the feeling his death was not as beautiful as the first guy. He seems a bit frazzled, kind of like me, in the mornings, during Christmas season.

This one I just called "Jerry."

This one I just called “Jerry.” Yup. I feel like this most mornings.

I’m sorry about the gristly nature of these photos. Kind of. This is blogging at its finest, though, I assure you. I do. If you didn’t know it before, you know it know: only the truly great blog posts contain gritty, graphic photos like these.

Do the other blogs you read contain such interesting things? No? Hmm. Better re-think what you’re reading, dear, patient Gentle Reader.

But there’s more! Here’s something else we found:

"Pies!"

“Pies!”

On the expanse of the hundred-and-more-year-old ceiling, one word is inscribed in chalk: “pies.” You know what this means, don’t you? Two things, I reckon:

1. The man who wrote the word was like me, in that he was hurrying through this difficult task–building the depot–by dreaming about the reward at the end: pies. Maybe it was the day before Thanksgiving. Or the day after Christmas. Or maybe his wife, he knew, was at home making him a mincemeat pie for supper. In any case, that was what was on his mind, as he worked. Pies.

2. Being pie-obsessed, he was clearly related to the Young family (my people), whose dreaming of pie and making of pie and talking about pie, is quite well known.

Pies from last Thanksgiving: 17!

So that’s what we found hidden underneath the insulation in our basement ceiling. I have a feeling that more treasures just are waiting for us as we continue toiling on our basement remodel . . . I’ll keep you posted, Gentle Reader!

As is my wont, I’m linking this post with that cool weekly event, the Blog Hop over at The Prairie Homestead. I learn something new every week there, and I’m quite sure that you would, too! Hop on over!

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