The Little Things

On a quiet Saturday morning with shades of copper light in the hazy sky, I pause to appreciate a few of the little things. Why? Maybe it's because four young deer stopped in front of the window here in my office a few minutes ago to nibble on the yew bushes. That hedge is immense; they can nibble all they want. But there was no sign of the ten-point buck that was cavorting in the back yard a few weeks ago.

After our first good snow a week ago, as Hilary and I set out for a pre-breakfast walk, I noticed some very delicate tracks in the snow. It had to be some sort of mouse, but the strange thing was, the tracks were coming and going from the base of the linden tree alongside the driveway. Later that morning, Hilary spotted a little mouse silhouetted against the sky. It was scurrying along a branch twenty feet above the ground in that very tree. It disappeared into what looked like a squirrel's nest—a pile of leaves situated in a fork in the branch. I saw it too. Better to spend the winter in the squirrel's domicile than ours, I guess.

I was surprised the other day to see a flicker on the bird feeder. A few of them stick around through the winter, I guess. But most of the flickers I see are flying off into the distance while flashing their white rump-feathers. To suddenly see one right outside the window is almost a shock. They're big. And the spotted breast, which in summer can look almost clown-like, takes on a subdued and striking beauty in winter light.

The sun itself has dropped very low in the sky, and now I'm reminded of the coming solstice. In our little Stonehenge of a house, the rays streak in above the piano for only a few days at this time of year and strike a light-switch in the hall at the opposite side of the room. The sunlight doesn't flip the light switch, however. That would really be something special.

One of the less serious effects of the pandemic has been the disappearance of those de-acquisition shops and lobby book carts that used to add spice to any trip to the library. Now they're back. A few days ago I returned from the library and set to work at one of my favorite idle pastimes—peeling bar codes and other stickers off the books I just bought at one of those little shops.

The selections? From the Rockford Road branch in New Hope, for a quarter, a classic mystery by John Dickson Carr called The Crooked Hinge; from the Golden Valley Library, for a dollar, Aphrodite and the Rabbis: How the Jews Adapted Roman Culture to Create Judaism as We Know It. 

My dad was a big fan of Carr, who also wrote under the name Carter Dixon. I read one of his mysteries on my dad's recommendation when I was in high school. It was one of the "locked-room" mysteries for which Carr is famous, but the solution hinged on a dental procedure performed on the victim before he'd even entered the room! I was slightly disappointed. Then again, isn't the intrigue and suspense of a good mystery almost invariably more riveting than the wrap-up, when all becomes clear?   

It was just my luck that both of these books were wrapped in Mylar, to which most of the library stickers had been affixed. Once I removed the plastic sheathes, only the little Hennepin County bar codes remained at the top of the front cover. I got to work with my thumbnail, pushing and scraping, and with patience and a little dribble of GooGone, I soon had both volumes looking like new again.

I'm not sure why I find this process so satisfying. It might be because library stickers, though necessary,  are a form of defacement , and when done right, especially on a glossy dust jacket, removing them returns the book to full dignity. Or maybe it's because I suspect I may never read these books, but at the very least, I've done something with them. 

That same afternoon—almost balmy—Hilary and I drove down to the Northern Clay Center, taking the city streets through North Minneapolis and down West River Road. One great benefit of the easing of pandemic restrictions has been that she can once again take classes at the center, during which she can make use freely of the wheels, glazes, and kiln. She's been bringing home nice pots for weeks. Classes were over but firings continue for several weeks and she still had a few pots to collect.     

Making useful articles that are also beautiful with your hands is a big thing, not a little thing. Soon quite a few of Hilary's recent creations will become Christmas gifts, but we'll keep a few favorites for ourselves. It's important, I think, to have a great variety of colors, shapes, and sizes near at hand. 

This is another one of life's "little things": choosing exactly the right bowl, pot, or plate for a given dish or task.