The mouse in the house

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In terms of home ownership, the only good mouse is a dead mouse.  Unless, of course, the olfactory evidence informs you of the deceased, but you can’t locate the corresponding corpse.  There are various outcomes connected with this unfortunate demise:

The odor tends to encourage one to relocate to a different part of the house.  That’s not necessarily so bad if the size of one’s abode can accommodate such changes.  If, on the other hand, you live in an apartment, or a house full of other people, say, three or four children, that’s not quite so easy.

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The only kind of mice I tolerate in my house…

And/or we try to cover up the smell with other smells.  I would also tend to opt for opening the windows for that fresh air aroma, but this also is not so convenient in December or January.  So, instead, I get a mixture of holiday cinnamon with dead rodent, which will likely not do so well on the market next Christmas.

We also might avoid having Continue reading “The mouse in the house”

Elementary, my dear Watson

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Man, I love a good mystery!  A locked-from-the-inside whodunit usually gets my attention; our girls grew up with Nancy Drew and even today Father Brown beckons to me from the teley.  So when I saw that Ian McKellen was casted for an aged Sherlock in the recent flick Mr. Holmes, I was all about that.  It quickly became one of our Friday “pizza and a movie” nights—Bob picked up the flick and I made the pizza.

Both were great!  (Well, the crust was a little too thick, but McCellan was superb…)

I continue to be intrigued how the secular entertainment industry often times, if not unknowingly, leaves the door open for otherwise Judeo-Christian concepts.  Such was my impression of Mr. Holmes.  (If you haven’t seen the movie, feel free to proceed to the next post in your Reader, but I don’t think I have any spoilers.  Of course, I’m not done composing yet, am I?)

Sherlock, now 93, is experiencing a degeneration in his mental acuity, forgetting names, events.  (I’m 57, and that’s normal life for me, but I digress.)  Since his life is built on logic and facts, he naturally turns to science to boost his cranial capacity, as he is desperately trying to recall his last case thirty years hence that was the unfortunate catalyst for his retirement. 

Science is of no help to his failing faculties, but Sherlock is surprised by the healing power of something he never truly valued—relationships.  Loving interaction with friends who are faithful, appreciation of the people around us.  In other words, the master detective realizes (better late than never) that life cannot be reduced to facts and figures (a concept that has been increasingly prevalent in our culture).  We are more than the chemicals in our brains, and we need more than what the religion of science has to offer.

Don’t mistake what I’m saying, please.  Just as a point of reference, my husband has a Ph.D. in molecular, cellular and developmental biology from Indiana University.  My father and brother are M.E’s from Purdue.  We’re all about science stuff.  God created it.

 It’s just that there’s more to life.  Much, much more.

 God puts it this way:

Then the Lord God said, ‘It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper who is just right for him.'”

The God/human community of interaction.  We are fashioned for that.  We need that “something more”.  And even though Sherlock  Holmes doesn’t quite make that complete connection by the end of the movie, he’s definitely moving in the right direction.

Hats off the Hollywood on that one!

 

Genesis 2:18  Holy Bible. New Living Translation copyright© 1996, 2004, 2007, 2013 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.