View from the North 40: RIP week, long live next week

Tragedy has been stalking my household since last we met, and I feel beholden to offer my condolences during these sad times in which I am living.

RIP my perfectly ergonomic computer mouse which has spent many an hour at my side while working and playing on the computer these last 15 or more years. I will miss your smooth rolling action and the way your long cord would grab at anything on the left side of my keyboard in protest over the crowding of your work space.

You served me well and well beyond your electronic life expectancy.

My husband and I wish to convey our thanks to the many family and friends who have expressed love and concern. At this time, we will be observing a mourning period then having a dignified ceremony to bury mouse in our metal, top-load crypt. We already pay for the monthly service, and I think mouse would want us to be practical. The memorial will be a private affair for mouse’s immediate family with me, my husband, my dog and, of course, the computer. Mouse was very attached to the computer.

I will miss you most, mouse.

RIP my lawnmower blades. I did not know you as well as some of my other equipment, but in the three years I had you, you proved to be both faithful and brave working in perfect unison under your mowing deck through all terrain and surfaces, no matter the unprepared nature of the ground.

It is this willingness to keep working at 18,000 feet per minute, despite potential danger that spelled your demise when we high-centered on that large rock in the tall, lush grass along the roadway. May there be nothing but manicured lawns in mower heaven, your brave service has earned you this and more.

RIP large, adult cottontail bunny, you were slow and unaware of my miniature-puma shop cat. May your furry little soul take comfort in the fact that you participated fully in the circle of life and that the cat fully intended to come back for more than a shoulder roast, but he chose the middle of the driveway for your final storage place. I was the one who transferred your earthly remains to the top-load crypt and fervently pray every day that the service provider arrive to haul those remains to their final resting place. Soon, soon, I hope for this to happen soon, given the heat we’ve had this week.

RIP chunk of my pony’s lip that has gone missing and created a minor medical issue. I would gladly hunt down and exact mortal revenge upon your attacker, but I’m pretty certain it was one of your herd mates. You are missed, though, and your loss will leave pony permanently scarred.

RIP forklift drive-shaft. Your passing has left us crippled and unable to go on with work. Literally. In accordance with your beliefs, your remains will be sent to the great recycle bin for a do-over. May your next life be as part of a fast car.

RIP my last delusion that any part of my former athletic abilities remain in these, my middle-aged years. Take comfort in the fact that you go to your final resting place with my dignity which I also lost Tuesday. Though my dignity died in a valiant act of sacrifice for that yoga class, while you died only from humiliation, it is you I will miss more. I will, in fact, miss you only slightly less than my computer mouse.

Godspeed to you all.

(It’s been a long week during which I found myself bolstering my spirits with statements like: “Well, at least I didn’t fall into a natural cauldron of boiling acid water in Yellowstone this week.” True statement at [email protected].)