Question & postscript

I’m worried that I’ve finally run out of things to say here: I think that the first paragraph below contains stuff I’ve already written about. Anyway, I’ll share this entry as it is; then I’ll do some soul searching.

Dear diary,

A couple years ago, we had mice in our garage. I placed a large, orange bucket near a place that was easy to access, and I sprinkled a little birdseed in the bottom of the bucket: this attracted the mice (apparently birdseed could just as well be called mouseseed), so the mice would go down into the bucket, partake of the feast, and then realize that they had been tricked! duped! fooled! hoodwinked! conned!—for the sides of the bucket were tall and smooth, so the paws of the mice could not grip on them to escape (mouse paws lack the suction of the tentacles of a sea monster); thus the hapless fools remained trapped in the bucket, and I would find them there when I entered the garage on the morrow. At that point, I would bring the captives to a nearby rodent refuge. While gently tipping the bucket on its side, I would blow each creature a kiss as it scurried into the field. Without fail, however, the furry little fellows would stop short at a few meters out, and they’d turn around with tear-brimmed eyes and salute me. But I’d tell them gruffly (to avoid getting choked up): “Let’s not be mawkish.”

The reason I explained in detail the events above is that I wanted to ask the following query, but I felt I should show the deliberation that led up to it, so as to avoid confusing myself: Are unheated garages cozier than fields in wintertime?

P.S.

Last Thursday, by sheer coincidence, I heard two different writers tell about the materials that they use to compose. Both avoid computerized word processors. One writes in record books with a black rolling ballpoint pen; and the other writes on yellow notepads with a clear barrel blue ballpoint pen.