During the month leading up to Benjamin's hospitalization, there were two subplots itching for our attention. One was the early demise of the living room clock. which kept tabs on Odhner routines, edging us out the door and reminding us to keep appointments. The other was the unsavory evidence of an intruder. Some creature which will not be named was dragging the remains of popcorn bags across the floor, and nibbling the apples on the counter.

We have other clocks to be sure, and can buy more apples. But it was disconcerting to wake up to the evidence of rapscallions who were awake when we were asleep, and to glance for the sixth time in one morning at where the clock should be but wasn't.

John and I both waged battle with the rodent, first planting have-a-heart traps, and later whatever devices the hardware store could offer to end its shenanigans. But research labs are not the only places where such animals learn, and this one was getting all A's. 

We gradually remembered to look elsewhere for the time, although more gradually than one might think given our age and education. I will not compare us to the animal for whom even one slip up would have ended our problem. 

But another effect, more subtle, crept into my awareness. In my fastidious obedience to schedule, I can forget to remember. Remember that this too shall pass. That Benjamin's entire life has not been sullied by this recent hoopla. Loosen my grip on the minutes lost to anxiety, or chasing down insurance carriers.  That today is a good day to pause and just listen to another riddle about monsters. 

"What do you call a monster that is clean, polite, and quiet?"

"I don't know, Ben."

" A failure!"

This morning John made an observation.

"I haven't seen signs of the you-know-what lately. Maybe a week."

"I know. I noticed that too." Perhaps he moved on. 

There are other unwelcome intruders that seem to have moved on too.