All posts by Eve Ogden Schaub

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About Eve Ogden Schaub

Serial memoirist Eve O. Schaub lives with her family in Vermont and enjoys performing experiments on them so she can write about it. Author of Year of No Sugar (2014) and Year of No Clutter (2017) and most recently Year of No GARBAGE (2023). Find her on Twitter @Eveschaub IG or eveschaub.com.

What Spring Means to Me: Dead Rodents

One in a Thousand, , ,

E.O. Schaub

Spring is here; I know this for several reasons. One is the fact that Scarlotta’s Car Hop and Diner’s sign says so. Also, the maple sap has been running, and sap houses everywhere are venting great marshmellow clouds of steam. The other day we heard birds- real birds!- singing their songs outside our windows and instantly it felt as if a long-lost, dear relative had returned. The constant, drumming sound of March showers, and their thunderous ensuing runoff is always a sure indicator of Spring, too.

Also, around our house, there’s the multiplicity of dead and dying rodents. This time of year they turn up scattered randomly throughout the house, kind of like an Easter Egg hunt designed by Hannibal Lecter. Take this morning. I was walking down the basement steps to the garage when I came to the abrupt realization that I was not alone. (Cue the ominous music.) Sadly, it was true. Murray the Mouse had left this mortal coil at the foot of our basement steps and lay there for all the world looking like a tiny piece of furry driftwood. He was perfectly in-tact, four tiny paws extended straight out as if he hoped to be used as a dollhouse coffee-table after his departure, clearly the victim of a progressive, neuro-muscular, stress-related, nervous-seizure-heart-breakdown-attack-spasm. (Mice get those a lot, you know. Being a mouse is extraordinarily stressful.) As he lay there on his side, finally at peace, I knew that our two cats could not be suspected of foul play in this tragic event. Firstly, because they are not allowed in the basement. Secondly, because no one had attempted to chew little Murray’s face off. In fact, Murray actually looked astonishingly good, for a dead mouse. A little petrified around the whiskers, but still.

I couldn’t say the same of the poor fellow I found yesterday, next to the bathmat, dear me. The only reason I knew that pathetic little puddle of blood and fur had ever been a mouse at all is the fact that the cats had executed his hapless brother the night before that and of course I instantly recognized the distinct similarily in the kink of their tails. (Plus his name was Milfred, and that is actually a very common mouse name.) It was clear Milfred never really had a chance, as half his body was noticably missing, and plump little piles of organs were distributed about the linoleum like gifts from a particularly small and twisted Santa. Continue reading What Spring Means to Me: Dead Rodents →

Now Accepting Applications

One in a Thousand, , ,

E.O. Schaub

WANTED: One Laundry Folder. Must be flexible, dependable, detail-oriented, and at least five. Knowledge of Euclidian Geometry and proper matching of socks a plus; must be exceptionally fond of pink. If you can distinguish between floral Gap underwear size “M”, and floral Gap underwear size “L”- this job may be for you. Please apply at laundry room, or as close as you can manage to get to it.

DESPERATELY SEEKING DISHWASHER: Do you enjoy dishpan hands? Chilblains? Mysterious soapy food particles? Looking for a highly-motivated self-starter with an endless supply of boring old free time. Hours will include, but are not limited to: weekdays, weeknights, weekends, holidays and Armageddon. Ideal hobbies and extracurricular interests might include grease removal, sponge maintenance and not retching. Resumes currently being accepted in the kitchen, next to the counter-puddle.

EARN EXTRA CASH! Coughing, sneezing, and blowing one’s nose are an important part of life, but if YOU have too many symptom-free days on your hands, consider the benefits of suffering our cough, cold and flu symptoms in your own home for extra $$$! No Experience Necessary- all you need is a nose and a dream! Call us at 1-800-BLESS-YOU.

STOPPER NEEDED. Are you a Staller? A Stymie-er? A Self-Stopper? Then we need you! Official obligations of this important position will include:

-Stopping anyone wishing to interrupt Mommy’s luxurious three-minute shower to show her a Lego sculpture / break up a fight about a Lego sculpture / extricate a Lego sculpture from a household appliance

-Stopping any and all unauthorized snack procurement/ snow eating/ public place clothing removal

-Stopping excessive whining, bickering and/or trumpet practice when Mommy/Daddy is on last remaining nerve of the day (also known as “But why do we have to play in the basement?” Time)

Please note! Obligations should not include:

-Stopping Mommy from throwing away toys so broken they now qualify as appropriate for jousting.

-Stopping Mommy from handing down clothes that are officially now fourteen sizes too small for you.

-Stopping Mommy from singing show tunes during dinner preparation. Sure, she’s terrible and only knows half the words to “Oklahoma!”… but do you want your noodle taco or not?

So come in to the kitchen and fill out an application today! Smark-alecks wearing earmuffs will not be considered.

Beware the List

One in a Thousand, ,

E.O. Schaub

Sometimes it’s really hard to embrace the randomness of life. Personally, I’m a list person. A schedule person. A goal person. There’s nothing I like better than a week that goes just according to plan, with every “i” dotted, every “t” crossed, and every list item checked… nothing fudged, forgotten or forsaken. If you’re being polite you could call me “Type A,” and if you’re not being polite lets just leave speculation on my patootie out of this, shall we?

I guess it all goes back to that great feeling I used to get bringing home a really good report card. It was as if I held in my hand solid, tangible evidence that life was, in fact, going according to plan.

It took me a truly ridiculous amount of time to figure out that a straight-A report card is not proof that you are winning the game of life, or even that all is right with the world. Nowadays I have, perhaps, a slightly more healthy perspective on this, but I still adore lists. And I’m getting better at them. Listening to the time-management gurus, I make them shorter, more definitive, and budget time ever more realistically. Then, right about when I’m feeling pretty good about myself and my alphabetized spice cabinet, an extra-terrestrial lands in my backyard wishing to broker an intergalactic peace treaty and I promptly blow a gasket and shriek “I don’t have time for this!! The dishwasher is broken, the dog is coughing up squirrel parts, and I’m supposed to be at my “Underwater Flower Arranging” class in thirteen minutes!” Okay, so I guess we can pretty much leave “going with the flow” off my resume.

But whenever I’m feeling frazzled and stressed-out- which is pretty much every forty-seven seconds or so- I try to remind myself to try to be conscious of the fact that life is short and easy to take for granted, something that lists and straight “A”s belie. That is to say, how can I claim to be having a bad week because my list isn’t getting checked off, or the kids are coughing like coal-miners, or the laundry continues to insist on not staying done, when I personally know three different people being treated for cancer right now?

Yeah, that’s enough to slap some perspective right into you, isn’t it? That’s enough freaking perspective to choke a horse. At least it should be. But Life goes on, rushing about, telling you to worry about the small shit, and pretty soon, before you know it, you’re making a list. For my part, I’m just trying to include the occasional extra item on there these days: Take Out Compost. Call Vet. Enjoy Life. Buy Eggs.