Introduction

Greetings pensive ponderers of the profound and profane,

My name is Nicodemus. I am the oldest of a rather large family. Well, I was the first pinky. I happen to have a number of siblings, but I am the prime pup. My sibs claim that I got my name from Nickey duh mouse, hence Nicodemus, but I think that Mom and Dad had another agenda going. My brothers are Nicandros and Nicholas. My sisters are Nicole, Eunice, and Bernice. Can you see the Nike pattern? No, not the swishy shoes.

Growing up, Mom and Dad told us Greek mythology stories at bedtime, and Dad really had a fascination with Nike and victory. I think that he thought that by using Nike’s name for us kids that we would all know that we were always winners in his eyes. I could be wrong, but that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

To think of us as winners was important to me as a young pup, because Nicandros, Nicholas, and I are blind. It’s important for us and now for you to know that even though we were blind, we were still winners. This encouraged us to try all kinds of things that other mice were doing, and then again it encouraged us to do some really fun, and sometimes dangerous, stuff.

I remember the day we discovered that the farmer’s wife wore wooden sandals and made lots of noise when she walked across the kitchen floor. She was really easy to follow, and Nicandros and Nicholas convinced me that we should run after her as a sort of game. We assigned points for getting close to the sandals, between the sandals, and touching the sandals. How were we to know that she had an irrational phobia about mice?

Anyway, we set out across the kitchen floor, and then she stopped at the refrigerator for something or other. The door opened, cold air rushed out on us, and there was a pleasant smell of bacon, leftovers, bacon, vegetables, and, did I mention, BACON? I really love bacon—crispy but not burned, firm but not tough, salty and sweet, maple sugar cured is best.

Bacon, mmmm. Where was I? Oh yes. When we heard the farmer’s wife stop, we stopped too, and while I was deliberating on the attributes of bacon, she let loose a scream you could have heard in the milking parlor with all of the milkers going and the cows lowing, and the farmer and the workers talking with the radio on and the hose running. I mean, it was really loud and high-pitched. There was a scrambling and slipping of wooden sandals that went on, and then Nicholas squeaked, “Run for it!”

We all ran for the corner where the entrance to our nest was located, but with the noise and the clumping of those wooden sandals and the adrenaline, the room seemed to grow. I, at least, got a little disoriented and ran into the pipe that came down from the kitchen sink. Suddenly there was this pain. I realized that part of me had been left behind, as it were. Maybe because I was lightened, or maybe it was that extra shot of energy you get when you are scared past the point of being frozen stiff, but I ran like a shot into the corner of the cabinet and found a crevice just big enough for me to slip through. I was out of breath, and my heart was pounding, and my tail, oh, my tail, it hurt, but it wasn’t there anymore.

After a long time, I slipped back out of the crevice and found my way home. Nicholas and Nicandros had found their way home too. We were all safe, but we had all suffered the same indignity: she cut off our tails with a carving knife!

You probably have already noticed the bandage on my tail. I wear it to cover the attachment of my prosthetic tail. It helps to keep me in balance and reminds of the consequences of risky behavior and bad decisions.

Yes, it took some time before we found a way to get to the Sears store, but we finally got there and got fixed up. Why Sears you might ask? Well, Sears was a premier re-tailer at the time. Today, we’d probably go to Walmart, but Sears is what we had in those days.

Through several misadventures and some fortunate coincidences, I found my way to the Wisconsin School for the Visually Handicapped (WSVH), 1700 West State Street, Janesville, Wisconsin, now the Wisconsin School for the Blind and Visually Impaired (WSBVI), where I encountered blind—hmm, people. Among them was Peter Heide. I sort of bonded with him. Perhaps our partnership was precipitated by the fact that his name started with P, my favorite letter; it has such purpose.

We’ve had a long friendship, and we have walked the same circles—so-to-speak. Over the years we have traveled to Europe, Egypt, Israel, Canada, and Mexico, not to mention forty-five of the forty-eight contiguous states and my personal preference, Puerto Rico!

Along the way, Peter got his sight back, lost it again, got it back, lost it again, got it back, and lost it again. I keep telling him, if he would just put things back in the same place every time, he wouldn’t keep losing things, but did he listen to me?

Throughout the roller coaster of getting sight and losing it again, I have been the voice of encouragement that keeps reminding Peter of all the fun and interesting things one can do when you are blind. Being blind means that you can be a winner. After all, am I not Nicodemus? A winner for the people?

While Peter was riding his rollercoaster, he decided it was time to attend seminary. I too felt the pull, so I packed my portmanteau and went with him. There were some dark times, even with blind humor, but with my encouragement, theological insights, and of course, my literary genius, I managed to get him through graduation, supported him during his approval interviews, saw him through ordination, and then I settled into being the local Church Mouse. I even wrote a column in the church newsletters for a time.

Today, I spend most of my time thinking about the old days and trying to keep up with what’s going on. Sometimes I give Peter good advice on things to ponder and write on. Sometimes I let him put his name on stuff I’ve written. I hate to complain, but mice have a tough time being recognized. Well, unless you are Mickey (guess what, growing up, I had to call him Uncle Michael). And being a blind mouse besides, makes everything harder, so I just let it go when he takes the credit. Besides, after all these years, I sometimes can’t tell where my ideas end and his begin. We are, one could say, sympatico.

Anyways, this is my corner of the world, and I invite you to come and visit the wanderings and wonderings of the playful and portentous, not to sound too pretentious, things I think are important. Expect some parody, poignancy, and piety. I ask no pardon. After seminary and being Church Mouse for twenty-five years, biblical stories and theology inevitably will pop up too. Still, I hope you will join me for my paw-padding perambulations.

Your pal, Nicodemus

Editor, Theologian, Counsellor, Mouse