E E 'Doc' Squirrel
Sep. 20th, 2013 11:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceThis morning I am doing All The Things, as the alternative is to do nothing at all, just to lie on the sofa and read Lensman books and wait for that damn delayed meteorite to strike me dead (it's the way I want to go, since you ask; there are either very few or absolutely no records of anyone ever dying that way, depending on your authority, and I still want to be famous for something, I find).
Among all the Things I have done (including but not limited to baking bread and loading laundry and unloading the dishwasher and delving in the garden and signing a contract and mailing things in all directions and cycling to the library and, y'know, writing stuff), apparently the most significant was watching a squirrel run around in my flower-bed, looking for a place to bury his nut.
I did briefly have a wonderfully insightful post to make there, to do with the sources of cliché in essential behaviours - hence the subject-line I am still adhering to - but that was in another part of the city, and besides, that thought is dead.
Karen is convinced that the black squirrels hereabouts are from Mirkwood, and evil. I am fairly sure they are from Toronto, and hence mild-mannered and community-minded (see above, under 'cliché'). It remains possible that both of us are wrong.
In the only other news from hereabouts, we have an avocado treelet, courtesy of Katherine, who grew it from a stone. I am concerned for its welfare; it starts every morning bright and stiff and splendid, but as soon as the sun gets on it, it begins to wilt. By midday it's positively flaccid, and it doesn't recover before dark, even in the shade of evening. That can't be good for it.
Among all the Things I have done (including but not limited to baking bread and loading laundry and unloading the dishwasher and delving in the garden and signing a contract and mailing things in all directions and cycling to the library and, y'know, writing stuff), apparently the most significant was watching a squirrel run around in my flower-bed, looking for a place to bury his nut.
I did briefly have a wonderfully insightful post to make there, to do with the sources of cliché in essential behaviours - hence the subject-line I am still adhering to - but that was in another part of the city, and besides, that thought is dead.
Karen is convinced that the black squirrels hereabouts are from Mirkwood, and evil. I am fairly sure they are from Toronto, and hence mild-mannered and community-minded (see above, under 'cliché'). It remains possible that both of us are wrong.
In the only other news from hereabouts, we have an avocado treelet, courtesy of Katherine, who grew it from a stone. I am concerned for its welfare; it starts every morning bright and stiff and splendid, but as soon as the sun gets on it, it begins to wilt. By midday it's positively flaccid, and it doesn't recover before dark, even in the shade of evening. That can't be good for it.