You may have noticed that I have been somewhat lax in updating my Chronicles. It is not my fault. It is the weather's fault. The weather is the one thing that I have no control over whatsoever. Even if I could control it, I doubt I would. It causes enough chaos on its own without my aid.
As many of you know, I live in the Puget Sound region. The weather here during October is, shall we say, predictably unpredictable. Sometimes it is rainy. Sometimes it is windy. Sometimes it is windy and rainy. At other times, it is rainy and windy. It is often rainy and windy and rainy with wind. It has been known to be wet and blustery. Moist and blowing. Gusty and pouring. Sprinkly and gusty. You get the idea. It just so happens that this weekend, we had wind and rain.
I spent the entire weekend watching a tree in the front yard. This may sound like a boring way to spend a weekend, but I have my reasons. Okay, really just one reason. I know the squirrel lives in that tree. I was awaiting his demise.
As soon as the windstorm struck, I began imagining the squirrel being blown out the tree, falling from the upper branches to a final meeting with Mother Earth. Perhaps he would scream or at least squeal all the way down. Perhaps he would realize in his final moments how incredibly irritating his constant, irrational optimism was to all other creatures in his vicinity and repent. I entertained a mental image of him falling and not dying right away, but instead suffering, while Ivan and I watched from our warm abode giggling, as his limbs slowly went numb.
Alas, my wish was not granted. Apparently the same claw thingies that enable him to scurry up and down the tree in the most annoyingly nimble manner also allow him to cling securely to said tree even in the highest winds. I am annoyed.
At the same time however, I am amused. I am amused because I can imagine how he spent the last seventy-two hours. Hanging on for dear life while the wind whips around his arboreal abode, the rain penetrating every millimeter of his flea bitten fur. My dearest wish is that he can see me from his precarious perch, sitting in my window, comfy, dry and totally unaffected by the wind.
It was not to be. The storm subsided this morning. The squirrel scurried out of his tree looking none the worse for wear. The storm also succeeded in knocking the rest of the pine cones out of the tree making the squirrels labor that much easier.
Sometimes I honestly believe that Mother Nature truly hates me.
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