We are, as of this morning, a day plus halfway through 2015. So all that stuff you were going to “get to in the new year,” the meter’s running, Pilgrim, and the sands in the hourglass are racing to the bottom so hurry up or hurry sundown.
Lots to do before this holiday weekend to include wishing our friends to The Great White North all the best (belatedly) on their holiday, which was yesterday, appropriately enough “Canada Day” (possibly because Canada Dry was already taken?).
We’ll take three days to do our Independence Day celebrations and about twice as long after that to get everything cleaned up afterward because that’s how we roll around here, South of Your Border.
I came across an article in the Christian (but they let all denominations read it to include Alexander Hamilton but only for a limited time longer) Science Monitor earlier this week on Rat Dreams. It had a more elegant title to be sure, but we’re selling sizzle AND steak ladies and gentlemen, as you can read here.
For my part, I’ve had worries about rodents since shortly after reading about The Great Plague, and viewing the movies Willard and most especially Ben didn’t do anything for me at all (except creep me out even more), I am taking some small consolation in thinking, far-fetched as it might be, that their dreams are being overrun by nightmares of us. Boo!
Considering the lives they lead, always on the periphery of our society, I’m surprised they can even get, to say nothing of keep, their eyes closed long enough to sleep (much less) perchance to dream. Their claws and teeth are absolutely necessary for their every waking moment and, of course, they need their whiskers a lot more than I need mine. Though “the shavin’ razor’s old, and it stings.”
- bill kenny