I am in anxiety mode this week as I will be Whatsapping, Whatseverthatis, and also hosting a Zoom conference. And I am not sleeping too well due to medical issues. The poor Captain returned from a metal detect - he is allowed on the beach, but no rallies at the moment - to find me rather glum - though I had managed a hot supper for him.
And I spoke to Bea of the North, and to Jean. We all have medical issues...
But my part in our letter witness continues - I am writing and posting, hoping to have a part in giving everyone in our territory a witness about the Kingdom of God. And we start an exciting study of the Book of Ezekiel in the midweek meetings this week. I strongly recommend you try to join your local congregation in Zoom, or by phone, and listen in. So there is lots to look forward to.
And this from my sister's facebook has cheered me up. Doris is her elderly rescue dog - quite a character in her way - and my sister is a great feeder of the birds (and all the local squirrels). She and Ken were always trying out various devices to slow the squirrels down and give the birds a chance, as were my parents before them. Its the family tradition - a bit hampered by Rescue Doris, who in "Mad Doberman" mode, sounds like a manic siren on maximum volume. The siren goes off if she sees a squirrel in the garden or if someone knocks at the door. So it goes off quite a lot. And it ensures the squirrels are in no danger no matter how fearsome she looks as she chases them - the siren sounds its warning of her coming well in advance: SQUIRREL SQUIRREL SQUIRREL OPEN THE DOOR LET ME AT IT!!!!!
My sister, aka Doris's Person, writes:
"Got up this morning and came through to the front of the house to make breakfast. Looked out of the window - large squirrel sitting in the colanders I hang under the squirrel-proof bird-feeders to catch the seed the birds scatter all over the ground which attracts the rats. it sounds complicated but it works.
Or it does until the squirrels manage to climb the pole. I coat it with vaseline to slow the little beggars down, but in the cold weather, the vaseline can get quite sticky, thus making the pole climbable.
Went inside and collected methylated spirits to wipe the old vaseline off the pole and large tub of new vaseline to re-coat it. I left the front door open and went to work. I'd just wiped the pole clean and was about to apply new vaseline when Doris hove into view, just out of bed, metaphorical slippers on wrong feet, metaphorical fag hanging out of mouth, metaphorical curlers hanging in her eyes. 'Come on out, sweetie,' I carolled, 'I've got a treat for you.'
There was a diffident cough from behind me. I tripped on the base of the bird feeder and grabbed the greasy pole to stay upright. It was the Waitrose delivery man, trying hard not to meet my eye, but there was no getting away from it, I was out there, staggering around, inviting some unknown sweetie to join me, with an almost empty bottle of meths in one hand and large jar of lube in the other. 'No subsitutes this week.,' he said, a bit pointedly, I thought. 'Shall I put it in the porch?'
I toyed with 'I know this looks a bit odd,' and 'There's actually a perfectly reasonable explanation,' but decided the best thing I could do was cut my losses. 'Yes,' I said. 'Thanks.'"
It didn't help that Doris decided to do her Mad Doberman impersonation as he unloaded his stuff. We parted with bright, social smiles.
And I'd forgotten to update the order and have taken delivery of six bottles of cava. Oh well, that's the menus sorted for this week.
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