Mar. 31st, 2006

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On my morning newspaper walk, I observed a crew taking down one largish tree. Now, said tree is a favored singing-perch for the mockingbird that owns that intersection. How would _you_ like to be the arborist hanging by a rope thirty feet up with a snarling chainsaw and an angry mockingbird, all at once?

(Perhaps some of you dear readers are unfamiliar with mockingbirds. They are aggressive. I recall in the distant days of my youth, we had a cat who refused to go outside when the resident mockingbird wanted to play. Said bird would perch on the rail close outside our front screen door and offer comments on cat ancestry, sanitary habits, and probable destination.)

Printed draft of Chapter XX of SIGNATURES this morning. Now Fat Wizard must hoist his 300 pounds up the stairs to a third-floor office sans elevator, on crutches. He may develop more sympathy for handicap access laws.

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jhetley

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