The fan chart, as proof
That was an aggressive chickadee! My own fault, for hanging around “his/her” feeder, beyond the time required to fill and replace. Didn’t scare me, much; it could have been a jay, and they’re capable of doing real damage to a fellow. Do they sell armor, for seed delivery personnel?
The snow might be gone, but the weather people have us on advisory. Hours from now. Here’s the catch: now that I no longer have to go to school, or work (or the combination of the two), I really don’t care. In the morning, I’ll stare out the window, over a cup of coffee, wondering where that madcap blackcap is now.
Putting the final touches on a ten-generation fan chart, I had to pause and do that odd “pat myself on the back” thing. It’s taken almost half of my lifetime, but I figure I’m getting this family research thing figured out, at least in the Quebec area. After all, there weren’t millions of folk around, two or three centuries ago. When you find someone with the right birth date/marriage/burial profile, you probably have the right person. I wonder if they had to deal with “identity theft”, back then?
I neglected to mention the death of David Bowie, yesterday. I had heard, and realized that an important part of my personal life soundtrack would provide nothing new. He was one of the greats; even back in ’72, listening to Ziggy on a turntable with a residence neighbour from away, it was clear that this was an unusual talent. And, over the next four decades, David proved it, again and again.
