I was sitting here, innocently singing Autumn’s praises, when I heard the cacophony of about three thousand small, hard objects being propelled from the roof. Santa? Oh no – Santa Claus is QUET. I realize that MY FATHER is on the roof, hurling walnuts to the ground (with what implement I do not know). I do not think this is wise, considering his recent propensity to beat himself about the face and neck.

I took my life into my hands, went out on the front porch (trying to keep under the eaves), and ended up just telling him to be careful. Careful or no – it completely terrifies the hell out of the cats, and I am not entirely comfortable with the idea. Maybe if I tell him I’m going to publish the picture I caught today that is a perfect view right up his nose he will get down… Then again, maybe I’ll just go steal the ladder; that’ll teach him to start crazy projects during half time.