Kittens inna suitcase
Jul. 30th, 2005 04:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
urocyonWe now have kittens inna suitcase.
When I got up this morning, I couldn't see the babies. Apparently Smoke thought it was time to move the now-crawling little boogers to a lower spot, and greeted me from behind the couch. (Note to self: cleaning away the dustbunnies is probably a good idea.) A hasty search did not turn up a suitable box, but the big suitcase was still out in the open, so they're now ensconced in it halfway under the coffee table, snug on their half-finished afghan. Smoke seems to approve of the new nest.
Yesterday, a woman passing by gave me a truly peculiar look when I was out picking blackberries. I wasn't even talking to the bushes at that point, or anything. Maybe she wasn't aware that you can actually eat berries that don't come in little plastic supermarket containers. It was very strange.
I was glad not to be in Virginia, especially with the snaky-looking mess of a brush pile the upstairs neighbor has made halfway onto the blackberry bushes, after cutting down some elderberry trees that were bothering her for some reason. It is actually pretty safe to climb around, given the distinct lack of startled timber rattlers. You're probably more likely to find a collapsed drunken person than even a tetchy hedgehog in a Romford garden. I was still unaccountably glad to have a pole, ostensibly to move canes around with. On my last trip to Homebase, taking a shortcut under the tracks, I noticed myself scanning for snakes, poison ivy, and--given the time of year--ticks hitching a ride out of the tall grass. These probably aren't the best habits to lose completely, even if they're not so useful under the circumstances. *wry smile*
We also now have a batch of blackberry-apple preserves. I had some of the skimmed-off foam with breakfast, and it was pretty good, especially since I'm still muddling along making that kind of thing. It took me a while to realise that I seem to be trying to behave even more like my Nana, now that she's gone. There are a lot worse role models, at that. (Though even stranger looks from passers-by would be the least of my problems if I started carrying along a shotgun to pick berries here...)
Ah yes, in a rather humorous twist, my mother didn't sound overjoyed yesterday to have discovered that we probably do have a little Cherokee ancestry. There aren't a lot of people running around the area claiming to be descended from Cherokee princesses, for some pretty obvious reasons (pertinent bit about halfway down the page, starting with a post of Dan Akin's). If they seize onto a name, it's generally something geographically surface-improbable like Pamunkey or Catawba, but usually with some sound historical reason for the association. Sure, recent settlers may not have been the only ones who had problems during the Cherokee War (and probably other times), but that's a little long to hold a grudge! A show on local PBS turned her onto the strong possibility that her great-granny's family were some Taylors who veered off into the New River Valley to avoid the Trail of Tears. It would explain a lot. The lady was apparently even more reticent about her origins than most people at the time, except to say that her people were from North Carolina--and that now-main group of Taylors shows up in the local census records later than they "should", along with some inlaws with suspicious surnames. Who knows? The whole thing tickled me. Maybe my mother will have to give up the supposedly good-natured ribbing of people who know they have Cherokee ancestors. *g* That makes me cringe, very human as it is.
When I got up this morning, I couldn't see the babies. Apparently Smoke thought it was time to move the now-crawling little boogers to a lower spot, and greeted me from behind the couch. (Note to self: cleaning away the dustbunnies is probably a good idea.) A hasty search did not turn up a suitable box, but the big suitcase was still out in the open, so they're now ensconced in it halfway under the coffee table, snug on their half-finished afghan. Smoke seems to approve of the new nest.
Yesterday, a woman passing by gave me a truly peculiar look when I was out picking blackberries. I wasn't even talking to the bushes at that point, or anything. Maybe she wasn't aware that you can actually eat berries that don't come in little plastic supermarket containers. It was very strange.
I was glad not to be in Virginia, especially with the snaky-looking mess of a brush pile the upstairs neighbor has made halfway onto the blackberry bushes, after cutting down some elderberry trees that were bothering her for some reason. It is actually pretty safe to climb around, given the distinct lack of startled timber rattlers. You're probably more likely to find a collapsed drunken person than even a tetchy hedgehog in a Romford garden. I was still unaccountably glad to have a pole, ostensibly to move canes around with. On my last trip to Homebase, taking a shortcut under the tracks, I noticed myself scanning for snakes, poison ivy, and--given the time of year--ticks hitching a ride out of the tall grass. These probably aren't the best habits to lose completely, even if they're not so useful under the circumstances. *wry smile*
We also now have a batch of blackberry-apple preserves. I had some of the skimmed-off foam with breakfast, and it was pretty good, especially since I'm still muddling along making that kind of thing. It took me a while to realise that I seem to be trying to behave even more like my Nana, now that she's gone. There are a lot worse role models, at that. (Though even stranger looks from passers-by would be the least of my problems if I started carrying along a shotgun to pick berries here...)
Ah yes, in a rather humorous twist, my mother didn't sound overjoyed yesterday to have discovered that we probably do have a little Cherokee ancestry. There aren't a lot of people running around the area claiming to be descended from Cherokee princesses, for some pretty obvious reasons (pertinent bit about halfway down the page, starting with a post of Dan Akin's). If they seize onto a name, it's generally something geographically surface-improbable like Pamunkey or Catawba, but usually with some sound historical reason for the association. Sure, recent settlers may not have been the only ones who had problems during the Cherokee War (and probably other times), but that's a little long to hold a grudge! A show on local PBS turned her onto the strong possibility that her great-granny's family were some Taylors who veered off into the New River Valley to avoid the Trail of Tears. It would explain a lot. The lady was apparently even more reticent about her origins than most people at the time, except to say that her people were from North Carolina--and that now-main group of Taylors shows up in the local census records later than they "should", along with some inlaws with suspicious surnames. Who knows? The whole thing tickled me. Maybe my mother will have to give up the supposedly good-natured ribbing of people who know they have Cherokee ancestors. *g* That makes me cringe, very human as it is.
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-30 05:20 pm (UTC)NDN genealogy is particularly hard to trace if you had sneaky ancestors, which apparently my tree is so full of it weighs the branches down on both sides.
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Date: 2005-07-30 06:45 pm (UTC)The sneaky ones may be an occasionally irritating mystery, but at least they were doing whatever it was reasonably free and not getting shipped West or prosecuted for miscegenation--reasonable tradeoff, I guess.