I have Fish-ues

I have fish issues. Fish-ues.

When I finally saved some baby fish in my aquarium from getting eaten by the frogs a month ago, it seemed like such a good idea. I still have those two one-month old fry in a little segregated tank, growing bigger daily. They're so cute and watching them grow is so much fun, that I'm glad I did it.

BUT.

But, yesterday five new baby fish were born. FIVE. So, I scooped them all up - the small-fry - and put them in the segregated tank with the big-fry. And then the realities started to settle in on me. Saving baby fish (baby fish hero, moi!) is courageous and kind. Ending up with more fish than you can handle is, um, foolish.

If all seven of these fish grow to the gigantagigamous size of their parents, then I will need another fish tank. And, taken to its logical conclusion, another tank and another tank and another tank.

Pretty soon I will be "the fish lady" and will make the newspaper as the police drag me - sobbing - and my 'fish children' out of here, to save my neighbours from the animal hoarding.

So, here are the options that lay before me:

* let all the babies out of the holding tank, and see what nature does in this little artificial microcosm. Perhaps the big-fry will survive?

* keep cramming new babies into the holding tank until it looks like a New York subway car

* embrace my new commitment to save all fish babies, and buy a new aquarium tank now where they can mature in lavish style

* stop saving fish babies unless someone bigger dies in the tank - the one-in-one-out rule of all decluttering specialists (I do have some neon tetras that are so old that they have shredded fins and cataracts)(you can almost see their little walkers and canes)

* start a sideline occupation, selling fish babies to the independent pet store guy. This will require tanks and tanks, but not too many. This will also require a more serious, researched approach than I've got going

I'm stumped. And quite the parent. Yup.

Dawn Treader

I am slowly working my way all the way through the Chronicles of Narnia. Haven't read them since I was 10 or so.

The creation story was stunning, and I don't think I actually read The Magician's Nephew until I was an adult. The crucifixion tale chilling and magnificent. Love those mice. The fall from grace and the dull inhumanity alluded to in Prince Caspian had me nodding my head.

Now I've reached The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. I always find Eustace's dragon skin sloughing to be highly resonant. Was just tonight trying to figure out if the quest through the unknown islands to find the seven lost knights is tied to the seven deadly sins. There's definitely greed and envy, pride and a little wrath, but then there's despair. Despair should really be one of the seven deadlies, don't you think?

And who's Lucy in these books? She is completely steadfast. She saves their butts over and over again with a lot of faith at exactly the right moment. The more I think about the books, the more is revealed. Like a shiny little puzzle box.

Reepicheep is about to leap into his coracle...!

Librarian by Day, Fairy by Night

...Veggie Fairy, that is.

I worked all day, and then had exactly 1 hour to come up with a costume for the City Park Halloween Dance tonight.

I attempted Sherlock Holmes, but no hat. I attempted Hercule Poirot, but no eyebrow pencil. At one desperate moment, I was all dressed in green and I said to Jimbo, "That's it. I'm going as a zucchini," and he shot me down with a disapproving look. But it's a process, right? So from walking zucchini, I moved on to Veggie Fairy. As in that person who sneaks up to your house in the Fall and leaves a pile of zucchini and tomatoes on your back porch, and then runs away.

Green clothes. Diaphanous green sparkly veil. Basket full of paper vegetables to give away. In 10 minutes flat, I was outfitted, and it got the husbandly nod of approval.

Whew. Another one down.

I had it easy a few years ago when Martha Stewart was in prison. All I needed for my costume was a striped jailbird shirt with a prison number taped to the pocket.

Other years, fate doesn't throw something so readily into your lap.

Squirrels Should Know Better

Last night we thought the laptop had given up the ghost forever. With two years of family photos on it, not backed up. Squirrels should know better.

Today, Jimbo got it working somehow, and we're back up! Now we need to find some back-up discs in this renovation mess, so we can save those photos.

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Sprout and I were on our own for supper tonight, so we ventured forth on a bus adventure. I think kids should take the city transit bus often, so that they know how to do it when they are grown up. And the bus is fun!! You can sit at the front, you can sit at the back, you can sit sideways, there are people to watch, there are bells and lights and signs. We took the bus over the bridge and had burgers at the Broadway Cafe.

Nothing like a little bus adventure to build up an appetite.

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We have baby fish in our aquarium, and yesterday they were two weeks old. (There are only two of them, because I think the rest got eaten while we were working on that first day.) We scooped them out the day they were born and put them in a little segregation tank, which is why the frogs and other fish have not yet eaten them. The two babies are fraternal fish twins, not identical. One is already twice the size of the other, and the bigger one is grey while the petite is orange.

I can't figure out when to let them loose into the bigger tank. They still look like snacks to me, so perhaps in another two weeks or so, they will be ready to tackle the wild kingdom.

*************

Today I had one of those days at work where you actually get a bunch of niggly little jobs done and over with. It was very nice. Now if I had three of those in a row, my office would be shiny like new. Fat chance of that happening.

Next week we've got a new staff member starting a job with us, which means I return to training and orientation mode. Lucky for me, I'm getting pretty good at training and orientation mode, so it shouldn't hurt too badly.

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This squirrel is in hibernation mode - bring on the nine hours of sleep! zzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

Stories in the Bar!

Last night was the fourth annual 'Stories in the Bar' event. It's stories, or storytime, for adults in a pub - complete with beer.

Ms. J. and I came up with this brainchild a few years back, as a way to celebrate Saskatchewan Library Week in a wild and whacky way. And it's gaining a following. Last night, there were tables full of library staff, and tables full of book-loving patrons, and we discovered even a table full of library tech. students. Ah yes, library tech. students! That's why they could answer all the book trivia questions better than any other table.

Stories in the Bar is a mix of library staff performing and community people performing. It's very weird. First there will be a picture book - yes, a picture book! Adults secretly love having picture books read to them. Then the whole bar will be doing a finger play together! Then lofty poetry will be recited. Then a song might happen. It's very small-town talent show at moments, and very gritty urban at other points. Ms. J. has been our MC for all four years, and weaves everything together with her improv comedienne skills (librarian by day, improv star by night).

I think I have the best time of anybody at these events. It's all the geeky things I love gathered together. And there's beer! Squirrels in their element.

Plumbin'

We got da plumbin' woes. Woes at our house.

Yesterday morning the tub wouldn't drain quickly and the toilet started 'bubbling'. Yeah, bubbling. If it was alive, it would have been glugging or gargling.

I had to go off to a workshop. When I checked on the fambly later, Jimbo had the toilet pulled off and was thinking new wax ring. Later that progressed to a need for Drano, and then a need for a Roto Rooter guy to clean out the toilet drain.

Mr. Roto Rooter came late last night, he snaked the drain, and the toilet went back on. Now, every time we flush, both sinks in the house start to glug. There is something really weird and wrong going on.

Now we're waiting until a plumber doesn't cost a million dollars (i.e. waiting for the weekend to be over), to see if we need the stack to be cleaned out or if it's tree roots downunda. Or something else we haven't thought of.

Tiptoeing around, flushing with our fingers crossed. A little tense around here. I suppose it's good to be reminded how good we've got it most days.

Was talking to a taxi driver yesterday about plumbing woes, and he told me he took his Canadian daughter back to Africa for a visit, and she didn't know how to go to the bathroom without a flush toilet. There was no way she'd pee in the bushes. He had to drive her to a flush toilet before she would go. We had a good laugh together about that.

Happy flushing, readers.

Decrepit

I have just realized that I can't confidently spell 'decrepit'. Does this ever happen to you, when a word looks completely wrong written down? It happened to me once with 'does'. Because 'does' doesn't sound like 'does' when you say it, right? I completely blanked.

Anyway, Google sez that the Squirrel duz know how to spell 'decrepit'. Thank goodness for that.

I am feeling decrepit this week. Let me count the ways. (This would be the boo-hoo pity blog, popular among squirrels who are looking for the blogging easy out.)(The Pity Party, as Aunt Frieda would say.)

Monday. My new boots gave me a giant blister, and I have literally been wearing slippers (very beautiful slippers, but still, slippers) all this week. Monday, the blister was so big that I wore my slippers on the bus instead of attempting to walk the 12 minutes to work.

Tuesday. Tuesday, I ate so many cookies (am temporarily the quality control cookie taster at the Library, while I get the cookies we give out at programs up to my standard) that I had to stay home for a few hours Wednesday until my tummy stopped aching.

Wednesday. Wednesday I drywalled the ceiling with my head angled sideways long enough to give myself a seized muscle bump on one shoulderblade and a headache. Obviously didn't drink enough Mountain Dew (my sister says drywallers all drink Mountain Dew.)(Who can say why.)

Thursday. Thursday I got a cold and actually didn't make it all the way through the new play at Persephone. Needed to lie down, and so we snuck out at the intermission.

Friday. Almost started to cry because my favourite bike shop is not open, and they have my bike until I can pick it up when they're open. Don't cry very often. Concluded that my sniffles were making me whingy.

Hey, how do you spell 'whingy/whingey' anyway?