I’m insanely busy these days, and it seems like everyone I talk to is, as well. (I’m ashamed to admit that I briefly mulled over the idea of adopting those Mormon undergarments, because then I wouldn’t have to do laundry as often, because there just isn’t time.)

Tonight, someone posed the question, “Why?” Is it the season? Anxiety about the economy? The feeling of impending doom due to freakish global warming weather or bird flu or who knows what?

I considered this issue tonight, as I was skeining up yarn to dye tomorrow morning. Because, you know, the mind wanders. (It is a lot of yarn. I am not done. I am starting to believe that I will never be done, that daylight will find me lying prone and delirious on the floor, surrounded by unwound cakes of yarn.)

Here’s my theory: a portion (let’s say half) of the stuff on our plates is self-imposed and self-regulated. One eats, so one must go to the grocery store. One is not wearing Mormon undergarments as a protective layer, so one must do laundry.

Another portion, however, is dictated by the actions of other people. If I send you an email, you must take the time to read it. Once you have read it, you may send an email to another person, and they must read that message. If I say I need something back, you will feel obliged to take the time to stop by and return it.

In a sense, we’re all passing buckets down the same fireline. You take something off your plate and put it on mine, and I take something off my plate and put it on the next person’s.

The answer to what’s happened is obvious. Some jackass sped up. He started passing his buckets just a little bit faster, which meant that people had to deal with them a little bit faster still, and soon enough we’re all out of our minds with chores and errands and appointments.

People, this has got to stop. I propose that we find the jackass, and push him down a well.

Must go - yarn to wind! Groceries to put away! Sleep to (eventually) indulge in!

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Earlier today, Miss Cheepie Von Cheepersons was discovered outside the door of the office I’m working out of, in downtown Mount Vernon.

GOD I can’t even take a decent bird picture when it’s SITTING RIGHT THERE IN A CARDBOARD BOX. I give up.

At any rate, after recovering for a few hours, she began cheeping. We took this as a sign that she was calling someone, which meant there was some expectation of rescue, so the theory was that she had fledged early from a nearby nest.

(Did you know that goldfinches brood and fledge late in the year? I mean, it’s practically SEPTEMBER. I did not know this. Naturally, because this is a law office, we had a long-winded debate about whether or not it could be a baby bird, before someone finally gave up and looked it up online. It’s true! Goldfinches have babies in August.)

(I was quite pleased with Cheepie, because she behaved the way I believe a wild creature should, which is to say, like a Disney animal. She blinked a lot, and totally let you hold her in your hands without protest.)

(That’s your cue to point out all the horrible diseases which cute baby birds can harbor.)

After relocating her box outside, a cheeping call-and-respond session helped identify the nest’s location. (It was in the eaves of the building next to ours.) Someone climbed up a ladder and chucked the little cheeper nest-ward, and she fluttered right in. A great deal of cheeping ensued, which was probably along the lines of “You will NOT guess where I have been!!! Also, feed me the seeds of grasses, weeds, and other small plants!!!”

I love a happy ending.

You know you live in the woods when you go out to your car in the morning and find…

Well, I don’t know WHOSE pawprints those are, actually. Possum? Raccoon? Miniature sasquatch? The toes kind of creep me out.

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The skein formerly known as “Rocket Pop,” originally meant to be something else entirely, and now christened simply “Popsicle.”

And “Blended Rainbow,” all skeined up.

Finally, from a picture of Puget Sound on a cloudy day…

A paint chip!

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