flemmings | (no subject)

The raccoons that graze the back yard plums and cherries at night, and snarl and chitter at whatever it is they snarl and chitter at, remind me of youkai. Ubiquitous, territorial, chronically hungry, and with a tendency to eat each other.

And now must wait another year until the next 100 Demons; or another however long until it's translated into Chinese. This was a very good volume with development where least expected but (me being me) most desired. I fancy even

paleaswater will like the grandfather story in this one.

Our cook having left us, we're now being catered. The company has improved in the eight years since we last used them: no more sliced al dente eggplant as a main course, or a fine selection of seeds for snack. But they're not our cook; they're not even our cook's replacements. Portions are controlled, there's no longer huge amounts of leftovers on which I was accustomed to dine for days after, and since we have students there are no lunch shifts. Consequently I've stopped going there for lunch.

The result is a three pound weight loss in one week. *Possibly* aided by an hour or two of digging earth and pulling weeds every evening, certainly abetted by the hot weather habit of drinking a litre or two of iced herbal tea to replace fluid lost while digging earth. Nonetheless, most welcome. I discovered last year that my ankles don't swell when I'm ten pounds less than currently. If edema can be cured by weight loss and not by my friend's strategy of avoiding wheat (the horror! the horror!) so much the better.