My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Squirrel won again. My most recent and to date most elaborate device could keep him from the birdfeeder no more than five minutes. James said it means squirrel may be smarter, though I thought more focused might be the case.
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