oh my god, what time is it?

I have been up very late calculating the dimensions for my new bookcase, which I have decided to finally get on and build in honour of mrs_cake's visit. This has so far involved:

- measuring
- research on file cabinets
- math
- more measuring
- a trip to Ikea this evening to buy a countertop (luckily 8 feet long so there will be no messing about trying to join up two bits; we stuck it on the roof of the car using Jen's eternally useful kayak transport kit and felt very competent. Of course we bought a few other things while we were there)
- more math (specifically, calculating the size of each of the 6 component units plus plinth, subtracting 1/4" for the back and 1/2" for the trim and 3/4" for the sides where appropriate, calculating the size of each side of each component, adding them all up, and making plans for the plywood)
- frelling about in Word to make diagrams of this lot, as it's the only program my parents can reliably open

But it's going to be a lovely bookcase and I'll be able to unpack the frightening clump of boxes next to my desk, which will be great. And I can't really complain a whole lot because my dad is going to do most of the work, starting with a trip to the lumberyard.

I see Lucy has fallen over from all the measuring. I know how she feels.

Since I'm up anyway, please have an adorable story about octopi (it's the WaPo so registration may be required, I dunno).

Return of...

Last week the (or a) raccoon came back. Only outside, thank goodness, but it was hangin' out on the not-deck, checkin' out the scene. It was shortly after dark; I came to my senses in time to get my camera and take several pictures which may or may not work out. The flash completely failed to faze it.

This morning I staggered out of bed (having already fielded two phone calls from my parents about the bookshelf) to find it there again, this time in broad daylight, digging at the weak part of the roof where the next-door roofers pulled up some of our tarpaper and didn't put it back properly. I slapped the glass door and yelled, but other than getting it to look at me with an air of enquiry ("It almost seems like you're trying to communicate. How interesting!") had no effect whatever. I almost opened the door to shoo it away and then thought better of the idea -- the little bugger looks like it weighs about 20 pounds now, and its claws are quite impressive. I did eventually shoo it off by banging on the glass about 6 times very fast, but it managed to give the air of leaving because it felt like it, thank you.

The neighbours have reduced their swaybacked garage to a pile of timber.