winter grump

I am very grumpy. I had planned a fun day today, starting with a very nearby playgroup thingie and ending with a nice walk around town with my camera and the stroller. I've been hibernating for weeks, in some kind of silent protest against the winter that just won't quit, and haven't shot any pictures in forever. But it's REALLY f-in' cold today! Even colder than it's been for the last week!

You know, Wiarton Willie predicted an early spring, and here are nearly FOUR weeks after his prediction and STILL it is unequivocally WINTER.

Fantasies of Cuba aren't even enough to keep me humming today...

Although the origins of Wiarton's groundhog festivities did make me chuckle, so I'll share it here, thanks to the omniscient wikipedia:

The story of Wiarton Willie dates back to 1956. A Wiarton resident named Mac McKenzie wanted to showcase his childhood home to his many friends, so he sent out invitations for a "Groundhog Day" gathering. One of these invitations fell into the hands of a Toronto Star reporter. The reporter travelled to Wiarton looking for the Groundhog Day event. None of the townspeople knew about a festival, but one suggested he check at the Arlington Hotel, the local watering hole. There the reporter found McKenzie and his friends partying and was invited to join them. The next day, the reporter lamented to McKenzie that he needed some kind of story to take back to justify his expenses. So McKenzie grabbed his wife's fur hat, which had a large button on the front, went out to the parking lot, dug a burrow in the snow and pronounced a prognostication (which no one remembers). The picture of Mac and the hat ran in the February 3, 1956 edition of the Toronto Star. A year later, about 50 people arrived for the festival. Half were reporters from various media, including the CBC and Canadian Press. Seizing on the opportunity, McKenzie invented a festival that has been added to over the years.

Wiarton Willie himself is a more recent addition to the festivities. In the early years, prognostication was provided by the "mythical" trio of groundhogs Grundoon, Muldoon and Sand Dune. Willie appeared on the scene in the 1980s. Wiarton Willie's predictive powers are attributed (by his followers) to his situation on the 45th parallel, exactly halfway between the Equator and the North Pole. He is claimed locally to be accurate in his prognostications around 90 per cent of the time, although scientific studies show groundhog predictions to have a success rate of more like 37 per cent.

Death and ensuing scandal

The original Wiarton Willie lived to the advanced age of 22, and was found dead only two days before Groundhog Day in 1999. The organizers were unable to find a replacement, and instead marked Groundhog Day by revealing "Willie" in a coffin. He had been dressed in a tuxedo, had coins over his eyes, and a carrot between his paws. A scandal ensued when it transpired that the real Willie had in fact decomposed, and the body in the coffin was that of an older, stuffed groundhog. The Associated Press was obliged to issue a retraction on its wires.

(Imagine my bad mood if I had to spend today racing to get my house on the market! Thank goodness we didn't get that house... seriously, we are mostly feeling giddy with relief. That said, I have absolutely no regrets about trying for it, and it was a great learning experience...)


For Den: This was the last picture I took outside... like a month ago?

gifts

Today is a brilliant day, and not just because of the sunshine. Last night, Swee'pea went to sleep at a reasonable hour and for once did not wake up before Sugar D and I went to bed, where we stretched across the vacant expanse between us and luxuriated in the sensation of being able to choose whatever position you please to fall asleep, with no small elbows or heads or feet poking in the way. It was a sensation we were able to enjoy all night long, for the first time in months. And, possibly for the first time in Swee'pea's life, I woke up all by myself, and went downstairs to read (I'm more than halfway through the Goblet of Fire), by myself, until Swee'pea woke up around 7:45 a.m. It was an incredible feeling of unprecendented restfulness.

* * *

To go to the playground in the park, we always cross the covered bridge, constructed entirely of wood right down to its square pegs. Some of its boards are loose, and when wheels cross them, they sink and rise in turn, sounding out bass notes. This morning, I heard fragments of a woman singing on the wind, rising above the percussion of the loose boards behind us. She kept singing as she passed us, and her voice was beautiful and a little haunting. She was peddling an old, bright green bicycle that rattled along like cymbals, and she wore a royal blue toque with two peaks like pigtails, red mittens, a burgundy coat, and flourescent orange tights. As she clattered off the bridge and up towards the university, I couldn't help but imagine I'd just seen Bjork on a bike, or heard Pippi Longstocking sing. I felt like I'd been given a gift, the kind of gift you don't know you want until you open it and feel a warm glow.


(not today - this picture's from August, but you get the idea)

night air

There is something luxurious and a little naughty about walking alone in night air so warm it's like a caress on bare arms. It makes me feel young and carefree to evoke a long line of young and carefree solitary walks on warm nights. So it's funny that the first memory to trip through my mind last night was of walking across a small Cape Town parking lot to the car after a delicious Thai meal with Sugar D, Swee'pea, and my in-laws. Nothing young and carefree about it really. Not alone at all. Just a memory of taking a moment to enjoy the fresh smell of a summer night, one of our last before returning to winter. I suppose both nights share a feeling, a knowledge of the end of a summer holiday.

There is something luxurious about walking alone on a warm summer night. But it's just sleezy at the end of October in Ontario.

stranger

He was sitting in the middle of the road, primly puffed and rusty red feathers tucked, and something in my heart liquified at the sight. He must be heartbroken, too stunned to move, unable to leave his mate, now a mess of dark skyward feathers all angles and sharp like bones, drops of blood like bling in the morning sun.

Transfixed, I managed to back out of the way of oncoming traffic, stopping on the side of the road trying to figure out what to do. A car drove by, inches from the grieving survivor, and I realized I was mistaken; he must be dead. I rolled forward, then stopped to look again. He just looked so alive. And sure enough, I saw his shiny eye blink at me. Again I started to roll, then stopped. He must be too injured to move, and I didn't want him left on the road for the next car to roll over him.

So Sugar D took one of Swee'pea's spare and now unused receiving blankets left over from the days when we couldn't leave the house without several receptacles for Swee'pea's frequent spit-ups. He picked up the survivor and put him on our front lawn. I hoped that someone would call an agency to rescue the bird, if he survived longer than an hour. (I would have done it myself but was freaking out about timing because Sugar D had a job interview in Toronto to get to).

When we got home, I'd forgotten. But Sugar D announced that he had to check on the bird on the porch. On the porch? Yes. He put him in an old Huggies box in the shade of the porch with a piece of bread and a bowl of water, along with the baby blanket for cushioning. Sure enough, when we peaked over the edge of cardboard, there was that same eye blinking back at me.

We called the local humane society, the university's wild bird rescue centre having closed from lack of funding. The woman who came thought he looked uninjured, but guessed he was sick, too sick to move away from the car. So I wonder: was it a fluke that he was next to that recently killed bird? Or were they both too sick to avoid traffic? Was it suicide, an escape from a miserable, terminal illness? I guess I'll never know.

Absolutely Must See Video

Today I walked home from work. Shortly after I departed my place of employment, I noticed that traffic had stopped. Suddenly. At the front of the stopped traffic was a pickup truck, followed closely -- so closely I figured it had rear ended the pickup -- was a minivan. I started to walk faster to see what was going on; I'm nosy like that. The driver of the pickup hopped out of his truck quickly and as he started pounding on the window of the minivan I realized it wasn't an accident. It was road rage. He pounded on the window and bellowed and gestured, his curly mop looking decidedly electric. When I realized how enraged he was, I decided to hang back, just in case he had a gun and opened fire. I don't think I would have thought that way before Swee'pea was born, but now I'm a mother, I have a reason to protect myself far more important than a simple instinct for self-preservation. I am a mother now. I can't play fast and loose with my life. Anyways, eventually the guy figured out that the other driver wasn't about to roll his window down and there was a growing line of traffic grumpily stopped behind them, all watching with interest, and he got in his car and drove away.

I picked up the stroller at home and walked to pick up Swee'pea from daycare. I passed a lot of people during this stretch through my neighbourhood. And nobody really made eye contact with me.

Do you look crazy if you walk around with an empty stroller? At least I didn't have a doll in it with creepy eyes rolling back in its head.

Actually one person made eye contact with me. I think it was Hawksley Workman. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was, but I couldn't quite bring myself to ask... I once sort of interviewed him after a show when I reviewed his 1999 cd for the campus paper.

Speaking of Canadian musicians with falsetto capabilities, look what I found on youtube! It's a video of the Rheostatics' final performance of Record Body Count,which I described as feeling like a huge bush party singalong around a camp fire.



LOVE IT! (Yes, I'm still obsessing about the end of the Rheostatics...)

PS A woman who rarely returns my emails, finally returned an email today. Her closing words? "Hope the baby is good." She's been told Swee'pea's name several times; she just can't remember it. This pisses me off. Is that unfair?

new pics

So it's been a while since I posted any photos... I meant to put some in my last post but I forgot. So I guess I'll just put a few up here...

I didn't shoot a whole lot in Toronto, but when I did I discovered a real bicycle fetish. Ok, so I've noticed it before, along with an interest in vespas and motorcycles, but where we were in Toronto has A LOT of bicycles:





And I couldn't leave my grammar grump cap at home:

Gratuitous quotation marks... not once, but twice! On the same shop front!

I definitely want to go back sometime when the weather is a bit more reliable and nice for wandering around.

On Saturday when we came back from the Big Smoke, we walked downtown to buy milk. And I shot some more.



Also, Sugar Daddy pointed out these very strange dolls in a shop window. I was too shy to walk into the store and take a picture of them, so I just shot through the window and hoped that you could still make out the dolls past the reflection.



Just in case you can't make it out, there is the Lunch Lady Action Figure, the Obsessive Compulsive Action Figure, and just above the Lunch Lady, there is the Jesus Action Figure. What's up widdat?

Lessons

Yesterday I overheard a couple of teenagers at the drugstore. They were behind me in a virtually still line.

"Dude, that'll make you puke!"

"I know. That's why we have to do it outside."

I stood there, wondering exactly what they were talking about, wishing I'd thought to listen to the part before the puke. I turned around and looked at them, friendly-like. I noticed the kid immediately behind me was buying a box of Gravol. Curiouser and curiouser.

And, because I'm nosy, I asked.

I chuckled and said, "I'm dying to know what came before the Dude, that'll make you make you puke..."

He looked mildly uncomfortable but not really (god, I'm a wrinklie buying diapers now, not a peer), and said, "Oohh, just a drinking game."

I was mildly disappointed. Seems teenagers today are doing the exact same stuff I did when I was a teenager. I was expecting something weird involving prescription drugs and alcohol and rituals under the moon. (Oh... that is still like my teenage behaviour.) Then again, maybe he just said whatever he thought would get the wrinklie to stop talking to him.

* * *

I've been noticing that there are some really interesting characters hanging out downtown in the afternoon. And the other day, I noticed some interesting teenagers smoking outside a local drop-in for at-risk teens. Yesterday, I decided to try people shooting. Which is not so violent as it sounds, but it WAS scary as hell, and really stretched my comfort zone, especially with little Swee'pea in the stroller in front of me.

Still, I learned a lot.

Lesson 1: I've been noticing strangers smile at me a lot as we pass each other on the street. Even more than the usual what a cute baby smiles, which mostly come from other women or older men. No, lately, even young men have been smiling at me. It's been very confusing. Then yesterday I figured out why.

He's funny looking. They're laughing that his mama dresses him funny. Is it cruel for me to take him out looking like this? The thing is, this suit is the warmest and biggest of the four snowsuits we have. That's why I dress him in it. But I can't explain that to every passerby.

Lesson 2: Most people notice you taking their picture, but they don't quite have enough hubris to really believe that you're actually taking a picture of them. Mostly they look curiously at you but don't say anything.

Sometimes they even smile.

I wish I'd gotten closer for this one, but from where I was I couldn't tell if they were smiling or sneering angrily.

Lesson 3: Cocky teenagers will not hesitate to demand what the hell you're doing. This makes my mouth go dry and my hands shake.

Closely related Lesson 4: Do not try to take surreptitious pictures in a mall, even if it looks brightly lit. The flash will fire and people will notice.

The guy on the left demanded, "What are you doing taking our picture without our permission?" My mouth went dry and my hands started to shake. "I can delete it if you want. It's just for fun..." Another of the guys piped up, "Aw, he's just kidding." And they went back to whatever they were doing. My knees shimmied a little as I walked away.

I think I'm happiest with this candid shot. Clearly badasses. ;)

Other people get immediately suspicious and angry whenever a camera is pointed in their general direction, even if I'm trying to look like I'm shooting other stuff.

Also, pictures of people walking towards or by you are not interesting shots. It's generally not worth it. Better to go after people just sitting or standing or whatever. I can't help but suspect these people are criminals or deadbeat daddies or something, imagining that I'm gonna shop them to the police or their exes or something. (Shit. Does that make me a judgmental asshole?)

Looking in a jewellry store window. He spent a fair amount of time looking in the window. He would start to move away, then move back again, as if he couldn't resist.

It was until I got home that I noticed the couple in the background just about to kiss.

Next time I'm gonna try just shooting from my chest instead of bringing the camera up to my eye.

Still and all... my favourite shots from yesterday still don't involve people.

Sign of a Small Mind?

Today I saw a pickup truck that amused me. Painted on its side was, "The Crack Specialists." I don't think they specialize in street drugs though. It reminded me of my amusement a few weeks ago at "Good Construction: Good Builds Better."

Last night, I was amused when Banana's husband showed off his Christmas gift t-shirt. It says "Shrodinger's Cat is Dead" on the front and "Shrodinger's Cat is Not Dead" on the back. Or something like that. It's some joke about quantum physics, which although I did make it more than halfway through A Brief History of Time a decade ago, I didn't really get. I tried to act like I got it though. I thought it was some kind of existentialist thing. Anyways, apparently Banana found it on a website called thinkgeek.com. Had Sugar Daddy (fellow geek) heard of it?

SD: "Yeah... everybody's heard of that." He quickly amended himself when he saw my look that clearly stated I have not heard of that... "Er, well, all the geeks have heard of it."

Banana gave me a birthday gift: the latest Fiona Walker book, just in time for the dreaded flight (I always prepare myself for flying by equipping myself with a new Fiona Walker).

"You've already lent it to me, so don't worry about that," she said with a smile.

Apparently she gave herself a headache trying not to crease the spine or crinkle a page. I must say, she did a good job. The book looks pristine.

A Walk

It was still sunny, so I decided to walk to the downtown grocer's for a few ingredients I needed to make vegetarian lasagne. When we finally got out the door, a young boy who lives down the street started walking with me. He asked me about our cat and we chatted. We started to approach of group of three girls around the same age as him -- maybe 10ish? 12ish? -- and he suddenly said, "Gotta go," and veered back in the direction we just came from, putting his headphones back on.

The girls were whispering and giggling and looking behind them. When they saw me, they stopped and let me pass. I smiled at them as I passed, figuring one of them had a crush on the boy or something. I hadn't gotten far from them when one of them suddenly demanded, "Do you know what we're talking about?!"

"No," I replied innocently.

"See," said one of them to another, "You're retarded."

I turned around again. "But I can tell it must be important. And Top Secret."

"It is! It's very secret!" the girl in the middle said with defiance.

I turned and continued walking. The girl called after me, "It's about our pet snail. He just died. We're planning a funeral, and we're going to invite all his snail friends."

I imagine they started laughing.

This last bit irritated me. Why the hell should I care what they're talking about? And I certainly don't care enough to merit a cover-up lie like that. Brats! I decided I am officially a curmudgeon.

A little ways on, I stopped to snap a pic of a turquoise tap and its shadow sticking out of a plain gray wall. A woman and her child walked by, and I remembered that I'd seen them the day before at my neighbourhood playgroup. She stopped, and said, "I'm curious. What are you shooting?"

So I pointed to the tap: "That tap and its shadow. I seem to obsessed with shadows these days. I think because they're such a treat this late in November."

We had a conversation and introduced ourselves formally, and it was nice to discover that she actually lives in our neighbourhood and isn't just hijacking our playgroup the way some others do.

Later, I noticed a shiny silver-grey Vespa outside a tattoo shop, just as a young guy exited the shop for a smoke.

"Is that your bike?" I asked.

He looked surprised. "No." He leaned against the tattoo shop's window and lit his smoke.

I walked on. But then I stopped. Turned. And raised my camera to my eyes. If it's not his bike, I don't need to ask his permission. And I kinda want a picture of him, because his blue boxers are hanging out of his pants.

I kept snapping, when another guy, who looks a bit like Ben from So You Think You Can Dance but punkier, came out of the shop.

"Are you still nervous?" he asked the other guy.

I didn't hear the first guy's response as he ran over to the door, probably to get away from the crazy lady with the stroller taking pictures of the Vespa.

"C'mon. It's just cartilage," the second guy cajoled as he lit his smoke.

I stopped shooting and continued on to the store.

At the store, I saw a young guy, not as young as the one outside the tattoo shop, who in turn wasn't as young as the one outside my door. He was rockin' out by the meat section. I couldn't even hear the music, but it was cute. He was doing a good finger dance.

On my way home, the sun sank lower and lower and the sky behind me got pinker and pinker. I saw some seagulls fly overhead and marvelled at the way their bellies glowed pink from the sun, set off against the still-blue sky behind them. I thought about taking a picture, but figured I wouldn't be fast enough. I just enjoyed the sight instead.

I walked down my street on the home stretch, and smelled gas. I wondered if I should run away, if Swee'pea was in danger. I pictured us suddenly getting blown up and forward like in the movies and felt really, really sad. It reminded me of that Grey's Anatomy episode when Kyle Chandler made a guest appearance. We got to know him through the whole two to-be-continued episodes and then right at the end as he walks away holding the ammunition like the most precious little preemie, he got blown up. I cried watching that. But probably mostly because I had the biggest crush ever on Kyle Chandler when he was on a show called Homefront and I was so pleased to see him again. I loved that show when I was about 16 or so. And I loved him and his character.

More Random Notes

Edited to add just one more random note.

Municipal Politics

This morning we got a phone call with an automated message from Robert Munsch, the children's author, urging us to vote in the upcoming municipal election. You're preaching to the zealous new converts, Mr. Munsch.

In a related story, our lawn sign supporting our chosen mayoral candidate has disappeared from our yard, along with most of our neighbours'. I strongly suspect the old couple on the corner who still have their sign up for the conservative incumbent.

Neighbours

Speaking of neighbours, I am a total nosey parker. Sugar Daddy hates going for walks with me at dusk because I always take advantage of that time after people have turned on their lights but before they've closed their curtains to check out their wall colours and light fixtures, and whatever else I can see. It's terrible. I've nearly run into lamp posts I'm such a rubber necker.

Anyways this morning a neighbour I haven't seen before came outside to shake a small rug, and he had the one of the biggest mullets I've seen since Billy Ray Cyrus, although he couldn't hold a candle to Michael Bolton. God, I'm such a raging snob.

In other neighbourly news, our next door neighbour just bought a Toyota Matrix. And then there were three. We bought a Toyota Matrix in April when we discovered that Swee'pea would grow into a bigger, still rear facing seat, which would not fit in our poor little 20-year-old Jetta. Also, because our poor little 20-year-old Jetta, which I always meant to give a name but never did, was not very reliable. So we bought a Matrix, mostly because it's Sugar Daddy's favourite movie and we didn't discover any annoying little tics when we rented one for a weekend out of town when the PLTYOJ broke down. Our neighbours across the street bought a Matrix just over a year ago when their other car got totalled. Here a Matrix, there a Matrix, Everywhere a Matrix Matrix.

Our other next-door-neighbours are not as nice as the one with the Matrix. They have two very angry teenagers, who bellow at their parents and honk their horns on Sunday mornings. I know teenagers are angry by their very nature, but these two are Angry; the rage emanates from them like radioactivity and, yes, it scares me a little. And I'm not generally scared by teenagers. Anyways, they have a little Jack Russell and sometimes I see them when we're out for walks. And since Swee'pea was born they're much chattier. So yesterday I saw the woman and her dog while walking, and she exclaimed over how big Swee'pea is getting, and how cute he is, yadda yadda yadda. Then she tilts her head and looks coyly at me: "So, any plans for another one?" Wink wink nudge nudge.

Now, I don't have a lot of boundaries or issues with privacy, but I don't care to discuss this subject with peopple I'm barely acquainted with and don't particularly like. So I evaded the question, figuring she'd get the hint, and said, "Well, we'll just have to see..." And she looked all confused... but it was actually a very honest answer, because we haven't decided yet.

Don't Eat and Blog

I just flipped my fork and got pumpkin cheesecake square goodness all over the keyboard. I had to take a minute to lick up the big bits. I got the square at our local whole grain, organic, make-every-delicious-thing-they-sell-from-scratch-and-onsite bakery, which was crazy busy. They have new menu items every day, which they post on blackboards. It used to be when an item sold out, they just wiped it out. But now they've started putting a sold sticker on the item, which doesn't obscure the description at all, so I spent considerable time grieving for what yummy goodness was not going to meet my tummy today. Wah. But they had the pumpkin cheesecake squares still so it was all good.

Google Searches

When you find out what searches have brought people to your blog, do you ever want to reach out across the Internet and give them a hug or point them to information that might help? Over the last day or two, two searches have made me feel like doing this. Yesterday, someone came to my blog searching for "no amniotic fluid left." Obviously since the woman (I assume it's a woman 'cause Sugar Daddy has never done any research related to pregnancy or birth online... well, or at the library) has time to google, she's not in surgery, which is where I was when we discovered there was no fluid left. I don't think it's a good thing at all to discover when you're pregnant. So, I'll send her good baby wellness thoughts and hope for the best.

The other search was a couple of days ago. Her (again with the assumptions; see above) search was Help! I'm GBS positive. This was an issue that tormented me in the last few weeks of my pregnancy. So in case she searches again here's my experience and some of what I found out online. I won't go into the elementary stuff can you get that from a regular google search. But I discovered quite a bit of research that suggests that IV antibiotics in labour for GBS positive women wasn't alwas the best option. Though GBS infections went down in those cases, sometimes other life-threatening antibiotic-resistant infections went up. Also, there was some anecdotal evidence that the midwives' favourite induction technique, stretch and sweeps, seemed to increase neonatal infections. In the end, I decided not to do the stretch and sweep; I had my massage therapist massage some pressure point around my ankles and I went into labour with 12 hours. We decided to take the iv antibiotics. I had always been clear that if my water broke first, or I had any other risk factors, I would take the antibiotics. And not only did my water break very early in labour but I had meconium in it, another risk factor. And since I ended up with a fever during labour, and then a c-section, I was glad I got the antibiotics so early. And I never got a yeast infection, and neither did Swee'pea.

And a few people have found my blog looking for stuff about Al Purdy. This makes me happy. Happy that people are still looking for stuff about him, and happy that they can read the article that never got published.

It even partly makes up for the '"armpit rash" tight clothes' search that I'm in the top 10 results for.

Mr. Darcy Spammer

This is for Bubandpie... the other day we got spam from one Jamal Marin with the following text:

"i do, i do like him," she replied, with tears in her eyes, "i love him. indeed he has no improperdarcy mentioned his letter. "did it," said he, "did it soon make you think better of me? did you,

I keep wondering with spam like this, what purpose does it serve?!? There are no links to click on, no invitations to buy stock or confirm our banking/credit details...

Today's laugh

Now I understand the purpose of a camera in your cell phone, especially since I figured out how to get the picture out of my cell phone. This made me laugh:


And, although it's extremely difficult to see in this photo (Sorry!), another example of the restauranteur's apostrophe (there is a tiny mark between the o and the s in Taco's. Trust me):

Sign Language

This made my day last week, except that it was so small:


And this awkward sign is just kinda weird:

Say that ten times fast...

Upon discussion, Sugar and I decided that it would be awkward to word it any other way though... "Park Parking Only" wouldn't be much clearer, nor would "Parking for the Park" or "Only Park for the Park." Seems to me the powers that be should consider just letting anybody park there. I mean, really, how would they know if you're actually in the park?

Surreal Store Incident

This afternoon we went to the local convenience store for bread and chocolate. I thought I might also like cookies but I couldn't. I stood in the cookie aisle trying to decide for a long time. While I stood there, a man went into the aisle across from me. We made eye contact, briefly, and in retrospect I can say there was something a bit odd about him, a bit shifty. As I watched out of the corner of my eye, he opened up his bomber jacket and I though, "Wow, he's going to shoplift. Or pull out a gun." I was a bit nervous while I waited to find out which. But no, he just picked up a can of spray deoderant, sprayed it liberally into each armpit, put the canister back on the shelf and walk away, leaving a cloud of deoderant in his wake.

When I went to the cash to pay for my purchases I asked if the clerk had noticed. He hadn't, so I guess this guy had some experience. Bizarre. I swear I don't make this shit up.

Coconuts in Ontario? or It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a... squirrel?

Today we went for a walk in the park. As we walked by a large tree, a squirrel suddenly fell out of it and landed - thud - a few feet away from us. When I first heard it, I was disoriented and couldn't figure out what could possible make that large a thud. My first thought was, "But we don't have coconuts in Ontario." Then we saw the squirrel run back up the tree, apparently unharmed. Weird.