Elsie's Notes from New England - THEMission edition

So, I'm pretty sure a gang of squirrels just rumbled outside my bathroom window this morning.  I was at the sink, trying to rectify the Great Bleach Spill of 2011 and kind of wishing I knew how to swear properly, because if ever an occasion called for vigorous and proper swearing, it was indeed the Great Bleach Spill of 2011.  This event is not to be confused with the Lost Phone Charger Emergency of 2010, nor the #10 Can of Cut Oats All Over the Kitchen Floor Fiasco of 2009.  It was a totally separate disaster and one worth swearing over (properly), if I were that kind of girl. But these squirrels were something else.  I'm tempted to call them Ninja Squirrels because I definitely saw one of them do a three-foot vertical backflip leap onto the branch above him.  It was a him, I can assure you, because shortly thereafter, he completely flashed me.  They weren't Ninja Squirrels, however, because Ninjas are silent, and these hooligans were not. I can't tell you just how

Someone should do a study on me.  Either there is a genius lurking in the recesses of my brain, or I’m severely disturbed.  Maybe both.  The stuff that goes on in there while the rest of my body is trying to sleep is getting stranger and stranger. This looks a lot like the view from the house where I grew up. I’ve always been a vivid dreamer.  I’m not talking about the usual stuff – you know, waiting naked at the bus stop, forgetting to attend classes all semester and then realizing you have to go take the final exam, or remembering on opening night that you’ve forgotten to memorize any lines at all; that kind of stuff is oatmeal for me.  Flying?  Please.  Been there done that so many times.  My favorite flying dreams are the ones (most of my best - and worst - dreams are recurring) where I climb a staircase to a plane hovering in the sky, then parachute out, and do it over and over and over again . . . of course, with no parachute.  It’s the darn power lines that worry me.  Th