Rather unexpectedly, I have been yanked to the sidelines by an incredibly sore throat and headache, and am hoping against hope that my condition doesn’t flower into something more substantial. The trip to the drugstore has been made, and provisions purchased. Tea is being consumed in voluminous quantity, and preventative medications of questionable efficacy are being administered. And still my affliction remains, despite my efforts.
Said illness seems to have timed its arrival perfectly with the first hints of Spring in Cambridge. All around us, trees have begun to bloom, wildflowers are sprouting on the college lawns, the skies are blue and the temperature noticeably warmer. In other words, it’s exactly the sort of weather that would normally lure me outside with ease, were I not under it.
I have, however, made a fairly interesting discovery that is helping me while away the hours of my convalescence – namely, a reality TV program that I can really get into.
For reasons I cannot fully comprehend, someone felt inspired to climb up a tree on Hornby Island in British Columbia, Canada and install a webcam that looked directly on a Bald Eagle nest. The results can be seen by following this link and opening one of the video streams.
I’ve gotta’ say, at first I was a bit amused by the feed, but now I’m fully captivated! Most of the time the video consists of Mama Eagle sitting on her eggs, but every now and again, Papa Eagle comes back with food and/or nest accessories, and there’s a whole flurry of activity.
Be warned that the feed comes complete with sound. We didn’t realize this at first, and Ally was becoming fairly concerned about the bizarre twittering noises emanating from her laptop until we clued in.
I watched this video feed for a good 45 minutes straight in order to see the aforementioned flurry of activity, a level of viewing obsessiveness that can only be matched by a quest embarked upon by my brother and I last Christmas, when we sat transfixed in front of the Canadian version of the Yule Log television program for the better part of an hour to determine if stories of a hand entering into the frame to throw on new logs and/or stoke the fire were fallacious or true.
And no, I’m not telling.
But, ’tis time to fill up the mug and partake in a bit of self-medication. I’m certain I’ll be more verbose after a few good hits of Cold-B-Gone or some other such miracle product.
Ta for now, kids.