Chipmunks (for those across the sea) are little tan tree rodents, bigger than a mouse, with black & white stripes down their back. I know a sweet man who looks a little like one, and I have hoped for a while that someday he will have a wife who will knit him a sweater with chipmunk stripes down the back.
They are shy, and one does not see them nearly as often as squirrels; that is one reason I am grateful for them. But in 1956, when I had a summer job at Yale, a fellow technician & I used to eat lunch on the lawn outside Gibbs Lab, and one of them became quite tame because we fed it. It would pick up a grape between its paws & gnaw at it.
Yesterday, also, I lit the candle, because it at least seemed that I had managed the adaptation to Motzarella's new name without agony. Tomorrow, I will light it because it is the beginning of the Jewish sabbath, and thus ex officio a good day.
The candlestick is a Benedictine bottle, which by now is thick with drippings of all colors. I had such a candlestick also when I lived on Beacon Hill in 1960. The day before I moved to Harvard Square, I packed everything but that (to keep it from harm) & a raincoat (in case it rained). The trucker I hired was not allowed to carry me, so, as in a dream, I took what is now called the Red Line to Harvard on a blazing sunny day in a raincoat & carrying a Benedictine bottle with a candle stuck in it. I was tempted to light it, but supposed that might get me in trouble.