Tee-hee-hee

Anna was at home making dinner when the rest of us began walking in from William's baseball game. We'd driven separate cars, having come from different locations, and dh was the first to arrive. Anna looked up from the computer and paused before saying anything: Dad had a large brown spot on his forehead. Had he been injured? Facial blemish? He got closer and she realized he had a penny stuck there. She started laughing. He pulled it off, looked at it, and said it likely had been in the ball cap he was wearing at the game.

She continued to giggle in that girl giggle and he responded with that man tilt of the head and sneer, saying "he-he-he, very funny" which of course, only made it funnier. Lauren arrived and then I, and we added to the laughter, all the while he shrugged and "tee-hee-heed". I said the only obvious thing: "A penny for your thoughts!"

Later, while dh and I sat watching TV, the girls came in with pennies stuck to their foreheads.

Notes:
Nests should be built by now, but this dang cardinal continues to fight with himself in our window. We've put out a blanket to cover the window. Wonder if that will work?

It is so very chilly here. My greatest fear is living through an ice age. It seems like it's coming. Will it never warm up?

Lesson Learned

William will tell you he had a rough day. Nothing seemed to be going his way: it was pouring down rain, his umbrella was half broken, and something I never noticed before, being short causes you to get a lot more wet on more of your body in the rain than a taller person. He was irritated by the constant piano playing in the house and no one would play with him. I was taking him to Walmart hoping to break the bad mood and lack of activity he seemed to be experiencing on this rainy day.

We perused the toy aisle for some time, and I thought I was very patient. He had allowance money he wanted to spend, but he likes not to spend all of it (he likes to still have a little cash for emergencies) and could not find the perfectly priced toy or even really one he liked. "I know what you're going to say," he said in a voice sounding a good deal like Eeyore. "If you can't find something you like, you should wait." Pleased he was listening, I agreed and suggested we move on to get milk. I had to get back home to make dinner.

He began to drag his whole body hunched over. When that didn't work, he tried some more violent body movements to let the whole of Walmart that he was unhappy. Now, we had a conversation which ended in steam coming out of my ears and my eyes shooting out green sparks. In other words, after all I tried to do for him that day, I'd had it with his attitude.

Finally, he apologized in that "I'm sorrrrrrry" that means he's not really but would I please just shut up about it? Because it wasn't sincere, I replied that I accepted the apology, but he would have to follow up with a changed behavior, in other words "show me" that he was sorry.

That's when my words were vomited back on me, words spoken earlier that morning as the leader of the Children's Liturgy. "But MOM! Didn't you say in Church today blessed are those that believe without seeing? Didn't you mean what you said?" What can one say to that?

Validation

I first saw this short movie on Chris' blog. Since then, my daughter has shared it with many people by email and has been banned certain family members from starting a sentence with "YOU, you are...." It starts out a little slow, but I encourage you to watch to the end. Aside from a smile for today, it might give you something to think about. And Chris, thanks for the tip. You, you are awesome at blogging and encouraging other bloggers.



Notes:
Today, Louise (cat) is to be spayed. Poor, poor Louise.

My internet provider just showed up. They need to work on the po' (pole) outside. I must hurry and publish.

I bought hay for the horses yesterday. My hay provider said he's about out and is cutting me off. I have to reduce the herd!

Orange Shirts

Up at the baseball complex, you often see men in orange shirts painting or doing maintenance jobs. They are alternately respectful, quiet, friendly, uncommunicative, without eye contact, some smiling, tattooed. They are all prisoners. As a town with a medium security prison, we often see men who are (we hope) lower security risks working about town or at the recycle center.

Being a mom, I worry. That's my job. I'm a compassionate person, but when it comes to my children, I'm a tigress. I never leave William at baseball practice without a family member to supervise. Its not that I don't trust the coach but let's face it, he has twelve high energy boys to keep track of and it only takes a moment.... So I tell William not to talk to or go anywhere with anyone that has an orange shirt (or anyone else for that matter). They are prisoners, I explain, people that have done something wrong and are paying for it by spending time in prison. I thought that explained it succinctly, yes? No.

The next practice, Lauren drove him and the first thing Wm. did out of the car was to point at an orange-shirted man and say loudly, "is HE a prisoner??" Lauren assures me that the man did not hear, she thinks. and I'm glad I wasn't there to be mortified.

By the next practice, dh was in charge of Wm's whereabouts and describes a talk in the car. William asked where was America? Dh explained that the United States of America was sometimes just called "America". Did Wm. mean that? Yes, and we don't have slaves in America, right? Dh assented. Then why do we have slaves at the ballpark? What slaves? The slaves in the orange shirts! It seems all this discussion came from Wm watching Liberty's Kids, a historical cartoon for kids that we use to jump start U.S. history lessons. Well, at least he's picking up a little bit, even if we have to straighten it out later.

Wordless Wednesday: See the Wind?

"Thank God for Jeffrey"

Some little boys teethe on baseballs and wooden bats. My son was blessed with animals and big sisters and lots of other things, but despite the fact that baseball was part of the fabric of my childhood, I was late introducing him to it. I don't know why; life seems to run it's own marathon these days.

As a result of that and a 90th percentile body whose brain hasn't yet caught up to it, he's a little behind in his skill level. He also has the "high school syndrome". He was the biggest and best in t-ball, but has moved up a level, and down the totem pole. He'd be at the bottom of that pole were it not for Jeffrey, a young man with great spirit who has really never thrown a ball before this season. Dh, who squirms with me over a missed catch or a thrown ball gone astray, commented, "Thank God for Jeffrey". Jeffrey means that William has company at the bottom.

So, I promised to tell you about the game. It was exciting and very close. All the parents cheered because before our eyes, we could see the bigger boys actually being able to play real ball. The short stop could throw out the batter at first. One boy hit a triple, a real one, not based on bad throws. One little boy who was "playing up" hit in a run and made it to third himself. It was clear that though he probably was only five or six, he could play with the big boys and knew what he had done. It was a joy to see their collective progress.

William made one very good play and got a base hit. Dh and I both looked at each other as the game went into extra innings and we mentally calculated the lineup. We had a runner on base, two outs and we were down one run. "Oh, no!" I said quietly. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking," said dh. These other parents behind us, they were serious about this game. They had once already asked "which son is yours???" and dh laughed and said "the one in the dugout on the bench". But now, now William was up to bat. Last batter, tying run. And....he struck out.

Blissfully, he did not recognize the significance of what had just happened. (Many of the boys do and will cry if they are out or if they make an error.) He smiled and headed back to the dugout. There, the coach sat them down and began to list what each boy had done right during the game, rewarding each with a baseball card. I listened and wondered if he'd mention each boy? And then he got to William. William got a card for his good hit and great play - no mention of the losing strikeout. (As it should be.)

And lastly, the coach talked about Jeffrey. Jeffrey, who made no play and I don't think got any hits, got two baseball cards. Two! You see, the week before, Jeffrey had been up to the plate for practice with the pitching machine. Through an error in alignment, it hit him in the mouth (at 40 mph) and made his lip bleed. At the next scrimmage, he was understandably afraid and backed up from the plate saying, "I can't do this" with tears in his eyes. But at this game, Jeffrey got up to bat. And for his courage, he got two baseball cards. All the parents stood and clapped for him. And for that, I say, Thank God for Jeffrey.

Notes:
I put a tall fence around the big chicken coop today to let them at some grass. Later while working on Wm's homework with him, Lauren called that Aloha Mo was chasing Travis around the yard. Somehow, he'd escaped and the two were running all over the place. It was easy to catch Aloha. He's lost his privileges.

I've named the white hen Kristen Painter.

My Town Monday - Little League

Little League is a big deal in many small towns, and my town is no exception. It does surprise me somewhat that is so popular because in Kentucky, you are more likely to be asked if you are a UofL (University of Louisville) or UK (University of Kentucky) fan than if you are a Democrat or Republican. College basketball or football is big business (and everybody's business) here. There is a minor league team in Louisville (once known as the River Bats, but that didn't sound so cool, so they are now the Louisville Bats) but it has never caught on like the college teams.

Back to Little League. Last Saturday was opening day. Seventy teams with at least 10 players per team and their parents and siblings marched from the fire station to the ball field. It was quite a procession in the chilly morning air. There was no marching band, but we were led by a fire truck.

After arriving at the field, each team was introduced, memorials made, past glories relived, and the National Anthem sung. The first pitch of the season was thrown, as was my schedule for the next couple of months.


The Cincinnati Reds uniform would have been my team of choice, but I'll have to live with a San Francisco Giant. Interestingly, two of the coaches grew up in Cincinnati, and one of the other dads grew up there and went to the University of Cincinnati (my alma mater). Having grown up there during the years when they won the World's Series, I had to settle for William wearing #5 - Johnny Bench's number. It seems a little too co-incidental that parents of four kids grew up in Cincinnati.

So, after, there was a game - and you've not seen a more exciting professional game. We lost by one run but we had the loudest parent cheering section ever. More on the game tomorrow.

Run over to Travis Erwin's blog for more My Town Monday posts.

Notes:
Knowing that a storm was approaching, I ran to the barn, did all the stalls and laid out food, put in the minis and Phantom, and called for the remaining three "big" horses. They would not come as it was only 3 p.m. Tough for them - I did not want to get hit by lightening. Their stubbornness caused them to have to tolerate hail moments later. Maybe they'll learn to come when I call.

Lightening is flashing outside, so I'll close for now.

Happy Easter

Humility

Tears came to my eyes at last night's service as I saw our priest remove the robes of his office and kneel before four parishioners, my daughter among them, and humble himself to wash their feet. Such a solemn yet joyful Mass, beautiful music and symbolism, along with feeling the sadness of the unstoppable events to come on Good Friday. The tradition and pageantry of the service was very moving.

I hadn't expected that the parishioners would also be called forth to wash the feet of these four, but when they called people forth, I went. I had hoped to get in Lauren's line, but it was very long. Later at home, we laughed, because only the right foot was washed repeatedly and her poor left did not get a better treatment.

After picking up Anna at a Teen Council meeting, I returned home late to assist Lauren with the barn chores. The last chore was to shut up the chickens in the big coop. Lauren and I joked about not reaching in so that I didn't have a repeat episode of chicken poop jacket. As I entered the coop, I saw two hens perched on the top door, preferring no doubt the clean spring air to being shut up. As is my custom, I reached for a hen to put her in the coop, gently pinning her wings so she would not flap me about the face. Evidently, I didn't grab gently enough. In the darkness I hear the unmistakable sound of chicken sh@t being shot out. There was enough light to see that I was the intended target. All down my jacket and pants leg.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't think the hen intentionally did it. Rather, I think you can basically squeeze it out of them if you squeeze too hard in the right place. Lauren asked how many poopy jackets I intended to make? For the second time that night, I was humbled. (It is hard to be anything but with chicken poop dripping down you.)

Notes:
Tomorrow is opening day for Little League here, complete with a pancake breakfast and parade! Ye haw!

After reading here, go to Debra's blog and listen. A good way to start the day.

Corns and All

Our Church's youth minister is awesome, using all the available technology to meet the "youth" where they are. And she had to use every available avenue trying to get just one person to volunteer to have his or her feet washed at Holy Thursday Mass, which is tonight. It began with a phone message, asking Lauren if she was interested. Later, her cell phone rang, her email box filled and she was Facebooked. Will she consent to have her feet washed in commemoration of the washing of the Disciples' feet by Jesus at the Last Supper?

It seems that we needed a representative from each Church group or ministry. The teen youth group's general response, if I may paraphrase, was "EWWWW, GROSS!" No one would do it, and talk speculated around the possibility of getting some old man handling one's feet or of having to wash feet that were, shall we say, less than appealing? Lauren, however, consented to have them washed if there absolutely was no one else who could do it. Thank you, said the youth minister, you're my last hope and you're it! So this evening, she will have her feet washed.

It is a fortunate thing that no one asked me and that I consented. Several days back, it rained and I was doing horses alone as Lauren was out for the evening. As Quid entered the barn, her muddy hooves slid on the concrete floor like a skating rink and her legs went in four directions. She was stopped from falling only by, you guessed it, my foot. I was her "chock". My foot is now brilliantly displayed in technicolor and swelled to look like I've got gout. Not appealing.

Speaking of not appealing, have you seen the Ped Egg? We've gagged each time we've seen the commercial as they demonstrate emptying the thing of shaved skin from feet. I told the girls I was going to get one, use it on my foot, and then make coconut cream pie, using the shavings for coconut. They'll probably never eat that pie again.

Notes:
Tick season! For some reason, the ticks don't seem to attach to cats, but like to ride in on them. I put flea and tick meds on them, but one cat hadn't had it yet, and I picked two ticks off of him today. Seems I missed one as one was crawling up my belly as I typed this. Itchy now??

William had an awesome piano lesson today.

It was 9:12 p.m. last night, two minutes past the time I must leave to pick Anna up from art exactly at 9:30 if I don't get behind someone going well under the speed limit. Still, I took time to go to the big chicken coop, fearing that the raccoons might strike. Before shutting the door, I reached over as is my custom to feel the backs of each one, counting them in the dark and training them to be accustomed to my touch. Each gave a "bawk!" and I closed the door.

Returning to the car, I wasn't five feet up the driveway before the smell hit, an overpowering, nasal opening odor. I must have stepped in "it". Or, could it be the dogs, as I had two of them with me. Did they have an accident? No matter, I could not be late, and I decided to just drive and figure it out once I reached the art studio twenty minutes away.

As I drove, the smell became overpowering and I thought that Anna was going to object highly to to the smell in the car. While still driving, I slipped off one shoe, and then the other, smelling each to see if it was the offender. Perhaps I could drive home barefoot, tying the shoes to the roof of the car or something. I could not throw them out - my beloved "cow pie" shoes. But, it wasn't my shoes. The smell, I had decided, however, was distinctly chicken sh@t.

Shrugging, I inched down the windows, but it was so cold outside, I was obliged to also turn on the heat. The fan blowing the heat also blew up the offending smell, so turning off the heat, I shivered the remaining miles.

Arriving at the studio, I stepped inside to tell Anna I was there. "Uh, MOM!" she said pointing at my knit jacket. I looked down and saw that I was covered in chicken crap. Down my front and along my sleeve, I had a nice, green chicken "cow pie". Evidently, when reaching into the coop, and being short of stature, that isn't all that easy, I had rubbed against the door where a chicken had sat and shat.

Quickly, I unzipped the jacket, balled it up, and stuck it near the door for retrieval as I left. I had a pleasant conversation as usual with the ladies there, and we left.

Once in the car, Anna and I started laughing. Very grateful I was that she saw it before anyone else. I told her I could hear her instructor coming out and in her Georgia drawl wondering "what is that smell"? Anna began to laugh that hysterical beyond funny tearful laugh as she pictured her mother coming into the studio covered in chicken crap and being found out by the ladies there. Because she is soon to get her driving permit, I was thankful she didn't have it yet given that she could not stop laughing which might have impaired her driving.

I guess I'll never get the "best dressed mother" of the year award, or even the "doesn't really smell that bad" award. I supposed this is one of the stories that will go in the "remember when mom....." book.

Notes:
Aloha Mo found his crow.

After some cold, it is supposed to be spring-like again.

Lauren and I have been watching the movie Impromptu. Did you know that George Sands, Liszt, Chopin and Delacroix all hung out together? Very interesting movie so far. One reason I really like Netflix is that we have available to us many videos both on demand and by ordering them by mail that aid in our studies.

Dh said watching William grow is bittersweet: it is delightful to see him thrive but each day is like losing the little boy we love so much. He has grown five inches in one year, and each day is more boy and less little boy.

Fickle Weather, Laptops and Jane Eyre

In Kentucky, this time of year requires patience and lots of drawer space. You must be prepared for the weather to deal you seventy degrees one day and below freezing the next. Therefore, you must drag out all of your spring clothes and mow all the grass one day, and still have available your winter clothes and mittens for the next. Wearing layers makes the entire state look like it is menopausal, peeling off layers like a group hot flash as the day warms. It is easy to get caught wearing either too much or worse, too little. Nearly everyone sports some pink as sunburns have become a memory and it doesn't feel like burning weather yet.

My absence from blogging was prolonged by a cord on my Toshiba laptop. Googling tells me that electrical shorts in the cord for Toshibas are common. Such a little thing, such a big disruption to my life. To read email, I either had to use my ancient desktop in the cold basement, or steal my daughter's Dell cord which seems compatible, but will likely cause some catastrophic meltdown second only to Chernobyl.

Also devouring my time was the re-reading of Jane Eyre , prompted by my daughter who wanted to discuss it with someone. Though I'll admit to skimming a paragraph here and there near the end, the interest for me came after the end and reading the introduction (backwards, I know). Over dinner last night, dh admitted that in high school, they were "forced" to read the book, but he never finished it, preferring a lower grade to having to read such drivel. The girls protested. Our conversation followed the usual route of discussing the historic significance of the book and that for its time, it was considered revolutionary and feminist. Dh wasn't impressed. Pushing further, Anna asked if he knew what book was written by Charlotte's (Brontë) sister. Lauren prompted by making a "wuhh, wuhh" sound. Dh, pulling their leg (I hope!!) hazarded that it was the book about that pig, Wilbur. You know, Charlotte's Web. Slapping of tables and loud hoots of disbelief ensued as dh laughed with his head thrown back. Such is the life of homeschoolers.

Riding "Quid"

I Disappeared

This morning, it was difficult to get up. The window allowed a slight breeze in the dusk. I listened to the newly arrived birds, a train whistle in the distance, and occasionally, a crow from one of my two roosters. Yet, the day was changing even as I listened - the sun began to rise, and duties called. And on the edge of my mind was my neglect of my blog.

Where did I go? It seems that with the awakening of the spring, I've added outside chores to my indoor. I'm trying to move mountains in getting William into a regular school routine. And the girls are working very hard on their future - which includes me in the discovery and research.

Yesterday, evening found me working on our chicken tractor (a movable coop). Several of the five chickies found a hole in the chicken wire and escaped. Luckily, no large chicken found them them to peck their tiny heads in, no horse trampled them into pancakes. I began by removing wire. But why put new wire on rotten wood, so I set about replacing one of the main runners and a cross strut. The more I pounded, the more rot I found. Like most projects I start, it soon became mass destruction and despair of finishing the project in the time I'd alotted.

One mashed finger, curse word and several hours later, I actually got it back together and be-wired. It will have to be re-built, but will last for a little while yet. The chickies are back, warm in the hay under their mommy's wing.

Aloha Mo (rooster) lost his crow. If you find it, please return it to me. He can't even cluck to the hens when he finds a morsel. Perhaps spring allergies?

On another note: Do you know how much it costs to go to college these days?

Homeschooling for us is a bit like deciding to go for a Sunday hike. You follow the path ahead, stopping to look at interesting things, and occasionally, going down a different path to investigate something new.

Most recently, William and I have been reading Mr. Popper's Penguins, written in 1938. Interestingly, it was started by Richard Atwater who fell ill while writing it. His wife later finished the book for him. The book brought up dozens of questions and ideas. For example, the illustrations showed twelve penguins walking in pairs. "Wait," William said with yet another interruption to my reading. "Six groups of penguins with two each is twelve!" (Math.)

Interruption again. "Whyyyyy, if the South Pole is at the bottom of the Earth, don't we feel upside down while there or fall off?" (Science.)

"Who was Admiral Drake and Captain Cook?" (History.)

So you get the idea. Resources for this book:

Library: where we get most of our books

Internet: Look up many questions:

Drake, Cook, South Pole, North Pole, why don't polar bears eat penguins (can you answer this?), how you know the Earth is round, not flat without going into space, how the poles are often in all darkness/light, do people live at the poles, all meandering around from Google

Netflix: Watching the March of the Penguins

Zoo: We'll try to make it there this coming week to see the penguin display

Real Life: Comparison of how our chicken hatched her many eggs with the hatching of one penguin egg. By the way, we're up to five! chicks now.

Notes:

Update on George (my brother): Praise God he is free of cancer. The polyp, though big, was benign. He will still face another surgery for another polyp, but no chemo or radiation.

Lauren tells me Phantom is "not going to work out". She has been riding him for me several times a week, but his flightiness isn't improving. He spooks at the smallest things. Yesterday, he spooked when I kicked a dust pan out of the way while leading him. Today, some horses in a field ran up to him and he took off galloping. Lauren, a great rider, managed to rein him in, but then once stopped, he reared. She got off. I would have fallen off.

Signs of Spring

Birds insist on nesting in dh's grill though the lid is always down and covered.

At our Church.

Turkeys and white tail deer share a field.

Hopefully, they'll survive better than last year.

So far, three chickies born.

Breastfeeding Fatwa

My husband and I frequently listen to NPR in the morning to get a quick run-down of the world news. He was about leave when we heard this statement:

An Egyptian cleric — not on TV, but from Cairo's venerable Al Azhar University itself — issued the much-ridiculed "breastfeeding fatwa," which proposed that a woman could work alongside an unrelated man if she had breast-fed him five times.

Whaaaat? There isn't any unrelated man that I'd do that for just so I could get a job. For-get-IT. And then, I remembered having heard once that in the Arab culture, if one breastfeeds someone else's baby even one time, culturally the woman may look on the child as if it were her own. So, likely, they meant that if the woman had breastfed the man as a baby, it is as if he is now related to her, and so they can work together. Surely, that is what they mean. This would be a good example for a writing class on how easily one can imply the wrong thing.

Say-It-Again Sunday: George

Monday, July 30, 2007

George

This past week reminds me of a tunnel. My focus was to emerge, alive, at the other end and to not worry about the journey. Yet, I am full of things to write. It might take another week to do so. The week was too full, and caffeine pumps through my veins to keep me going.

This past week, my brother, George, nine years my junior, came to stay with me for his vacation. George was born with hydrocephalus and not expected to live beyond a few days. But live he did, and was one of the first babies to receive a shunt to drain fluid from his brain. Unfortunately, this left him with a multitude of physical and mental disablities.

There are so many things to learn from George, so many lessons for those of us who come to know him. Often, I'll hear a well meaning person say that God will heal you if only you ask and believe, that God always answers prayers. Sometimes, someone will link an affliction to God's wrath and disappointment at our behaviors. Yet, I look at George and realize that sometimes, afflictions are a sign of God's love. That may sound strange, for certainly, George has had a most difficult life. His disabilites were certainly difficult for my parents and our family.

I think God doesn't always send the answer that we think we need, rather the lesson that He thinks we need. Perhaps not even a lesson, George gives people the opportunity to demonstrate their humanity. He smiles at strangers, gets in their faces with a bleating "Helloooooo..." They'll either respond with a tentative hello, a confused and wary hello, or in on man's case, the readiness to fight if necessary (for George on first glance appears normal). "What's your name?" he'll ask. When they respond, he'll hold his hand over his heart and smile. "I'm George." After about the twentieth introduction, a quick exit from Stuff Mart was in order.

For a week, I had a chance to see kindness in people that I might not have otherwise seen. Strangers looked at me and smiled, collaborators in making George happy for a moment. And I could not help wondering, what if we all were "normal" and had no one to remind us how fortunate we all are?

Never again will I be aggravated that my five year old asks me to help him in the bathroom. It pales in comparison with a man who need similar help but has medicines that make it even worse (you don't want to know). Never again will I think brushing my little ones teeth is a chore, as I've brushed the teeth of a man on meds that make the gums bleed and teeth bad. Going to the store is easy now, despite my son's shenanigans, and getting to the car for an errand is speedy after waiting ten minutes for George to negotiate the steps.

Many times this week, someone has said to me how they admire me for taking him for the week. Yet, see, he's given me a gift. He's made me see how soft and easy my life is on a normal day. I never knew. He gave me the opportunity to model compassion and patience to my children. He taught my son that sometimes, he didn't come first even as the youngest in the house.

I won't say I'm not relieved that the week is completed, for I'd be lying. It was hard. But it was good. I had many a revelation, a few laughs, and sense of accomplishment. My right eye is twitching hard, but I think that might be temporary. I'm off now to set my house to rights and to try to get back to my regularly scheduled life, but perhaps, with a little different outlook. I love you, George!

Note 3/22/09: George had surgery on Friday for colon polyps. We are praying that the biopsy is benign.

"Sycamore" by Anna

Anna's first watercolor painting

Notes:
This is the time of year Kentucky likes to play with your mind. It is alternately cold, warm, windy, rainy, sunny, gloomy. You have to keep out all the winter clothes and spring clothes and you inevitably end up outside over- or under-dressed.

I can't even count the eggs that the bantam has collected and guards jealously. Now I know why my neighbor was gleeful to get my stash of old empty egg cartons for another friend who has hundreds of bantam chickens. I'm worried I might end up in the same boat!

Took William rollerskating with friends today. After an hour of spending more time on the floor than skating, we finally realized that his wheels were practically locked up. An adjustment with the wrench and zoom! He was off. What do I know about roller skating??

Girl Tree

Click on photo to enlarge

No Good Deed....

This week at the thrift store, a small wizened woman in a nurses' uniform peeked in the back room where I was sorting spring clothes and whispered that she needed to use the restroom. The director of the shop emphatically does not want us to let the public use the facilities which are only for the workers, after twice paying exorbitant fees for plumbing problems.

"Oh, please! I really NEED to use the restroom."

I relented and let her in, but was exasperated when she was in there for some time. Finally exiting, she went out shopping again and I folded more clothes. Then, it hit me. I had to hold my breath and go out of the small room. I never! The air was almost visible.

I opened a locked back door and got out a box fan. A large black woman came up to me. "Honey, I think you have a sewer problem here or something." I worried that they thought it was me.

After twenty minutes, the air somewhat cleared and I could go back in the room again, but it seems that all I accomplished was to push the air to the front of the shop! Lord, the woman should get herself to a doctor. ...and I did get my punishment for not following the rules.

Skuttlebutt

The farrier was here today. Along with his sharp knives and rasps, he often brings interesting insight into my horses. I described the Phantom horse I brought here before winter. Though right from an auction, this pony was calm, laid-back, quiet. Bullied by the other horses, he became fearful and now is skittish. Was this psychological damage from being picked on?

Being bottom of the rung should've made the horse more meek, he said, know he wasn't boss. Yet, now he seems mostly flightly. "Sometimes....." he paused, "...if they are sick when you get them...."

Well, yes he was quite sick...

"...or if they have a lot of worms...."

Well, he had a belly full...

"It may be that you are seeing his personality when he isn't sick coming through."

In other words, he was such an awesome horse when I got him because he was half dead. Great. I must think on this. Do I have the time to work with this horse?

Most of the farriers, equine dentists and chiropractors that come to my barn enjoy a good talk after they work and sometimes give me interesting tidbits about my neighbors. For example, a barn down the road sports Paso Fino show horses. One horse there is worth $600,000 USD. That just blows my mind. Not only that a horse could cost so much, but also that anyone could even afford that! Amazing!

Speaking of affording, he mentioned a hefty vet bill he had to pay for two surgeries on his French Mastiff. It seems the dog ate a sheet. A sheet?? As in a dryer sheet? No, a twin-sized sheet. Whole thing. Threads visible in her mouth and coming out her bottom. (I wondered aloud could he not pull it out???) It seems it wasn't the first time the dog had eaten strange items, and he had pulled things out before, but this was tied up inside her. Why ever would the dog eat a sheet? Surely it has no taste. His only explanation was that the dog was confined to her evening crate, and that her "elevator did not reach the top floor". It is recovering nicely.

Rested up from bending over the precious toenails of my six horses (of various sizes), he went on to his next visit down the road to trim some miniature donkeys.

Notes:
One thing I do love about this time of year is waking in the morning to a gentle rain with the window open, a sweet warm breeze making it difficult to want to get up.

I am reading Mr. Popper's Penguins to William. I suppose it is a measure of the absurdity of my animal care situation that I don't think it is all that far-fetched that Mr. Popper opens his windows to the winter air, hoses down his living room, so that the kids and penguins can play and slide. Although you know I don't like cold.

A "friend" gave me some Amish friendship bread (sourdough) starter. Now, she is a friend, and I put it in quotes because the starter becomes something like a curse. Not wanting to kill this live thing, yet it is growing exponentially, as by the end of the instructions, you have a "bread" (cake, really) that will put on 10 pounds by smelling it, and four new baggies of starter. You then go around trying to find three or four suckers friends who will adopt one of the starters. If you haven't a large circle, most friends will have already had the starter, and will run when they see you coming like you were selling Girl Scout cookies. It is the best tasting bread you'll ever eat, though, as as long as you work like an Amishman, you'll not gain a pound.

Wordless Wednesday: Crash?

"Mostly Sky"

This is Anna's most recent painting from life, "Mostly Sky". It was inspired by the view from our back "sunroom" looking west at our neighbor's red barn.



Notes:
I worked with the miniature horses and Phantom yesterday using an obstacle course and a balloon. Phantom was, of course, terrified of the balloon. Chiron was a little afraid, and kept his distance. By the time I finished with Roxie, I had popped the balloon (accidentally) on her back and she didn't even flinch. She worries me, though, as her eye looks cloudy and I'll have to call the vet today.

Lauren quote: "Accidentals (music term for those of us ordinary folks) are on purpose."

Story from my brother-in-law: His two daughters, my nieces were fighting over their cat. Thinking to be a wise and knowing parent, he took Solomon's example from the Bible: "Okay, I am going to take my knife and cut the cat in two and give you each a part." My youngest niece, a quick one, immediately said, "I get the head!" I'm a little worried about that child.

One black bantam hid in a tree last night, not returning to the coop. I suppose she'd probably fair as well in the tree, as the coop needs a lot of work, and bantams are known to survive well in barn lofts and the like. In fact, I've heard of farms becoming over-run with hundreds of them. I did find her though and returned her to her coop.

My Town Monday - Blowing Our Own Horn

My Town is known for it's trains and the horns they blow around town (they are forbidden to blow them in town). But there is another type of horn that tells a story about my town, but from millions of years ago. While walking along the creek that traverses our property, we often find Grewingkia canadensis Horn Coral with other fossils in the water, exposed by erosion of the creek. (When first we moved here, it was but a trickle. Recent neighborhood development has caused more water runoff and the creek has become both wider and deeper, eating away at the soil and exposing more rock.)

Once, my town was not rolling green hills and beautiful trees. Once, long ago, the place I inhabit was a warm, tropical sea. I like to imagine that: coral reefs, ancient marine animals and fishes. (I also picture myself on my deck, pina colada in my hand, soaking up the rays ocean side, but then some ancient monster fish would probably leap from the waters and devour me.) We also find shells, fossilized wood, and other types of coral.

Though a drive from where I live, there is a place that is unlike any other place on this Earth: The Falls of the Ohio. There, along the Ohio River in Indiana, is the largest exposed Devonian fossil bed in the world. After touring their museum, visitors can walk out onto the fossil beds alone or with a park guide who will point out fossils in the rocks. The river level rises and falls during the year, so it is best to visit when the river level is lower. If you are driving through or visiting Kentucky, it is well worth a stop.

I enjoy taking my kids there, and it is time to take William again. Kids love climbing up and down the exposed rock and on a nice day, having a picnic. Though not my seaside daydream, it still makes for a beautiful afternoon.

Say-It-Again Sunday: A Little Extra Protein

There is something in the spring air that makes me forget my gardening disasters of previous years: the tall weeds, the $30 tomato, the bugs. I begin looking at seed catalogs and racks with the best of intentions. Over a cup of coffee yesterday, my friend, Becky, told me of her plans to make a circular garden, a little secret spot on her 40 acres with fresh produce hiding inside the taller plants on the outside. We started laughing about this little incident from two years past:

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Extra Protein

All families have food disaster stories. In fact, when Chris invited her readers to blog about food disasters, it took all day for me to Rolodex through the stories to select the perfect one. Should I blog about the time I used a new Cajun pepper spice on chicken and the kids said it was too spicy? I insisted that they at least try one bite, which one daughter did and then promptly threw up. This is now know as the "Gunpowder Chicken Episode" for that is what dh said it tasted like. Definitely, I will not live that one down for a while.

Yes, that was bad, but only mentioning home-grown broccoli will make stomach roll and cause my daughters to start retching a little bit. Last year, I still nursed the delusion that I could actually homeschool, take care of five acres and a house, and still garden. To my credit, I grew a beautiful crop of broccoli. Now, my family loves broccoli, I kid you not, which is why I grew a great amount of it. Even at a very early age, my toddlers would eat it. So, one evening, I ran out to the garden, cut a few heads, and stuck them in the sink to rinse off.

Likely, I was multi-tasking, making dinner, talking on the phone, keeping a young one busy underfoot, I didn't examine the produce closely. In fact, I didn't know I had to examine it closely. I cut it into pieces, popped it into a lidded bowl with a little water, and put it in the microwave. Proudly, I put the fruit (or vegetable in this case) of my labor on the table.

Everyone dug in, until dh suddenly pulled the piece of broccoli from his mouth. Something tasted strange and he examined his remaining broccoli closely. It was then he discovered the yellow caterpillars, now fully cooked, clinging to the branches of the broccoli. Announcing his find resulted in my daughters retching the contents of their mouths and very nearly, their stomachs, into their hands. The caterpillars, we discovered, were green on the uncooked broccoli, but bright yellow when cooked. They had blended so well uncooked, I'd missed them.
This year, I didn't grow broccoli as likely no one would have eaten it anyway. Wonder why?

Addendum:
Dh, upon reading this, would like to add that there weren't just a few caterpillars, the broccoli was saturated with them.

Dd#1 would like you to know that they were fat and juicy and very gross.

I Was Here

A door in our house have deep grooves which mar the wood. Sometimes, I run my fingers over them. I have painted them, but I leave the grooves, the imperfection of it.

They are a signature: "Juno was here". They are the claw marks of a Great Dane that was telling her owners "let me out!" I despaired when first I saw them marking the expensive door. Now, I'd gouge the whole door to have her back.

Similarly, my laminate flooring is marked with oil paint. Specks of it lie about under Anna's easel. I remarked on this to Anna's art teacher. She laughed. "Anna is one of the messiest painters I teach." Above is the table on which she puts her palette and brushes while painting. Someday, she'll take her easel, paintbox and this table and go. I will still have the paint on the floor. I think I'll leave it.

Subscribe by Email

Several times I have heard "I used to get your blog by email, but don't anymore, and so don't read it, what happened?" Well, honey, if you don't know what happened, I surely don't. I did change over to Feedburner.com to manage my subscriptions. It gives feedback on the number of subscribers (currently 50) who receive this blog in some reader service or subscription.

So, if you prefer to have this blog sent to your inbox, I have added a box in the margin where you can sign up for that to happen. Just enter your address where it says "Deliver this blog to my email address" and you need never miss another chicken post again.

Foaling Time

This time of year in rural Kentucky is foaling time. Many of them are on the ground already as racing horses all have the same birthday - January 1st - no matter what day of the year the foal is born. It is advantageous, therefore, to have the earliest true birthday in the year so as to have to oldest colt (or filly) possible when it comes time to race.

This is a poor photo of the frisky foal, but it does illustrate an interesting fact about this farm. You see the double fencing? This farm has stallions. The double fence keeps the stallions (or at least most of them) from jumping the fence to get to a particularly interesting mare.

Notes:
My days are so full, I have to keep my windows calendar open at all times. Even then, I miss things. I feel so awful having missed William's baseball practice yesterday. I just forgot. Even while looking at the calendar.

In Flagrante Delicto

Chris was playing with words when I saw this phrase, prompting a blog. We've owned two finches for some years, or rather, Lauren has. They reside in and mess her room, scattering seed shells all over her floor, but she likes their chirps and sounds. We got them from a woman who said that she was "allergic" to them (a lot like when someone has a dog "that needs room to run", it means "I am so done with these animals").

Anyway, some time later we found that she originally got them from another friend of ours, and that likely, they are brother and sister. Dutifully, they make a nest, the female lays eggs and the male sits on them. Though I've not seen them, Lauren says she has seen him in flagrante delicto (okay, she just said "do it"). But despite years of work, they've produced no offspring. This is not an entirely bad thing, for what would I do with the babies?

In a documentary on Koko the Gorilla, William and I learned that gorillas have a taboo against incest, even if it is just perceived (two unrelated apes raised together as brother and sister). I would not have guessed this of birds, given that Aloha the rooster has been caught exerting his "rights" with his mother, his aunt, his sister and has even been eyeing the cat. Roosters don't care.

And so, I answer the question from reader Dawn:

We are thinking about getting chickens this spring and I wondered if it was possible to have like a visiting rooster like stud service that other animals have or if he would need to live with the hens. We don't want a rooster (neighbors too close) but I would like to have a mamma.

Dear Dawn,

You don't say where you live, and a good thing or there could be a rooster that mysteriously finds it way into your yard! Yes, sure, roosters can be "borrowed" and he'd likely get right to work. He would have to stay with you a week or two. Some roosters do have favorites and will outright reject some hens. For example, Aloha loves Hawk (she's his Rachel) but will also service Rose (his Leah). He will absolutely have nothing to do with Buffy, a rather old hen who tried to be bossy. He retaliated and tried to kill her, so they are now separated. Point is, chickens do have preferences and you'll have to watch who he "hooks up with" so no one gets hurt.

Most people that have chickens long enough want the experience of hatching them. Unfortunately, most big breed hens do not have the same desire (it's been bred out of them) and won't incubate them. Bantam breed hens love to hatch eggs or you have to get an incubator. And remember, each egg has a 50% chance of being a rooster (100% chance if you go by my results) and you need to have plans to re-home the boys if you hatch your own.

If you plan to run the equivalent of a chicken convent, you might try going to the local farm store and asking if they sell sexed chickens. For $2 each, you'll be guaranteed what you want. (BTW, "straight run" means they have not been sexed.)

Yours truly,

Crazy Chicken Lady

Aloha Mo and Hawk

Poof!

So you were right, after the tooth fairy's demise, Santa followed. Yesterday, I was forced to admit that yes, I bought the presents and put them under the tree. I had all prepared my explanation of how God's and St. Nicholas' spirit fill me at Christmas and I am just the instrument of their goodness. Didn't happen. How do you know about Santa, I asked? Aidan (his friend) told him but also said that the tooth fairy and Santa weren't real, but only God was "magic". So, he covered the subject succinctly. William seemed very matter of fact and very analytical about it all. "I guess I'll have to do this someday for my kids someday, won't I?" He's already moved way on down the road, leaving his childhood behind. I suspect the Easter Bunny is next. Poof! He's gone.

Notes:
Phantom has become scared of his own shadow after being bullied by other horses and my benign neglect of his training during sub-freezing temperatures. Taking a rather cautious approach to avoid broken bones, I have decided to walk him every day I can to accustom him to the sights and sounds of the neighborhood. So what freaked him out this week? A paddock of miniature horses. Like the ones that are in the paddock with him every stinkin' day. Miniatures that are the same color and full brothers/sisters to the miniatures that are in the same stinkin' paddock with him every day. But they could be monsters! They could attack in a pack! Well, there were four of them. Pretty scary creatures, those miniatures!

Louise (kitten) chewed through Anna's mouse cord.

My Town Monday - Change

Chainsaws and chippers growled all weekend, cleaning up the bones of trees fallen in the last ice storm. Even after the dark as dh and I walked down the driveway from our barn chores, trying to enjoy pointing out the Big Dipper, North Star and "Ol' Ryan" (Orion, but differently named by Wm when he was younger), our peace was interupted by the weeeeeeeeeeeeeeraahh of the limbs being fed into the grinder. Farther down the street and into the town, piles of limbs lay near the street curbs, waiting optimistically for the county road crews to come remove them.

Change is in the air. This week, flocks of robins arrived. Is it spring, we asked? They were preceded by thousands of starlings. Yesterday, a killdeer screeched as I approached the field. And the green tips of daffodil leaves are above the ground now. It will soon be spring, I encourage myself, but with it come thunderstorms and tornados. Everything has a price.

The change in the air isn't just in the weather. I scan the Internet for good music schools and art schools. My girls grow towards their adult lives. I send them mixed messages: stay here! go! My motherly instinct is to keep them close where I can help them, be a grandmother someday, visit easily. Yet, I want them to be free - choose your dream, fly! Don't look back! Be!

Soon, they'll be away from my town. Will they, like the robins, return?

For other MTM posts, visit Travis.

Courage and Contempt

Anna took this video of her kitten "Louise" trying to investigate 14 year old "Jack".
Check out the look on Jack's face at the end.



Notes:

Dh claims I tried to kill him. Pray tell, I ask, how I went about it in the event that I might want to write a murder mystery. It seems that he was about "done in" by a particularly slimy green chicken turd on concrete in the barn. I am relieved I was not there to witness it, as I surely would have laughed and the plot might have changed.

Roxie's eye is better after one day.

Bantam hen now has 7 eggs she thinks might make a baby. I haven't the heart to pull them, nor the desire to see them hatch. I will mark them tomorrow and make sure to leave only the seven.

How to Catch a Fairy

Some people are too smart for their own good! Dh came downstairs this morning. "Trouble," he said. I assumed that little boy was arguing, but no, it was something else.

William tested the tooth fairy system himself last night. Having lost a tooth, he quietly slipped it beneath his pillow without a word. This morning, the "tooth fairy" not knowing it was a work night, had missed her rendezvous. I told dh I could "fix it".

With a dollar in my pocket, I slipped upstairs and told Wm to look beneath his bed. He moves about a lot in his bed, and perhaps the dollar fell off onto the floor. And there it was!

"No, you put it there. And besides, the tooth is still here. My MOM is the tooth fairy!" Well, it worked when he was five, but I guess a seven year old is a little too sophisticated for that.

"I just wanted to know who the tooth fairy is," he said. "I'm glad I know now. But you can still give me money." He ran off to stare at the hole in the mirror.

Notes:
It is skunk season in Kentucky. The skunks are in high mating season, running back and forth across the roads. Some of them never make it.

Roxie (miniature horse) poked her eye and has a corneal abrasion. We now have the joy of putting medicine in her eye four times a day.

Today, it is supposed to get warmer!!

No, Thanks

In college, did you ever have the experience of a companion (as I didn't drink beer, of course) complaining that the beer tasted like horse, uh, urine? Maybe it was.

With Chris writing about fake eggs and wondering if my soft drink is cow pee, I think I'll stick to bottled water and toast, or at least start growing a bit of my own food.

Wordless Wednesday: Uplifting

Advice: Buy Stock in Tape

The girls enjoyed building with VHS video tapes. They made fences and buildings, barns and mountains out of them. No matter how I organized them so that I could find just the one I wanted, by the next day they were all a jumbled mess.

William, who hardly knows what a VHS tape is, thwarts my efforts to be organized by ensuring that there is never any tape in the house.

Here you see a space ship. Encapsulated in his Croc Shoe spaceship, a Star Wars Storm Trooper is held in place with all the tape that remained in the blue dispenser (now empty and discarded and I am now out of tape). The purple cord is our dog leash.

It hung this way in our basement until Sunday morning when he took it all down, saying he was going to wear the old Crocs to Church (without socks). I quickly put the kibosh on that, but was happy to end this particular "art exhibit".


Notes:
Louise (Anna's kitten) has proven her mental and physical prowess by learning to turn on the lights and turn the door knob to let herself out of the bathroom. She can also unlock the door if it is locked. Last night, we were alerted that she had escaped when dh heard someone playing the piano at 2 a.m.

Egocentrism

Recently, I followed a comment link on another blog, intrigued by the name "Brother Tobias". I browsed a few entries until I came to his poem:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue;
Our leader is Brown
And we're in the poo.

My first thought was to leave a comment that it was not at all okay or funny to make racially insensitive remarks about our President. Before typing my response, I glanced over the other 20 odd comments, until awareness dawned - this was a British writer. He wrote about Brown with a capital B. As in Gordon Brown, Prime Minister of England. And I became sheepish about thinking only from my own context. Yet Brother Tobias also admitted:

Junosmom - Welcome! Gosh, I hadn't been thinking beyond these small shores either, and see just how inappropriate my wording might seem. Gulp!

So, I feel a little better. Thank you, Brother Tobias for an interesting exchange.

My Town Monday - The Ups and Downs

A drive through Main Street shows a sudden and alarming trend - empty store fronts. It's not that businesses here always thrive. Main Street is home to small tourist shops: antiques, a bookstore/coffee shop, a gift shop, ice cream and fudge, an art gallery, toy store, and a shop that sells expensive quilt purses (that it is still there I'll never understand). But generally, the stores that do go out of business are quickly replaced with another try at entrepreneurship. Not so much right now. Several stores, three to be exact, sit empty.

When first we moved here 13 years ago, the town was a destination for those who enjoyed antiques. Little by little by little, the town remade itself into a more diversified small tourist destination. Given Anna's interest in art, we were delighted several years back to see the opening of art studios and the art gallery featuring local artists. In the spring, you'll see groups of (usually) women walking slowly along the street, peering in windows, shopping bags on their arms.

I suppose the fact that someone wasn't waiting for a spot to open up on Main is a sign of the economic times. I am not overly worried. The town has a history of almost "closing up shop" several times, particularly around the time of the Civil War. I believe that the town will weather the downturn, but concerned about what the economy will do to the "flavor". I know that StuffMart and BigGroceryRipOff will survive, but they are white bread, or rather stale toast. Our Main Street makes us unique and interesting.

Go on a virtual journey all over the world. Start with the list on Travis' blog.

Say-It-Again Sunday

In keeping a day of rest, I am continuing my "Say-It-Again Sunday" - looking back through past years and posting again some of my favorite blogs from years past. William is now 7 years old. It kills me that he's not my little baby any more.


Monday, November 21, 2005
Optimism

This is one of my favorite photos from our vacation this year. Wm. never even paused to think whether or not he could lift this chain on a battleship. Optimism .

Let me know if you have something worth saying again, and I'll link to it below.

Over the Hill?

I'm trying not to be insulted, since I know it was unintentional. The letter from my Church kindly solicited by ideas about a social gorup "for single and/or married people between the ages of 25 and 49. The survey goes on to list both adult and family activites and gauges my interests in them, given that they have somehow targeted me as being in the "raising a family" bracket. Probably because I have a seven year old son in CCD (Sunday school) classes.

Why would I be miffed? Well, in one year - I won't be able to participate in this group. I will effectively be too old and will have to consign myself to playing bingo with the "over-the-hill-gang". (Our Church calls it the Prime Time club, but we all really know it's the old people club.) I am not quite yet ready to hang out with the retirees. I have, in fact, only just again begun this vocation of raising a child and it will be some years before I am finished. Dh, three years young than I, laughed, saying they have me gumming my food already. He can laugh - at three years younger than me, he won't yet have his AARP card arriving.

With people working longer, living longer, and having their children later, will we have to break out of the school grouping mentality and not group people by age but rather by interests? I do hope so.

Notes:
This topic reminds me of friends we recently caught up with over dinner. Both about sixty five or so, the husband will often ask for a senior discount. He is always careful to point out that he is not yet qualified, but his wife is. Fortunately, she has a sense of humor.

Of the two newest chickens, one is a rooster. I will name him Travis.

Going Green

I have tried, whenever possible to make more energy efficient choices. It is difficult to do in a house that in a previous life was a sieve, but we try. I recently replaced our electric fence charger with a solar one. We recycle, compost, and use all food for either dogs or chickens. Several years back, I began replacing all of our light bulbs with the more energy efficient fluorescent spirals.

A selling point for me on these bulbs was that they supposedly last years and years. Guaranteed to last five to eight years! Because it seemed I was constantly replacing a light bulb somewhere, I began to replace each blown one with these long lasting, guaranteed-to-last bulbs.

And one just burnt out. Then another. And I know it hasn't been five years. (Or has it? In my advanced years sometimes I forget things.) I got to thinking how easy it is for them to make such a claim - lasts 20 years!!! Who keeps all the receipts and packaging to prove that this light bulb is only three years old and clearly did not live up to the guarantee? I am lucky to find my car keys. Although, sometimes I do have packaging and receipts laying about, though it isn't that I am planning to get my full five years from a $4 light bulb, but rather my piles of unorganized mess. Ah well, such are the injustices of life.

Notes:
Mist today. Looks like Scotland.
Reading: Outliers
Watching: The Other Boleyn Girl

Cauna, our Americauna chicken who lays blue-green egg, produced one this week. (She is very old for a chicken laying.) Otherwise, we get two bantam and two brown eggs a day.

The horses are shedding - a sign that the days are getting longer. Horses shed (or alternately, grow coats) based on the hours of sunlight in a day. Spring is coming!

MUD.

Wordless Wednesday: Ash Wednesday

My Town Monday: Bats in the Belfry

The Sauer Building remains the only complete Victorian commercial building in my town after a series of fires from in the 1800s to the early 1900s. With the exception of this building, our historic commercial district buildings date back only to the first decades of the 1900s. I have found one reference saying the building was built in 1815 and another says 1875. Which is it? I'll need more research.

When I first moved here, the first floor housed an old-fashioned, Mayberry RFD style hardware store. Times and StuffMart being what they are, the hardware store closed and became a "laser technology" store, with air conditioning.

For some time, I never gave the old building a thought, though I don't know why not. Look at the windows. Don't they make you wonder what is up there? Well, at one time, I had heard that in the early 1900s, it was used for dances on the weekends. That intrigued me somewhat, and thought it would be something to have such a space available for our teen homeschool group. But then I got busy with other things and soon forgot about it.

Fast forward to a recent teen dancing/costume party, and I thought again of the old building, once known as the Opera House. It turns out that the space above the store once was used for dances, basketball games, school productions and plays, even rollerskating. It has a stage and the original fixtures. (I am wondering if that means in the bathrooms as well. Likely.)

The room(s) have been in disuse mostly (one reference to rolling bandages there in WII) since the school gymnasium was built in 1912. Our thought turned to the possibility of an old fashioned dance floor there when contemplating future contra dance sessions for our teens. Yet, a friend recently emailed and said that some years back, the owner took her up there to see it, and it was a "bat hotel". That means holes - and possibly damage. It definitely means guano.

Notes:
I am saddened by the recent news of family and friends who are sick. One beautiful young lady with melanoma on her scalp, dh's aunt with liver cancer, and most recently, my dear brother, George, who will undergo radiation for colon tumors, likely cancerous. Though out of my control to help them, my prayers and thoughts go out to them. May God hold you all in His loving hands.

Lauren

Happy Birthday, Baby!

There are times when I feel too old to have such a young child, to be the mommy of a seven year old. Then you'll call me and show me the joy of discovering a particular bird or bug. You'll laugh and race me to the barn or wonder aloud at the formation of stars in the night sky. You challenge me to crawl up the hill from the creek after looking for fossils, and let me watch in amazement as you discover mathematical principles on your own. And you hug me, and make me feel like gold as you tell me I'm the best mommy you ever had, I tell you I'm the only mommy you ever had, and we laugh at our joke. You make me happy. I only wish this time would last forever. Happy Birthday, William.

Just a Few Disjointed Notes

A note to Jennifer: I loved, my dear neighbor, when you in jest said that God was testing you with this weather to see if you meant it when you moved from Florida to Kentucky. It occurs to me as I see the white-out conditions outside right now that by living nearby, I have to participate in your test! It is a good thing that we dearly love your family, or I might have to hold this snowfall against you. At any rate, I've not seen a winter this "difficult" in a long time, and perhaps it is just part of the cycle of the Earth.

Buffy, not the vampire slayer but the old hen, has mites. She also has extremely long toenails. You really have to be an animal lover to bother to treat a chicken crawling with cooties and to clip her toenails.

Rotten wood does not burn very well. We are down to our last sticks of wood, and the HVAC guy says our little Mitsubishi Mr. Slim heater has blown its charge - no freon. Because we live in a technologically challenged area, it will take him at least a week to research it and find out why. Hence, I better start scaring up some wood. Dh bought a chainsaw and is out cutting right now. This is only to heat the one room that doesn't have electric heat, but if it is unheated, it makes the rest of the house cold. In my next house, we'll have a real furnace, not radiant heat (although it is quiet).

Phone Envy

Like PITA, my two year contract is up on my cell phone. Two years ago, I was talked into writing my name into cement that I would pay through the nose monthly to be able for anyone to reach me anytime: in the bathroom at StuffMart, as I hurtle down the highway, if I am visiting family in another state. There are both positives and negatives to being so accessible.

What did we do before cell phones, I sometimes wonder, yet live I did in such times. In fact, I don't believe I had a cell until I was well into my thirties. My kids have never known life without computers or cell phones. Unlike me, they don't ponder the magic of signals that in seconds transmit around the country looking for me and on finding me, make my phone ring. They've never had to have long conversations while attached to a corded phone. With instant email, they've not had to wait for weeks to correspond with someone in another far off place, or had to search through microfilm at the library to find some fact for a research paper. Advantages?

Yes, of course, there are. Yet, today, it is hard to "get away", to stand on an overlook surveying nature and to be alone with that. Some peace is lost in being so accessible. Yet, I will renew (or get a new) contract for phone service mainly as I want to be available to my kids at all times should there be an emergency, such as they really, really need new socks while I am at StuffMart and could I pick some up?

After forgetting two appointments yesterday, dh says I need a Dingleberry where I can store all my calendars and reminders. More and more of my acquaintances have iPhones and iTouches and whole computers stuffed into little tiny devices in their pockets. The monthly service cost puts me off, and while I admire them as others hold the devices for me to see like they were photographs of their newest puppy or grandchild, I am stingy enough to not want to pay the hefty monthly fees associated with them. Will it really keep me up to date, in touch? Or, does our technology make us more isolated than ever?

Wordless Wednesday: Purple Columns