Just When You Thought It Couldn't Get Worse.....It Gets Better

I told Anna I didn't think things could get any worse.  God took this as a challenge to teach me a lesson in the depth and possibilities in the word "worse".  Tired already from a long day out of town the night before, I was driving to Anna's college orientation, trying to save the cost of a night in a hotel by getting up before the roosters crow.  It had begun to rain and it was very dark, almost like night despite being 8 a.m. in the morning nearing the campus.

We'd left an hour extra to get to the campus, but we were behind schedule due to the weather combined with the roads we knew to take closed for construction, and our GPS "Mildred" telling us in her proper British voice that she'd lost satellite reception. Trusting Mildred, I'd brought no map. About this time, Ernest T's (our Ford F150) windshield wipers locked together in a solid X in the middle of the windshield as the torrent continued.  I pulled over, got out with the umbrella, and found the passenger wiper completely bent and resembling a T-Rex claw.  I pushed it back to starting position, and repositioned the driver's wiper.  Back inside, I tried turning them on.  The passenger wiper thankfully stayed put, but the driver wiper now wiped from mid-point to off the windshield all together!  I could still see if I sat up and looked over it.

We drove the streets back and forth, finally locating a bad map Anna had brought.  Intersections and roadways had standing water, a foot or two in places, making me wonder if I should drive through it.  I plowed on.  Then, Anna began laughing.  Driving through one rather large puddle, I had caused a wall of water to engulf a young man (with an umbrella) standing near the road.  So intent was I to look out of the little clear patch on the windshield, I had not seen him.  Anna and I began laughing hard enough that I had to pull over - and of course check the map again.

Finally locating the parking lot and building, it began to rain harder if that was possible.  Knowing she had to be there by 9 a.m. when placement tests began, we decided to brave it.  Our umbrella turned inside out and the spokes broke.  By the time we got inside, we were soaked, shivering and dripping.   Anna hurriedly changed, having brought clothes for an overnight visit.  I, on the other hand, sat soggily through a full day of lectures meant to reassure parents that we'd made the right choice by sending our child to this university that was going to take every cent we have and will make in the future.

Every time I saw Anna that day, she would begin to smile, not only to be at this place that calls to her and feels like home, but also remembering the Hawaii-5-O wave I sent cascading on the unsuspecting pedestrian.  I didn't mean it, honestly.  The weather finally cleared, she enjoyed her overnight visit, and the next day dawned beautiful and sunny.  I managed to sit on a veranda under the trees with a coffee and pretend I was in Europe.

I am once again faced with the anxieties of sending off a daughter to college, but that's another blog post entirely

Dust in the Wind

It has been awhile, I've been reminded.  Many changes have been swirling around in my life, and it just seemed time to let a whole lot go.  This blog was one of those things.  Then, a daughter mentioned something (I had forgotten) that was documented in the blog, and a friend mentioned that I hadn't written in awhile, and someone else, who I didn't even know cared, said it was too bad I wasn't writing because he thought I wrote well.  Mainly, my mind thinks of things to share with you and then they disappear into the air, lost like dust in the wind.   Someday, I'll be gone and with me, all that I was to all but a few.  I should continue.

Enough maudlin.  I have a story to tell you.  We have a cat, a barn cat that decided he lives with us.  He is mean and nasty, but I feed him in exchange for a dead mouse now and again.  My children evidently pay more attention to him than I do, for I was told that said cat had multiple ticks on his rear orifice.  Somehow, this is my problem.  I suppose the region is as far from the expensive Frontline treatment on the shoulders as the ticks can get.

Later, I was asked if I'd removed them.  Of course.  How?  I just headlocked him, grabbed ahold of the ticks and pulled.  Then washed my hands for about an hour.  They were "poly-ticks" I told them.  Multiple or poly-tics, sometimes spelled "politics".  People that remove them are called "poly-ticians" (alternate spelling politicians).    You can draw your own conclusions about the meaning of the location of the poly-ticks.

Speaking of politicians, I hear Anthony Weiner's wife's pregnant.  If this is true, I have a boy name suggestion:  Oscar.  You can guess the middle name, but everyone would be in love with him.  And I'd pronounce my name with a long "I" sound if this were my unfortunate last name.

Okay, enough off color jokes - but it is good to be back.

Got Milk?

Children's Museum - Indianapolis

We spent some time in the present, the past, and the future in one day.   In Indianapolis for a day, we had heard for many years that the Indianapolis Children's Museum was worth a visit.  What I hadn't taken into account, however, is that this is the almighty Spring Break week for much of the Midwest.  The museum was overrun, but we tried to be patient as it was our only opportunity to visit.  About half-way through the visit, we were informed that not only was it Spring Break, but that it also was the first Thursday of the month.  Which means...? That admission was FREE! from 4 p.m. - 8 p.m. (I'd already paid my admission fees) and they were expecting 6000 additional guests!  By 5 p.m., William and I decided we'd seen quite a bit, and headed upstream against a tide of new visitors.  I suppose my pre-visit information gathering was a bit lax this time.

William best liked the dinosaurs, which is where we spent the most time.  My favorite?

Despite my slight claustrophobia in crowds, I realized that my boy was growing up, that some of the displays were for kids much younger.  Still, he can be mesmerized and caught up in the joy of playing to learn.

I know it won't be much longer and he'll be all grown up.

Good Morning, Kentucky

No, I do not now have cows.  These bovines were in the pasture near a pet sitting job yesterday morning.  It was a beautiful, if windy, day.  Thunderstorms, wind, hail, rain, fire and brimstone is predicted for today, bringing a cold front.  Kentucky weather during spring can be remarkably unpredictable.

This past weekend, we counted that we were pet sitting for 36 animals at four locations!  Now that the weekend is past, I am down to 19 animals at two locations, one a barn full of cats.

Reading:  The Forever Queen (Historical fiction based on 11th century Queen Emma)

Kentucky Morning

Wordless Wednesday - Our Side Yard

At Wal-Mart

I'm not sure what possessed me, but my first thought was, "I could take her."  She wouldn't stand a chance against me.  I could grab her perfectly fluffed hair and throw her down as she passed down the pizza aisle.  There wasn't much to her.  That buff colored jacket had to be a size two, and the high heels beneath her khakis would unbalance her with a good shove.  I didn't see if her nails were long and red, matching her big red leather purse.  They could be to my disadvantage, but I could totally bring her down.

I suppose the fact that I was in jeans and my Walmart t-shirt, hair that had gone flat with the weather, my scratched (and need to be thrown away) Clark mules, and a lack of swing in my step (it was, after all in the late afternoon and time for my daily afternoon slump), well, the un-Christian thought just popped into my head.  The moment passed and I admitted I could do a little more to look a bit put together.  I don't, however, suppose I could fling a sack of horse feed over my shoulder in that get-up.

Perhaps I need a vacation.

On Chickens Falling from the Sky

It was a mystery as to how his corpse came to be in my front pasture as was the nature of his death.  It did not appear accidental, given that his head and neck were missing.  Three giant turkey buzzards circled what was left of him.

"Something's dead!" I announced.  Circling buzzards are a dead giveaway. Literally.

From the house, it looked like a white something.  I checked to make sure Louise was in the house.  Check.  Well, what about our one white hen?  I sent William out with his two girl cousins to investigate.  They returned with the verdict:  a murdered rooster.

If this were Louisiana, I would be worried.  As it was, how did a headless rooster come to roost in my yard?  My sister speculated that someone or something got tired carrying it home.  Using my best CSI skills, I found that the nature of the injuries indicated that he was likely killed by a racoon or hawk, both of whom rip the head from the body.  Perhaps, my sister continued, a hawk flying overhead dropped it?  Would that have not been a sight to see, a dead chicken falling from the sky?  I'd have to go in the house and light a candle and say a rosary or something.  Scary.

Of course, it fell to me to grab a trash bag and dispose of the poor thing.  I worried about which neighbor was missing his or her rooster?  Kristina?  Mr. Retired Wood Shop Teacher, or the guy down the road that also keeps turkeys?  Just today, I saw a house maybe 1/2 a mile that had a "Fresh Eggs" sign.  I need a neon sign out front so that I can change the message for passing motorists.  One day, "MISSING WHITE CAT" and the next, "FOUND:  DEAD WHITE ROOSTER".  At least the owner would know.

On Losing My Mind

I suppose I could blame it on my sister, Diane.  She started it on Friday night.  After her children's weekly piano lessons, she stayed the night at my house.  The following day was a piano recital in which William and her two girls would play.  We were to bring cupcakes for the reception.  She went the store to get last minute ingredients for her chocolate cheesecake creation, only to forget to add in vanilla and chocolate chips.  So, you see, she started it.

It must be a virus, for today, I made banana bread for our guests of this evening, "Doll and Pottie" (I told my daughter).  Daughter laughed, don't you mean Paul and Dottie?  Oh, yes.  And then I realized I'd forgotten to add sugar to the banana bread, making it taste slightly like stale bread instead.  I made another batch, which turned out better.

But last night, recital night, was the worst.   I sent William into the men's room to dress.  While he is in there, it hits me that I'd forgotten his tie!  Horrors!  He already was complaining about his new khakis, pleated and feeling different from other pants he owns.  I hold open the men's room door and avert my eyes, calling William out so that I can run to get my cell.  A quick phone call to the daddy driving separately caused him to stop and buy one, and arrive too late to give it to William now up on stage.  He played well, tie-less.  This is part of a plan to teach him not to trust me, rather to double check that he himself knows that we have all of his attire.

Tomorrow:  On Chickens Falling From the Sky

Overheard

I asked William to help his girl cousin, a year younger than he, to help her carry a toy barn full of molded plastic animals up from the basement.

Girl cousin:  It's heavy.
William:  Yeah, girls aren't really built for lifting heavy things.  Except maybe my mom; she lifts heavy things all the time."

Notes:
My sister is visiting.  We are watching her husband's name, Joe Thomas, on the leaderboard of the FLW Bass Tournament.  He's currently in 10th place.  The top twenty pros fish again tomorrow.  I am the editor of his blog, Surviving in the Reel World.

Signs of Spring

Dead Ash

Dh cut down a tree out front today.  I'm always sad to see a tree cut.  This one was dying and it needed to go, but still sad.  I find it interesting to visit places I've lived, only to find that the trees look different, bigger.  Out back, we have a tree that is well over one hundred years old, and I often think about how it has been here to see all the changes on our land for over a century.  But this one, this marker, won't be there.

William came running in with his net, asking me to identify insects found near the tree.  As best I can tell, they were box elder insects, which besides maple and box elder, like ash trees like this one.  It is likely we'll lose a few trees this year due to past drought.  (See the evergreen in the photo.)

TNR

We finished the TNR (trap/neuter/release) project today, releasing two female cats to the neighbor's barn.  The Humane Society operated on them, treated them for ear mites and fleas, gave them rabies and the combo shot, provided food, medication and even litter.  They notched their ears so we know they've been fixed.  Hopefully, they'll all recover from the infections.  Likely, they'll not get another shot, but at least they'll have this year.  In all, eight females were removed from the breeding cycle and four males.  Five, counting Jefferson.

The full moon tonight lights up the front yard and Louise-cat has escaped to outside.  We'll have to get her inside before we retire for the night.  I've never thought about it, but of all the cats we caught, not one was pure white.  You don't see many stray pure white cats around here - I'm sure that the color puts them at a disadvantage, especially in the moonlight.  She'll come in though, I think she learned her lesson.

Anna and I took an hour of our day to go to town and browse two new shops, one another art gallery.  Not as much quality as the other art gallery, but it is new so we'll check back later.  And, a new arts and crafts supply store!  Anna was happy to find they carried her favorite oil paint and she bought two new brushes.  It is pricier, but with the cost of gas, it is worth paying a little more to not have to run to nearby big city.

I try to buy local when I can.   I bought William's baseball cleats from a local mom and pop store for about the same or perhaps, a little more.  There's a vacant store in town and I don't want there to be another.

Check out the moon tonight!

Reading:  Cleopatra: A Life

Blind or Deaf?

Most evenings, you will find me in the moonlight, walking my horses one by one to the barn.  It's my favorite time of the evening, especially in the spring.  Stars twinkle overhead, horses nicker to hurry me, peepers call to one another, the cat twists at my feet.  I listen to the BBC on the radio as I shovel and carry water.  It is in the middle of the night there, and it gives me a non-American viewpoint.  Finally, I shut the doors as I hear the horses, finished with grain, start munching hay.

The sounds of my life.  And yet, were you to ask me if, God forbid, I had to choose between blindness and deafness, I would quickly answer I would rather be deaf.  Helen Keller is quoted as having said, "Deafness is a much worse misfortune. For it means the loss of the most vital stimulus - the sound of the voice that brings language, sets thoughts astir, and keeps us in the intellectual company of man."   She was both, so had a unique perspective, yet perhaps because she was both, she had adjusted to both, and so her answer was colored by her lifetime experiences.


I have been asking people about me for their reaction to this question.  The answers sometimes come quickly.  My daughter, Lauren, a classical pianist and extrovert, quickly said she would rather be blind.  She could not lose music and talking to others.   Anna, my artist and friendly introvert, just as quickly decided she could not be blind over deaf. She could live more independently as a deaf person and technology and sign language could make up some of the challenges.  My husband, asked while in the middle of watching a TV show (my bad), answered quickly "blind", but during a commercial, rushed in to tell me he changed his mind - he could still play golf if he was deaf. As I continued to discuss it with friends and family, it became apparent that the things that were likely to cause the most loss in that person's life determined the answer.  A young girl that loves singing would, having to chose, be blind. Someone who loves to read, deaf. 


Myself, as I walked the horses to the barn in the dark, I was thinking of the difficulty, but not impossibility of caring for my animals without sight.  Yet, I value being able to do for myself and others.  Losing sight means less independence and ability to care for others.  Hopefully, if ever I have to face either, I'll rise to meet the challenge, but God willing, I hope not to have  the opportunity.


The question begs, however, what is important to you in this world?  Which would you choose?

Exponential

We released ten of the twelve cats back to the barn yesterday. Transported in the live traps and covered with old sheets, they fit neatly into old Eugene (the van).  With two that died on the street in February, one (female) that got away, that makes fifteen cats at that barn not counting Jefferson and his sibling, who the owners claim were not part of his barn colony based on color.

Of the ten, six were female.  That fits well with the current math unit of how many baby kittens would have been born this summer had we not spayed them?  (We're multiplying by six.) 18? 24? 30?  Make it 24.  And then assuming 50% of those are female, the following year you'd have 12 new females plus the original six females for 18 females times another four kittens per cat which comes up to 72 new kittens.  Adding the original 12 + 24 the first summer and 72 the next, you find the barn will have 108 cats by the second summer.  Now, of course they don't all live:  many run off, die of starvation, killed by the large tom, die of the respiratory disease they all have.   Not a great life, is it?  And of course, this count doesn't include the two newly trapped cats in my garage awaiting their operation tomorrow, and given their size and color, they are likely female.  And of course, there is still that tortie out there - a proven breeder.

William was very helpful, carrying the traps both empty and full, but he declined to come help me feed the cats and show the owners how to medicate cats this morning:  the canned food, used to hide the medicine, makes him gag!

Getting to know the neighbor through this project was a bonus.  Where I live, we often wave to neighbors, but given the lack of density and wide age variation, it is often hard to connect.  I stood and talked to the man and his wife for an hour this morning, the first real conversation though we've lived two doors down for thirteen years.


Notes:  SUN!!!
Every day, I feel so tired I day dream of taking naps.  Recently, I started taking 2000 iu of Vitamin D, approved by a doctor, and it has made a tremendous difference.  So would a trip to the Virgin Islands.

TNR

The TNR (trap-neuter-release) project continues with all ten cats successfully making it out of surgery yesterday.   I hear, however, all are in terrible health, thin and with upper respiratory infections.  Two of the girls had bad uterine infections which (well, I'll spare you the graphic details).  One might have pneumonia.  They will have to be on antibiotics for the next two weeks.  Hopefully, the owner will step up and be willing to feed canned food with drugs (provided to him) to get these cats back to health so that my part in the project is complete.  It he is unwilling or unable, I guess my project continues for two more weeks.

Such projects on the surface seem to take a great deal of my time that we could have spent "schooling", one might think.   We learn more by doing.  William has accompanied me on this "hunting" trip, carrying cages, setting traps, and enjoying seeing the size and color of each one he caught.  And of course, there was the inevitable questions about why we were doing what we were doing, the surgical procedures for removing the reproductive organs, the differences between the males and females, what a mammal is versus birds and lizards that don't feed young from their body, how animals reproduce, including humans.  All precipitated by catching cats and so much more interesting and useful than the difference between a noun and a verb.

By Comparison

Last night, as I walked down from the barn in the quiet dark, I reflected on how very blessed my life has been.  Neither my husband, I, nor my children have ever had to experience hunger, a lack of water, a need for a place to stay.  We have wonderful friends, a beautiful place to live, bounty enough to share with animals just for companionship.  The events of the past week illustrate how fragile life and lifestyle can be, how all can be gone in a flash, washed away.  By comparison, my distress at a long, gray and colder than normal winter is a small thing.  Today, I looked at the gray skies and the misty, cold rain with new eyes:  it's not so bad.

The horses sheltered all day in the barn.  They don't understand that it is nasty outside, dancing in their stalls, hoping to go outside.  I let them out to roam the barn as I clean their stalls.  Etta is particularly nosy, dumping over the garbage can and trying to open a bag of poultry feed.  The minis, when they have their turn, roll in the aisle way, rubbing away shedding and itchy hair.

William and I looked for Jefferson.  Unable to locate him in the house, we figured he'd slipped outside perhaps, and now it was cold and raining.  Dh asked if we'd found him.  No, no sign.  "That's a bummer," he said.  Wait, I thought we weren't keeping him?  Did I really think he would be like that, he asked?

Perhaps Jefferson wanted to return to the feral colony?  It isn't there:  with the Humane Society, we trapped ten cats over two days in live traps.  The cats now rest at the clinic in town, having been spayed or neutered today.  I'll release them back to the neighbor's barn tomorrow where they'll resume their free-ranging existence.  But Jefferson?  No, he didn't leave but he had escaped outside and was very scared when I found him on the front porch.  I suppose he'll stay awhile.

Notes:
People of Japan, my prayers go out to you.

A Different Angle

What if children are here on earth, not to be taught, but are sent as a way of teaching us?

The photo above was taken at a Suzuki piano performance class, where parents and children are listening to a story about John Phillips Sousa.  How many of us would take the time to learn as much as we do without the motivation of teaching a child?  Ask most any involved elementary parent, homeschooled or not, and they will tell you the joy of seeing the world in a new light - through the eyes of their child or how they learned something that surely they must have covered in their own elementary years, but had forgotten.

Today, increasingly, it becomes easy to disengage, to allow the TV and computer and gaming systems to replace the real world experiences.  Perhaps we all need to remember to see the world with the eyes of a child.

To Crow or Not to Crow?

My husband's cousin writes about traveling to learn Kung Fu on a Chinese mountain top. Cloudia and her boat home survives a tsunami.  I write about....my chicken with a gender identity issue.  I have wondered about him (her?) since I heard his (her?) brother crow.  This particular chicken appears to be male:  he has a comb, and in Black Australorps, females do not.  He has wattles, tail feathers, he is larger than the female.

Notice, however, how pink his comb and wattles are.  His brother's are bright red.  Females often have smaller pink comb and wattles until they begin to lay eggs, when they will redden considerably.  Australorps seem to have a milder manner, not like other roosters which are aggressive even as chicks, puffing out their chests and flapping wings.

For awhile, he appeared to be sick, sitting down, back on his legs even to eat and unsteady on his feet.  Perhaps this has delayed his development?  He seems to have recovered from this.

Rooster on right, ? on left

Could it be possible, I wondered, for him to be androgynous?  I Googled it:  androgynous chicken.   I found nothing.  So, I tried "gay chicken", although he's done nothing to indicate that he prefers roosters over hens.

This is when I learned two lessons:   1. I am more naive about this world than I thought and there are things I don't really ever want to know, and 2. Innocent Googling can land you in some pretty awful places.  Little did I know that this was a game or terminology for a frat "game" (or depravity).  Were it not for the fact that my daughter thinks a good weekend is attending two piano recitals, a chamber music recital and watching old movies with friends, I would not be taking her back to college this weekend.  I erased my browser history of an innocent click, and used disinfectant on my keyboard.

Why do I care about the disposition of this chicken?  I have a home all ready to take him, but I want them to know what they're getting.  Is he sick?  Is he a she?  Is he neither?  It also is a curiosity.  I have heard of hens becoming rooster-like in the absence of a male, but will a rooster become hen-like in the presence of one?

For my local friends:  Tractor Supply has chicks this week!  Go look!

Rooster and his hen

Another chicken story from last year.

Academically Speaking

Anna is taking a physics course, and I have become her study partner.  I've had to dust off a few cobwebs (in my brain) and try to restart this old engine.  It has had a positive result:  I now have additional vocabulary to describe my life.

For example, I realize I have reached terminal velocity.  For those of you not (yet) studying physics, this means that my ability to accelerate or push back against the outside forces working on me has reached the maximum velocity.  I can go no faster.

Wanna lose weight?  Go to the top of a tall building, get in the elevator and push "down".  Instant weight loss.  Wanna lose mass?  That's another matter.

Did you know, that in the absence of air resistance that a piano shot out of a cannon will follow the same trajectory as a human shot out of a piano?  Do you know that my son's piano lessons at home sometimes make me want to try this?

Luckily, Anna is a good student and doesn't need my brain power (or lack of it) for most of the problems.

Notes:
Lauren's home!

I need sun.  NOW.

We officially have two roosters based on their looks alone.  Only one, however, has crowed.  The other acts like a hen.  Neither are chest-butting, aggressive chickens like previous roosters.  Perhaps it is the breed?  (Black Australorps)

Anyway

Many women of my age are now reaching their career peak.  If ever they were to be confident and powerful, it is now, at this age.  I run into them once in awhile:  the doctor, the owner of her own business, artist, professor.  I think, "I could have been that.  I'm smart;  I could have been somebody."  

Perhaps only lately, as changes fill my life, though William will still take quite a few more years of schooling, I wonder what I will be besides homeschool mom.   Hitting fifty makes one think also of all the paths not taken, the confirmations from the outside world that you are valued.  And yes, I realize that my family and friends value me.  I would, going back, not make different choices.  I only speak of that momentary feeling of needing to be important in the outside world.  Of knowing that for many paths that interest me, many lives I would have liked to have lived, it is too late.

At a visit to Indiana University, I looked at the small graveyard there.  All those people, forgotten stories, especially the women whose stones were dwarfed by their husbands' monuments and told only their names.

And then I read this:
                        
       "You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;  
         It was never between you and them anyway."


It matters not what they think.  In the end, my life will not be measured by this world's yardstick.  Being remembered is not the goal.

Note:
The above quote is from the poem, Anyway, widely attributed to Mother Teresa, who did not, in fact, write it.  She may have edited it, adding the last line, but even that is not proven, and only that she had hung this poem up in Calcutta.  The original Paradoxical Commandments was written by Kent M Keith, a 19 year old Harvard student.

Adjustments

There was a time I would have been jealous.  As it is now, I tossed the magazine in my husband's lap.  "Have fun," I said.  He smiled.  The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition had arrived.

What sport they claim to illustrate we'll leave for someone else's blog.  I never had hope to look like one who could drape myself across its pages.  But there was a time that I was toned, that I felt strong and looked good.  I think I was fourteen.

Up until my fiftieth birthday, there was the niggling thought that if I only carved out a bit of time, I could once again have a flat tummy, arms without wings, legs that are toned.  And then, I overhear friends chatting about how they hurt themselves sleeping and I join in with the time....until I realize, "Damn, I'm fifty".  I'm not ever going to get back to my fourteen year old self.  I'm not ever going to turn heads again.

It can be quite freeing.  I need not be jealous, for those creatures are so far removed from my reality, that we are a different species.  Much as I might admire a beautiful horse, I have no hope of ever being one, nor would I want to.

Still, I look forward, adjusting my parameters.  

Photo:  at the Wonderlab, mirrors mix views of my face with William's.

There is HOPE

The "S" Word

Yes, yes, I know.  Not a word from me in weeks.  I can barely make it through the winter, and no blogs write themselves in my brain.  See, I don't write.  They write themselves.  And for some reason, "they" have been quiet.  Perhaps the winter killed them or they're in hibernation.  Today I had the first stirrings, so perhaps not all is lost.

We were in Bloomington these past two days, checking out Indiana University.  Seeking to find a diversion for William, who suffers the fate of being dragged along on college visits, we visited the Wonderlab Science Museum.  We had the pleasure of being there at the same time as two bus loads of first graders.  A cacophony of little voices greeted us, yet this was the only time we could be there so we persevered.  I'm glad we did, for we discovered many wonderful things, including a whirlpool generator that gave a "lab" to the History Channel program on whirlpools we'd watched the night before at the hotel.

What gave me greater joy, however, was the 45 minutes my son spent with an elderly woman and a snake. By now, the bus loads of kids had left.

With a snake draped about her neck, she talked about snakes, hissing cockroaches, and walking sticks.  They shared stories about snakes they've seen, and her dog that recently passed.

She sat at the saltwater aquarium, pointing out the camouflaged fish and shrimp.  

The snake helped show her humorous side and that this type of snake, a corn snake, was not to be feared.

They were enjoying themselves so much that her "quitting time" (she volunteers) came and went.  Suddenly, she looked at her watch.  Oh!  Past time for her to leave.

Why do I write about this?  So many times, I am asked how my child(ren) will be Socialized.  How will they know how to get along with others?  Mostly, what questioners really mean is how will they get along with kids their own ages?  But how many of today's 9 year olds sit and companionably spend nearly an hour with a stranger who is decades older in an even exchange?  (And, I might add, that I hope to be like this woman when I'm her age.)  Not that there aren't schooled children that do this - my nephew is one.  But not that we homeschoolers miss out.  We socialize and are socialized plenty.

Speaking Out

Sometimes, I'm amazed at the high quality of writing now available on the blogosphere.  On Blogher, you can read and read and read.  I have several blogs I follow daily that are amazing.  And yes, there is considerable drivel as well.  Yet, the events in Egypt makes one think - what if they turned off the Internet?  Used to now our freedom to speak to the world, what if we were silenced?  How could we tolerate censorship of what we read and write, as in China?  While the events in Egypt make me and the world nervous, I can only think that a few hundred years ago, our country was seeking self-government and freedom at any price.

I have enjoyed encouraging blogging among friends, if only by my poor blog's example that "if she can do it, I can only do better". I'm working now to set up my brother-in-law's, Joe Thomas's, blog.  He is writing it all, make no doubt, and is a very talented story teller.  A professional fisherman, TV show host, speaker, and producer of hunting videos, Joe has lots of stories which he'll share on his blog starting in March.  My job will be to receive the texts and photos by email and post them on his blog.  Fans can follow him on his tournament route and vicariously, learn what the life of a pro-angler is really like.

Notes:
One of the 5 month old chickens is sitting back on his?/her? legs today, wobbly when walking.  This one is the chicken which has both hen and rooster characteristics.  It could be a number of infections, but also could be nutrition.  Perhaps she is not eating enough of the balanced layer pellets and instead is relying on what she finds in the barn.  I may have to put her up in a cage.

Illness is in the air these days, though thankfully, our family has been healthy.  We were discussing news that studies show that individuals who live in too sterile or clean environments get sick more often.  "That explains it," someone in our family said, referring to our overall health.  Huh, I'm sure he/she is NOT referring to my housekeeping, as that would be a decidedly unhealthy thing to do.

Definitely Not Sugar and Spice

While cleaning out a closet, I found petri dishes and agar (a jelly like substance for culturing organisms).  They were left over from previous homeschooling days when the girls were younger.   William loves "experiments" which usually involves mixing all my kitchen chemicals, spices and condiments in a large container.  We've escaped noxious fumes and explosions so far.

By comparison, growing germs seems mild.  We left one of four dishes as a control and covered it.  We swabbed a toilet and rubbed this in one dish.  We tested the kitchen counter and refrigerator for another.  And lastly, William touched all over one with his bare hand.  His friend, visiting that day, also touched it.  After three days, we have some white fuzz and green spots growing only in the dish touched by the boys.  (Click on the photo if you dare.)  Nothing grows in the others, with the exception of the kitchen one which has one white spot which I think the boys touched when inspecting the dishes as it is near the edge and not in the tracks made by the swab.  So there you have it, my boy's hands are dirtier than a toilet.  Not surprised.  The good news is that my toilets and kitchen are fairly clean.  Perhaps the next class will cover hand washing techniques.

Notes:
Aunt Mary has started laying again.

Yesterday, I had to go buy a round bale, bring it home, and push it off the truck.  After, I had to get the tractor, put the hay fork on it, move the bale, put the ring around it, put the tractor back, shut all the gates.  This in addition to regular chores and buying grain, carrying the bags in.  It took nearly all morning.  The worst of it is that in pushing a round bale off the truck,  one gets hay in one's underwear which has to be one of the most uncomfortable feelings in the world, second only to hay in the bra (from square bales).

It's Colder than A (Fill in the Blank)

Despite the cold winter, William can often be observed in shorts and a t-shirt, (The fact that the shirt is orange and the shorts bright red is fodder for another blog.)  He is a heater box, his hands noticeably warmer than Anna's or my hands, which are generally ice cold.  He enjoys the cold and grumbles when I make him wear a coat because I'm cold.  


Because of this discrepancy in our perception of cold, an article on Slate.com caught my eye:  Are Women Really More Likely to Feel Cold Than Men?  Could this explain why he seems impervious to it?  


As I read the article, I was alternately amused and disgruntled.  Oh, so women have warmer hearts but colder hands.  Aw, how nice!  But it is because of body fat.  Okay, so now we're fat and that's why we are cold.  I thought insulation.....


But then I had to discount the study altogether.  First because their solution is implausible:  "according to some of the same researchers, both men and women may increase their endurance by taking cold showers or running around half-naked in the snow, in case that sounds appealing".  NOT going to happen.  Hold on a minute while I turn up my space heater...There.


How do you think they measured this data?  "They immersed 11 women up to their necks in chilly water, monitored their rectal temperatures, and compared the results to previous work with 14 men".  EITHER they paid each victim participant an exorbitant amount of money (and I'm talking millions) OR they were recruiting mentally ill people who would submit to such torture, which discounts the results.  I mean, really, who would....well, I don't even want that mental picture.


Smaller people have more skin-to-core ratio, so perhaps that explains some of my chilliness.  Perhaps it is just that it is 25 bloomin' degrees outside.  I keep waiting for those hot flashes to hit me, looking forward to them in fact, but I don't think they run in my family.  In the mean time, you won't find me streaking outside.  Oh, we don't want that mental image, either.  


Notes:
Coincidences:  Finished reading Fall of Giants, which went into way more information than I wanted about World War I.  I did learn a few things, assuming he researched well, but by the end of 800 arduous pages, I was done with WWI.  I began reading The Winter Rose and it is set in?  WWI.  Watching Masterpiece Classic: Downton Abbey and it ends the season with?  WWI.  The universe is coalescing to teach me about WWI (which my grandpa Carl was in, by the way, a German immigrant, fighting his own country).

A Bit Chilly Here

...But the sun is out and the sky is blue!

You, You are AWESOME!

Sometimes, the Internet sucks me in.  I start out trying to find what price to set on selling a horse, a horse who has done pole bending, and the next thing you know, you have to shut down your browser before your 8 year old son asks why that naked woman is hanging upside down on a pole.  How did I get to that website?

In a similar manner, I found myself reading excerpts from What Woman Want Men to Know, though I've not read the book.  It seems that the bottom line of the book is that many women most want to feel valued, as that equates to being safe (he values me so won't leave) and to love.  I posted a joke from this author on my Facebook status:

What do men and women have in common?

They both spend their time thinking about how to make the man happy.

Although several women "liked" the joke, mostly men commented.  Interesting.  Dh's response was that OBVIOUSLY this joke was written by a woman and he thought she had it backwards.

Perhaps, because it is the "season of my discontent", aka "winter", I am more stressed, and my radar picks up articles about stress and feelings.  This morning, the New York Times reported that freshman college students are reporting increased levels of stress from past years of freshman.  My first thought was that there are more and more women in college now, and they are more likely to say they are experiencing stress, whereas boys seem to learn "I'M GOOD!" after doing a face plant into a snow drift after slipping on black ice (don't ask how I know).

“One aspect of it is how women and men spent their leisure time,” she said. “Men tend to find more time for leisure and activities that relieve stress, like exercise and sports, while women tend to take on more responsibilities, like volunteer work and helping out with their family, that don’t relieve stress."

I found a little too much truth in this.  Stressed man:  I think I'll go run on the treadmill.  Stressed woman:  I should volunteer at the local animal shelter - oh, look at that cute kitten....  Next thing you know, you are feeding 7 indoor animals (not including birds and fish) and your dh is asking "what's that smell?"  STRESS.

“Women’s sense of emotional well-being was more closely tied to how they felt the faculty treated them,” she said. “It wasn’t so much the level of contact as whether they felt they were being taken seriously by the professor. If not, it was more detrimental to women than to men.”

Being taken seriously.  I guess after so many years, I've learned to not care.  What do I care what that person thinks of me?  But I've not done so well with what I think of myself.  When I encounter a woman of high power or education, I have to slap the bitch inside me that needles, "See, you could have been that.  You could be a doctor.  You're smart enough to have had your own business, be a CEO.  You should have written a book. You could be important."  I get out photos of my kids and mentally tick off their accomplishments and how proud I am of them.  And yet, I have to dig for the outside "value", pushing me to take on more, to do more, so to hear "you are valued".  

I proclaim today "Validation Day".  Tell someone closest to you that you value them in words and action.  Watch this if you need instructions:

On Education

On Sex Education:
The Hokey-Pokey?  Seriously?  How is it that this teacher did not think some parents would not get their panties in a wad?  Can you imagine the chagrin of the kids in the class?  Being asked to dance about class, singing about female body parts to the tune of Hokey-Pokey?  I remember a sex ed class in seventh or eighth grade.  We got "the talk" from Mr. Berne, awkward, just out of college tall and bearded.  He stood in front of the blackboard, on which were drawn the uterus, fallopian tubes and ovaries.  I remember nothing of what he said, only that we all snickered that standing in front of it, it looked as if he had antlers.  I wonder what happened to Mr. Berne?  I think most of the teachers we had became plumbers and insurance agents.

On Art Education:
My lips were tightly sealed and I hoped I would not be asked what I thought of the large artwork in front of me.  I like pastoral, beautiful, relaxing.  I do not like big smears of mess, art that conjures visions of ax murderers or preschool finger painting.  Yet, (deep breath), I realize that I am not art educated, thus have limited perspective.   I did take several semesters of art history and love the Masters.  Luckily, the year was over before Pollock started throwing up on canvas.  (Oops, there I go again.)  Still, I have trouble appreciating some art.  Perhaps I've not done enough myself?  I will start by collecting dryer lint.

It is dinnertime, however, and I must get to work at the risk of multitasking.

Notes:
Jefferson has begun to learn to play.  Did he in his former life?

Multitasking May Not Mean Higher Productivity

The answer is when it comes to media multitasking, the types of tasks we looked at, filtering, memory management and task switching, there is a literature suggesting there are no differences between men and women. However, there is a large literature on - for lack of better term, I call task multitasking or doing things in the real world, where we do seem to see women have advantages…


I'm glad I went back to read the transcript (see link above) or I might have dismissed the interview altogether.  Multitasking weakens cognitive ability?  Huh.  I guess I'm killing brain cells left and right.  All women multitask.  I rightly judged that the study was conducted by a man, for all women know that when you go to the bathroom, you change the toilet paper roll.  Does this "scientist" thinks it just jumps on the holder by itself?  Of course, not.
Not multitasking means the roll stays forever perched on top of the holder and the empty tube.  


Women have mastered multitasking out of necessity for eternity.  Managing children and the household simultaneously requires nothing less.  For example, I headed off to do barn chores tonight.  Before leaving, I put clothes to dry in the dryer, clothes to wash in the washer, the rice to cook for dinner in the rice cooker, and fed the dogs to eat while I was gone.  (Note:  my husband was in the house should anything decide to blow up.)  I don't think I ever watch TV or streaming on my computer without also doing dishes or folding or ironing clothes.   What woman takes a shower without noticing the red spot in the corner and cleaning it before turning off the water?  


Cognitive ability indeed.  Okay, I'll admit multitasking has its disadvantages, like when I forget about the green beans in the microwave and we have to eat them for dessert.  I'll admit that as an older baby boomer, I bristle at youngers texting at dinner or over coffee.  Media multitasking is, as this article points out, a different story.  


Well, my rice is done, so to preserve what IQ I have left, I will hit "publish" and finish making dinner.

Jefferson is feeling better every day!

Hell

Who decided that Hell was flames and burning souls?   The Hell of my imagination is frigid cold, much like the weather outside my window.  It even makes more sense:  removed from the warmth of God.  I suppose I'm being a bit melodramatic?

My ordinary chores in moderate cold take a good half hour, if no one is dying or diseased.  Today, I added to that chopping ice, as it is so cold that even the heated water tank is freezing.  After plowing the driveway (and yes, I am of the privileged with a tractor to do it, rather than by hand), my feet were blocks of ice.   I was not dressed as a socialite horsewoman.  No, I wore my husband's XL Carhart jacket over my coat and overalls, making me about as visually appealing as a Siberian babushka.  

As I shoveled this morning, I thought that this winter is a test of faith:  faith to remember those warm summer days when I rode horses with my husband, when we came over the hill and wondered aloud if anyone was so blessed to live in such a place as we.  Faith to remember the horses rolling in the pasture or finding the first egg of a new chicken.  Can I remember those times?  Can I have faith they'll be back?  Can I, in the darkness and coldness of winter, know that I'll make it through and feel again the warm sun?

Notes:

Jefferson continues to improve, although his lungs sound wheezy in the morning.  

My dad, who has been hospitalized, gets out Sunday!  Yay, Dad!

Finished reading:

Fall of Giants

Wench: A Novel

The Kitchen House: A Novel

Reading:

The Winter Rose

Watched at the theater:

True Grit

Watching on Netflix:

The Madness of King George

Bottled:  22 bottles of Vino Italiano 4 Week Wine Kit, Cabernet Merlot,

As the week wore on, it became less and less likely that Louise would return.  She had disappeared on the coldest of nights.  She was white, and the snow on the ground made visible to owls and coyotes.  Like any mom would feel, my heart was heavy for my daughter, her owner.

At the beginning, I prayed for her return.  Please God, let her be okay, let her come home.  As the week progressed with no word of her, I prayed that she was okay with someone else, at least not hurt, not some hawk's breakfast.

Acceptance finally gave way to understanding that I had to let go, and listen, rather than ask.  God often teaches us or reaches out to us in times like these.  Perhaps rather than talking, asking, I should listen.

Anna and I made flyers, talked to people, emailed every animal shelter, drove around and around the neighborhood.  We made a sign to place by our driveway.  We scoured websites.   We learned to do things, rather than wait.

A phone call alerted us to a nearby feral colony of cats.  Perhaps our cat was there?  We called the owners of the barn to no avail, so went anyway.  We found no Louise, but did find a kitten, unable to raise his head, laying by the road.  Sick, likely a loss of appetite, combined with being the smallest in a large feral colony, he was about to join his sibling who lay dead and headless in the bushes.  "This one's going with us," I said.

He was pitiful.  Emaciated, dehydrated, he weighed a little over 2 pounds despite being 6 - 8 months old.  We put him on a heating pad, forced milk in his mouth and expected him to die.  An hour later, he stood up.  Still missing Louise, we now had a distraction and a mission to save this one little life.  A kind soul at the Humane Society saw a Facebook post and asked me to bring him in to test.  He was FeLuk negative and was loaded down with meds to fight his upper respiratory infection.  I found out that the woman was a neighbor, only a few streets down.  Jefferson began to recover fully, although a kind vet who later looked at him for me, said he might not ever get much bigger and remain always the kitten due to his poor start in life.

A week to the day, I was taking Lauren back to college when my phone rang.  Louise was back!  Hungry but apparently well, she's not telling where she went.  We now have a collar on her and an appointment to microchip her.  She's lost her outdoors privileges.

Through all this, I could not help but empathize with people who have missing soldiers, people who have children missing.  How does one go on?  We did learn to do what we could, to make a plan of attack.  We learned to pray for acceptance in our hearts rather than the answer we wanted, the strength to carry on.  In the end, we met and heard from many wonderful people, saved a little life, and found we could continue to put one foot in front of the other.  I suppose that's all any of us can do.

Notes:
It is snowing steadily.

Of the three new black Australorps, one is definitely a rooster.  One is definitely a hen.  The jury is out on the third.

I am going to be the editor/publisher of my brother-in-law's blog.  I am still developing it.  If you'd like to watch as I set it up and work on it, you can go to Surviving in the Reel World.  It still needs a lot of work, but we hope to have it up and running by March 1st.  Joe is a TV host on the Outdoor Channel, a professional angler and hunter.

Blogging for Fun and Profit

I've been off for awhile, slogging through the holidays and researching how to blog for profit.  I actually have begun a blog for a celebrity sportsman which I will publish and edit.  In doing so, I have neglected my own poor personal journal and all of your blogs that I normally read.  Now that life is getting back to what is called "normal", I will try my best to again post daily.  I have lots to tell you!  And I will share the website I'm designing  for a preview soon.  I'd love to have input.

Merry Christmas!

I hope you all had a Merry Christmas!  All our presents are opened, our tree admired.  All that remains is to play with the empty boxes.....

Walking into a restaurant yesterday, the hostess looked at our group of five.  "You need two children's menus?

Anna, taller than I, certainly wasn't who she suspected of being a child.  Myself?  Too obviously old.  So, yeah, Lauren.  Who is nineteen.  And William.  Who eats like an adult male.  And no, they weren't making faces.







Notes:
The horses don't seem to mind the weather.  They come in each night with "high heels", ice balls stuck in their hooves.  It is slippery and I worry one will fall.

Someone I know made the dean's list!

Ice

It is a sign of advancing age that one calculates the probability of breaking one's leg before venturing out in the ice and snow of a morning.  I was not quite as old as Elizabeth Edwards when I had my last child, but old enough that I no longer look at a slide down the miraculously ice covered driveway as a cool personal luge, but as an opportunity for a visit to the emergency room.  Nothing could convince his sisters to go outside and try, so that left me.  I must admit it was fun, but not fun enough to do the return climb back up the driveway more than a dozen times.

After lunch, promised the sisters, we'll go out and slide with you.  Saved by the florist, they were.  Florist?  An old van with balding tires boldly (stupidly?) drove down to the house.  My disbelief that a florist was in our driveway (we don't usually spend money on such a luxury) was suspended long enough to predict that he wouldn't get back up it, but it doesn't seem it occurred to the delivery man.  He just needed a running start.  Uh-huh.  After losing a half inch of rubber from his tires, I told him I'd get the tractor out and plow it, thereby ruining the luge.  William's face fell, but there was no hope for it.  I didn't want the man staying for dinner. Anna took William to sled on the ice crusted snow in the back, but it wasn't the same.

After twenty minutes of pushing ice, the man thanked me and commented, "That looks like fun!"   Perhaps he should get a job on a construction crew, rather than delivering wreaths (what we received from dh's work).

Notes:
Horses were confined to the paddock next to the barn.  I couldn't risk that one might fall and break a leg crossing over to the pasture.

An article claims that school is not where most Americans learn science  I believe it just based on the questions I get from my son.  A friend asked if I had noticed the beautiful rainbow colors as the sun shined through the ice crystals on snow?  Yes, I replied, I have an 8 year old, who asked:

Why does the snow make rainbow colors?  (Because it is made of ice crystals.)
How does it make ice crystals?
How is it that each snow flake is different?  How are snow flakes formed?
How did that water you dropped freeze so quickly on the driveway?
Where are the squirrels?
How can they manage to sleep so long?
How do the birds stay warm?
...and so on.  If I've said it once, I've said it many times, "We'll have to look that up on the Internet."
I don't know what I did before we had it.

Freaky but True

I was up in the barn putting the horses to bed.  On the radio, there was a show about animals.  A woman read a letter to her cat who loved her through the woman's alcoholism, anorexia, and cutting.  In the background played the music "Comptine d'un autre été".  I listened to the sad story, seemingly sadder because of the music and which ended with the cat leaving the woman, sensing, she thought, that the woman no longer needed her.  The song made a brain worm in my head.


In the house, I headed upstairs to see Lauren, newly arrived home from college.  In her hands was a sheet of music:  "Comptine d'un autre été".  And no, she wasn't listening to the radio.  Here's a YouTube version: