Inquiring Minds Want to Know

The overwhelming loss of Bay will be with me for some time, and it is still hard to talk about. Interestingly, it is as hard for me as the loss of Juno, my constant companion. I was reflecting today that those animals were part of me, just as humans become part of you, and letting go is saying goodbye not only to them, but a phase or part of your life. I have nothing really to keep of Bay, save his blanket, to remember him by. I was so hoping he'd respond to IV treatement, that I didn't take a lock of his tail. I guess I do have his bridle, likely not to be used again. I was thinking today, however, if I reach down inside myself, I can feel him. He's part of me now, and I don't need anything physical. I am that.

Many people don't know about horses and what happens when horses die. It isn't something pleasant to discuss, yet, it is part of life and perhaps it is my task in life to connect people to things that aren't known anymore in our suburban lives. My horse, Smokey, when he died, weighted 800 pounds, and died at home. We were blessed with a neighbor that is an excavator and felt bad for my girls' loss. He brought over a bulldozer and buried Smokes in the back pasture after we dragged him there with the tractor. (You should have seen the looks on the faces of the horses in the pasture!)

Bay, on the other hand, died at the hospital, and weighed in at 1200 pounds. He could not be brought back without considerable expense and effort. So, the question I keep getting is what happened to his body? Well, there is a service here in our horsey state, and whether at the hospital or home, they'll come get the horse. They arrive with a big truck, which likely already contains the remains of other horses from prior stops. Most likely, they take these horses all to a processing plant, and the sad reality of it, is that they use the meat for feed (dog food, etc) and hooves for making glue. I don't know what all they do, but that's as far as I'm willing to educate you. Google it if you must.

I comfort myself knowing he's not there, and best that his body goes to good use. I am going to get a small plaque for my flower garden for him, and remember him strong.

A Homeschool Scene

During a recent visit, my five year old niece was in the car with me and my sister. "My mommy said that when she was a little girl, her sisters didn't like her." I looked over at my sister, whose smile didn't reach her eyes. She did think that.

As an older sister, I remember being fond of my sister, reading to her and pushing her on the swing. Yet, our six year age difference in a culture that had never heard of homeschooling and thus, separated us for most of the day, it is easy to see that her younger memories wouldn't have included the sister that was always at school or doing homework.

My kids, together all day, must learn to find ways to deal with each other. There is often no escape. The piano is loud, the little brother is full of pent-up energy, the sister is having a bad day. I say that this is a good thing. They are learning to live with one another and learn how to deal with variances in personality. They are learning to appreciate each other.

Not too long ago, William went for a hair cut. The, shall we say "country-bred", woman cutting his hair asked him what kind of music he liked. He quickly answered, "Classical." She was speechless. But that is what he hears all day from his sister's piano. That is what he hears her play on her computer. That is what he hears her say she likes. She is more than someone who has a life elsewhere. She's part of his life.

A Winner

Lauren and I were at the teller's window at the bank yesterday. A dark black man was to the left of us at another teller, and we could not help but overhear the conversation about a contest he had won. "Yeah, I won, but it was for sessions at a tanning salon, and I don't need no tan. I gave it away to a woman, who said it was a good deal and was happy to get it, but I couldn't use it." We all chuckled.

Pretty Is as Pretty Does

Americans often give lip service to the notion that advertising promotes unhealthy images and attitudes in our young teens, particularly girls. Little is done to counteract the overwhelming number of messages that promote attractiveness and sexuality as the most important attribute one could achieve. I was thinking about this while reading an article about a local contest for hand models Aspiring models: Fame is at your fingertips. A jeweler is running a contest for hand models, used often (I would guess) in jewelry advertisement. To their credit, they want the contest to be "fun and creative". I am wondering what they have in mind.

I apply a rule to both horses and teens (sorry, girls!): Pretty is as pretty does. What is beauty, after all? Is beauty just the appearance of beauty or the true appreciation of the creation of God? Hands are one of the features of humans that helps set us apart from the animal kingdom. I find both my girls beautiful beyond words. I find what they do with that beauty inspiring and breathtaking. Are beautiful hands those that have perfect red fingernails or are hands beautiful that can do this?

Anna laughed when I told her about the contest, because of her bitten fingernails. "I'd never win with my hands," she said. Her hands can do this:

They should, in my opinion, win hands down.

Tell It Like It Is

Upon waking, William's first question yesterday was how Bay was. Was he better now? Breaking the news to children can be difficult, and I tried to soften the blow. "No, I'm sorry, he's not. He didn't get better."
"You mean he's DEAD?"
I flinched. I hadn't yet told Anna, sleeping in the next room, although she likely now knew, and the blunt reality of it was hard. "Yes," I said, "he's dead."
William wiped away tears as I explained that he couldn't get better and was now out of pain.
"But, what will you ride?" he asked, concerned immediately with the practical matters. More than likely, he was remembering the rides Wm and I often took in the summers, double. I said I didn't know, and wasn't ready to worry about it yet.

Later that day when visiting friends and re-telling details, William piped in, "Bay's DEAD."
In some weird way, his matter-of-fact words helped me.

Today brought sunshine, warmer weather, and I sat on the porch. I looked out over our overused pasture, now horseless. Our other three horses have gone for training and we have only the two miniature horses left. I realized how much my identity is tied to the way we live, devoting money we could have used for a bigger, fancier house and instead having animals and land to care for.

I sat down on the grass, and Roxie, the filly from this past summer, remembered that she used to sit in my lap and somehow, managed to roll her 250 pounds onto my outstretched legs. She then rolled over, splaying her legs in the air like a dog while I rubbed her belly. My heart still hurts for loss of Bay, but other animals are ready to be loved and I must move on. It will not be easy though.

I thank all of you that wrote with your condolences. They meant a lot to me. One friend's words were particularly comforting to me:

The connection that we have with our animals can be so deep that it is a type of spiritual communion. And that spiritual communion means that God is present as well. Read Isaiah 11:1-10 for a description of what it will be like when God’s kingdom is here- it is going to be full of animals.

Notes:
My loss of Bay and Easter overshadowed Chickin Lickin's happiness in the birth of five chickies. They are 1/4 Aracauna, 1/4 Cochin and 1/2 Black Silkie. Should be an interesting mix.

A Goodbye

Though I was told as a child in my religious training that animals don't have souls and don't go to heaven, I never believed it. I still don't. If I am wrong, I'm hoping that God forgives me that small comfort when I think of Juno and Smokey running to greet Bay as he joined them there this morning for green pastures and sunny days.

Bay lost his fight with a bout of colic this morning at the equine hospital, and the world lost the best horse in the world. He lived a good life, and loved deeply.

Few horses give that perfect mix of being intelligent and having their own mind, yet still listening and working with you. Bay was such a horse. He loved people (he always had a nicker for you), other animals (especially Juno who he used to groom like a horse), and his pasture mates, especially the girls. I'll admit he wasn't a push-over and in fact, could be said to be pushy himself at times, but his spirit couldn't be totally submissive.

He's that one of a kind animal, like Juno, that makes you think you'll not see his likes again.

Anna's First Oil Painting

Snow

Happy Spring! No sooner did I removed a decorative "Let It Snow" plaque from my wall, than I looked outside and saw giant football-sized snowflakes floating to the ground. This was Wednesday. Some kind of joke from God. One last little - "Oh, so you thought I might let it warm up a little. Ha, ha! I can still make it snow!" He has a great sense of humor. Would that he would have given a little to me.

Rolling It Back

Just about when I found the gumption to blog again, I died. Well, figuratively speaking. I got some dreaded virus that put out my lights and I took to my bed. I was well prepared for this by a sermon just the Sunday before about Lazarus, and how he came out of the tomb all wrapped in his bandages, all smelly but now quite alive, if not a bit dazed to find himself so. Like him, I've emerged from my sleep and find it time to try to get some energy back. There had to be a moment for ol' Lazarus when, like me, I thought it was pretty nice and quiet back in my room and a pull to just stay there.

There - I've Blogged

People are beginning to wonder about my mental health because of my self-imposed one month break from blogging. I should qualify, that they are more concerned about my mental health. Nothing wrong - I've just not felt like it, though not sure why. February is always a difficult month for me, and by the end of it, I feel like I've been in a dark cave. I can begin to see a bit of hope now that it is March with a few days here and there hinting of spring.

Blogging is a bit like apologizing though. The longer one puts it off, the harder it is to take that first step. But now, I have. So there. I've blogged.

Movement

It's Not Like It's Rocket Science

I don't do instructions. If I can't intuitively figure out what to do, I don't do it. Ask my husband, he'll tell you. So I rely a good deal on dh and older siblings to help William with "projects".

For example, Lauren helped Wm glue together a tractor made of balsa wood that came in 9,998 pieces that were not numbered and had to be assembled in the correct order. She did quite well, and I was thankful for her help.

Here you see Matthias helping William with a kit that builds a "rocket". Based on vinegar and baking soda reactions, it was supposed to travel on it's wheels down the driveway. As you can see from this clip, there are reasons why I am happy to let someone else get involved in the science experiements.


They decided to give it one more try:



After that, the wheels fell off and we gave up. I needed that laugh.

Follow-Up Posts

It was extremely neglectful of me to go calling people goats, rats, oxen, and pigs without a link to what that might mean. If I believed any of it, that is. Read here.

Also, if you plan to enter the limerick contest, please leave your entry on my dad's blog. He'll enjoy seeing the entries.

There I Go Embarassing Them Again

My dad sent the following email:

I think it would be fun to create a limerick! Each week or month or whenever I will give you the first four lines and you give me the last one. Get the kids involved. I will then send all our friends and family the results. Here is the first:

There once was a girl from La Grange
with habits exceedingly strange,
she woke up one day
and I heard her say..

I'm still waiting to hear the prize, but here are my entries:

• I think that my mom is deranged.
• I think that my dog has the mange
• My underwear could use a change
• You smell - please move downrange

Okay, I have to quit. My girls say I'm too crude and enjoying myself too much. Imagine that!

Gung Hay Fat Choy!

Today is the lunar or Chinese new year and this it the year of the Rat. Out loud, I mused that I don't like rats much and likely, I am one. Sure enough, I am a Rat. After reading about what the rat symbolizes though, it's not so bad. And clearly, this should be my year. Right? What are you?

Making It Work

God punished me for the weather post yesterday. Venturing downtown for the girls' final exam, we had some time to kill before going to the testing center. The public library was nearby - perfect. On exiting, we found a sudden cloudburst in progress. I ran to the car, sacrificing my hair (not much of a sacrifice I hear you saying) to leave the kids to protect the books at the door. As we drove to the testing center, we noticed the street lights were out, wires down. The test was on a computer - needing electricity.

Sure enough, the testing center had no electricity due to a transformer blowing up. We were invited to wait, though the prognosis was up to three hours. I suggested that since the test was on the internet, could we not take the test at another location that had electricity - for example, the library? Well, gee, perhaps that would work, not at the library but at a nearby public high school with a computer lab and proctor. Oh, except that the sloths at the desk hadn't done the pre-test paperwork and didn't have the test code. Welllll, could you not contact the proctor and tell him how to get the code? How about the teacher, who should have time on his hands since this is an eSCHOOL and there is no ELECTRICITY. Can he go with us, meet us there? Yes, it could work. (Imagine that, a backup plan!)

We wound our way through downtown traffic to a public high school where we were admitted to the locked, key-padded door by someone going out. Security is a myth. Asking any bystanding adult, we found the assistant principal who guided us to the lab. I do have to say all the people were more than pleasant and helpful at the school. They were polite in their communication to students walking by. But why was it about 85 degrees in there and why do all high schools have that high school smell? Is it the bodies or the chemicals used to clean?

The girls both finished their exam, completing the dual credit course in Humanities with an "A". Yeah! Both now have three college credit hours for that class.

No, Really, I Don't

Dear Sprint,

Thank you for recent upgrades to my account. I appreciate the new phone, though it doesn't seem to hold a charge. I see that it has a built in camera, though I've not time to figure out how to download them to add them to the other 10 billion photos on my computer that has left it with a memory deficit. I see it also has voice commands for dialing, but doesn't seem to understand me unless I speak in a fake Indian accent. People are starting to stare. "status" "dial" "LAUREN" I said LAUREN. LAUREN LAUREN LAUREN dag nammit.

And to clarify:

• I do not want my phone to have a global positioning system. Though I could have used it today when I drove downtown, got lost, drove the wrong way down a one-way street, I still don't want it. I would like it to beep when I "clap on" so I can find where I put it and save me from having to call myself.
• I do not want the internet on my phone. I could have used it today to look up where I was going before I started out to go there, but I still don't want it.
• I don't need my phone to play fancy ringtones, like a horse neighing or a pig squealing or even the latest top 10 pop songs, just a ring will do. Generally, I think any sound these days is my cell going off, so I'll catch it if it so much as beeps.
• I don't want to text message, I don't want my daughter to text message. No really.
• I don't want to send photos. Again, really.
• I don't want the latest Playstation III games on my phone. Driving down the highway in these winds at 70 mph is enough like the BMX game as it is. Adding on playing my phone at the same time would be just too much fun.
• I do not need to access my email while dodging tractor trailers on the highway. I don't even need it while waiting at the doctor's office. I'm terribly old-fashioned and bring a book. Book, b-o-o-k, you know the square looking thing with paper....Oh, forget it.

To reiterate, I want to use the phone as a phone. Really.
Thank you for understanding and for reducing my bill by the extra $59.99 you tacked on for the above services.

Sincerely,

Junosmom

Weather Pornography

That's what dh called it - weather pornography. At midnight, I watched the long, red, bloody line of storms move ever closer last night, waiting for the moment that I might have to raise the dead (sleeping) and move them all to the basement. The weathermen were in their glory, even referring to the high winds as "fine winds" and "terrific storms". The excitement in their voices, their enjoyment of the event, was palpable.

The line moved across the radar screen heading straight for us as the weathermen frothed at the mouth, spittle flying as they warned people to the basement. As often is the case, the storm moved through our county in five minutes in an anti-climactic way. There is something about the topography here and the proximity to the river that seems to kill the storms. We do occasionally get very bad weather, but south of us - they get the worst of it repeatedly. Makes one kind of wonder why they stay there.

While appreciating the ability to see the storm coming if it indeed is tornadic, the fever pitch did ruin the enjoyment of laying in bed in the dark listening to a perfectly good thunderstorm. I'm going to be tired today.

Beyond Gross

I've had to do some disgusting things in my life, but Sunday took the cake. My mom, hearing the tale, said that she has changed her mind about someday owning a mini-farm or at least one with chickens. It all started Sunday morning when I noticed that Mo, a six year old Black Giant hen, appeared to be moving very stiffly. Her rear was completely caked. You can guess with what. When I picked her up, she gave the breathy whine that signaled either pain or distress that I was picking her up.

Taking her into the kitchen, she was given a bath in the deep sink there, causing nearly everyone, myself included, to nearly lose our lunch from the smell. Blown dry, I took her back outside and put her down. She stood there miserably. I noticed her crop was quite large. A crop is a kind of pre-stomach in a chicken where they gather food. Sometimes, they get impacted, perhaps from eating hay or long pieces of grass, or some food forming a ball there. I took her inside and put her in a cage. I thought we'd wait and see if the "in" might improve after cleaning the "out".

I'd read how to make a hen vomit by holding her slightly upside down and squeezing the crop. A sour smell indicates impacted crop. I almost emptied my crop with this process, but she indeed was sour. I liberally cleaned the kitchen with pure bleach and went with my family to a Super Bowl party, hoping she'd now feel better. On my return, it seemed she was going downhill. It was either drastic measures or she'd die for sure.

I read on the internet how to slit the crop and pull out the contents. The websites assured me that this was not painful to the hen. I took out the razor, cleaned it and her with peroxide and made a small slit. She didn't move. Out came bird seed and who knows what. I hadn't given her bird seed in several days, so she was impacted, but I found no "mass". She looked worse, and I saw that look I've seen many times. She wasn't going to make it. By the next morning, she was gone.

Wm and I took her and Lester, the rooster who'd been "on ice" since his death by racoon, and buried them back in the woods. Wm went on about how happy they'll be in heaven with God and how happy they'll be to be buried together and have "company".

What She Says

I'm beyond busy today, so please just go read this. I would add that despite the fact dh reacted to yesterday's photo of me with "there's something wrong with this photo - you look like a midget", I do not want to increase my size.

Not What He Dreamed Of?

On a day like today (27 degrees), one has to take drastic measures. That means giving up all vanity. That means not comparing your 40-something self to the picture in your head taken on a beach on your honeymoon. When working outside, I was decidedly comfortable, not cold, but I looked like a truck driver. Layer upon layer of clothing and with a chin muff reeking a little of eau de cheval, I was thankful dh was at work and could not see this less than flattering image of me. (But of course, now he will.) On the other hand, perhaps he prefers a strong woman that can hook up a tractor and move the hay bale to a willowy, young wife without a clue how to manage the horse and chicken chores. Wouldn't he??

...With Garlic, Please

We almost had roast chicken, and I don't mean for dinner. When the girls went to let out "the girls" (aka the hens in the bigger coop), they found the bulb broken and the wood near the bulb blackened. It was a near miss. The strong winds we had last night likely blew around the heat lamp and broke it, but somehow, it was still on. So, in today's arctic air, I got to spend the day outside doing animal chores.

After what felt like several hours getting William stuffed into his snow pants, his shirttail properly tucked without being wrinkled, we headed outside. I contemplated the economics of having chickens. Perhaps the fact that it was 27 degrees affected my thinking. I am thinking that with feed, electricity, calcium supplements and water, not to mention labor, I'm paying about, oh, $10 an egg (since we are only getting about 4 a month).

Farm Notes
Moved the triangular chicken tractor to the barn, and moved the bantams there. Hoping to avoid buying another heated water bowl. Their water bowl is freezing nightly.

Cleaned up the big chickens' coop, watered them, fixed the heat lamp, re-bedded the nest.

Used the tractor and hay fork to move the hay bale to the horse pasture.

Filled up the bird feeder. Birds are drinking from the chicken water and eating their expensive food.

Roxie (miniature foal) likes to run up and lean on one with all her weight. Training to do.

A Few French Fries Short of a Happy Meal

A few nights ago, I drank a little too much coffee before bed. Later that night, awakened by our cat who seems to think that rising time is 4 a.m., I laid in bed trying to go back to sleep. There is something about that time at night. Every possible anxiety that I have, things I've neglected to do, worries that I've destroyed my children's future by homeschooling them, things I need to do tomorrow, all come visiting in my head. I think to myself - I'll write them down in a notebook when I wake up. Finally, exhausted, I fall asleep. When I wake up, the anxiety is gone, but so is my list of all the things I wanted to remember to do.

Contrast that with Wm. Before going to sleep, he asks if we can play Zoombinis, his favorite computer program. No, it is too late, I say, but we'll play it in the morning. I swear, the first words out of the child's mouth, before wiping the sand from his eyes, are to ask if we were now going to play Zoombinis. It is as if he has never been asleep. It must be that his neurons are still young, and mine, I need new sparkplugs.

Farm Notes:
I hear rain is coming, and in fact, hear drops hitting the windows of my darkened bedroom right now.

I got two chicken eggs yesterday. Both Aracaunas laid! None today. Chicken feed is up to over $12 a bag. It was $8 a bag this summer. Corn and wheat prices are driving the increase. They are becoming more like pets, if they actually liked humans, that is. With this cold, I imagine we're spending $25 a month on electricity to keep them warm.

Went and bought another round bale today. We're using about one every three weeks at $40 a bale. No grass to be had in the pasture - just mud.

It's the Season....

...for sharing cooties. Last week, dh and I went in to see a financial planner. Very nice office, very nice guy we've done business with in the past. We sat at a large conference table and watched the tall, well-dressed guy put his coffee on the table and begin apologizing for the cold he has. Being polite, we both kind of waved it off and smiled. Oh, no problem, no problem.

As he sat and began his presentation, however, we both noticed that the guy had large flakes of skin hanging from his lips. Visualize torn strips of white paper, perhaps toilet paper, stuck to one's lips. As he sipped his coffee two feet from me, it was hard to concentrate on his pie charts.

Suddenly, he realized that something was there, and still talking, picked one of the flakes off, looked at it, wiped it on his trousers and kept talking. We watched in hidden horror. At the end of the meeting, he apologized. "I get this once a year and then I'm fine, you know. Just a simple herpes virus." Herpes! Did you say herpes? Sure, I'm well aware that's the name of the cold virus but just saying it makes it seem so much more, I don't know, STD.

And then, he stuck his hand out in assertive businessman-like fashion, and well-trained businessman dh is and I was, we shook his hand. After getting in the car, we simultaneously began wiping our hands on our trousers. I pulled my Germ-X from my purse and we sanitized! I don't know what's worse, the cold or the cooties this time of year. Neither of us contracted it and it's been a week, so I think we're in the clear.

Farm Notes

The people that wired our house were geniuses. When a new "sunroom" was added on sometime after the house was built, they ran the lights for the room and outside electrical sockets all off of the same circuit as the bathrooms upstairs. They actually had the ceiling fan wired in with extension cord wire.

Though we'd redone some of the wiring when we remodeled the sunroom into a family room, we didn't realized the full extent of the bad wiring until the weather turned so bitterly cold. We found that if you ran the electric bathroom heaters, the circuit kicked off, turned off the bathroom lights and the sunroom lights. Oh, and guess what? Also the two heat lamps in the chicken coops, a heater for a 100 gallon water tank, and the electric fence, all plugged into outside sockets. I guess it's time to work on the wiring again.

Our digital remote NOAH weather gage did not register an outside temperature this morning. Evidently, it goes on strike when the temps fall below zero. Can't say I blame it.

Death by Tostito

My dh almost killed me tonight. It probably wasn't on purpose. We were eating at his favorite Mexican restaurant. Not mine? For me, Mexican food and "favorite" are an oxymoron. It may be that I'd gotten there earlier than he and I was on my second Corona. It may be that he knew that and took advantage of the fact.

A waiter was serving an nearby table. My dh, who, as those who know him know, grows not much grass on his playground, that is, he might have had more hair at one point in time, remarked that the Mexican waiter had more hair on his forehead than he had on his whole head. At the moment I looked up, I'd just taken a large bite of a tortilla chip.

The man had a hairline centimeters from his eyebrows which, perhaps it was the Corona, struck me as funny. As I laughed suddenly, I felt that feeling we've all had before, tortilla chip in the windpipe. Alternating laughing with coughing, my eyes began to water and dh asked if I was alright. I tried drinking my water. No effect. It was in there good and I coughed and coughed. People were starting to stare. It's then you realize you'll have to cough until you make that retched retching noise like you're going to barf and ruin everyone's enjoyment of their refried beans. I was able to mask it, and somehow coughed the boulder-sized (by now) chip into my esophagus, where it merely tickled rather than choked. I continued to cough and cry until I finally got it into submission. See why I don't like Mexican food? It can kill you.

The Perfect Blog - Almost

Some people do wonderful photos on their blog, and I'm only a charged battery away from capturing those perfect photo-blog moments. Never fails I can't find the camera, or when I do, the moment has passed.

So you'll have to imagine my perfect photos. Anna and I were on the way to her art class on Tuesday and simultaneously had to jinx each other for seeing the most gorgeous, huge orange moon on the horizon and saying, "wish I had my camera".

Yesterday, Whitney decided that Matthais' closed laptop could do double duty as a dog warming pad. Either that or Japanese Chin dogs can lay on your computer and be laptop bling. I don't know which. She got up just as she heard the whine of my camera powering up. What do you do? Keep it on at all times and hung around your neck? At any rate, we are learning not to put our closed laptops on the floor.

Today is so cold that we can't even get the wood stove warm enough to stay lit. Okay, that and I don't have a degree in boy scout camp fires. Sue me.

Homeschooling at Its Finest

Wm and I went to the main library downtown last night where there was a display in honor of Lincoln. Wm knows who he is, as we'd seen the display before and discussed it. He, however, decided to display a different side to the world and declared loudly, "He looks like the first Willie Wonka." I'm so proud.

How'd I Do That?

My new laptop (thank you, Dad!) is wonderful. I've not yet loaded it up to the gills with programs and photos. Unlike my desktop, it doesn't take an hour to load, asking me to sign into AIM, MSN Messenger, some error message about my mail default, load some clock I don't remember installing, load up fifteen other programs I never use. Yeah, yeah, I know I can fix all that but it still has gigs and gigs of old photos on it (that I intend to organize some day RIGHT) and it's slower than molasses regardless. It is so much easier to just use the laptop and ignore the old desktop and the hours of work it represents.

The laptop takes some getting used to. For some reason, they've designed all laptops with the mouse pad right about where your thumb pads rest when using the keyboard. Next thing I know, the window I'm using is minimized. Where did it go? Okay, I touched the mouse pad and I'll retrieve the window from the taskbar. The cursor and window bounce back and forth as I fight for control of the task at hand, accidently bringing up menus and deleting whole sentences. Sometimes, I find myself typing in the middle of the wrong paragraph, and don't know how I got there.

Sadly, it echos my life lately when I find myself standing at the top of the steps, and I don't know why I went upstairs, though I know it was for something.

I'd Better Tell The Horses and the Rooster To Behave

Several years ago, we were dismayed to find that the one acre behind our barn had already been sold, though we'd not even known it was for sale. We'd always envisioned it as a good place to make an outdoor horse arena. The land was good for little else, sliding off into a ravine on all sides save one, which was bordered by our (then) dilapidated barn and large manure pile.

The owners did wonders with the lot, and now it is a beautifully landscaped yard with a new house on it, bordered by our now newer barn, but still behind the manure pile. And - they're trying to sell it. I watch prospective buyers walking around and wonder how long it is before a new owner objects to our horse manure, our muddy yard, and the crow of our rooster. Yah'd think that people moving into the country because they like the rural atmosphere would expect a certain amount of, well, rural activities. But you can't count on it. Read here about what happens when city folk try to take over rural areas.

More on the story here.

A Gray Day

Bluppp!

Lauren was startled this morning by a noise. It was just the wine fermenting. I've finally ended my wine-making drought and started another batch. It bubbles continuously at this stage and fills the air with the smell of fermenting grapes. To top it off, it's one of those "quick" nights for dinner and we have cheese enchildas cooking. Wm, not liking that choice, had a tuna fish sandwich. Oh, and we've started some sourdough starter. We've named him "Wilson" after the ball in the movie, "Cast Away". Lauren declared that "there are too many smells in this kitchen!" I think it's time for my evening coffee. (wink)

To the left, you see the airlock that keeps out wild yeast. The gas produced in fermentation bubbles through liquid to escape, as the container is otherwise sealed. I think it's a very soothing sound, like an aquarium. Bluppp!

Cold

Cold drives the mice indoors. If the garage door stays open for a second, they sneak in, climb up to the ceiling on the mounds of things we store there for no good reason, and get into the drop ceiling of the basement on the garage level. From there, they can find spaces in the walls to get to my kitchen. For this reason, I am a mouse hunter. It is the only animal I know that I deliberately set out to kill, but I do. I'm up to two a day.

Yesterday, though I fancy myself a woman that can do anything a man can do, I reached up into the drop ceiling to put my hand directly on the dead mousie. While washing my hands until they were raw, I asked dh, a foot taller than I am, to see if he could stick his head up in there and retrieve the trap. Which he did.

Other notes: It is a beautiful day outside, sunny. Looks so nice. It's 18 degrees. Nature can be so deceptive.

Wm and I watched the old Willy Wonka last night while the rest of the crew watched a grown-up movie. Wm immediately declared "that's not Willy Wonka" and that Gene Wilder didn't look anything like the real Willy Wonka (aka Johnny Depp).

Holy Smoke!

Smoking has been a big part of my life. Well, I should say of those around me. I've never tried once to smoke, which is only a matter of timing, I suspect, for both my mom, dad, and all my adult relatives smoked. They'd just started teaching in the schools that smoking kills, and that was enough for me. I went home, found Dad's open pack of cigarettes, and broke them all in half, thinking that would get the message to him and he'd quit. I remember Dad yelling at me that I'd better not ever do that again.

Smoking continued to be a big part of Dad's life until his heart attack. He wrote about his smoking career on his blog today. Go here.

For What It's Worth

I check Google's Adsense now and again to see how many people have visited my blog, and how much money I've earned from people clicking on the ads to the right. Since December of 2004, I've earned $65 whole dollars. I think that works out to about $.002 per hour. Anyway, the other day I remarked that I'd made 2 cents! Lauren remarked, "Then you got it back." What? "Well, you gave your two cents worth, and they gave it back to you."

I Want One!

Scientists in China have successfully bred glow-in-the-dark pigs. I first read about this on the BBC website as reported by Chris Hogg (no joke). What in the world? Is this so farmers can find their missing pigs at night? Perhaps so one can eat green eggs and green ham? I wondered if I can get my chickens injected for when they go AWOL?

Want to get ahead on next year's Christmas? How do you wow kids that already have a Wii or iPod? How about glow-in-the-dark kittens? Speaking of kids, how about glow-in-the-dark kids? Kids will now be able to stay out past sundown safely. Oooo, ooo! Glow-in-the-dark HORSES! You can now ride safely at night. You can quickly check horses left in the field. "Yup, I see four glowing green blobs out there. All accounted for."

Last night, dh and I had a date at a local restaurant. Couldn't help but notice that the long hair of the Asian man sitting at the next table occasionally glowed blue. I suppose he could have been wearing a Bluetooth (wireless cell phone device) but now, I'll never know. Perhaps he was genetically altered.

Although there may be scientific advantages to green pigs, I'm too base too not think of the more practical ramifications. If you eat fluorescent meat, do you start glowing? If not, what does happen to the fluorescence? Given the sensibilities of my daughters, I'll stop now and let your own imagination go where it will.

Charitable Contributions

I regularly get phone calls soliciting money for two police organizations which is not prevented by the no-call list (they are exempt). Though I'd given money in the past, I became rather frustrated with the repeated phone calls, suspicious that the phone calls were from Ohio not KY, and the increasing rudeness of the callers when I would not give more than once per year.

That is when I heard on the radio that in Kentucky, you can look on a website to see who is actually soliciting these funds (in this case it was an organization that does nothing but solicit funds for charity or other organizations) and the percentage that the charity or organization actually receives.

Organizations soliciting funds in our state must register for this website. You will see on the table that each organization must list who is calling and what percent actually goes to the organization. (Some organizations get as little as 1%! Some actually lost money!) Armed with this data, the next time they called, I had the following conversation:

Caller: I'm soliciting funds for the police who use it in saving children blah blah blah blah.....
Me: Are you actually part of this organization?
Caller: No ma'am.
Me: What organization are you with?
Caller: Community Safety.
Me: So you are not a policeman?
Caller: No
Me: What percentage of my donation actually goes to this program?
Caller: The Chiefs of Police are guaranteed to receive $80,000 for.........
Me: I asked you what percentage?
Caller: About 17% of it goes...
Me: Sorry, I only donate to organizations where the majority of it actually reaches the organization. Please remove me from your list.

If you look on the table, Kentucky Association of Chiefs of Police got only $67,372.80 in donation, whereas the company that manned the phone for them got $327,050.60 for making phone calls. And that's just one organization they represent.

Another more amusing way to handle such calls is to say that you'd like to research the charity first. Ask for the name of the caller and their home phone number, telling them you'll call them during their dinner and let them know how much you'll give.

I share this info with my teens so that they can learn to handle these types of calls when they are older. Here I am at....well, not a teen....just learning how to handle them with confidence.

Extreme Flylady

After the third load of dishes in a day, I decided that something had to change. Because we homeschool, it seems it is always time for someone to get something to eat or drink. As I looked down at the racks in the dishwasher, I realized that most of the loads were glasses. Loads and loads of glasses - yet during the day there are five people here. There should be five glasses, tops. Why then, did the dishwasher look like I just had a dinner party for twelve?

That day, I decided to assign a different looking glass to each person. I‘m such a Martha Stewart that I actually had six non-matching glasses in my house. “This is your glass,” I announced. “Recognize it, protect it, love it.” I took all of the other glasses and put them up in the highest reaches of the cabinets.

Immediately, dissention reared it’s ugly head. “But my glass is dirty.” Wash it. “But it was in the dishwasher and it’s hot.” Rinse it in cold water. “I don’t know where it is.” Look for it or drink out of the faucet. There were even a few attempts at subversion. “I’ll just use a coffee mug.” No you won’t. “Yes, I will.” Now, I have to hide the coffee mugs and assign each person a mug.

On the very first day of the crackdown, dh knocked his glass to the marble floor of the kitchen, turning it into tiny slivers. I, of course, was to blame because I was unloading the dishwasher and had put it on the counter in reach of his elbow and he has the wingspan of a pterodactyl. Because I didn’t have another different-looking glass, he was relegated to using plastic for several days until I obtained a new one for him. For some reason, this became an inside joke, and dh had to go around saying, “ha, ha, very funny”. Finally, a neighbor gave him a glass and he now looks like the grownup he is at the dinner table.

A friend asked if guests had to bring their own glass. Obviously, this restriction of freedom hits home for many people. And, no, I do still have spare glasses, hidden. The idea is this - with all the machines and technology available today - dishwashers, washers, dryers, electric stoves, microwaves - why do we housekeepers work as hard and as many hours to keep house? Because, dear ones, we’ve said since it’s easier to wash clothes, we can wear more. We do more loads. Because it’s easier to wash dishes in the dishwasher, we use more dishes. We have cars, you can drive around all day, every day and cover miles that took our ancestors weeks to cover.

Neighbors have taken an interest and have imposed a one-glass policy in their house as well to the dismay, I think of the dh. Their organized daughter suggested everyone should have their own plate and bowl as well. I’m working on it. Hey, we could cut down on global warming one glass at a time. All this writing has made me thirsty. Now, if I could only find my glass…..

Farm Notes
If you noticed I said five people are at home during the day (dh goes off to work), it is because we’ve added a new member to our household. We’ve welcomed a cousin to the area who will be living with us as he studies for college and works. Likely, he’s in the category with my girls - not fodder for blogs. Yah never know though, so watch yerself, Matthias! Anyway, we’re happy he’s here. He keeps bees, so perhaps he’ll teach us and we’ll add that to our little farm.

Lester, famed rooster, died while protecting his coop. Lauren, going to shut the coop up, found him one night with his bloody neck through the fence which defines their yard. Very sad. We still do have his son who has taken the crowing job seriously; he crows at night he's so smart.

It is so very cold, we are happy for the electric water buckets. What a great invention. It is too cold to ride horses.

Lauren is working with Roxie, the miniature horse born this summer, who wants still to climb in your lap or be held. We hope to use her for pet therapy, and it wouldn’t be cool if she climbed up on a little old lady’s lap.

Well. He Minds Really Well

Red Rover, Red Rover......

I don't know where I was in the past years when primaries were going on, but certainly this year was the first time I'd paid any attention to the way a caucus works in Iowa. As some pundit put it, it reminds one of a game of Red Rover, Red Rover.

In this day and age of computers and technology, I truly cannot understand how a group of people can decide something as important as who they want for President by standing around in groups and counting people. Your group is smallest? You have to go stand with another group or go home. It's like choosing sides in elementary school for a team.

You can use a debit card to instantly determine the balance on your account, use GPS to determine where you are on the planet (or now, where your teen is), you can use web cams to check on things at home while away, you can instantly send mail to anyone in the world with an email address or write on a Facebook "wall". And yet, they can't figure out how to securely and electronically cast a popular vote?

My suggestion is that we take Bill Gates and Steve Jobs hostage, we put them in separate rooms and insist that they redesign the voting system. ...I dare you over.

You're Not As Young As You Think

Sometimes, I stand looking in the mirror and using one index finger, pull back at the corners of my eyes. Yes, I daydream, I could look like I once did. I imagine acquaintances who might have said “boy, she is looking old” will instead think “wow, she sure looks good for her age”. I smile smugly in the mirror with my slanted eyes. I turn sideways. I’ll have to have the “girls” lifted back to their previous glory to match. I could look younger. Never young, just younger.

It’s interesting that I do this, because I become ENRAGED to hear Rush Limbaugh saying that America won’t elect Hillary because we don’t want to see a woman age before our eyes. (This is not a political endorsement of Hillary, just an examination of this particular attack on her (and American women) by Limbaugh.

He says:
But men aging makes them look more authoritative, accomplished, distinguished. Sadly, it's not that way for women, and they will tell you. … I'm just giving an honest assessment here of American culture. Look at all of the evidence. I mean, I've just barely scratched the surface with some of the evidence, and so: Will Americans want to watch a woman get older before their eyes on a daily basis? And that woman, by the way, is not going to want to look like she's getting older, because it will impact poll numbers. It will impact perceptions.

Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps Americans are shallow enough that appearances are more important than anything. But I look at this unflattering photo of Hillary, and I think of all the more recent unflattering photos of myself. I’m getting older - right along with her. I am that woman, the one with the wrinkles, the one aging before your eyes. I am the one that you might not want to look at everyday on the TV. Women close to me are wrinkling, aging, getting older. And, they are becoming more dear to me every day.

Sometimes, I read the obituaries. Morbid, I know. I read about how these people were loved, how they made a difference in their life and in the lives of others, and then, I look closely at their photograph. Usually, it isn’t one from their 20s, but one from their late years. A photograph taken when they were surrounded by people that cared about them, and knew them as wrinkled, gray-haired and balding. And I see the beauty in those faces.

Where do we get these twisted values that only youth is beautiful? Do wrinkled men look more distinguished as they age? Perhaps women do, too, if you look closely enough in the mirror.

Thanks to Tex's Missus for the writing prompt, and I guess, in retrospect, my answer would have to be "no".

You're Not as Clean as You Think

William and I were in the YMCA's indoor pool last weekend, which was moderately crowded and watched by two lifeguards. We were playing with one of those foam noodles, hollow in the middle, that are supposed to be used to aid flotation. Unless you are a boy, and then it is used as a water cannon. Trying to divert Wm from shooting water at nearby swimmers, I suggested that we use it to talk secretly to each other. Demonstrating, I held it up to my ear, only to have a burst of water forcibly pushed into one ear canal and out the other. Wm, at the other end of the tube, laughed uproariously.

My automatic response was to fill the tube with water and blow water onto him. He had the tube currently about eye level. Just as I blew the water, he decided to follow my suggestion and speak into the tube, moving it into the vicinity of his mouth just as I shot the water from the tube. The water shot into his mouth all at once as a surprised look came over his face. He sputtered and then began turning red. Oh, Lord, I thought, he's choking to death and it's my fault. Swallow, swallow, I encouraged him.

That's when he began retching, and I, an experienced mother knew what was coming - he was going to throw up in the pool and they'd have to evacuate, call Homeland Security, and drain the pool. I'd be posted on the bulletin board with known terrorists at the Post Office. I moved him as quickly as I could to the side of the pool, but it was already coming out. Holding my hand over his mouth as most mothers do without thinking so that you can somehow catch the vomit or somehow shove it back into his mouth until you are someplace else (something NO ONE would ever thinkingly do), I can remember pondering "what is this you had to eat? It's blue. And some pink. Oh, yes, blueberry muffins for breakfast".

Getting him to the pool drain, I rinsed off his face and the drain while looking out of the corner of my eyes. Did the lifeguards see? Did anyone else? No, phew! Then, Will let out a huge, "YUCK!" because he had slime all down his floaty bathing suit. I jumped out of the pool, pulled him after me and ran to the ladies' locker room and hosed him down in the shower. Quickly, we returned the the pool, got in and acted like nothing happened. I added in a little whistling to make sure.

Then I caught the eye of a mom nearby. She looked at me with that "look". She glanced up at the lifeguard, and then just ever so slowly, shepherded her kids away from us. I wanted to shout, "He's not sick - I just almost drowned him, that's all!" I looked down to see a filament of yuck with a purple piece of blueberry attached float by and decided it was time to leave. I will probably never think of the cleanliness of a public pool in the same way again.

Back in the Saddle

Since friends are starting to call with offers of chicken soup (in case I'm sick) and suggestions for blogs (in case I have writers' block), I suppose it is time to push ahead and try to regain some momentum. The holidays always take a good deal out of me. Believe or not, I'm still working on my Christmas cards. I take procrastination to new heights.

This particular season, we went hiking in the mountains. Having forgotten to bring my gym shoes, I walked miles in my unsupported mules. I then drove three of five hours home in a mini-van that hates me (my husband's opinion) for the seat somehow pinches me into agony. Since that day, I've been in constant back pain and unable to sit at the computer. As you see from this blog activity, I'm nearly recovered if I take it easy.

I have missed countless opportunities to turn extreme exaggeration of family events into funny stories. I can only begin where I am and start again. But, it will have to wait for a short time, for my family would like to know if I plan to write or make dinner? Don't they know that serious writers must work long hours and their families must make sacrifices (or at least their own dinner)?

Hiking

William: "Mom, the water is so beautiful it hurts my ears."

Merry Christmas!

Super-Size Me

Dh and I opened our gifts to each other Friday night. I'd really wanted to also get him a hoodie from the university where he went to grad school, but at StuffMart, they only had 2x and 3x.
"I guess that's a statement about our town," I lamented.
"And that was only the women's sizes!" dh replied.

Need for Speed

Hey, people at StuffMart! If you were going any slower you'd be going backwards! Just had to get that off my chest. Thank you.

Just Needing ONE Shot.....

Some people cheat - they use a photo they took sometime during the year, not a Christmas photo they took which is on the list of 5001 things to do before Christmas Eve. Perhaps, next year, I will join them. We're taking a vote on which picture to use for our Christmas card. Vote soon! There's only two days left for one hour photo!

Run, Run, As Fast as You Can.....

I saw a gingerbread man cookie kit the other day at StuffMart. I thought, " that is really lame". I mean, you can make gingerbread so easily. Then, the little devil on my left shoulder slapped me upside the head and said, "Stupid. Don't you remember this?"

This year, I did try making the gingerbread cookies, and after dh broke off a canine, we decided to try soaking them in milk first and they're somewhat edible after that. Maybe I'll get one of those kits after all.

Science News

There's a whole lot of news this week about holes. Black holes, to be specific, are spewing out radiation and messing up whole galaxies some bazillion light years from here. Scientists are studying it likely so that maybe someday, should it happen to Earth, they'll know what to do. News flash guys, Earth will be a dessicated dust bunny by then if we don't solve the problems on our own planet. Let's use those scientists closer to home, shall we?

And by the way, if you don't take my advice, please look for the black hole nearer home (and you know who you are) that is sucking up my scissors, tape measures, rulers, working pens, stapler, finger nail clippers, tweezers, the digital thermometer, and the cordless phone. That can be the only explanation for the disappearance of these items.

And while I'm at it, can you explain to me why they can pinpoint all kinds of astrological bodies so far away they can't be seen, but if you use an Expedia or Mapquest to get driving directions for a place 15 minutes away, you end up in the wrong state?

I've Been Good

This would be the best Christmas present ever, though I'd add one modification - a vacuum underneath so that you can vacuum as you go. I'm ever Suzy Homemaker you know. Santa's probably already loaded the sleigh so I'll save this for next year's list. Thank you to Chris for the tip.

Just Call Me "Rumple" for Short

Once upon a time, there was a poor card production director (doesn't have the same ring as "miller", does it?) who had two beautiful daughters. The daughters had two horses that ate like, well, horses. After a severe drought, all the hay in the kingdom had disappeared and their pile of hay grew smaller and smaller. The girls wept with worry about their horses. The winter loomed long and cold before them, and nearly all the grass was gone.

Now, their father was married to their mother (a very strange occurrence in these times and in fairy tales in general. Generally, the mother is dead in these stories.) The mother thought long and hard, and told the girls that she would go to town to the spinning wheel in the wall, where one can turn gold into straw (or hay in this case). They all piled into their old pickup chariot, and went to town, where after inputting the password "Rumpelstiltskin" the wheels spun and out came "gold" that the father, locked in his cubicle, worked night and day to produce.

Gold in her hand, the mother thought briefly of vacations in the Caribbean or Napa Valley, but the moment passed and she took the gold to the only man in the village who had a pile of hay left. There, she gave over the treasure and piled the hay into the back of the truck. The beautiful daughters smiled, knowing that the horses will be warm and happy all winter. The end.

How to Totally Embarrass a Teenager

When she is nine, you buy a horse trailer that is "cute" (for a nine year old).
When she is sixteen, she often hears at competitions
"Oh, yeah. You're the one with the clown trailer."

You drive around with a ginormous loaf of hay in the back of your old pickup,
making sure her friends see her.

Then, you post photos on the Internet of said teens
pushing said hay bale from the truck. Personally, I like the teamwork.

Proof He's Growing Up

Notice the adult tooth already coming in next to the new hole left by the tooth lost this week. What does Wm notice? "Look how big my nose is!"

Proof he's all boy: have your photo taken with a meatball in your mouth
and laugh about it for half an hour.

Blog Anniversary

On NPR (radio), I heard that yesteday was the 10th anniversary of the invention of the Blog. Ten years ago, the term "WebLog" was coined, and there were just a few of them. "Weblog" morphed into "Blog" and now, over 120,000 of them are started each day. The guy on the radio said, however, there was no way to know how many of them are actually read. Ouch!

Writer Elizabeth Spiers wrote: "I don't know why anyone reads blogs," the editor in chief of a large magazine once said to me. "It's like listening to the crazy guy on the subway rant." Hey, we crazy people need a place to rant, okay? Spiers goes on to say:

it's possible to create commercially viable media products for niche audiences. Even more important for traditional media, blogs are an inexpensive way to test new editorial concepts with an engaged audience whose behavior and preferences are more directly measurable than in any other medium. This alone should be of interest to any pragmatic editor.

See? See, mean editor? I have several readers. Okay, two, but I'm working on it. You see, I miss blogging a day here and there when I'm doing important things like, oh, feeding my family and scolding the dog for peeing on the floor.

This month is an anniversary of sorts for me as well - two years of blogging. I have thoughts now and again about redesigning it, maybe finding a closet where I can hide while I write. It'll have to wait until after Christmas. I'm in full procrastinator mode right now!! Give me more coffee! Each day, I look anxiously up the driveway, waiting for the UPS man and those last minute promises of "it's not too late to order!!" Next year, I'll start earlier. Wait a minute, it is next year.

Update: PITA Woman is entirely correct in her comment. It has been three years now that I've blogged. Time passes quickly when you're full of hot air.

Farm Notes
Hay will be like gold this winter. My hay supplier promised to keep some round bales for me, but he won't sell us the square bales since we did put up a supply of it. He plans to sell out for more money per bale. Can't say as I blame him.

Dreaming of Summer

Would someone please inform my son that winter is here to stay awhile? That snow is on the way? William refuses to acknowledge the change in temperature, and runs around in shorts. Little old ladies scowl at me because he refuses to wear a coat. What kind of mother am I?

I told dh that we'd just have to move to a warmer climate (no ulterior motive on my part of course). Dh replied that moving south would be good, so that Wm could get a job on a shrimp boat, since he'll never be able to have a job where clothes must be worn. I'll get the cocktail sauce.

Farm notes:
Quid, Lauren's POA (Pony of the Americas) had her shoes pulled today. We tried a new farrier for her, and he was very patient. Quid stood quite still. We'll let her go barefoot for now.

Yesterday, upon returning home from shopping, we saw a well-antlered buck standing in the yard under the light post. He was not at all afraid of us, but finally jumped the fence after we'd stared for several minutes. I wanted to tell him to stay; he's safe in my yard.

Overachievers

A neighbor within viewing distance of our house has a Christmas display which can only be meant to shame the rest of us heathens that haven't properly decorated for Christmas. A twelve foot Frosty is lit up at night and gazing at an equally gianormous Santa. Curiously, it's the home of an elderly couple, so it would be "cute" that they decorated together if I weren't so caught up in my lack of decorations.

Perhaps this feeling is reinforced by another neighbor whose house could be used as a landmark to guide jets on their way to the airport. Granted, the guy is a landscaper and really into how his yard looks. He's one of those guys with the pristine yard and a garage where you could eat off the floor. Dh has said that a too clean garage and perfectly manicured yard is the sign of a man who doesn't want to be inside the house with his wife.

Farm Notes:
Mud. That about says it all.

Christmas Spirit

See how cheerful dh and I are trying to be?

It Could Be Worse

I'm trying, really trying, to keep moving and not feel stressed during this Christmas season. It's a stretch for someone that goes around wondering why people are staring before I remember that I've not brushed my hair yet today and it's sticking up like I've been licked by a reindeer. Still, I've maintained my cool, and even went to a few holiday activities.

William is on hyperdrive, constantly asking questions and wanting "someone to play with me". When I replied that I had a lot to do for Christmas, he responded in a way that shows he'll grow up to be a normal male: "What is there to do? Santa does everything." He'll be in time-out for about a week.

This morning, I got to test my old engineering trouble-shooting skills in tracking down a water leak inside the house that flooded the garage and the closet where I hide all the Christmas presents. Luckily, I'm such a procrastinator, there wasn't much in there. See? That's a positive!

And, it could be worse. I could:

• Be trapped in a toilet for four days
• Have a job measuring kangaroo farts
• Have George Bush give out my phone number on national TV by mistake
• Be a total nut case

Okay, okay, the last one I may already be.

Sisters

A friend and enemy all rolled into one person. How perfectly economical.

"I can do it myself."

He gave it a good try.

....but was man enough to know he needed help.

Farm Notes:

I cannot explain it, but had a premonition yesterday morning that something was wrong with the horses. I looked out of the windows twice before finding that the neighbor's recently gelded male horse jumped the fence at the property line to visit with the hussy horse aka "Ginny". He ripped the vinyl off of her winter blanket, leaving her to run about in white fleece with the green vinyl trailing behind her. I called the neighbor who retrieved the horse. I am beginning to keep records of the horse's misdeeds for future reference.

After a full day yesterday, I couldn't go to bed knowing it was going to be 22 degrees that night. The little white hen wasn't yet allowed to sleep with the two black ones, and might freeze. I knew I'd lay awake thinking about it. My daughter admonished me for worrying about chickens late at night. Still, I snuck out after she went to bed and hooked up the heat lamp. I slept well.

Today, dh and I took the family to get the Christmas tree, got 3 loads of hay, and worked on the fence that the neighbor's horses are leaning on. Joe, the hay guy, says we need to figure out if we have enough until next July, as he's sure to sell out. Doesn't he know that I figure out what to have for dinner about an hour before it's time to cook it? And I have to plan to next July???

Ho, Ho, Ho

Old enough to confidently climb on Santa's lap, and young enough to still believe in magic.
What a perfect age.

Diet Plan

As soon as I saw the plastic freezer bag and the recipe attached, I moaned. I remember the summer both dh and I gained 5 pounds each from such a bag. You might as well fill it with lard and hang it directly from my belt loops. Evidently, someone at dh's work subscribe to the diet plan of making other people fat, so that one looks good by comparison.

If you have any friends at all, at some point in your life you will be "gifted" with an Amish Bread Starter. In my case, I might call it a curse, for the sourdough starter becomes a living thing (sometimes named) that cannot be let to die. It grows and multiplies, and people start crossing the street when they see you coming with a similar bag of goo. Feeling sorry for the living baggie of goo, it becomes a mission to find homes for them, holding them aloft at meetings and shouting out an invitation to join the growing ranks of the growing ranks.

Similarly, we've recently received a gift of Sea Monkeys which Wm declares is a "good pet". A very sensitive child, he is not going to allow a burial at "sea" aka toilet, when the SM food runs out. I am faced with ordering new food for critters that make my skin crawl. Aren't those the things in creeks that make you wish you hadn't drunk creek water?

Still, a gift is a gift. Dh loves Amish Sourdough Bread, though I question the title and suggest Amish Pound Cake. Perhaps the Amish, ploughing digging up their fields with a trowel can eat a loaf with a whole cup of oil in it. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Farm Notes
One Arucana chicken has begun laying again. For all my efforts and $8 in feed a month, I get about 25 eggs. I'm running a nursing home for chickens.

Today it should be warm, and I need to get the heat lamps put up for the chickens. I hate the cold.

The heated buckets are installed in the barn - the best horse invention after the stirrup. Beats the heck out of fronzen water buckets when it's 2 below. Did I mention I hate cold?

I Don't Think He "Gets" It

Today at Church, we stopped by the Jesse tree to pick a paper ornament on which was written the name of an underprivileged child and the present desired for that child. I deliberately chose a boy child around William's age as a possible lesson in how blessed we are.

When we returned home, I told him that the ornament told me what the child had asked for - socks and underwear. This child, I explained, didn't have all we have and has just asked to have new socks and underwear for Christmas. William looked up at me and in his sweet voice, declared, "Well, I have LOTS of socks and underwear so I don't need that and can ask for a Drivemax Megazord."

Not Your Mother's Little Black Dress

Years back, I bought a wine-coloured velvet dress from Victoria's Secret. It was, believe it or not, modest, long-sleeved, and though meant to be very short, hit my stubby legs just right. That dress disappeared into dd's closet a Christmas or two ago. Thinking maybe they might have another like it, I went onto their website to browse last night looking for me and dd for Christmas gatherings.

Let's just say that styles have um, progressed (or is that digressed?) and dd will not be getting a VS dress. Besides, it has to be harmful to contort one's breasts to pop up over the neckline in such an obvious display. Still, I was fascinated with one feature: you can click on the color swatches and change the color of the dress. I thought that was fun.

Dh, arriving home from work looked over my shoulder. "They forgot one button," he said. "They need one with no dress at all." And, I don't think he was trying to gauge the success of that particular style of dress on the model.

Later, I thanked him for fodder for my blog. He said that the whole website erroneously assumed that he was even looking at the dress.

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.

'Tis the Season

I had to laugh at TC's blog, because it's so true. Here, two days before Thanksgiving, I just now thinking about going to the grocery. For people like me, living on the edge (of chaos), seeing Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving is just like rubbing it in my face. It screams "na-na-na-boo-boo it's Christmas soon and you're not even ready". In reading her blog about the retailers getting ready for Valentine's Day and Easter, I could not help but wonder if the world could maybe come out right when we "lap" ourselves in holiday preparations?

For the Man Who Has Everything

My dh is an introvert. Not in the common English use of the word, as in "hermit" but in the way he thinks. Me, I think out loud. Heck, I blog out loud. Dh, on the other hand, mulls questions over in his brain, turning it this way and that, taking his time while formulating the correct response (when we all know that all he needs to say is "yes, dear" and "but of course you are right!")

While he's thinking and eating his morning cereal, I'm left wondering if he's even heard me. He continues munching, looking down in his cereal bowl for the next bite. "Well???" I ask.

"I'm thinking," he responds.

I wish there was some sign, some way to know that he heard me and is thinking. I envision an little electronic screen implant for an introvert's head hard wired into their brain. When they are "thinking" it will show a little hour glass like my computer does.

StuffMart Can Stuff It

They did it again! Again, I've stood in line to check out for an inordinate amount of time. Too many items to do it myself, I looked down a half-mile row of check out lanes and saw only three open. I waited and waited, and all was not in vain until I got home and found my lunch meat missing. This isn't the first time. WHERE IS MY LUNCHMEAT???

I envision the cashier having it for lunch in the breakroom. Maybe she stole a loaf of bread from the next customer, they had a feast. On the other hand, though I've searched the van, foul smells of decayed meat could greet me in the coming week if I missed it somehow.

The old woman behind me made the long line excrutiating as she doddered on about avoiding items manufactured in China and how this line will get worse come Christmas time. I'd just come in for two avocados. I spent $106.

Think She Kept Her Job?

Photo of cake ordered from StuffMart. Thanks to Christine, who forwarded to me, for the laugh. I needed that.

Death by Chaos

We're expecting company in the next week - three separate visits. Most people that live nearby know we have a "farm" house and it looks it. They know that sometimes it's clean, sometimes there is chicken crap on the steps when someone forgot to remove their shoes. Sometimes, a recital takes precedence over cleaning off the counters. The guests, however, only come once in a great while, and a short visit can leave a lasting impression with no follow up visits to redeem oneself.

I find myself stashing items in my office closet and wondering if they were to open this closet, and be knocked on the head and they died, would it be manslaughter or murder? It was premeditated - I meant to hide my total lack of organization. And yes, I DO know about Flylady and have about 1000 unread messages from her in my inbox.

So what am I doing blogging? A person has to take a break sometimes!

Typical Male

Yesterday, my son was given the opportunity to ride along with me to drive one sister to art lessons. Another sister was to remain home. He generally chooses to stick to me like white on rice, but this time, I was surprised to hear, "No, I'll stay home. You'll just talk the whole way there and back anyway".

Farm Notes
I recently found someone who'd love to have the white silkie pair of chickens that I have. I was happy to know that they could remain together. Yesterday, I found the rooster dead in the hutch. No apparent cause of death and a necropsy is not planned. Funeral arrangements to be made by Rumpke.

Tell me, what, what, possesses a man (or woman for that matter, I'm in Kentucky after all) to chew tobacco?? A man stopped by unannounced yesterday to inquire about the builder of our barn. This has happened before, and I was happy to show him around. That is, until he began periodically spitting, spitting, in my barn. I about lost my cookies. Granted the barn has a limestone base and bedding to collect waste, but there is something inherently disgusting about tobacco juice. Just writing this makes me throw up a little in my mouth.

What woman would kiss such a man, sucking and dripping brown saliva from his mouth? Ugh. And what does one do when someone begins to spit all over your property? I can do one better though. I am no priss, I'll have you know. Often, my girls and I wear Eau de Cheval. Unlike Chris, horse manure and even horse urine does not bother me. When our horse chiropractor, however, declared he'd leave after "using one of our stalls", I about had a tizzy. I offered the use of my bathroom, but he just smiled with his two teeth while crushing his cigarette into the driveway, and politely declined before spitting and heading into the barn. There was nothing to do but go to the house.

What is Success?

The plain fact is that the planet does not need more "successful" people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every shape and form. It needs people who live well in their places. It needs people of moral courage willing to join the fight to make the world habitable and humane. And these needs have little to do with success as our culture has defined it. - David Orr

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