Easter Chickens

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It is spring time, kinda, though you wouldn't know it from the weather. The chickens know it, though. And the annual egg hunt begins. Not the one you think...

First of all, all animals seek to procreate. Aside from daily survival, breeding drives their urges. Chickens are no exception. It is at this time of year that the hens feel a pressing need to lay a nest full of eggs and go broody. Knowing somewhere in their primitive brain area that eggs and chicks are delicacies to many others, they look for the most secret secluded place available. They also know, I am convinced, that if the eggs are laid in an obvious place, the big blonde with the feed bucket will take them away.

Usually my husband or I will find the stash place. Occasionally, though, a hen will start to fluff out her feathers, become solitary and grumble constantly. It is then that we begin the hunt in earnest, because I don't want chicks right now, and because they would be mixed chicks, and I want to dictate the lineage. Almost always, we find the eggs, clear the nest, and the hen snaps out of her broody stupor.

And it really is a stupor. She acts as if she is under some kind of spell or some neuroses. The hen will walk slowly, haltingly, grumbling to herself, staring around as if she has never been there before, acting like a crazy bag lady. She screeches warnings at others who come near and runs away if approached. Sweet pet one day, paranoid schizophrenic the next.

I wonder if this spring ritual is the real beginning of the Easter egg hunt. Folks started letting the kids find the nests, like some sort of game. Had the kids bring the eggs back to exchange them for goodies. Saved the grownups lots of time and stooping. The kids wouldn't have missed a 'tradition' they had never heard about...

You know, I wish I had thought of that when my kids were little. Think about it; no buying eggs, coloring them (and the entire kitchen and everyone's hands), secretly hiding them, penning up the dog and the chickens so the colored eggs didn't get eaten before the hunt. Just: hey kids! Go look for hidden eggs. Bring them back and trade them for candy and toys! Labor saving, efficient, practical.

Win/win...

Letting go...

Today George went to his Man Cave. Scruffy. The weird little disreputable 60's era travel trailer he keeps in the high desert during the winter. To escape to. To watch DVDs, cook elaborate breakfasts, and to, allegedly, search for Shed Antlers. In reality, to get away, to seek the Man Cave...

He has done this since I have known him; about 38 years. But, today, knowing he was going, I was apprehensive, restless, unnerved. Because the life I have jealously guarded for the past six weeks is breaking away. I have not been away from him, except for work, except when a child of ours was there to guard him, for all the time since his cerebral bleed.

I feel like a new mommy leaving her baby at the babysitter's for the first time. My gut is in a knot, I feel vaguely guilty,and not a little negligent. But, I know we need to make the break. We cannot act as if he will die any moment, any longer. It has been exhausting.

We have discussed his passing, our finances, his wishes and dreams, our love, his memorial service, our kids... ad nauseum, in finitum. It is time to move on.

I just wish my practical brain would convince my heart and gut to comply to the party line. I doubt if I will sleep tonight. But, I know he will. He loves the stars, the silence, the smell of his little trailer.

Good night, sweet man. I will do the worrying for us all tonight. You rest, you pretend that things are returning to normal. I'll be awake if you call...

Kitty, kitty...

I am a hunter, in case you missed that somehow. I love being in the out of doors and stalking my own food. I understand that humans aren't the only hunters in the woods. And I respect the others. The bobcats, the badgers, the osprey, the cougar.

But not when they are artificially protected until the very game they hunt becomes scarce. Not when they begin to stalk me in the woods. Not when they enter into human neighborhoods fearlessly to kill and eat pets in fenced yards. Not when they follow family groups with little children in busy parks.

Like some cougars in my area. They are no longer private, wild animals that do their hunting in the woods, away from humans. They are stalking families in parks in nearby a populated area of 200,000 people.

I spoke before the legislature when a proposal was up for a vote that would ban dog tracking of cougar forg hunting purposes, warning of the threat to humans and domestic pets and livestock when the population of the predatory cats grew disproportionately. The ban was effected anyway, and now tax payers are charged for salaried state hunters to track and kill the animals. We have lost the revenue of the tags that hunters used to buy, we have lost direct control over the population, and now we have the animals in our parks and yards and pay state workers to kill them.

Do bunny hugging anti-hunting activists ever wish they had a brain?

Look alikes

Have you ever gone to the website TotallyLooksLike.com ? You should. A visit there guarantees a laugh. Anyone can send in an entry for things that look like the other. It is cute.

As much as I am entertained by the visual similarities, I admire and am intrigued by the mental processes at work behind the entries. Who looks at a map of Paris dating from 1540 and says 'Wow! That looks just like a horseshoe crab!'? Really.

One month ago

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One month ago today, my husband suffered a subarachnoid bleed. It took three doctors seven days to pay attention to his blinding headaches, his leg pain, his light sensitivity, his fatigue, and to run the tests necessary to diagnose this life threatening hemorrhage.

Then, it was hurry up and transfer him by helicopter to a more advanced hospital one hundred twenty miles away. And hope he would make it.

As you know, he did. And he is through the first month, considered the most dangerous. And doing well. And mine for a while longer...

Buttons Cruisin' Legacy, aka Cruzer

My new horse, rechristened Cruzer by me, is 16 hands of person-loving, powerful, unflappable, go-for-it, all wrapped up in a tri-colored paint package. He does it all; moves up steep hills, walks surely along narrow trails, jumps streams, wades streams, even follows trustingly where he doesn't need to go if his person goes there first. This we know because my niece stepped up onto a flat bed trailer to change boots and he jumped right up with her, even though the trailer was wiggly and not blocked.

He is one owner, I am his second, and he was started by an old cowboy that died last summer. One who raised him with a firm gentle hand and created an animal completely comfortable around humans, believing the best in them. He probably has a better view of humans than most deserve.

I feel honored to be his person. I feel relieved that he didn't end up with someone who uses the whip and the fist to correct those inevitable disagreements that crop up between independent beings. What a waste it would be for him to ever learn the reality of cruelty and domination through fear.

But, with me, he won't ever have to. He will continue to know mutual respect, firmness of handling, and adventure, but never cruelty, never confusion. He is with me now.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Mine, taken in Killarney, County Kerry

It is that time of year again, when Americans think all Irish people are lazy drunkards who believe in wee people with orange hair. Time, usually, for my general 'get a clue, this is biased thinking' rant. Maybe later. For now, I am at peace with my knowing that one Irish lassie, me, is going to get to spend more time with her husband. More St. Patty's Days, more toasts, more life itself.

Sometimes, its the little things that really are the big things. Like living one more day, week, month. Like saying, 'See ya after work' or 'Meet me later' and believing it possible to do so. Like 'saming and saming and saming again /the same leg flung over mine for a decade of winter nights', as Danielle Steele wrote in her pre-novel poetry years. Sleeping 'back to cat, cat to back' under a quilt make threadbare by being used as tent by babies long grown.

My husband survived a cerebral bleed. He is here, with me, and I with him. More than ever.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day. See ya later.

A horse

Today, I bought a horse. I did it. I am seeking to reconnect with a part of my heart and my soul that helped me through very tough times growing up.

The smell of hay and manure and damp horse was like a balm to my battered soul and body when I was a child. I knew that the horse would listen, and watch, and absorb the tears I shed.

Back then, I knew the horse would take me far from the chaos of that abusive home, night or day. It was the only acceptable excuse I had for being away. Riding became my salvation.

And now, today, in these uncertain times, with an empty nest and a husband recovering from a cerebral hemorrhage, it just might be what delivers me to the other side again, in one piece.

I have a horse.

The Winners!

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These gentlemen are the winners of the 2006 World Chili Cook Off

in the Dutch Oven Category.

No shit.

Aged by this experience

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My husband and I are are holding up pretty well as he recovers from his subarachnoid bleed.

What do you think?

The Eyes Have It

This is a picture of Gavin, our surrogate grandson, on the left, and Winston, our granddog, on the right. See the family resemblance?

Maybe it's just the element of surprise to find themselves members of this chaotic family...

Lindsey Lohan: Madonna OR Oprah you ain't

Google image, web image, everywhere image...

Yeah, anorectic doper girl, the first thought on my mind when I saw those sweet baby faces on e*trade commercials was your sorry ass. NOT.

You were the last person I thought of, and never connected your little hurt anesthetized feelings until you became litigious. You are a legend in your own mind only, as altered as it is.

The name Lindsey, Lyndsey, Lindsie, or however it is spelled by the parents, has been one of the most popular girl names for nearly a decade. Longer, maybe. My kids went to school and college and social events with multiple Lindseys.

And, baby, you have never been accused of being a milk-a-holic...

Check it out: http://www.dailyfinance.com/story/company-news/lindsay-lohan-sues-e-trade-for-100-million-over-super-bowl-sp/19390111/

I Hope You Dance

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I hope you never lose your sense of wonder.
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger.
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean.
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens.
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance.
Never settle for the path of least resistance.
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking.
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making.
Don't let some hell bent heart
Leave you bitter.
When you come close to selling out,
Reconsider.
Give the heavens above
More than just a passing glance.

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance.

Time is a real and constant motion always

Rolling us along.
Tell me who
Wants to look back on their youth and wonder
Where those years have gone?

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
Dance.

Lyrics by Leann Womack

Tree Hugger

Me, hugging a Pondy

I hug trees. The ones I love best to hug are giant Ponderosa pines. They have mounds of little puzzle pieces of shed bark around their base. And, when you put your nose into the dark deep crevasses in their bark, it smells just like maple syrup, especially in warm weather.

Happy birthday to my daughter!

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Twenty one years ago, our family was gifted by a perfect little baby girl with a rosebud mouth and golden curls. The only one of the kids born with hair, and it was curled gold. She was the baby girl we had described in our wishes and hopes.

From the beginning, she was soft and sweet and easy to take care of and love. She nursed right away, she quieted at our touch, and she slept through her two and three year old brothers' raucous activity.

I had so many fears during the pregnancy. We had amniocentesis done to make sure she was okay. I had been in a terrible car accident, and had medications and treatment that could have harmed her. I will always remember the tears of joy and relief when I heard the words from the geneticist at the hospital, 'Your baby is a girl, and she's perfect'. And, she is. Perfect.

She has become an elegant, intelligent, independent, beautiful woman poised to set the world on fire. She has compassion, tolerance and the ability to empathize. She is who I would like to be when I grow up.

I have watched as she shouldered the mantle of womanhood this past year, suddenly becoming the strong arms that supported and held me as my tiny dog was euthanized in my arms. She was my support and my guide through the confusing journey these past weeks as my husband struggled for his life. Hers were the cool hands on my flushed tear stained face. She stepped into the role our mothers and grandmothers have been in for as long as there have been people. She became the nurturer, the healer, the medicine woman.

I am honored to know her, blessed to be her mother.

For all you have been to us, for all you are, for all you will become, Emily Anne, we love you. We are excited to share the next decades with you.

Happy birthday, my sweet daughter! Thank you for being mine!

Love,

Momma

A break for a needed smile

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Remembering parenthood and all it's gifts!

10% Per Cent Chance of Death, An Improvement

George is home from the hospital. His chances of dying from his subarachnoid bleed have gone from 45% to 10%, a risk that will remain for the next three to four weeks. That risk is due to the possibility of vasospasm in the brain.

We are rethinking our priorities and our lives. We are thinking that we should work less, play more, and celebrate our friends and family. We are planning more down time to spend together, just us.

We want to reap the joy in life. While it lasts.

Life, reloaded

My husband suffered a subarachnoid bleed last week. He was air lifted by helicopter to a nearby teaching hospital for treatment unavailable in our area. I had spent several sleepless nights helping him cope with his blinding intractable pain. By the time the helicopter lifted off, I was on overload.

I gave myself a few minutes to fall apart, then got in the truck to head the one hundred twenty miles to once again be by his side. Throughout it all, my children and their friends have been my support, my lifeline, my brains. They have taken care of me as I used to take care of them.

I will write more later. For now, I just want to rest and be grateful that I still have a husband.

The power of the mind

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