Then and Now...

This somehow makes me feel better...

I know, I know, this doesn't speak highly of my evolved self that celebrates the natural beauty of of the aging process.

But, be honest, when you look in the mirror sometimes and see the natural beauty of your aging process, doesn't it just freak you out? Don't you just go 'What in the hell?!' Liar, you do, too.

I think I'd be way gorgeous if I had the benefit of indirect lighting and professional make-up and hair artists. Until, of course, age overcame the caulk-and-putty abilities of the pros. Sigh.

Time marches on. And we all succumb. (Tee-hee)

I am a hooker

Google image

I have come to realize, after long and extensive practice, that I am one of those people known as a hooker. I hook onto everything that extends more than one quarter inch from a wall or corner or piece of furniture.

It is a joke in my family. 'Ha, ha, ha...Mom just got hooked (or snagged or caught) on ___'. Then the disbelieving guffaws, while I am trying to wrest my clothing or purse strap or pocket off of the offending claw of doom.

I regularly get my purse strap caught on things. I have gotten yanked to a painful stop by back pockets on tight jeans! And the things that catch me up are usually insignificant bumps on the terrain of life, like cupboard handles, door knobs, appliance handles, hand rails, or even textured walls, for cryin' out loud.

I wonder if I walk too closely to stuff, or if I subconsciously swerve into things, like some drivers swerve slightly at oncoming traffic. Whatever it is, I am tired of the sudden stops, the wrenched muscles, the public disbelief and derision. It is not easy being a hooker.

Quote

Google image

There must be others out there just like me!

My dad said I could trip over the pattern in the linoleum, my husband says he knows why my parents didn't name me Grace. Is there a pattern here? (If there is, I'll probably trip over it...)

Heff

image from google; my pet chicken.com   (cool site!)

I was recently gifted with a trio of young Cochin chickens, a golden red rooster named Leif Eriksen and two lovely companions.  For those of you who are chicken-naive, a trio is a male and two females, a combination considered to be the building block for flock or lineage breeding.  

Cochins are feather-legged birds, and some are among the largest chickens in the world.  Like the above-mentioned Leif.  He took first place in breed and best in show overall in last year's county fair.  He is one handsome specimen.  And huge.  About thirty inches tall and fifteen pounds.  And loves to be cuddled.

Now, understand, he came with the name.  He has been rechristened, though.  After seeing him run out to greet me or to race over to check out why one of his hens is shrieking, I could tell that he reminded me of something...but, what?  I watched and watched.  One thing I knew for sure, he was not a Leif or a Sean Connery or a Rhett.  No.  He is huge and ungainly and thunderous and ponderous and all those other things that describe the not-so-graceful movements he makes.

He sways from side to side on densely feathered legs and feet, in an almost robotic movement. Then, it hit me!  

Remeber Winnie the Pooh?  Heffalumps and Woozles?  He runs like a Heffalump!

Ergo, his new name Heff.  Not short for the more obvious Heffner, after the legendary woman lover and Playboy king Hugh.  Heff for Heffalump!