Saturday, November 15, 2008

Santa Ana Saturday

Wind and heat like this ought to desiccate mucus, viral and bacterial infections and leave a body feeling revived and healed. Everything is d r y. No, not arid... I am talking about statically charged, zero humidity, start a fire grinding your teeth parched. That kind of d r y. And it is hot. It's pretty hot and dry. And dry.

On the recovery front, I feel just well enough that I started to clean. I cleared one spot, then sat. I cleared another spot then keeled over. I cried for a few minutes, then I gave the children lime popsicles with vitamin C and let the chicas out. Besides being sick and having no energy from too many long, sleepless nights, it seems like every chore requires a man. OKay. I could probably manage to clean without him, but what about the hardware store run he was going to make... for the sand, the bolt, the bulbs? What about the broken bed we were going to take down and the piano we talked about moving? Should I install shelves in our closet for Maria or should I repurpose the tall dresser for her clothes? Where does he want the air compressor? Notice how none of these things has anything to do with putting away groceries, laundry and papers, or mopping, dusting, sorting and buying vacuum bags? I suppose it all comes of having only enough energy to think about what needs to be done and not enough energy or sense to do anything about it.

We did see Geoff last night. He came home after 4 days away in the salt mines. Our brief reunion was... brief.

What about the chicas? How are they?


Here are the chooks, the biddies, the chicas. Frida, a.k.a. Buttercup is adjusting her feathers, Fantam is looking us square in the eyes, and Betty is testing her dustbath. Plump, healthy, sheltered and adored and not 1 egg among them. Maybe they sell them to the 'possum before I get out there. Maybe they are quiet roosters.


I thought about making a healthy pot of you know what soup, but I haven't the heart. Look at Fantam the Bantam. She's so pretty. Don't look at my dirty door... Doesn't she have an interesting comb? Is that a strawberry comb or something like that?


Here's Lady Betty Orpington looking in my dirty door. Benjamin Franklin Thunder Cat is watching her. He's jealous. He doesn't want to be a chicken, but he does want to free range. I think he'd try to lay an egg if he thought it would get him time outside.


Betty is pretty, but she's not too bright. There. I said it. She has no idea who I am or why I come with food and water every day. Not a clue.


This is the smart one. She's first to run over when I call with a treat in my hands. She knows I come with good stuff. She's wary and quick, but she has enough sense to recognize me. I can't believe she inspired the name Buttercup. If you haven't heard, we call her Frida these days.


Neither the brightest nor most dim... just shy. I wish she weren't so shy, because she is irresistibly plump and downy and I just want to hold her on my lap and listen to her share the day's gossip. Fantam the Bantam. The boys named her. It's such a cool name.


Reading the last chapters of Harry Potter, Alex and Max in the tent. Max set up the tent last weekend, before he got sick. They slept out there 1 night. The tent has to come down today, but on this very hot day it was the perfect spot to enjoy lime popsicles and the exciting conclusion of a very good read.

I am going to drag myself to the vacuum store. At least if I have the vacuum bags on hand the magical elves, that visit good mothers, will have them ready for use.

2 comments:

  1. I think I'm catching your cold. I KNOW we need vacuum bags, too. It's starting to get very cold here; it will feel like winter this week. I think you're on to something, the chickens making some income on the side, selling their eggs pre-dawn. You've seen Chicken Run, haven't you?

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  2. I love, love, love hearing about your chickens. We called the young one chooks before they had to find a new home, they dwarfed our Bantam, Betsy. Your girls are muy guapa. I would like to find a companion banty for Betsy. She gets lots of attention from us and really seems ok being a lone chicken, but I worry about her. -tonia

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