First This, Then That
It is my absolute, honest to goodness intention to answer emails, reply to comments, make some phone calls, mail mice, clean the sewing room, finish quilts, write thank you cards and send them, and to sit in a meditative state of inner grace and prayerful mindfulness that will result in a happy outcome to our epic housing odyssey. Additionally, I will wash dishes, fold clothes, sort mail, supervise baths, and be 3 places at once when necessary. I sent my Mom the robotics' schedule, which she acknowledged is "totally constant and terribly demanding." It sure is. Don't expect to cross paths with us at any of our usual social gathering places or winter balls. And yes, Geoff is still in crunch mode, so yeah. Sigh. I do have good intentions though, so you know.
Last Spring when I brought home chicks, it was with conviction and certainty... I could keep chicks in our small yard, because we were surely on the brink of being in our own home. Soon. Maybe sooner, and for sure before Autumn. Definitely by the holidays. Absolutely before rain, Winter, the New Year. Did you know that our coop-henhouse is an Ikea picnic table? It's not like we weren't using it and I just decided to salvage it for chicken housing. But once I could see the little wire cage I was keeping the chicks in was not going to work much longer, I began to see our outdoor table in a different light. I painted it and Geoff helped me add wood and wrap it in wire. It's portable, and cute in blue with red details. With our vinyl table cloth it is mostly weather proof. I hung bells all over it, which twice have served to warn me when the possum came calling. And the girls, the chicas call it home. This morning Betty looked dear and snug sitting their nest box.
Hello Lady Betty Orpington.
It is with great pride and amusement that I announce: We have 3 hens! Last week Fantam began laying and this morning we had not 1, not 2, but 3 eggs in the nest box. Frida, a.k.a. Buttercup, joined her sisters and left her very first egg. And she was so sweet and actually allowed me to give her a pat and hold her for a sec, which is quite unlike her. Maybe by Summer we will have a proper hen house and garden for them to roam. Maybe they are happy enough beneath the picnic table, adored and cared for.
An anonymous commentator left this message: "I'm jealous - such a wonderful life, chicken pancakes and all."
And this morning I said to Geoff, "I think I must have the most boring blog in the world," which, in all honesty was a bit of sleep deprived whining. But I am aware of that strange space that exists between what is wholly real and daily and trying, and what I post about in my blog and I think that space exists for all bloggers. We want to share and we want to preserve and we want to report and sometimes rant, and many of us also want to emphasize the best of what crosses our path, the brightest moments, the highlights. I censor myself. I do not post about the chicken pancake pan that sat unwashed on the stove for a day and half, or the oven door that fell off in my hand. I hardly dare to say that 2 of the showers in our house are out of commission and that only 2 toilets work, sort of. You can use the guest one, but don't put anything in it. Such a wonderful life. Yes, it is a wonderful life, a messy, disappointing, embarrassing, chaotic, creative, exhausting, blessed, unpredictable, challenging, sad, happy, joyous, stressful, comfortable, wonderful life.
Last night I made a stuffed hippo dance and sing, like a puppet show. It was late and William was sitting alone at the computer, teaching himself how to use 3D Studio Max. The show was for him. I sang "I'm the hiphopopotamus, my lyrics are bottomless..." And we both knew what I was singing, the ridiculousness, the joke. And we were both laughing. And that's one of those moments that I want to remember forever... one of those wonderful life moments.
Thank you Brett and Carey for sharing those pictures of your hilarious Chook Wagon. May I post some of those here, on Chickenblog?
And Arthur, your picture of your Lola and Betty, was such a wonderful surprise. We have Lola and Betty chickens, and in Holland, Arthur and his wife have two precious Jack Russell Terriers named Lola and Betty. I would like to post their picture here too.
Oh dear. It's almost 7 p.m. I have a kitchen to clean. Max and Maria need baths. By 8:30 I should be picking Alex up from school. And is today Wednesday? I'd better ask William to take the trash and recycling to the street. Also, Martha Stewart sent me a last chance letter, so I need to decide whether or not to renew my subscription to Living magazine. I may pass... I love the first hour with the glossy, polished, staged publication, and then it sits in a corner taunting and mocking me and my wonderful life, and I feel so unMartha, so short of the ideal.