We Need to Ratify a Pet Policy

It's not that the children are obsessed with adopting kittens, bringing home stray dogs or raising llamas. It's their mother. Lord help us, their mother is the weakest, silliest, most pagan (from Latin paganus, meaning "country dweller", "rustic"), farm-wishingest citizen in suburbia. And if this post does not turn away lurkers and readers alike, well maybe nothing will...


Here is Benjamin Franklin Thunder-Cat. He is a bad kitty. It says so on his passport. He gets nippy and scratchy. He thinks he's toilet trained. He is not. Maria knows I call him my furry baby. I also call him beast, monster, and Woodgie-woodgie love muffin. He is more than enough pet for any family. And yet we have another cat and a hen. We had a parakeet, but he got wise and gave us the slip. Easy come, easy go. I thought about getting Maria a fish for her birthday, but I resisted.

Just because I resisted buying a gold-feeder to swim in a bowl of water, does not mean I have good sense.

I am the weakest, silliest, most pagan (from Latin paganus, meaning "country dweller", "rustic"), farm-wishingest citizen in suburbia.

And I am a rat wrangler.


Meet Pepper, fancy rat and nose wiggler.
She is curious. Scurious. Sweet and docile and fun to watch.


Hello Polly.
Polly is timid, sweet and docile. She loves to take her lunch in to her hut with her.

Pepper and Polly are my Winter Solstice gifts to the children, who all agreed that Maria's class rat, Cheddar, was great fun to have over for a weekend visit. When I tell the story I emphasize the children's love and fascination with the cute, scampering critters known as "fancy rats." But the children tell it another way... affectionately, a bit warily and with humor they say, "Mom, you're crazy, you know."

At least Gretchen gets it. When I was debating my impulse, she came on board all the way and said that rats are great pets. She wistfully recalled a childhood practically overrun with pet rats. When she said she and her sisters had twenty-one rats, well I felt positively sane for only wanting two. And she is right. Rats are great pets. Easy to care for. No biting. No barking. They like to visit and explore, but are happy too in their modified bird cage.


Benjamin agrees... Oh, never mind. Who cares what he thinks?


Meow.
What?
I love rats.
They're delicious.

No. The real experts are little girls. Izzy and Maria know a fun pet when they get their hands on one.


And just before Christmas, when little girl excitement and energy was at a high watermark, Izzy and Maria were tickled pink to take turns loving and feeding and holding Pepper and Polly.


Rats give you the giggles.
Their tails wiggle and their whiskers tiggle.
(sorry :: poetic license)


"Soft voices" and "gently" were the words of the day.


The "Ratty-Rats," that's what Gretchen calls Pepper and Polly. Izzy called them Polly-Holly and Peppermint, which I thought was awfully clever.

tap-tap-tap... hello?
Is anyone here?

Hmmm.

Either they've all rushed to their local pet shop, because they see what fun we are having, or Chickenblog is being cut from blog lists everywhere.

Come back. We don't bite!

Must Glue-Cut-Glitter-Stitch Something

It's almost overwhelming how crafty I feel. Not sinisterly coiling a handlebar mustache-kind of craftiness. I need to make something.

Maybe I should sinisterly coil my own mustache. Bitter Betty is crafty that way.

Unless I clean my office/studio/nerve center first, I will be putting the cart before the horse, but it's almost overwhelming how crafty I feel and I cannot wait. Something whimsical is bursting to get out of my head. And inspiration is calling.

And if my crafting is justified and purposeful, something hyper organized for say... next Christmas, then I can have fun and relish that elusive sense of accomplishment.

I'm going to do something. Seriously. Must. craft. create. make. I'll download Lady Harvatine's "O, Holy Night" and start basting and snipping to her lovely voice and the ukuleles strumming...

Woosh

Who knew the new year would be so full?
Tomorrow is Maria's day to bring snack.
Yesterday I made spaghetti from Monday's meatloaf.
Today I wrote for an hour and then decided to let "it" go unsaid.
Saturday is the launch of FIRST build season. Go robotics!
My mom was here.
Grandma is here.
I brought home a worm wrancher's compost bin.
Must order worms.
There are two new mammals living in the Bird House.
Every day I do something new to settle in to our home.
Every day I pause, in disbelief, and revel in the joy of being home.
My go to daily uniform is in a sad state and I will have to buy another pair of jeans. ASAP.
I want to blog about Betty and Joe and Chango and Benji and Pepper and Polly, but I first need to resolve my pathetic camera situation.
Good things are coming.
This post is kind of spastic.
So am I.
I hear coyotes.
I awake to the calls of barn owls that sit in the pine trees.
How are you?

A Very Full Year

So much has happened in 2009. So much that was good and memorable. I would be remiss to leave out a special day in July when us Chickens were Abroad, enjoying our first family European travels. Some years Chickenblog has done a retrospective, highlighting the special events that made up an entire year. Today I will recall just one special day, as a favor promised to a favorite aunt... this one is for you Carol.

Before we resume our Chickens Abroad travelogue, please be advised: This post is a doozy. Get a snack. Brew some coffee, find the lumbar pillow, stretch. Don't hesitate to schedule an intermission.

Ready?

We were in the Netherlands and thoroughly enjoying the restful and full days after the big city days in London, Paris and Bruxelles. Even our one day braving Amsterdam traffic was lovely and worthwhile. Leaving Rabbit Hill was hard. We had had a lot of fun there. From this very central part of Holland we were heading south, to an area that is a narrow slip of country nestled snugly between Germany and Belgium. Our GPS, flakey yet indispensable, was aiming for the little town of Valkenburg and a certain castle.


It turns out this is not the Kasteel we were looking for.


Not the moat.


Not the cows.

I suppose if we had brought guide books with us, or if we had bothered to learn to read and speak Dutch, then finding the ancient Kasteelruin Valkenburg would not have been so challenging, but then we might not have discovered this beautiful spot. That would have been a shame.


We aimed for town again and realized that the elusive castle was actually right in front of us, or more accurately: Right above us.

Of course. One of the highest points in Holland would be up.


But first, before any more climbs, we stopped for some local brew.


Then we climbed. The most sacked castle in Europe on the right and the entrance ahead of us...


Or so we thought. Even without our GPS, we managed to find the longest route to our destination, so our walking tour of the town was extended as we circled the base of the castle.


If Alex were writing this you would be enjoying fascinating details about castle construction and history, the lives and means of castle dwellers. He was an ideal companion on our self guided tour. His enthusiasm was infectious and his knowledge extensive.


Up we went.

I am not going to provide detailed analysis of the the layout, the features, the history. No time. Besides, it's been done.


Alex was making sense of all of it. He understood that cut stones and crumbled walls were once whole walls and actual rooms. He painted a picture for us, told us stories that filled the space with voices and possibilities. I could imagine dark, cold winters, long sieges, daily life, order and labor.


Narrow passages and medieval justice, made me grateful to have been born in the twentieth century.


There is something stirring and indescribable about standing in ancient places, seeing the hills and trees that were seen hundreds of years before and sensing that somehow there is still a connection between then and now, us and them.


We felt reverent. We were surprised and engaged. It's not a polished site, with everything reconstructed and served up for simple consumption, but I think we preferred it this way. We were on our own to detect the quieted, yet real history all around us.


It was beautiful.


It was neglected and old and messy and interesting. It was great to be there and not have a guide telling us what to think and which direction to look. We touched the walls, and deciphered the purpose of rooms and corridors. We saw the flowers growing between ancient floor tiles.


Looking up or looking down, our eyes met stories told and untold.


It's good to know history, to feel familiar with local culture and language, but there is a pleasure in wondering too. I do not mind mystery, quietly reflecting and enjoying my own experience. A lot of places and sights that we found in Europe were new to me and I have since been inspired to learn more, to read and research, but I am happy to have made my own first impressions as well.


Kasteelruin Valkenburg inspired reflection.
I think this was a baptismal font. The stone was very different from the walls. It was in the chapel.


Here is a chapel arch.


We sat in the chapel for a family portrait.


This is an embarrassing admission: There were plenty of markers and signs that detailed specific aspects of the architecture and some history, and the castle is being restored, but I rarely read plaques and history markers. Isn't that wrong... wasteful or something? I don't know. Maybe I am too absorbed in being there. Facts and dates don't last as long for me as feeling and experiencing. For me reading info can come later, when the real place is far away.


So, if you go there and want to know how many times the castle was under siege and sacked, or when the Wolf's tower was constructed, it's there. You can read all about it. You can study the detailed models too. This one shows an earliest version of the castle. (Very Monty Python, I thought. Peasants packing mud etc.)


At its best, when the paint was fresh and all the light bulbs were working, it must have been amazing.


And when I was thinking of the castle walls tall and intact, the gardens tended, the wells full, I marveled at what people accomplish, what nature erases, what time takes away. And I am still trying to understand why, after all this time, I still felt something living there, something from then, when it was a working home, a real place. What is that intangible, elusive sense that history is present and its voices are still around us?


So much to ponder.


Even when historians can fill in the gaps and I can read all about it in a book, there is a tremendous privilege in seeing it and exploring it for myself.


Alex believes this must have been the great hall.


And Max knew these were the arrow loops. He took aim. He was there.


She was there.


We were all there.

And we are looking forward to this new year and the new places we will go.

Happy New Year dear friends.

Older and Wiser?

Nothing confuses, frustrates and distresses me more than my birthday. Except taxes. And the wrapping on a DVD. Oh, and choosing paint color. I digress.

Nothing confuses, frustrates and distresses me more than my birthday. My birthdate falls in the void between Christmas and New Year's Eve. People are tired, shopped and partied out, out of town... etc. It's too soon after the big build up of the holidays to imagine one more party-celebration-cause for gift wrapping. We have gifted all we can. We need time and space to replenish our stores of good will and party stamina. Who can bear to look at another cheese platter? I know. I understand. This is why it's been eleven years since I last offered myself a party in my honor.

I was going to say more, but at this point confusion and distress are seeping in to my thoughts. Do I really want a party? How about just a take out container of sauce slathered ribs, some onion rings and one of Geoff's Margaritas? I could invite my most tolerant friends over to alternately cry and laugh over a ridiculously rich chocolate cake.

I am confussed. I cannot spell. Oh dear. I really am getting old. All my girlfriends have been warning me about reading glasses... how in your forties everyone needs reading glasses. I still hadn't noticed, until recently when I realized that I have no idea what I am shaving under my arms. I am armpit blind. Seriously. It probably looks like some cattywampus mow job, or like I have mange.

This is the year I am going to start lying about my age.

Hello.
My name is Natalie.
How old am I?
Why, I am fifty years old tomorrow.
What's that?
I don't look a day over 43?
You're so sweet.
Have a Margarita.

****Uh... evidently lying about my age was not such a hot idea... I am getting sympathy and encouragement. I must actually look closer to 50 than I thought.****

*Dancing on clouds with Ponies and Sliding Down a Rainbow Into The Bathtub

*Not a song title.
Not our New Year's Eve plans.
Not remotely close to anything we have ever nurtured or ingrained or stimulated or suggested, and yet there it is... twirling and flitting from the active and highly colorful imagination of our daughter, Self Rescuing Princess-Ballerina-Cowgirl Maria.


She asked for two things for Christmas.
1. A fez, just like my Max and Alex.
2. A horse puppet and the horse has all the colors, like a rainbow.

Every time she described the horse puppet, sometimes pony puppet, and its rainbow colors, the boys and I would exchange glances. My expression was one of distress-amusement and the boys' expressions were of amusement-sympathy. No one had any idea where she got the notion that such a thing could be procured. No one had any idea what such a thing could even be. So, I kept my eyes open where ever I shopped, and the day I got to visit my favorite independent toy shop I began to narrow my search. I found a rainbow tattooed unicorn that definitely would have struck a chord with her love of all things fancy. But other than being garish, pricey, tacky and very commercial (gee, Natalie, why not tell them how you really felt about it?) I did not see any play appeal, any lasting value, and it wasn't even a puppet. Then I remembered all the times she admired and pined for a hobby horse. A head on a stick, I reasoned, could be a kind of puppet. As for the rainbow factor, she never was too specific about whether the horse was a rainbow, had a rainbow, or just adorned itself in rainbowiness.

I stitched rainbow ribbons to the bridle and let Santa himself make a special delivery on Christmas Eve. We have wonderful friends, and one in particular with a very jolly laugh. And now Maria has a rainbow horse puppet that she rides all over the yard, and through the house. She loves her horse. She loves her fez too. By the way, a fez is a much easier gift to procure.

Merry Christmas

It Is Christmas Day

And there were shepherds out in the field,
keeping watch by night.
And an angel of the Lord appeared to them,
and the glory of the Lord shone around them.
Luke 2:8:9

I love the sheep and the glory, the stars... their light.

And in our home, I love the blessing of being together preparing, playing... the laughter and whispers, the carols and the frosty-jingle songs.


I love the flurry of motion when we ascend upon our stockings.


I love that they want one gift opened at a time, so that we all pause and enjoy the discovery of new treasures.


I love that the fun is for one and for all, so that by the end of the day we have all shared in the play.


I love that William and Alex baked Christmas cookies... a new recipe, a new tradition.

And I love that we are home, where Santa knows where to find us...


So that, just like last year, he can come by with a special delivery for a little one who has been very good.


And this time, she had a gift for him.

A Merry Christmas

A Merry Bird House Christmas

All together under our very own roof, we are preparing for Christmas.


Max made a snowman in school. A clever way to use a sock, and we love the fez.


This school project I got to help with, when I joined Max's class in reverse painting on glass. Looks like a starry and peaceful night. I recall the magic of a snowy Christmas. All the children were so intent and creative painting their holiday plates.


Maria mastered paper chain making, and hung this one with our stockings. Have not figured out how to hang them from the mantle. Maybe because I am too cheap to buy six hangers? We have a tradition of hanging them from a banister.


I finally tried adding ornaments to the tree, only to discover that it is so parched and crisp the branches fracture and collapse when I touch them. Ah, I remember our 2004 Christmas and the tree we hurled out the door, over the railing and in to the pitch black of Christmas Eve. It was so dry we feared it would spontaneously combust. Fortunately, Maria has been making and adding pretty touches. The tree is loved. Fragrant, dry, lit and loved.

William and Alex are together in the kitchen, deciphering an Alton Brown cookie recipe. They are baking. Brilliant. They are cleaning... brilliant and radiant beams of motherly gratitude.

Geoff wrapped gifts with me. Absolute awe. Proof that even after twenty years, love will surprise you.

Max and Nick are playing together. Christmas is for family.

Maria helps in any way she can. Sitting outside the *workshop* door, she asked 42 questions about our progress. We played her favorite opposite game.

Mommy: Santa wears a bathing suit.

Maria: No. He wears a fluffy-fluffy suit. And it's red. He has a hat.

Mommy: What about the magical rats that pull his sleigh?

Maria: Mommy! Reindeer pull his sleigh. Not rats.

Mommy: Oh. Well, I know Santa smells like french fries.

Maria: Santa smells like joy

Indeed.

I hope your home smells of joy, and that your Christmas is merry.