Happiness

February! Faces! Flowers! Technically, it is still Winter, but maybe late in February we have been blessed with glimpses of an early Spring. It's been a very long Winter, kind of a groundhog repitition of days, countless days, since March 2020, waiting for a pandemic to recede, for glimmers of normalcy. At least it warmed up for an afternoon of crafting, and friends came to help us with an old favorite... flower making. Suitable for any occasion, we are making lots and lots of paper flowers, with help from our friends. Lucas, Tutu Ruth, Gordon, and Anna Banana joined us, and many hands really do make light work! Even while learning, and chatting, sipping tea and sampling cookies and Ruth's power treats, we managed to fill up two long boxes with cheery, festive flowers. Then Alex and Bambi strung them up to see how they look as garlands. And in the midst of all that, we began an early celebration of William's birthday. Anne and I talked weddings. Adam and Hanabi are engaged, and will wed in Japan this Fall. I searched around for an old post about Adam, and found a perfect one. And since this "paragraph" is chock full, I will take this moment to add: Tamsyn is coming to see us this summer! Yes, I am resolved... these are happy glimpses of happy prospects, a year of dear faces, and flowers, and celebrations, gatherings, good health, good will. Make it so.

And Making! I declare this a year of making. We haven't slowed down on the making, and recently things have really picked up speed, especially between William and Geoff. If Geoff isn't at his work desk, then he is at his tinkering desk. His latest marvel is an old butler's phone (I can't find a good example. I guess you'd have one between your study and the butler's pantry?) that he re-wired for blue tooth, so that you can use it to call Siri. It's a speaker phone. It's also a charging station. Honestly, I don't think I am doing this wizardry justice. How about a sample?

And today. Today is William's birthday. First born. The one that made me a Mom, and Geoff a Dad. This should be all about him, but I can't help including how dear and personal this day is to me, because of him. I have dearly loved being a Mom, being his Mom. Parenting can't be what we think it will be, or what we imagine it might be. It comes with challenges, wonders, joys, that can never be foreseen, but I feel tremendous gratitude, and hope. His story, his journey, is compelling, worthwhile, and I am as delighted, honored, as ever to see it all unfold, to be included in his life. He is making a nest box for the chickens... taking another of my harebrained ideas and making it a reality, so that our old bathroom sinks will be built into nestboxes, for my silly hens. If they won't lay in there, then we will switch to Plan B, and fill them with flowers... Sweet William, being my first choice. William is continuing work on the food cart, modifying old door knobs to fit into contemporary hardware, building a paper moon, assembling furniture for the nearly completed bathroom, and more. Happy Birthday, William! Happy making and curating, baking, cooking, running, reading, happy movie watching, and linguistic studies, happy you, and happy us to know and love you.

Bird House Notes: A storm came through and the thunder and lightning were so intense, even Maria woke up. We held hands in the dark, and fell asleep to heavy rain pattering on the roof. We are so fortunate. March 4, 2022

Peace

Someday, I hope to come back to this post, and breath a sigh of relief, think to myself it wasn't as horrible as we dreaded, they did not go as far as we feared. But today, Russia is invading Ukraine, bombing their cities, fulfilling threats, spreading propaganda, and they are applauded by prominent Republicans in the United States. Such waves of grief and foreboding have a grip on me, and disgust. I admit to being naive, to having fully expected a bright, promising Spring, progressive strides, days near at hand when we lift each other up, rally for justice, quash racism and racist systems, disdain greed, and lift up learning, healthcare, gentle acts. Instead, we are derailed by fear mongering, and hateful decrees against Trans youth, against the autonomy of women over our own bodies. Insurrection against Democracy is hardly addressed, and as it is, it is slow, suspiciously, ploddingly slow. Braver people than I will make their travel plans, and soíree. I feel too turned around, sad, worn, to move forward, to think of doing happy things, making happy plans, and I feel guilty, too, because my life is good, and safe. It's the weight of trauma, of wading through these Pandemic years, knowing our planet ails, and people hurting, it's being disconsolate for the suffering that makes me heavy, slows my steps, and I feel a hopelessness, a shadow that I don't remember, or know, how to scatter away.

Someone once assumed that I didn't read the news, was not staying informed. They took my penchant for cats and chickens, cakes, and aprons, my whimsical leanings for blissful ignorance, and a casual indifference to the state of affairs. That is not the case. I do read the news, and follow stories, listen to accounts of all kinds of histories, and current events, causes, rallies, and in recent years I have redoubled my efforts to listen more, read more, and learn more. But the truth is, there is always a time when I can't absorb more. There is a tipping point, where after one more report, another account of terror or cruelty, and I am ineffectual. I withdraw, and despair. To stay present, and engaged, to do good works, I cannot assimilate every disaster, then work at fathoming how to save the world. In fact, it sounds like a kind of arrogance to imagine I would assume this role. I do tune in, empathize, and imagine the anguish of others. Those struggles and issues that others are suffering, inform my voting, what I share, who I support, what I purchase, how I conduct myself. More simply, I am a better gardener than soldier. I am more adept at sharing eggs and lemons from our garden than testifying before a council. My activism, my rallying cries for social justice, and peace are in our Little Free Library, in Craft Camp for neighbor's children, in mentoring, donating, contributing, in sharing seeds, fabric, recipes, in posting cat pictures, and adopting chickens to help a friend...

I don't know what I am trying to say. I often don't know what I am trying to say, but I'll post it anyway! But this... these events, and the consequences, the state of the world, matters. I can't be shallow, or muddled, not about this. I connect with Paula Sutton's post, when she wrote, "Before anyone mentions other tragedies and other causes beyond those of today, believe me, I ache for all of them, but for the most part I choose to be an oasis of calm for those who need an escape from the relentlessness of horrific news and the struggles of life. Tonight however, I think I’ve reached a tipping point. Tonight I feel too sad and too angry for the world. So until tomorrow - here’s a sunset instead." Like Paula, I love the pretty images, and the acts of love, the affirmations, and hopeful gestures. I am imagining peace, and willing it, praying for it, and voting for peace. I am centering my beliefs, and actions, my hopes, and thoughts on peace. And I am going to sit here, a minute, and try to remember how to scatter the shadows away.

Bird House Notes: It rained. It hailed. It's still cold. We had some weather. There was even snow in lower elevations, like where my brother lives. I was glad the hail wasn't heavy. I ran out into the thick of it when I remembered my daffodils are really taking off, to take a picture, in case the weather would thrash them. Gosh, those bulbs are making me happy. Rain, bulbs, bathroom progress, cats on my lap... in truth, every bit is necessary, helps. The news, and other things, are heavy, and we need comforts, hope. I am naive, more than I like to admit, and maybe that's a good thing, because I never want to see hate and violence as inevitable. Peace, peace, peace. Keep fostering and demanding peace. February 24, 2022

Bird House Notes: I love my home, and the comforts I enjoy here, but everything loses its flavor, it's beauty, a bit more every time I hear of bombs falling, of people fleeing, hiding. Wealth with greed is abhorrent, casual violence by choice is disgraceful, hate, oppression, and cruelty are the lowest forms of behavior. Good things are better shared on this one planet we should call Our Home. February 26, 2022

A Few Hours At The Zoo

We went to the zoo! Zoo passes were the most requested Christmas gift, and we finally put ours to use. If When Max and Geoff get a break, we want to return on a weekday. Of course, Maria needs a free day too. I don't want to whine for more than one sentence, so here goes: It was incredibly crowded and loud at the zoo, like nothing I have witnessed before, and even worse when we tried to drive out, as two drivers got very heated over who was more entitled to our parking space. Done. The zoo, even on a busy day, is always worthwhile, and we had a very good visit, with many happy encounters. The cheetahs were alert and clearly visible. At one point one that had been lounging in the wide open, got up and sauntered over toward us, then dropped down for a lounge in the shade, and we could feel him purring. I mean... we heard him purring, but a kitty that big, that close, it's clear that sound comes from vibrations. The giraffes were beautiful, so was the donkey and zebra, the koalas. The kukaburra sang it's gumtree song, and we saw fennec foxes, porcupines, a rhino, and flamingos, of course. Komodo dragons, birds of all feathers, including freshly hatched ducklings. The baby birds flitted on the water like wind up toys! We stayed with the baboons for a long time, because they were so compelling. Their enclosure is wide open with different terrains and elevations, and observing them is gratifying. They do so much that is interesting, dramatic. Stories unfold when we pay attention to their interactions, and dynamics. A volunteer observed that the young baboon in the tree was unique, as no other baboons climbed up, like her. Bambi sketched, and she and the volunteer, Anne, talked about art, classes, and watercolor painting.

I felt certain that I had more pictures to share, and now I realize that I was recording a lot, because so many of the animals were active. I'll share video, too, then. Like the one of the adult baboon keeping an eye on the young one in the tree. The one in the tree seemed to make the adult anxious, but the little one was also tossing leaves down, and those were much sought after by the baboons on the ground. It's great to have annual passes. We had a good walk, saw plenty of animals, including the penguins, and leopard sharks, and then we headed out, happy to know we can return, soon.

Did I mention it was loud at the zoo? Maybe turn your volume down if you watch these clips.

Bird House Notes: It may rain. It certainly looks like it could rain, and it is in the forecast. I think, in California, we learn to be a bit wary of promises of rain. It's certainly cold, and the wind picks up. I guess that's all I can say for the weather. And you? What are watching for, anticipating? February 22, 2022

Glad I Blog

Willow. She lays eggs that are blue green. Pretty, like her.

This year, so far, I've been blogging a lot. A lot a lot. It's partly the safety valve thing, where I can let off some steam, sort my feelings/thoughts/desires. It also helps me, later, because I keep track of things. Seriously! The blog has become our own Wiki page of family history, and we refer to our archives often. It's a gratitude journal, where I can center my thoughts on the best moments, the pleasures and good things that make up my days, and revisit those good things, too. It's a meeting place, and while this has been kind of hit and miss as far as statistical success, I am glad that I can connect with people I know, people I am getting to know, people far away, and it's free from ads, agendas, demands, expectations, deadlines. No one has to read Chickenblog, and I don't have to post, or justify nor explain why I write, or what I write. This experiment or exercise, this long letter, open journal... whatever this is, Chickenblog will be 20 years old, soon. If you are a regular CB reader, brace yourself! I will not be able to resist getting very sentimental, and reflecting some, on this strange journey. And even though I have known some frustrations and disappointments, foremost in my thoughts are all of the amazing connections, friendships, gifts, exchanges, and benefits I have enjoyed through Chickenblog. Maybe those are the posts and memories I should share and reflect on... a trip down memory lane of all the times I have been blessed and honored and surprised by the goodness of connections made over the Internet. I have a particular curiosity about behavior and culture, about changes in culture, and so I think that the experiment of blogging, for me, for society, has been fascinating, and now in the midst of a global pandemic, there are new and stranger elements to observe and process... at its best, it's all been amazing, and strange. I think we will be processing these years for the rest of our lives. I am kind of glad I have been, low-key, taking notes.

Geoff needs a vacation, friends. He needs to get away, literally, figuratively, magically. Max, too. Max might take early retirement. That's how I put it, sympathetically kidding, when I see that he's entered the work world in a very unprecedented and exacting way. He likes his work, and appreciates everything, but it's been strange and strenuous. They both are doing a lot, and working from home, as good as the benefits are, is not without some challenges. Fortunately, Max has D & D for sanity and balance, and Geoff has been escaping through creative expression, like assembling watch faces and framing them under glass. I call his piece "Face Time." He has more art plans, extensions of his earlier works, his Art Blocks. My own creative pursuits have been... well, they have not been. I am stuck in a long dry spell, but I am toying with the idea of making our backsplash, around the bath sink, a mosaic. But probably not. I can't decide. I do like looking at the glass and tiles and stuff. A vacation might do us all some good.

Bird House Notes:To all of the people not masking... please cover your face when you cough, sneeze. Please don't wipe your nose over and over again, and then use the same hand to grab merchandise off the shelf, and put it back, over and over again. You are old enough to know better. You are... well, gross. I imagine we are all gross, unwittingly, from time to time, but can't we please make an effort to keep these viruses, fluids, droplets, contaminants, cooties, to ourselves? It's so disheartening how little we (collectively) seem to have internalized about caring for others. Sorry. This is not the kind of chirpy news I like to share, but good grief: I just had to vent. February 21, 2022

Good Morning From My Flower Farm

Good morning, friends. It's Friday. It's sunny, again, but still chilly in the mornings, and after the sun sets. Yesterday I invited the chickens out of their run, and they made bee lines for the best sunbathing spots. Sun, and dustbathing, were the pleasure of their day. I sat with them, and then Thistle hopped onto my arm. The trust of an animal, having a pet come to me, or follow me around, may be in the top ten of things that can turn a day around. Sweet Thistle. I am so glad to have all of these hens, and goats, and cats.

It's official. I am a Calendula Farmer. Sweet alyssum and spoon tomatoes, too, pop up volunatarily, so with very little participation from me, I have plenty, everywhere! And the oregano grows like a hedge, so if you could use any, just say so. I am crossing fingers for the chamomile to stick around, like the calendula, so that I can rely on it to show up every year. That would be lovely. If the tiny tomatoes do as well as they have in the past, I can look forward to inviting Spencer, Bex, and Simon over to harvest and feast on them. I pick them for some dishes, but they are so prolific and tiny, that the best thing is watching the young ones go wild for spoon tomatoes hot off the vine!

Maria texted from school about Open Mic, for the Creative Writing Club, something that she was thinking of attending, but snuck up on her. Her focus has been heavily on robotics, incuding screenprinting the shirts. I encouraged her to go to Open Mic, to read, even if it was a work from last semester. She came home, after doing outreach work for robotics, to have some dinner, and I braided her hair, pinned it back. I thought it would be an audience and stage kind of event, and I happily agreed to tag along, because I cherish each chance to observe every bit of this last high school season. It turned out to be a more intimate experience, and I feel so privilleged to have been welcome. We sat in a circle, the lights were dimmed, and each participant, in turn, read some of their works. They give each other feedback, not criticism, but support, affirmations. It's not for grades, nor evaluation, and I felt such a deep, admiring appreciation for the trust and empathy, the space they hold with one another. They engage, face to face, with tremendous grace and mindful kindness, and I am in awe of the dignity, integrity, of what they hold, and share. It is sacred. It is a comfort, an honor, to be among young people, and to feel, once again, the hope they instill in me.

Bird House News: Mike finished painting our *healthroom!* This marks the end of my suffering over paint chips and tile samples... mmm, no, maybe not. There is the question of the backsplash and my urge to make my own mosaic there, instead of using the blue trim going in the shower. Okay, but I promise to refrain from agonizing over the decision, and either do it, or move on. Honest. Also, the paint choices we went with are such a big departure from what we had, that the room truly feels like a whole new space... and we are loving it! I can't wait to see it all completed. February 16, 2022

While My Tea Steeps, I Getaway

There is chard and calendula in the garden, and eggs, too... depending on where the chickens are laying. Between the surplus eggs, and the return of cold weather, quiche popped into my thougts when I was at the market. I grabbed the pie crust at Trader Joe's, and some of their shredded cheddar, and leeks. I love leeks! I don't have a recipe, but the consistency is what I go by. 8 eggs, sauteed leeks, and chard, and the small tub of cream cheese leftover from a bagel weekend. Salt. Pepper. Dill. The rest of the shredded cheese mix from the fridge bin, and a splash of heavy cream. And calendula petals! I don't really taste those... they aren't peppery, like nasturtium. The calendual taste a bit like a redleaf lettuce, maybe slightly like cucumber? Anyway, I know they are beneficial, so in they go, for heart, body, and soul! Then I got fanciful and made quiche flowers, which I dabbed with some watered down yolk, hoping it would keep them from shriveling up. I like the results! And it reminds me that I want to make one of those focaccia that looks like a painting... pepper petals, and leek stems, tomato flowers, just all kinds of veg to create an edible painting atop the bread. Have you seen those? Just type "focaccia art" into your search engine... Google shows me an entire garden of focaccia art! Amazing. They are beautiful! Oh yes, oh yes, I want to play with my food!

The beloved daffodil, Valentine's Day up to this morning. Yesterday, it rained, and I can see the slight silver streaks of rain in picture 6, and sprinkles on the petals in the seventh image. Ever the greedy gardener... it seemed like so many when I was digging holes, and dropping in the bulbs, but of course now I can imagine twice as many, or four times more! There's room. And they'll spread. Right? I wonder if I should just leave them in the ground, and let them figure it all for themselves? Otherwise, I worry that the task of digging them up, storing them properly, then remembering to plant again, next fall, will be my undoing! I can't pretend anymore that I could get any better at even easy jobs. In the meantime, I am taking lots of pictures, and whenever I think of it, I dash over and see the progress. I should find seeds of flowers that can fill in, so we have a succession of blooms.

When I pull back the camera, you can see I have plenty of blank canvas. This is an area that was very recently created, when we moved our stash of construction leftovers, cut into the bank and shored it up with the blocks. It's not always this "charming," because often times we stash the rubbish bins along the wall, or have something parked there. You can't imagine all of the shuffling, loading, packing, and removing we have going on! It is, at best, organized chaos, and I regularly inhale slowly, mindfully, and repeat to myself that we will survive our ambitious plans, and the upheaval that coincides, and in no time (3 years) everything will be orderly, serene, and basically awesome. Amen.

When hammering, drilling, sawing, is incessant, when I can't find my way through the sequence of operations... the paperwork, material orders, plans, blueprints, appointments, design meetings, and shuffling, I take another mindful breath, and stare at my grape hyacinth, update this blog, or make quiche flowers from calendula petals. Sitting at the dining table this morning, waiting for my chamomile tea to steep, I gazed into the forest of muscari stems, and imagined being small. Small enough to trek between the bulbs, and hike my way up and down the papery trunks, to a comfortable niche between the towering growth, and looking up, I would sigh happily, tie a hammock, and relish the getaway.