Gardening with the Chickens

I think it's safe to say my opinion of chickens has changed rather drastically. I won't say I love them. I do, however, take great pleasure in observing them.

Today was another beautiful day. After hours of helping Mom on the computer, I was itching to get outside. I grabbed my bow and went to practice. Eventually, Allenna joined me. I determined that I really need to work on my aim. (Don't worry. Nothing broke.) Dad tightened my bowstring for me yesterday. I think it actually helped a little. Not with the aiming, mind you; just with general drawing.

After a while (and mostly because my arms were tired) I handed the bow to Allenna and went in search of my gardening supplies. I've had some plants waiting for a few days to get in the ground, and I figured now was as good a time as any to take care of them. The chickens and ducks have been hanging out in the little corner where the some of the flowerbeds are. They steered clear of me for the most part, at least when I made like I was going to touch them. If I ignored them, they played at being bolder and would peck at my feet.

I started by turning up the dirt in the flowerbeds while contemplating a good place for my primroses. As I did, I uncovered some insects. I grabbed the nearest chicken and plopped him in the dirt. He didn't realize I was trying to help him, and scuttled off. A minute later, however, another one wandered over and realized what treasures I was uncovering.

Chickens are little like seagulls in this way: if one finds something interesting, you can bet the rest will quickly pick up on it and come running to get their share. Soon four or five chickens were pecking around in the dirt.

Then I found a worm.

As far as I know, our chickens have yet to encounter a worm. Eagerly I scooped it up and called the chickens. Most regarded me suspiciously and walked away. One of the older Buffs, however, saw I was offering something and hurried over. She pecked inquiringly at the worm, decided it was promising, and took it. Another chicken soon noticed the first beating the worm to a pulp in the dirt and came over to investigate. The first grabbed her meal and started running.

Apparently a running chicken is a signal to all the others that there are good things around. In under a minute, it was like watching tackle football.

I wish I could have taken a video, but my phone was acting up. I did get a picture, which I will try to post.

I found some more worms when planting my peony. Soon I had the chickens trained to come running when I tossed something to them. 'Twas delightful.

Meanwhile, the ducks held themselves aloof of the reveleries and lashed out at any chicken who scrambled too close. If the chickens are small minded, the ducks are even more so, and pretty much intolerant of any creature but each other. But now both of them will accept apples from me. They still have serious separation anxiety. The best way to get them back into the garage is to pick up one. The other will follow as quickly as he can (they're very clumsy on their big feet), both of them screaming all the way.

One day I may base two characters off those ducks and their inseparability. For the moment, I'll amuse myself with the backyard antics of them and the chickens while I garden.

Full Day

Today has been a long, though wonderful, day.

It kind of started around 4:30 this morning when I woke to Sasha licking my elbow. Still not sure what that was about. I actually woke up around 7:30 and was downstairs in time to say good-bye to Dad. Then came a few quiet hours shuffling around the house before Mom, Wes, and I headed out to run errands. We dropped my car off to get some work done, then went to a couple stores, a rummage sale, and a restore before picking up my car. We came home with a stove, a mattress for Wes, a kiddie pool (for the ducks), and some books and clothes for me (old hardback copies of Charlotte's Webb and Black Beauty). After unloading, Mom and Wes went back out and picked up a new bed for him from some friends.

The chicks and ducks were put outside for the day. They didn't wander very much, but they really enjoyed it once they got used to it. I found that the best way to get an accurate head count is to count by breed: "One Bantum, one Brahma, two Leghorns, four Americaunas, etc."

Then Wes got my bow (which I got a couple Christmases ago) and set up a make-shift target along the house. Turns out I can't handle a bow with a draw weight of 40 pounds. But I didn't break anything and didn't hurt myself = success. I was given instructions to practice drawing, starting at 10 reps a day, and build up my muscles (and I actually do have muscles now that I've graduated from home-bound homeschooler to working single).

It being the first truly nice day in the last couple of weeks, I decided I should take Sasha for a walk. I haven't been to the park yet, though Mom and the girls have gone a number of times. Heather and Hershey came along with us.

I was wearing a work-out tank and yoga pants. And was warm.

We didn't walk long. Heather suggested a jog, but that lasted no time at all before I started cramping up. And Sasha has two speeds: waddle or galumph. But it was fun. And, for the first time this year, I turned on the air conditioning in my car. (I'm so glad I have a car with AC!)

Home to cleaning, reorganizing, and playing with the fowl. And I managed to assemble a little shelf for our DVD's almost all by myself. I let Mom handle the nailing at the end. But yay me!

Then a friend stopped by so she, Heather, and I could run through a practice for a rather impromptu special for tomorrow. We've sung the song before, though it was a while ago. We had a recording of the music from the pianist at church, and we tried practicing with it playing on Dad's computer. However, the speakers weren't nearly loud enough, so we ended up moving to the friend's car to practice. Whatever works, right?

Around the same time, Allenna returned home from a couple days with some friends, bringing yard sale loot with her.

More cleaning, alphabetizing DVD's (how long with that last?), supper, and reorganizing. The fowl are now in the garage. And boy was it fun rounding them up! No wonder chicken chasing* is a game in some rodeos! The Polish especially, though some of the smallest, are crazy quick. And turns out possibly 5 of our 6 Buffs from the second group of Buffs are roosters. Yay.

I was kind of hoping to do nothing today (the last few days have been kind of stressful, for some reason) but it turns out this sort of activity was just what I needed. Maybe it was all the fresh air and going barefoot? All in all, a beautiful, enjoyable day.

Mom's been working in the dining room for the last week (or few weeks) painting, including the table. Now things are finally back to some order, and it's looking amazing. I love having a separate, good-sized dining room!

Well, I think Dad got a movie, so I'm signing off.

 

*Look! The chicken with the blue lei in that picture is a Polish!

Kites and Alley Cats

Yeah, I know: that lasted really long. I don't have much of an excuse for missing Wednesday. In truth, I had some time between work and church, and then after church, but I lacked both motivation and inspiration. Yesterday, however, I was out of the house by 10:30 after rushing around to get ready, and I didn't get home until 10:30 PM. And I did have something to blog about from yesterday.

I regularly babysit these two adorable, hysterical kids. Yesterday I was at their house. They begged to play outside, now that their backyard is (mostly) no longer flooded. It had been kind of windy, so I suggested we try to fly some kites.

At first neither was interested, but when I almost got my kite aloft, they both rushed to join in. There's a field behind their house for an elementary school, and myself and the kids spent a good hour running around trying to get those kites in the air. Yes, I even used my phone to google how on earth to get them flying.

It didn't work. It almost did a number of times, but always ended with the kite nose-diving and sticking in the mud. But we still had fun, despite the chilly breeze. The little girl spent most of the time running around, a long line of string and then the kite trailing behind her. The boy and I tried to be a little more...methodical? about it, but our method worked about as well as his sister's. Still, it was fun. And there was hot chocolate afterward.

And I have another life snapshot from today.

I'd set an alarm on my phone to be up in good time this morning, because Mom had some appointments to run and then she would be dropping me off at work. Of course, my phone malfunctioned again and the alarm didn't go off. 10 minutes later, I got a text from Mom asking if I was up. I started to reply when she called me. My phone malfunctioned again and wouldn't let me answer, so I trudged downstairs.

Mom was rushing around gathering stuff, breathlessly telling me how she had a photo session at the hospital and we needed to drive to Dad's work to get his car for her so I had mine to get to work. I ran Sasha through the morning routine, hunted down props, and we were off.

We drove by a bunch of yard sales on the way (annual thing). Man, how I was itching to stop by after dropping off Mom! But I'm forcing myself to stick to a budget now, and yard sales are not a good place to test my resolve.

We made it in less than good time at the store. Dad met us out front with the keys, Mom grabbed her things, and we were off again. However, I saw something funny on the way out of the parking lot.

There's a whole family or group or pride or whatever of cats that live around the plaza where Dad's work is located. I suppose you could call them alley cats. They are often wandering around the morning, before things get busy for the day. They're very wary of humans and usually don't appreciate any attention, though there are people who like to feed them.

I'd seen some cats running around when we pulled up, but just then noticed these guys. Two were louging in the sunshine on the sidewalk under the overhang between shops (preposition, anyone?), and one was perched regally on a wooden bench. The one on the bench was a big fluffy black-ish cat, and had such an air about it that I had to laugh. I tried to snap a picture with my phone, but the cats noticed my attention and promptly sauntered off.

I knew I needed to blog about that before the day got away with me and I didn't feel like blogging. It isn't often I find my inspiration this early in the day. Goes to show I need to get back to my old habit of waking up a little earlier.

Yes, I do intend to keep trying this post a day deal. It probably won't always work, as yesterday is evidence to, but I want to try anyway. It's strange scrolling through my blog and seeing how short the posts are. Then I realize that's because I'm not recapping events from a whole week or more.

Snail Mailing It

Here I am again, almost 11 PM.

Today was another of "those" days. For a while it was looking like it was on a track to be a truly rotten day, though things eventually evened out. It's getting chilly again. Drizzly all day, and we're supposed to be in for more snow later in the week. (When I mentioned that to the driver and other passenger on the bus this morning, they both gave me glares and teasingly suggested I start walking.) Ah, spring.

The highlight of my day was when I came home to a letter. A real letter. I can't remember the last time I got one of those outside of birthday cards. This one was from a friend all the way on the West Coast, in response to a birthday card I sent her a couple weeks ago. That was the first time I bought a stamp for myself, that I can recall. Sad, isn't it? It's been a long time since I've had to mail anything.

I was wandering around the kitchen munching on no-bakes and contemplating a pile of dirty pots when Mom, who'd been painting the dining room, said, "Oh, I forgot. This came for you," and tossed the pink envelope on the ironing board, which was standing in the kitchen. (A piece is broken so the ironing board won't fold up. Hence, it gets shuffled around from room to room depending on space.)

I guessed immediately what the envelope contained, but I still got a smile out of it.

There's something wonderful about sending and receiving handwritten letters.

Maybe if I did it more often I'd be forced to have better penmanship? As it was I labored over those few lines to my old friend. Why is it that proper penmanship can't just come by force of will?

After I mailed that birthday card, I pondered the idea of getting back into sending "handwritten sentiments" by snail mail. I know receiving them certainly cheers me up. Getting a text or an e-mail just can't compare. And now I know how much stamps cost. (I felt funny using my debit card to purchase one stamp, but I didn't know when I'd ever need more.)

I think I'm going to have to cut this one short. Again. The chicks are trying to sleep and I'm clacking away. Also, my dog is making her sad whining sounds in the kitchen. Sometimes I swear she sounds like a baby elephant when she gets to moaning dejectedly.

A Ramble about the Weather and Books, Mostly

It's days like today that make me resent the resposibilities of adulthood.

It was a beautiful day. Temperatures hit the high 60's. Sunshine, a nice breeze...and I was stuck inside most of the day.

Last year, I would have been outside, breathing in the fresh air and plotting my garden. (Okay, so I might have spent the day curled up in the sunlight with a book.) It's a little maddening to know what a nice day it is but not to be able to enjoy it as I please. Ah, well. I drove with the windows down and didn't put on a coat until just now when I took Sasha out.

Oh, and that thing about blogging late at night? Yup, still doing it. It's hard when I'm gone most of the day. I rarely find decent blogging material in the morning.

So the flood waters have receeded and the temperatures are rising. We still don't have any leaves in the trees, and there's still a chance of light snow one or two nights this week. I'm ready for the cleaner part of spring to get here. I've had enough of mud and gray days and chilly nights. I'm sure I won't be saying that in July, but I'm saying it now.

We have other things to look forward to around here than just warmer weather. Our missions revival at church is coming up. Actually, our youth pastor has been making an effort to get everyone's mind on that track over the last couple of days. That's what Bible study was about tonight.

Missions Revival is always one of the highlight weeks of the church calendar. I'm excited for this year, because I actually have a job and an opportunity to give a little more, or at least in a different way, than in past years. It's a week full of challenges and encouragement and a healthy dose of reality. I'm really looking forward to it.

Stink. If you couldn't tell, I don't really have anything to blog about tonight. I need to work on that part about taking the little things in life and writing about them.

Um...I'm reading Big Red right now. Dad gave it to me years ago to read and I remembered really enjoying it. Then I foudn it at the library and decided to revisit it. I'm glad I did. It's a very simple book, but still solid and good. And smaller than I remember. And I don't usually enjoy reading severely accented dialogue, but it doesn't really bug me in this book.

One of my sister's guy friends is a huge dog person. I found him tonight at Bible study (he comes with his sister to the singles' study after teens') when he was playing with our youth pastor's dog and told him he needed to read this book. He gave me a skeptical look and asked, "Does it end like Where the Red Fern Grows?" I quickly assured him that it didn't.

That's one thing I really like about reading good books: sharing them with other people.

Ok. I give up. I'm going to bed. I'll try this again tomorrow.

The Eyeball in the Cupboard (or: I Really Do Love My Family)

Here I am, late again. Good intentions don't mean much, apparently. And I'm up to a week (couting the post I wrote the day before I decided to start this).
There's something about Sunday mornings at my house which I really love. (That is, after we quit paper routes.) I can't say exactly what it is that makes me smile. Ask a friend who's spent Saturday night about watching my family go through the Sunday morning routine. Running dogs in and out and telling them to hurry up and eat, now adding fowl to the list of animals to care for, siblings getting up hours earlier than they would the rest of the week to take showers they didn't want to take the night before, Mom hunting for a lost article of clothing or piece of jewelry or shoe, all to the soundtrack of blow driers and running feet. Always fun.
There are certain things that happen in this house which are seen as perfectly normal but, in any other house, would be a complete oddity. Like the eyeball in the bathroom cabinet.
Yes.
I went to get my toothbrush out of the cabinet this morning and started at the glass eye staring back at me. In another second I was back to squirting toothpaste onto the brush and absently wondering if Wes's allergies were acting up. Mom made a passing comment about it later, but that was all the attention anyone paid it.
Needless to say, our family has its own quirks. We get so used to them that we never think twice, while everyone else is staring at us in confusion. And, in my opinion, jealousy. Wes's fake eye is one of the quirks. We've all grown up with that one around us. We're conditioned to it, in a way. People  will come to me months after we've met and make some remark like, "You didn't tell me your brother had a fake eye," as if it should have been near the top of the list of things to know. I'll shrug. "Yeah, he's had that since he was 1." To them it's special; strange and unusual, sometimes gross, and somehow great for conversation. To me it's the source of a few good stories and the knowledge that, because my brother has a blindspot, it's easier to steal his fries when his head is turned. He and his one-handed buddy at church crack all kinds of jokes. Everyone else stands back in a mixture of confusion, horror, and embarassment, wondering if it's really appropriate, as if those poor boys shouldn't be laughing at their own expense. I roll my eyes.
It's just another little quirk that makes my family all that more endearing to me, like Mom's pouty face when she's not feeling well and wants me to grab her a glass of milk, or my youngest sister when she paces through the house with a smudge of charcoal on her nose and that creative gleam in her eye, or my other sister's reckless abandon when she belts out a song that's intentionally off-key. Like the looks passed when Dad is enjoying too much his day off or my brother pulls another "your mom" pun; the way Mom and I can have a complete conversation without either ever completing a thought; my youngest sister's ability to stare down anyone, friend or stranger, and make them twitch.
Yes, I truly do believe people are jealous when they see us tramping down the store aisles, one of us girls on Dad's arm and another bouncing around while trading jokes with Mom: that boisterous family clearly just from church service calling back and forth about how much milk we consume and if we'd prefer chocolate or vanilla ice cream and making some comment about our chickens. We're genuine, that's for sure. We don't put on a show when we go into public; we're the same people as we are at home. Sometimes it seems the world can't handle that much awesomeness. It's okay; be a little jealous. My mom was always the coolest person to have on youth activities, and inevitably my brother's eye would come out for the sake of the new kids. Only the bravest dare to spend a night at our house, where we have impromptu karaoke in the kitchen and odds are good you'll find an eyeball in the bathroom cabinet.

A rather incoherent late night post

My mind is running in a dozen different directions. I was trying to come up with something to blog about on the way home (ah, summer hours) because I'd been too lazy to blog earlier. I spent most of my day watching movies and hanging out with siblings and a friend who were all only semi-concious as they recovered from Lock-In. I'd spent the night nibbling brownies and watching Karate Kid (the original) and getting to sleep near my normal hour (after kicking Hershey off my bed for the fifth time).

It's been a dreary week.

I need to be careful I don't make this late-night blogging a habit! Right now I'm munching on a lukewarm roast and dodging around Mom while she tends to the chicks and gets them settled for the night. She just did a head count; it's about like that scene in Robots when...the red guy voiced by Robin Williams is trying to count baddies. ("Will you all quit moving around? I think I counted one of you twice!")

Right! Focus (Daniel-San...).

I wrote a post a while ago about late night driving and the dangers of deer on the roads. And my subsequent fear of encountering said creatures on the road in the dark. (Even during the day, but especially at night...) With work, I've been doing a lot of night driving, and I'm pretty used to it. I have to turn on a radio station with junky music because I need background noise but I lose focus when songs I actually enjoy are being played.

Anywho! Due to the flooding, I'm having to take a different route home. This road is narrower and the trees are closer, making it easier for deer to hide. But I had a revelation of sorts: it's not the deer that scare me. It's the other drivers.

People driving at night are worse than during the day. Admit it. Misuse (or lack of use entirely) of blinkers seems to be a prevailing issue around here, but at night people figure they aren't necessary at all. What? And brights? I know there are deer. I'm just as concerned about them as you at. But when you are coming at me with lights equaling the intesity of the noonday sun, you need to be worried about me, because I can no longer see to make sure I'm keeping to my own lane.

However, both of these issues are things I deal with not just from other drivers, but from myself. At least, my car.

The switch with the blinker, lights, and cruise control is messed up. (And it'd over $100 to fix it.) Whenever I need to use the blinker, I have to switch it up or down and then pull it forward. And it's harder to use when it's cold outside. This problem is further compounded by the face that pulling that lever-thing forward also switched on the brights.

See where I'm going?

If a car is coming at me and their brights are just too much to bear, I'll flicker my own to kindly hint that they need to disengage theirs. However, sometimes the poor driver coming toward me is following all the rules of the road and I flash my brights at them anyway, because the blinker won't work. This happened a couple weeks ago. Said approaching driver then proceeded to display their brights as if I need reassurance that they weren't on. I almost missed my turn.

I don't have any of these problems (at least my side of them) in Mom's car. Her brights stink, to be honest. They're the equivalent of another car's regular lights. It's okay if I forget they're on and a car is approaching; they can't tell the difference. In my car, I have to be careful, because its brights are the sort that set other people to flashing theirs.

Wow. I'm rambling. This is totally not what I intended.

Like I said, I had a whole bunch of thoughts on what I could blog about. I usually hit my second wind around 11 at night, if I'm still awake. (I know. The normal person doesn't get that until 2 or 3 in the morning.) But this is as good as it's going to get. I'd better leave now before I do any more damage.

Snack Time

I feel like I'm still recovering from yesterday. It got cold again today, and the wind returned. The crest point (or whatever it's called) for the river, which is supposed to happen tomorrow, is now supposed to be lower than the record by a good two feet. We didn't get as much rain as they predicted, I guess; at least not as constantly as it was looking. We did get some snow today. Well, a freezing mixture.

I worked a couple hours this morning/afternoon, and then Mom and I were out and about. And round-about, due to closed roads. We were hunting for a place to buy bulk chick feed.

And yes. I'm going to talk about the chicks again.

Man, I need to take some pictures! Presley, one of the Polish, has a mop head right now. The oldest keep perching on everything possible. Mom built them a better coop. Now they're on the floor, in the open. They have staring contests with Sasha when she comes through headed for the back door. They're mostly friendly, crowding around when someone talks to them. ('Cept for Glinda and Galadriel. Stuck up snobs, those two.)

The ducks are another story. They're nervous and loud and easily agitated. They only respond in a relatively calm manner to Heather, and I think it's more of grudging acceptance. Unless by some strange quirk of nature they prefer the loud mimic-squawking and purposefully off-key singing.

I've been trying to coax them out of their constant state of nerves, but most days I don't have the patience for it. I've already tried giving them chopped apples once, Heather having read they like chopped fruits and veggies, but they cowered in a corner. Today I tried again.

I spent a little time petting them. They shivered like chihuahuas, but they didn't run circles in blind panic. Then I got some apples.

Neither responded to me. You'd think I was some wicked abuser back to torment them. I held the apples as close as I could manage, but they kept pulling their heads back like it was poison. And then one of them got a whiff of the treat.
The next thing I know, a little duck bill and pecking at my hand, and then the duckling's whole head is vibrating as it - gummed? - the snack into mush and swallowed. And it repeated the action over and over. It still wouldn't pull its body out of the corner. If I held my hand just out of reach, it wouldn't move. And the second duckling was still refusing to accept my offering.
Meanwhile I'm about to collapse in a fit of giggles because the way the duckling was eating was so cute and funny. I finally managed to coax the second to get a bite, but he wasn't as enthusiastic.
Now I know why ducks are often portrayed as, well, feather-brained.
Well, the chicks are all tucking in for bedtime and the brownies are cooling, so I'm off.

Rainy Day

I think nearly everyone has those days where all they want to do is sit inside, out of the weather, and worry about nothing but being comfortable. Today was one of those days for me. I'm not even out of my pajamas. Contrary to popular belief and stereotypes, that really isn't normal for me.

We're in the middle of rain and thunderstorms 'round here. Prediction: historic, possibly record-breaking flooding. Perhaps if we lived in town, near the flood plain, I'd believe it. Out here, we're still just a little damp. Good thing, too, because on of my rain boots has a leak.

So today is my day off. I'm not even babysitting tonight on account of the weather. Last night I stayed up late watching Avengers with part of the family, determined to relax for a little today (as if my job is so stressful and life is too tough to deal with). Rainy days stuck at home mean cups of tea, good books, fuzzy blankets, sad music, and/or the like. I'm out of good books at the moment and didn't think of tea until afterward. I curled up in the living room under Mom's amazing sweatshirt blanket (it's literally a big blanket made out of fuzzy sweatshirt material) and turned on Netflix. Commence a couple hours of mindless entertainment. And fighting with Hershey to keep him off the couch. It rained off and on. Sasha had a showdown with the thunder. (I'm trying to decide if she'd make a good guard dog or a bad one.) All in all, a dreary, gray day. Thankfully it's warmer than before and not so windy.

Yes, I feel guilty about it now. I did tend to the dogs and keep an eye on the poultry, but that's as far as my productivity went. The dishes sat waiting, the floor needed vaccuming, and I know I could had put at least an hour to use trying to write or edit or something. Even reading would have been better. But I didn't care. I watched an episode of White Collar, an episode of that Canadian show about the fictional emergency response unit, some BBC movie, and more junk. Now Mom and the girls are home from co-op and it's time to return to the real world. Sigh.

Or maybe not. Mom came home with junk food. And guacamole. Back to the couch I go!

Guys. I only have five paragraphs. What's with that?

Oh, well. Day Three! And Mom picked a cheesy movie.

Happy Medium

Okay, guys. What do you call a psychic midget on the run? You ready? A short medium at large.

It's a real knee-slapper, I know. And no, it is not an original. I got it from a co-worker. I don't think I've ever actually made my own joke. I prefer to enjoy a cleverly crafted piece of humor. Or point out the daily humor I come across in real life. Like when... Actually, no. I won't share that story.

But I digress! And that joke at the beginning is actually related to today's post. And this post is also inspired by...my shower. *cringe*

Typically, my shower is when my brain activity reaches its high for the day. My concious brain activity, that is. I like hot showers. Well, in colder weather. Come summer, I still like the water to be warm, while everyone else is bathing in Lake Superior temperatures. Though they say* hot showers aren't really good for you. (Don't quote me. It might just be me saying that, though I seem to recall reading an article about it which someone shared on facebook or something.)

Gah! Stay on target! So I like hot showers. But my body does have a maximum temperature tolerance. And usually, I start the water off too hot, and then knock it to the cold side, and back and forth we go, and the odds aren't good it'll settle happily in the middle. And I grumble about the shower having no happy medium setting. (Same goes with the volume in most cars. You get indistinct or you get too-loud-for-conversation.)

I first picked up on the whole "happy medium" idea from A Wrinkle in Time. I actually saw the movie before I ever read the book. I think it's because I saw the movie that I was disinclined to read the book for quite a while afterward. (It stinks. Admit it. The twins are rude and demeaning, Charles Wallace is spoiled, Meg is angsty, and her dad has little redeeming qualities. And Calvin? Ugh.) Throughout the book, Meg's family is telling her she needs to find her happy medium. And then, of course, they do find the Happy Medium. (And at that time, the true meaning of "medium" in this context eluded me. I had some vague idea that the Happy Medium was some sort of manifestation of Meg's good side. Don't ask. I think that was about the time I was also introduced to Ted Dekker's Three.)

As described in the little chapter synopsis I linked up there, Meg is encouraged to find a happy medium because she tends to swing from one extreme to the other. Maybe that's why I relate to her so well. And then I got glasses and developed the habit of shoving them up my nose absentmindedly, and our similarities grew, and I was happy.

Clearly, I need a little mediocrity in my blogging, because this is all over the place.

Oh! Mediocrity. That was part of my next point.

In a past post, I mentioned a sermon Pastor preached out of Philippians 4:5-7, the key being in verse 5:

 

Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand.

Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.

And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Pastor talked about how we needed to be sure we are grounded, especially emotionally, in our lives, not dropping in despair one minute and leaping with abandon the next; not so easily tossed about. Today, the word "mediocrity" has the idea of boring or second-rate, but in fact it's what we need to strive for in our lives. We can be calm and secure because God is always at our side and the troubles we face will pass, even though they seem insurmountable now. Where the world is stumbling back and forth, reeling from disaster and the reveling in their little victories, we are unshaken, because we have our eyes on what will truly last, and what will matter, and the rest doesn't upset us.

Not to say we're supposed to be unfeeling, unresponsive robots. We're still human. The point is that, no matter what happens, we know Who is in control, and we can rest in that knowledge. Other people will mark how we stay strong in the storms of life when they're clinging to their man-made lifelines.**

Yes. I got all of that from issues with water temperature during my shower.

 

 

*One day I'm going to write a book about this "they". Or maybe just a short story. And perhaps I'll title it "You Know What They Say".

** Why am I always referencing ships and the ocean? I don't even really like the ocean.

Little Wonders

A while ago a friend of the family had a blog where she wrote about one magical moment she found in every day. She kept it going for over two years, I believe. When I was a younger blogger over one homsechoolblogger.com, I followed some girls who took challenges to blog every day for a week, a month, or the like. That's a true challenge in every sense of the word for noncommital me.   :)

I've seen little "magical moments" all over the place lately and thought to myself, "That'd be great to blog about". Maybe it'd break from my self-enforced style of long posts, but aren't more, shorter posts better than infrequent long ones? (Especially when most of the length is recapping.) It may not look like it from where you're sitting, but my life is actually very colorful and I find blogging material every day. I just lack incentive. Probably a month ago I drove past an elementary school on my way to work and saw a group of girls posing with a police officer in front of his car; on one of the rare nice (though cloudy) days this month, I saw people flying kites at Overlook Park (which really isn't as picturesque as it sounds); though I vowed not to write about work, sometimes I catch a cute moment I just have to share, like when the boy came in with a hand-written note and said he'd be back later with his girlfriend and could we put the note on her cup? (I have this irrational fear of the people I blog about actually stumbling across my blog and going, "Hey, that's me!", which is part of the reason I don't blog about work much.)

So why not? What could it hurt to try? A post a day, for as long as I wish or can manage, about the ordinary things I'd be otherwise inclined to forget. I don't know about you, but I found my blog rather boring and greatly lacking in proving how much of a tapestry my life can be like.

Here's today's:

As anyone who lives around here knows, we've been having some flooding. I mentioned before that the main (or most direct, at least) road into town was flooded for a few days. It opened yesterday (though, according to the weekly forecast more rain is bound to close it again soon) so we've gone back to using it. However, the areas all around the road are still under significant water.

Riding home on the bus today, I was trying to amuse myself with the passing scenery. We drove past one of the lowest points along the road. On either side, the land had turned into a scattering of ponds, with portions of sidewalks, sturdy trees, and fences lost in their midst. In one temporary pond, I saw a solitary swan. There weren't any other birds on the water; the geese are gone and the sea gulls are in hiding. Just one swan, floating along and occasionally dipping his head under the water.

Swans have interested me more and more. I think it started back on a camping trip when I noticed for the first time the funny sounds they make. Mom was trying to photograph two of them on a pond. Something startled them and they were across the water, honking gruffly and flapping like mad. For a bird depicted as such a graceful creature, swans can be downright awkward when it comes to take-off from the water.

And then, a while ago, Dad somehow got on the topic of the swan song, something I'd either never heard about or didn't remember hearing about before. It's one of those sentimental or sadly romantic kind of things which tend to pique my interest.

I found a book a couple years ago, The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale, based on the classic Goose Girl fairytale. The fairytale itself has always sort of creeped me out. I mean, come on: the princess's servant betrays her on the way to the princess's wedding and the princess is weak enough to be cowed into going through with an identity switch, and then her horse is beheaded and his head hung over the goose pasture gate where she is sent to work, and it talks to her about how her mother's heart would be broken if she knew her daughter's fate. Where did people come up with these stories? (It is a Grimm fairytale.) Shannon Hale's retelling (and I have such a weakness for fairytale retellings) is easier to enjoy. The princess can talk to animals - mostly birds - and has a great love for swans.

So yes! All that prompted by one short glimpse of a white bird in a puddle. Am I the only one whose mental train can switch across so many tracks so quickly?

On a side note: I had a thought today, while pondering how to get back to blogging, that it might be funny to try and record my train of thoughts throughout the day. I quickly dismissed that notion; how embarassing!

There! Day One down. Let's see how long this lasts.

Also: the title of this post was inspired by this song (start at 20 seconds), which plays at the end of Meet the Robinsons. It makes me happy.

Springtime, true to form

So, I sat down to blog today after my inexcusable absence and discovered a short draft of a post I'd started a week ago and completely forgotten about. Right. So here's that:

Jessi informed me yesterday that you cannot have a dream involving people you've never seen before. I have to wonder how that works for writers, because we often vividly imagine fake people.

Any way, I'm still trying to decide how I feel about that fact, because what brought it up was me telling her about my dream Sunday night.

As you may have guessed, it was another wedding dream.

This was has just cause. One of my cousins got married on Saturday.

My groom had a face! I just can't remember it. I do remember the hair color, which has been pretty consistent. But the ceremony wasn't even a key part of the dream. Nope. We got stuck in the Canadian wilderness in a blizzard. Go figure.

And on with more recent junk!

We've been getting a literal flood of true spring weather. The main road we take into town has been closed the last few days and we've all had to adjust our routes. Irritating, to say the least. However, I haven't even had to worry about driving lately, because.... I've been taking the bus.

Yes. This lovely city of ours has a bus system. (Actually, I have to use the county bus system because of where we live.) No one in the family really even acknowleged the fact until last week when Wes's van went ka-poot and suddenly I had no way of getting to work. Until my boss reminded me of the bus, which a co-worker uses.

Mom grabbed the idea like it was a life line and she in a hurricane.

I about had a nervous breakdown. It was pitiful and childish. I am ashamed.

In short, I've had...eight bus rides now! Yay me. On the first one, I actually sat with notebook in had and scribbled out every random thought, intending to turn it into this long blog post. Obviously, that didn't happen, and I am so glad! In short, I toughened up and managed to get through, though inside I felt like a piece of Jell-O at the mercy of a fork-weilding toddler. By God's grace (and yes, I mean that) the driver of my first-ever bus ride was super nice. Awesome, really. As was the old man who drove me home. (And I've never had the same driver twice, as yet.) The old man could be a tour guide with how much he knew about my neighbors. (Not that our stretch of road is really worthy of touring.)

So yes. That's about the only exciting thing. The chicks and ducks are growing (and, in the chicks' case, growing ugly). I kind of neglected them for a few days, being so busy with work and life in general, and when I returned the ducklings were about twice their former size and more obnoxious than ever. And I discovered it was pointless to name the  Buffs. I can't tell them apart at the moment. Sigh. Lobelia was getting to be so adorable in a chicken sort of way, too. She had this habit of hopping onto people's hands and trying to climb up their arms. She might be the chick who keeps flying up and perching precariously on the edge of the box. Regular daredevil, that one.

Um....

Well, crazy weather, bus rides, growing poultry, weird dreams. I can't think of anything else. It's been a rather unremarkable April. Some people will contest this, saying the weather is horrible, but hello! It's spring. Despite the name, it isn't all skipping through a field of flowers under a clear blue sky with a warm breeze blowing along. It's wet. And sometimes cold. And windy. And muddy. And we need it. Remember last year?

<end rant>

Man. I thought there was something else blog-worthy I wanted to write about, but I can't think of what it was. Guess I end here for the day.

Oh! I'm considering a sort of challenge to myself to post everyday. Not forever, obviously. Maybe a week at first, to see if I can do it. We shall see.

The Glory of the Cross

Note: I started writing this post a couple weeks ago. My days had been mixed up and I was thinking it was the Wednesday between Palm Sunday and Easter, when in reality it was the Wesneday before Palm Sunday. So I set it aside and promised to post it at the appropriate time. And then I forgot and blogged about chickens instead.
I came back to it today, wanting to finish my "Easter post". Due to the time difference from when I originally wrote it until now, I thought some of it might have to be adjusted. I only changed a couple tenses, so I'm sorry if it reads a little out of whack. And then I added more today. Not that this is really important to most of you.  :)  I just wanted to apologize if my thoughts seem all over the place...or moreso than usual.

From last week

For me, it's always been easier to relate to historical events, to really grasp them and appreciate them, when I can think, "So many years ago today this or that happened." (Perhaps that's why half of history class is all about the dates of events?) History can begin to feel like any other story if we're just told, "This happened."

I always love watching Preacher craft a timeline. It helps to put things into perspective, even if it isn't to scale (because it never is). And you know what happened this week, 2,000+ years ago.

Christ's last week on earth. For the time being.

He'd had His last supper. He'd prayed in the garden. He'd been taken prisoner, tried and declared guilty, beaten and mocked. And then He headed for a death on a cross, to be executed. Not for Himself, the perfect God Incarnate, but for the very creation that scorned and hated and spit on Him; we who reject and deny and curse His name.

Crucifixion was one of the worst and most disgraceful forms of execution. And Christ submitted Himself to it for us.

In my last post (or the one before that) I mentioned a recent Sunday morning sermon. The text was Mark 9:1-9, Matt 17:1-9, and Luke 9:27. (Yes, the account of the Mount of Transfiguration.) The subject: the glory of Christ's cross.

Glory (dictionary.com):

2. Something that is a source of honor, fame, or admiration; a distinguished ornament or an object of pride.

4. Resplendent beauty or magnificence.

No one before the cross saw it as in any way glorious. They didn't get it (Matt. 16:21, Mark 8:31). Those who followed Christ believed His glory would be in conquering Rome and ruling as King. Only a few days before, they were singing in the streets, looking for God to save them. But today we call the day of His death "good". It certainly wasn't good for Him. The mockery, the abjection, and ultimately the giving of His life after hours hanging in agony on a tree. But it represents hope and grace and love poured out for us.

On the Mount of Transfiguration, Christ prays and then talks with Moses and Elijah. They don't discuss His victory and reign. They discuss His approaching death.

They discuss "his decease which he should accomplish at Jerusalem." (Luke 9:31)

Accomplish.

The word connotes, at least nowadays, the achievement of something good, praiseworthy, and proud. People boast about winning a race, completing college, or getting their driver's license. Who considers brutal execution while being publicly humiliated to be their greatest achievement? Not only that, but it is human nature to try to maintain life for as long as possible.

Accomplish:

1. To bring to its goal or conclusion; to carry out; perform; finish.

When Christ declared "It is finished" and surrendered Himself to death, Satan saw it as his greatest accomplishment. He'd killed God! He'd prevented God from saving the world. The human race had rejected Him, tortured Him, and killed Him.

The angels didn't understand it. Why was the Creator doing this for people who didn't even care? Why didn't He call them to lift Him from that cross and wipe out His wicked creation?

Christ's disciples, His earthly family, those who followed Him and looked to Him as their Messiah, didn't get it. Why did it end this way? How could it? Where was their kingdom, their glory, with Him on the throne? When they saw Him raised on that cross, I believe their hearts were sinking. The weight of their sorrow, their hopelessness, made it difficult to breathe. They felt lost when the body of their Savior was laid in a tomb. What now?

The Devil certainly didn't get it. I wonder if he thought it was too easy? If it even crossed his mind.

Three days later, he had to be saying that.

Christ didn't just die. That's only the beginning of the story. No rock in front of a borrowed tomb could hold Him; no soldiers could stop Him; death couldn't keep Him. He claimed the keys of Death itself. His life was the ransom, His perfect blood the great price none of us could ever achieve.

That's the glory of the cross. That's the great accomplishment of God, even though people still can't understand. That's love, the likes of which no temporal thing in this finite world could ever hope to mimic. The Devil tries, but all his copies are like the crayon scribblings of an infant compared to the Mona Lisa. Not only crude and short of any kind of imitation, but also worthless.

A couple thousand years ago, as they watched their king, their Messiah, their friend, the Son of God, struggle under the weight of the ugly wooden cross, torn and bleeding and scorned on all sides, they didn't understand. Their hope seemed to die with Jesus, and then it was buried in a cold, sunless tomb. They didn't see the whole picture.

We have the whole picture. We see the pain and the hatred and the blood, we see the tomb and darkness. But we also see the victory! That's the glory of the cross! That's what we claim, what we hope in. “It is finished” is our victory cry.

 

Today

I’m subbing the teaching part of our Wednesday night class tomorrow. Dad gave me the verse a couple weeks ago so I could prepare. (He tends to fly by the seat of his pants when he teaches, which works for him, but I like notes.) I’ve slowly been adding thoughts and comparison verses to it since then. I don’t know how I’ll get to hit on all the points during class, but I wanted to share the gist of it here.

The verse is John 15:13, a supporting verse for Romans 5:1, which the kids memorized while working on the Romans Road a while ago.

Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. – Romans 5:1 

Greater love hath no man than this, than a man lay down his life for his friends. – John 15:13

Whenever Dad starts to work with the kids on memorizing a verse, he has them point out words they don’t know. Then he breaks down the verse so they understand the meaning of what they’re memorizing, not just the words.

I’m sure the kids will understand what all of those words mean, but I went through the dictionary and got definitions anyway. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to determine which form of “that” is being used? There are a good dozen or more forms listed in the dictionary.) While I was working on that, a few words/phrases stuck out to me; namely, “lay down”.

What’s cool is that Pastor’s sermon Easter Sunday tied in with this really well and gave me some extra material. I love it when that happens.

To lay down one’s life is a sacrifice, usually for the sake of a loved one.

 

Peter said unto him, Lord, why cannot I follow thee now? I will lay down my life for thy sake. - John 13:37

Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. - I John 3:16

Christ wasn’t forced onto that cross. He wasn’t beaten into such a state that he couldn’t resist. He didn’t “surrender his life” or “give up his life” as if there had been a struggle and He was finally relinquishing control. He laid it down. No fight; no resistance.

Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that I might take it again. No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. This commandment have I received of my Father. - John 10:17&18

Usually the king’s life is more important than anyone else’s. People give their lives for the king, promise to protect the king with their lives, pay any ransom for the king. But this King gave His own life for our ransom, and we didn’t even care about Him. The glory of the cross is that the King of creation laid down His life for the sake of people who didn't even acknowledge Who He was, who were so lost in their sinful darkness that they couldn't understand this Light that burst in. He reached down and paved a path out of the darkness, the stones His love and the mortar His blood; a road that starts at the foot of His cross. Our cross.

April Fool!

I've never been one for April Fool pranks. Or any other pranks or practical jokes, for that matter. I always feel kind of guilty for making other people freak out and then laughing at them, and I can't say I really enjoy being laughed at most of the time. I think the worst prank I ever did was refold an empty gum wrapper, stick it in the pack, and offer it to someone. (I know. Homeschoolers. I can't tell you how much pleasure my 7-year-old self derived from that "trick".)

Today I saw people on facebook posting about April Fools Day pranks, but wasn't really worried to be the recipient of any. I spent my day in innocent bliss: washing dishes, playing with the chickens (oh, we got four more....), giving Sasha a shower, and pining for sunshine.

Around 4:00, I remembered that I'd been meaning to check my library account because I had some books coming due. I got on and saw that I had quite a few actually overdue. Snap. Since I had to be to work in an hour, I figured I'd better get moving so I could drop the books off at the library.

As I was cramming things into my purse (I really need a better catch-all purse), my phone rang. Work. Now what?

When I answered, one of my co-oworkers asked if I was almost there. Not understanding at first, I asked her to repeat the question.

"Um, no. I'm not in until 5:00."

"No. You're scheduled for 4:00."

Cue panic attack. Psychological pranks are possibly my least favorite. So I'm freaking out, Mom is freaking out, and I somehow end up on the floor. Then my co-worker starts laughing, and I hear more laughter in the background. (Yes, she had it on speaker.) Through the laughter, she choked out, "April Fools!" I proceeded to huff about what a brat she was. And then I chuckled and hung up. Right.

I left soon after, and my run to the library didn't take as long as I thought, so I ended up getting to work early anyway. And for the rest of the night, we were all on edge. I really hate this "holiday".

In other news, we got four more chicks a couple days ago. Mom, Heather, and I set out for an hour-long drive to a hatchery with the intention of getting the much-desired Silkies. Unfortunately, there'd been some miscommunication somewhere along the line; the Silkies were all gone. Turns out they're in high demand this year. A little disappointment on Heather's part, and then we got three Polish chickens and a Brahma. They could be either hens or roosters, but they already have names. The Brahma, Heather's concilatory/Easter gift, is named Ginger. And she (though it may be a "he") knows she's exotic. And she has some attitude. On the other hand, the Polish chickens are pretty quiet and easy-going, so they get picked on (quite literally) by the others. They are Elvis, Presley, and Aida or Aidan. (Yes, Elvis and Presley. I tried to convince Mom that if the one she dubbed "Elvis" turned out to be a hen, she could call it "Presley" because it sounds more like a unisex name, but the next day one of the others was Presley.)

We're getting quite the collection. 23 chickens and 2 ducks. The oldest ones are starting to hit the "dinosaur stage", where they lose their baby fluff and start getting their adult feathers. When we went to get the last four chickens, we saw some ducks in this stage, and they were, quite frankly, ugly. As Mom put it, they looked rather like they had mange: fluff half-gone and feathers poking out all over the place.

I'm starting to think it was a bad idea naming the chickens; at least the Buffs. They're becoming kind of hard to distinguish from one another. Lobelia is still the lightest of the older set. I just keep an eye on her so I know which one she is. It helps that she's the most daring. She likes sitting on people's hands and arms. Mostly, she's trying to escape (and she can get some good air when she flaps her wings) but in that regard she's nicer than the rest.

Anyone getting bored yet? I know it's short, but I think I'll end here for the day. I'm still working on my Easter post. Maybe tomorrow....