the nursery is empty

Today Oliver and I brought the mama goat and her 2-month-old babies to the pasture to live with the rest of our small flock. They were so happy to be out in the big world, they went careening through the field with twists and leaps. Will we ever be able to catch them or pet them again? 

renaissance

Last night I had the good fortune to attend a Smart Talk 

conversation with Jane Pauley. She was so much funnier than I imagined she would be, with great comic timing. It was a wonderful evening. Jane talked about getting older and how we can seize opportunities to do and learn new things, to transform our lives as we go along. 

Ms. Pauley quoted one woman who, at age 90, said "If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have signed up for violin lessons when I was 50!" As a mom who is definitely growing older, but still has small kids at home, I can feel myself on the cusp of this new time, a great growing and learning coming up as I plant and nurture the small seeds of openness each day. 

Jane also quoted this nifty saying: "I write to know what I think." Maybe all of you out there knew the truth of this maxim already, but the thought never occurred to me before last night. I have noticed that as I perform this small daily writing exercise--deciding what to say, what not to say--seeing where each entry takes me is an interesting journey, helping me to know myself a little better. 

playtime

photo by me

Ollie and I got out the play-dough the other day. We had a great, giggly time inventing these creatures. Only a little person would think to make rainbow fangs on his dinosaur. 

Once you make them though, comes the dreaded playing out of imaginary scenarios. I have a really difficult time managing that kind of thing for more than a few minutes. I can hear myself begging: "Hey! How 'bout we make MORE creatures, wouldn't that be fun?" Answered by, "No, Mama, let's play with them!" I remember going deeply into imaginary play for hours and hours as a kid, even as an older kid. But now? I love being with my children, watching and listening, making things. But sticking with the actual play, why is it so hard? I'm sure there's someone out there who can stand it, grandparents, maybe? 

virtual shopping

It's cold again today but when I look at this awesome bike basket, I feel a warmth in my heart that slowly spreads to my limbs and makes me smile. I've been looking at this bike basket for a couple years now: it's so obviously MINE, I actually feel as if I have owned it, delivered gifts with it, gotten it dirty and dusty, and by now it's even getting a little faded. Every few months, I go back to the website just to make sure it's still available should the need arise for real life ownership. And miracle of miracles, there it is. It's perfectly green and exceedingly cute. You just want to put a little picnic lunch in there and ride around the neighborhood. 

Sometimes when I'm out shopping (it has been awhile!), I carry something I like around with me all through the store. I look at it lovingly, hold it up to see how smart I will be wearing it to the next Women's Night Out. If I carry the thing around for just long enough, I don't even need to make the purchase. It feels like I've already owned it, worn it for several seasons, brought it down to St. Vinnie's in a paper bag and moved on. 

and now it's gone

quickie artwork by me

I slept in an extra half hour today. So it followed that early this morning, I rushed through critter chores and hurried back to the house to get the kids ready for school. As I poured that precious first cup of coffee, something bright coming through the window caught my eye: the magnificent pink and golden sunrise, a brilliant, silent offering. Outside in the cold just moments before, I had been right in the middle of perfection and had not even noticed. 

dorkdance film festival

Today, a little holiday from the farmette critter tales. I have compiled a list of my personal favorite movies of all time. Upon review of my selections, I notice that they are all relatively cheery movies, and many happen to be musicals. Please take heart: I do actually realize that not a single film on my list (save #9) would make any list of critically acclaimed films. I'm not sure what this says about me, but here you go:  

My top ten movies of all time, which all just happen to be feel-good movies, in no particular order:  

1. Elf - Will Ferrell trying to board the escalator cracks me up every time.

2. Bridget Jones's Diary - tears of laughter rolling down my cheeks.

3. The Sound of Music - never gets old for me.

4. Parenthood - Steve Martin coming to terms with the roller coaster ride reminds me to enjoy every moment of this precious time.

5. This is Spinal Tap - in the top ten, it goes to eleven.

6. Nanny McPhee - colorful costumes, the best nanny and a fairy tale snowflake ending.

7. The Jerk - pure shinola.

8. Moulin Rouge - gotta love the musicals, even though this one has a sad ending.

9. Once - please see it if you haven't! another musical!

10. Purple Rain - paid good money to see it 9 times on the big screen in 1984-5.

Please feel free to leave your own suggestions, I'd love to see them. 

tenacity

photo: Silver-laced Wyandotte Bantam, Lucy, with Shadow

Lucy is the best chicken. Chicken of all chickens. She is a pretty little thing. Tiny, tough and fast with good chickeny instincts. Hand-picked by our friend, Dylan, who brought Lucy to our chicken town, she is my personal favorite. 

Two summers ago, she decided she was going to hatch an egg. We let her keep just one perfect brown egg. She began to sit. She sat and did not move from her post, except to take little sips of water. It didn't seem like she was eating much, her dedication to the egg was so strong. In the mornings, I would hand-feed her a little snack.  21 days later, bloop! There was Shadow. Shiny and black, with impressively long legs, it was clear that Shadow's egg was laid by some neighboring chicken and not by dear Lucy. Because of her good, sleek looks, though, we are sure that her father was the recently departed, drop-dead gorgeous Sumatra rooster, Zeke, who was snatched and dragged off by a coyote one sad, sunny day. A trail of ebony feathers told that tale. 

Anyway, Lucy was the best little chicken mama you ever saw. I once gave her a daddy-long-leg, thinking she would gobble it up immediately as most chickens do. Instead, she broke the bug apart with her beak and fed tiny pieces of leg to her baby, one at a time. 

She raised Shadow well. Much bigger than her mom, Shadow is quick and wary, a good layer with a ruby rose comb, also a perfect chicken, another personal favorite. 

This summer, Lucy wanted to hatch more eggs. She sat and looked up at me, head cocked with earnest pleading. We marked her nesting box "private" and let her sit. I don't know if the fault lies with the growing population of chicken town, unmannerly newcomers who pestered the little mother-to-be, but Lucy never made it the full 3 weeks required for a hatch. Time after time, she left the nest after 2 weeks, the eggs went cold and we tossed them into the field. And always, there she was the next morning, warming up more eggs with that irresistable, imploring look, "Please don't take them! I must do this!" We offered several helpful modifications and let her keep trying all summer with no luck. 

Even now, in the dead of this below-zero winter, Lucy is still at it. Every night when I go to put the birds to bed, I find that Lucy is keeping 1 or 2 precious eggs nice and warm, looking at me with that look. I admire her spirit. Perhaps she'll get another chance when warmer days are here.

the blur

I am on this train. Scenery is whizzing by; the noise is deafening. For several years now, the train has been rapidly accelerating as days, weeks and years blend in a blur of events, birthdays, this, that. If I think about it too much, there is desperation. At this rate, the destination seems frightfully near.

I won't jump off the train: it's my only ride. But I would like to slow it down and make a few rolling stops, look out the window and see some precious things and people with clarity instead of just the blur. 

About 6 months ago, I began learning yoga and mediatation. It is strange, but as the speedometer maintains its persistent rise, my own ride actually, magically, seems to be slowing. And this blogging, while still very new, seems to be another way to rest in the lounge car, where sights can be named.

I'll keep you updated.

the weak link

"Every chain has got a weak link." I have a little problem with the chains: chain letters, chain gifts, chain projects, chain e-mail. If you put me in a chain (unless it's a conga line), please trust that I will not do my part, even if I profess good intentions, even if the small type at the bottom of the page promises 10 years of horrible luck or painful death for breaking the chain. 

Ten days ago, David came home from work with a large zip-lock bag full of goo and a typed page of instructions. The dreaded Amish Friendship Bread* comes around again. Now, I love bread, all things Amish, and especially friendship. But the three things together? No thanks. You have to "mush the bag" for 5 days, add some ingredients on the 6th day, mush the bag for a few more days and then add a bunch more ingredients and bake it. For your work (pretty easy, actually) you get two loaves of sweet coffee-cake-like bread. The kids love it, which tells you about how healthy it might be.

One problem is the icky bag of goop sitting on the counter for two weeks, a creepy-looking bubbling plastic pillow of slime that longs to be mushed and burped. Also, I am not in love with the pressure to perform these activities just because your dear friend, whom you like so very, very much and really do wish to please, gave you this "gift". And then, for your pleasure, at the end of it all  you get to make copies of the instructions and create 4 MORE BAGS of mush that you can pass along to other unsuspecting innocents.

How lucky I am to have these enthusiastic children. They expand my horizons, encourage me to relax my rigid standards, nudge my reluctance over to acceptance and maybe even a tinch of enjoyment. Because, of course, the kids greet the bag of gunk pleasantly each morning. They love mushing and burping the glop. They adore adding the extra ingredients and keeping track of the "bread days" on the calendar. And when the bread comes out of the oven, they gobble it with great passion, proclaiming it the best ever. 

So friends, beware: if you see me approaching with a big crazy smile and giant zip-lock bags of goo in my fists, and you do not forsee bread making in your near future, RUN! 

*disclaimer: To those of you readers who, in years past, have gifted me with the bread mix in question--and you know who you are--I hope you will read this entry with a forgiving heart and gentle humor.  P.S. If you would like a bag of mix, give me a call, I have plenty just now!

inaugural address

          

Through a stroke of great luck, I was able to watch the inauguration with Grandma and Aunt Ann this morning. I don't know who Grandma voted for in November, but today she was very supportive towards this new, inspiring president of ours, his accomplished, gracious wife and their two beautiful girls. We sat together, watching the ceremony and listening carefully to Mr. Obama's address. 

During a break in the action, the talk turned to memories of past inaugurations. Aunt Ann has fond memories of Eisenhower's 1953 inauguration  --it was the first time she watched TV. A neighbor was the first and only one around with a television that year, so all the school kids trooped over to see the president take his oath. Ann, who was in 2nd grade at the time, recalls being more excited about the TV than about the actual inauguration. Grandma remembers hearing other inaugural addresses on the radio. It was agreed that the most momentous and memorable was the 1961 swearing in of John. F. Kennedy. Until today, that is. This one really is a biggie.

We celebrated Grandma's 90th birthday this year. Today she told me this is the last inauguration she will see. While we may have to argue about that prediction, this sure was a very, very good inauguration to witness. I couldn't have picked a better person to be with on this unforgettable day.  

Mr. President, you inspire the best in us

May we rise as a nation to greet this inauguration day and the days to come with renewed hope and a spirit of unity, hearts open to becoming all we are meant to be. 

 

saying of the day

I love sayings. Here’s a goodie for today: 

Beware the mighty pen (or keyboard).

David and the kids are taking the ornaments off the tree.  WOW. I am thrilled! Did my recent blog detailing my family's tendency to cling to the last threads of Christmas well into January have such an amazing effect on them? As I sit here pleasantly typing away in my pantry/office, gloating just a tiny bit, there is a strong desire to prance with glee. With masterful control, I remain calm, fighting the urge to call out helpful tips.

Indeed, "The pen is mightier than the sword."  A great and useful adage for turbulent times.  In recent weeks, Annika and I have been working out this new saying:

“The pen is powerful, but the pencil holds even more power: it can change its mind.”

Oh dear, here comes Annika with a message: “There’s no way Daddy can do this, he doesn’t know where everything goes.“ . . . I sigh. My precious family works away in the other room. Sometimes I can’t fathom how I came upon this good fortune, to live and love with these 4 genuine, kind, funny, heavenly people. My mental pencil held in erase mode, I humbly go to help with the job at hand.

date night

Tonight is date night. We will go to Taste of India  for a spicy meal and good conversation, share a bottle of wine and then head over to the movie theater. This is pretty much what we do every single date night. I would not want to change a thing about it. 

Before we moved to this area, date night was totally different: We went to Sombrero's for a spicy meal and good conversation, shared a couple of margaritas and then headed over to the movie theater. 

David says, "Date night's the glue." 

Our plan is to see Slum Dog Millionaire. If you have seen the movie, please feel free to leave reviews here.

a confession

photo by Annika: our nutcracker collection, in order of height

It is now January 16th and all of our Christmas decorations, including the tree, are still up. We put up the tree and all the holiday decor back in November, just after Thanksgiving. And... they're... still... here.

My husband, David, is a Christmas elf, disguised as a tall drink of water. He wears a Santa hat to do his Christmas shopping. He loves everything about Christmas, especially the decorations. And once they're up, he cannot bear to see them come down. Like moths to a flame, the children fly blindly to his defense on this topic. I am now hearing talk about how cool it will be to hang hearts on the needle-free frasier for Valentine's Day and colored eggs for Easter. They assure me that the dried up tree is in no way a fire hazard. 

Because I fancy myself "in charge" around here, in years past I ignored their desperate pleas to keep that Christmas train rolling right through to the Superbowl. Usually I can be found dismantling the tree at a reasonable time, just after New Year's Day. I do really love Christmas and all the trimmings. I am the one who does the baking, makes the lists, sends the cards, plans the parties, buys/makes/lovingly cares for the decorations. I am the one who puts them up and takes them down. Until now. I have given up, given in. I made one generous offer, last weekend, to take down the tree and box up the ornaments free of charge. If my friendly offer was refused, Daddy would have to be the one to put the holiday stuff away. He would have to carefully pack all those sweet little delicate glass ornaments in tissue paper. Box up the nutcrackers, stars, linens and nativity scenes. Haul them all up to the attic. That sounds like a lot of work to me. My kind offer was rejected without a second thought.

Here's the rub. While I think the holidays are great (and exhausting), I also have a very big thing for the New Year. A fresh, clean snow-white slate for me. What's done is done and possibilities for what's to come are endless and thrilling. The tree comes down, the living space is crisp once again; I wear aqua, chartreuse and flamingo pink. I am renewed and refreshed, ready to embrace life with impressive vigor. 

This year, my clean slate will have to be held in my heart and and honored in some new, different way, perhaps through this blog. On the bright side, I will have so much  more time to embrace 2009 now that I don't have to put the stuff away. And those twinkling lights are actually very pretty. 

yodelay hee hoo

photo of Donder by yours truly

These below zero temps have us snuggling in the house today. I did have to venture out to do "critter chores" this morning, and to my great joy, heat lamps are working and everyone is doing fine. This is Donder. He was born 6 weeks ago and is growing exponentially. I like goats: they are naughty, tricky stinkers, perpetual toddlers. Full-grown goats, like many creatures, are strongly motivated by food. The little ones are more mysterious. Peering deeply into their otherworldly eyes, it's impossible to know for sure what they're thinking.