Happy Birthday Steve

     Today, this very day, July 29, marks the birthday of my late husband Steve Newby. If he were still alive he would be 63 years old today. He wouldn't want anyone to know it was his birthday. He would allow me to make a fuss if I did so privately, but he would still protest. The whole time I knew him, he was genuinely irritated when people made a big fuss over his birthday, although he did like the phone calls from his children and grandchildren. I never did understand it, but eventually came to accept as part of his Steve-ness. Anyone who knew Steve is undoubtedly smiling at the thought, as he was certainly one of a kind.
     What he would prefer, then, was to find something or someone else to celebrate, take the focus off himself. Our anniversary, for example, was the 27th (would've been 15 years) and another special day for me comes up on August 1. Those would be the things he would have made a big hoopla over.      
      Before we moved to Cooperstown we liked to plan a get-together, inviting family and friends over for a cookout and visit. We called it our Annual Gratitude Celebration. We'd have this somewhere around the last week of July or the first week of August, right around this part of the year. Of the last one I remember, Steve, Grandma Susie, and Grandma Margaret have all gone to Heaven now. Becky's in a nursing home, we're not sure where Ron is.  Of course that's not everybody, but it's probably about a quarter to a third of the number who were there that day.
     When we moved back, that was one of the things we were looking forward to doing once the remodel was complete, hosting our Annual Gratitude Celebration Cookouts. Oh, we cooked out a few times, Steve and I, just the two of us. Steve was a bit of a perfectionist (he considered this an insult, but I never meant it as one) and to his way of thinking we weren't "ready" to have a bunch of people over, still too much not done yet.
     Steve made such beautiful cabinetry that everything looked perfectly well finished just as it was, but the next thing on his project list when he departed this realm was drawer fronts, and then cabinet doors. I did find someone to make cabinet doors; the drawer fronts are still pending. Some things have just been hard to push through.
     All this and so much more is rolling through my mind today on the anniversary of Steve Newby's birth. I've known other families who would get together to celebrate the memory of a departed character, and I've thought about doing something like this, but just haven't been able to push through and make it happen. Meanwhile, Life is what happens when  you'e made other plans, or even whether you've made plans or not. Right now this memorial message is the best I can do. Were he alive, he would not like me to mention publicly that it was his birthday, but by golly, he's not here! Happy Birthday, Steve Newby!

    

Carrot Cake

I am part of a group of friends that meet at each others' homes every Monday night. We typically have some kind of baked good and ice cream for refreshment. One of the kitchen-challenged yet creative fellows brings frozen treats from Braums Ice Cream and Dairy store when it's his turn. When these interesting characters admitted me to their fold, I promised them that when they came to my house I would make Carrot Cake.  I make a really good carrot cake, as anyone who's ever had it will heartily affirm. This is not a quick task for me. I love that we get together on Monday, because I can make the carrot cake on Sunday afternoon. The last time everyone came to my house, it was because one of the other guys had an emergency at his house and, asked to trade Mondays with me. I said, sure, but I wouldn't have time to make a carrot cake. I was in a bit of a time crunch myself that week and had to send my son into town to grab some store-bought baked goods for everyone. A couple of the guys gave me some good-natured ribbing about almost not coming when they heard there would be no carrot cake that time.

So it was my turn to have everyone over this week. I had plenty of notice, and set Sunday afternoon aside to make the Carrot Cake. Made sure I had organic carrots, grated them by hand. I have a food processor, and it's really fast to run them through there, and I would certainly do that if I were grating more than just the two cups for one cake, because then there's all the food processor parts to wash up and put away. Perhaps the labor evens itself out, what you exert grating carrots and rinsing the grater or mandolin versus getting the food processor out, putting it together, dropping the carrots in and grating them, zip zip, dis-assembling the food processor, washing all the parts, and putting it away. It might be fun, some time, to do a side-by-side comparison with a stopwatch and see how long each process takes to get two cups of grated carrots, start to finish, but for now the first option seems simpler for my small scale production run.

While the layers were baking, I got the brilliant idea to message some of my Cooperstown friends that I  know love carrot cake in general, and mine in particular, and tease them a little bit. I messaged them on facebook to say that we'd be having carrot cake at my house the next evening. In the time frame given, they could drive straight through, or catch a plane. As a plan B, I offered that the next time I visit Cooperstown, I would prevail upon my daughter to let me use her kitchen to make a carrot cake to share with them. We all had a lot of fun talking about the idea, and now everyone involved is looking forward to it.

Four of my friends rode out here together and arrived first. Joan already knew I had made carrot cake because we'd talked about it earlier, but the fellas were happy to hear about it. Then the next two guys arrived together, and when I told the story about teasing my Cooperstown friends with "you have 24 yours to get here," I saw those two high-fiving each other like a couple of little boys grown tall. 

Then they shared that on the way out here, one of them said to the other, "Do you think she's going to have that carrot cake this time?"

"Ooh, I don't know."

"Well, I think if she doesn't, we should charge her mileage for the trip to her house!"

I'm glad they didn't have to do that.

Everybody had as much as they wanted, and there was still about a third of the cake left, so it looks like my son might get a piece after all!

Here's how peaceful it is at my house:

A little brown wren has built a next in a soft storage box right outside my back door. I open the back door, I could touch her nest with my hand. She's got about a half dozen eggs in there, about as big around as my fingertip, kind of cream colored. She flies away every time I come or go through that door. She's beginning to see that I mean her no harm, so she's not in a big hurry to fly away, but there's no need to distress her, so I will refrain from using that door this week.
This is not a photo of "my" actual bird, but this is what she looks like, a little brown wren. Sweet little mommy bird.

King Daddy

If you're not lucky enough to have a broody hen who will set a clutch of eggs and hatch them, or whatever enough to have one of those incubator machines to hatch your eggs, you most likely get your chicks from your local farm supply store when they have them, usually available once a year, or your mail order poultry supply, usually available most of the year. When you buy chicks, you can specify "pullets," which is supposed to be all girls, or "straight run," which, in a perfect world, would be what ever you get when they hatch, supposedly 50/50 boys and girls, but in practical terms is probably what's left when they glean the pullets. How ever that happens, when I got my chickens, I asked for six red pullets (and have six red hens) and a straight run of barred rocks (and got two hens and four roosters). With the other two roosters I already had, that makes six hens and six roosters, which is about five roosters too many.

King Daddy, lord of the hens

Now, I do know how to slaughter a rooster. And at least one of those barred rock roosters has exhibited behavior that has brought roosters to the dinner table before. I guess I'm just not up to it right now, though, so I have separated five of the roosters from the rest of the flock. One rooster, affectionately named King Daddy, is lord of the hens and he is a good rooster. 


They could very well survive on the bugs and plants they graze on when they're outside, but I supplement their diet with chicken feed and kitchen scraps. Chickens will eat anything. Seriously, they are like pigs that way, only nowhere near as messy.


King Daddy looks out for his girls. He is always looking for some little tidbit on the ground that he thinks one of them might like to eat. He makes the cutest little fuss, to try to get them to come over to see what he has, "Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!" If no one runs right over to get what ever he's trying to show them, he picks it up and drops it, like show-and-tell, and chirps some more. Picks it up again. The smart hens run over and get whatever he's showing them, sometimes plucking it right from his beak. It's very endearing to watch.

King Daddy lets his girls know when there's danger. There's a special sound for danger overhead, like hawks, owls, and the like. He makes another sound when there's a four-footed predator. There are certain movements that freak them out, and then they all go on and on, like a crowd in hysterics. Wave anything red at them and they go freaking nuts, you can't shut them up. There are some scenes in  Monty Python's Flying Circus that remind me of these chickens when they go nuts like that.

Today the roosters are out. When I went into the chicken pen to fill the waterer, somehow one of the barred rock hens escaped, the little ninja. I'm pretty good at keeping them at bay, but somehow she got through and I totally missed it, but, boy, as soon as she was out, here came all five of those roosters, as if to prove, once again, why they needed to be separated. As soon as the first one jumped on and off, I grabbed that hen and carried her back into the hen house. I imagine she had some 'splainin' to do when when got there, but at least she's safe again.

A Unicorn Named Roger

Most mornings I take a few minutes to go through a directed meditative process aimed at strengthening my intuition and developing my creativity. During part of this process, I visit a nature scene in my imagination. This nature scene is uaually similar from one day to the next, but I am likely to see some unusual things there sometimes. A "Marshmallow Tree," for instance. (Marshmallows as we know them do not ordinarily grow on trees.)  So, it seems, another thing I get to do in this process, is to ease up on "The Need To Be Right," and to allow more of the sense of wonder.

I am learning that when I get something unusual, to just go with it, and observe and remember, because when I come back to the ordinary world, I can look things up, maybe see what that means. It's been very informative, very interesting.

For example, the other day in my meditation I got the children's book, Green Eggs and Ham. I could see it as clearly as if I were holding the physical book in my hands. I opened it up and flipped through it. All the pictures and words were there. I thought, Green Eggs and Ham? Really? Okay, but why am I getting this? Stupid, I thought. 
But something said there's a reason... So when I came back to the ordinary world, I googled Green Eggs and Ham, and here's what I found out: It's about 
     Being presented with an idea                     
     Resistance
     Persistence                                            
     Resistance
     Persistence
     Resistance
     Persistence    
     Resistance
     Persistence 
    All right already, I'll try it, even though I know I won't like it, just so you'll shut up - hey, wait a minute - this isn't as bad as I thought - as a matter of fact, I like it, I like it a lot! I want some more!

This was a mind-opening experience for me. I can see that a worthy goal for me would be to excise most of the resistance out of the middle.

So this morning I had just arrived to my Nature Scene (the Marshmallow Tree is still there) and immediately in my face was a unicorn! Not distant or mysterious, not wild or skittish, but right there, face to face, blinking his big eyes at me. He was so close I could see he had freckles.  I thought, Unicorns have freckles? and he said, "Why not? Unicorns can have freckles."  I thought, I wonder if it has a name? and he said "You can call me Roger!" Roger? What kind of name is that for a Unicorn? and Roger threw his head back and laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, and then he said, "Green Eggs and Ham!" and ran away!

When I came back to the ordinary world I looked up Unicorns, which most people know are a legendary animal, generally depicted as a white horse with a single long horn coming from its forehead. Often considered to to be quite wild, the unicorn was considered to be a symbol of purity and grace, and the horn was said to have the power to to make poisoned water drinkable and to heal sickness. 

Then I looked up the name Roger, and guess what that means? Famous Spear! I got a Unicorn named Roger. My universe definitely has a sense of humor.

Tomorrow's Girls

     I was away last weekend. While I was away I left the roosters out (on purpose, because they can perfectly well fend for themselves) and left the hens (with one rooster) in the the chicken house with access to the enclosed chicken yard.
     It rained at least a little bit and sometimes a lot every day that I was gone, so the roosters got wet (sorry, boys), but that's the way it is sometimes.

     When I'm here, I gather eggs every day. I have six hens and get six eggs almost every day. Every once in a while one of the girls takes a day off, but only rarely. Sometimes one of the red hens, and I suspect it's the same one, lays an egg on the floor of the hen house or on the ground out in the pen, just right out in the middle of everything. Maybe she gets distracted, doesn't know it's coming, doesn't want to be bothered, I don't know. I don't bring those in the house. Don't be offended - the chickens have no idea what they're eating.
     A way back when we built that chicken house, we got hold of some nice galvanized nest boxes, a set of ten. I fill them with either wood shavings like I put on the floor of the chicken house, or shredded paper from my office (Reduce, Re-use, Recycle!). Most days when I go to gather eggs there will be one here, one or two there, and so on. I collect them and bring them in.  
     While I was gone, the girls laid most of their eggs in two specific next boxes, so these two boxes were full of eggs, as if they someone was thinking about going broody, as if chickens think. Oh, sure, they're smarter than they look, they're trainable - I wish I could train one to go broody and set a clutch of eggs, but that is an instinctual behavior. These girls are about a year and a half  old, now. I'm pretty sure if anyone was going to set a clutch of eggs, she would have started by now. They always did before. 
     I haven't dealt with those two nest boxes of eggs yet, but I'm going to have to soon, or they'll start to go bad. Do you know how nasty a rotten egg is?

     Meanwhile, I did gather two perfectly good eggs that I will have for breakfast (or brunch, now, as it's already after 10:30AM). On the way in the house Steely Dan's Tomorrow's Girls tuned up in my head. So I'm gonna go turn on some music, cook some eggs, and thank my hens for breakfast (or brunch), and hope that "Tomorrow's Girls" refers to the chicks that the broody hen of my dreams will hatch soon, even though I know that is not what that song is about!

Fireflies

Ran some errands earlier this evening, returning home just after dark, and was delighted to see my woods just sparkling with fireflies!

I Will Not

     Went out of town to take a class, which takes place on Friday evening, all day Saturday, and all day Sunday. After class on Friday I went up to my room, turned on the TV, put on my night gown, and got under the covers.

     I had just found some local news to watch when, at straight up 10:00 PM a siren went off.  Oh, brother. In a few seconds it stopped and a voice came over a speaker I hadn't  noticed before, saying, "Attention, attention! An emergency has been reported in the building. Please leave your room, do not run, proceed to the exit, and leave the building," and then the alarm came on again, followed by the announcement and so on.

      I looked at the red speaker on the wall and said, "I will not," and I sat right in that bed.

     I heard my neighbors up and down the fourth floor of the hotel evacuating as directed. I wondered what the emergency was. I checked in with Intuition and got that it didn't feel like fire. The hotel was chock-full of families with children who had been running up and down the halls all afternoon, going to each others rooms and back and forth to the pool and whatnot. Could one of those little yahoos have thrown a fire alarm, maybe to see what would happen? No, it didn't  feel like kids.  I thought of that movie where the character throws the fire alarm in a hotel to prompt an evacuation so he can get somebody, and Intuition said, interesting, but not tonight. It said, look, go or don't go, it's up to you. I was already in my nightgown, cocooned in the bed. I wondered if they would search the rooms, find me there, scold me for not leaving as directed. I decided I would take my chances. The alarm continued on for about ten minutes.

     In about thirty minutes I heard activity on the floor. I thought, well, either it's the room by room search, or they've let people back in. When no one pounded on my door, I knew it was my neighbors returning to their rooms. Everybody got all settled in, I had just drifted off to sleep, and about an hour later the alarm went off again, second verse, same as the first. I stayed put, just like before. When that alarm shut off I went back to sleep and son-of-a-gun if another alarm didn't go off about an hour later! 

     The next morning I learned several things:

          1. The good news is you definitely wont sleep through one of those alarms. 

          2. Indeed, it wasn't any of the kids, nor a fire. It was some defect in the alarm system.

          3. The manager on duty that night promised that night would be complimentary, but the manager the next morning didn't know anything about it (interesting).