Rooster (AKA Pretty Boy) is featured in the middle in all his glorious color, with one of our Barred Rock hens taking the opportunity to photo bomb
It’s been a hard two days on the chicken farm for this momma. I gave away two of my three roosters. Never thought I’d cry over chickens, but I’ve raised Rooster and Bird since they were hatchlings. Yes, we’re pretty original with the names around here.
The absolute worst is, I don’t know if they’re going to a farm or into a stew pot. I was afraid to ask. My neighbor told me her uncle had a farm; we sent our first rooster to the farm months ago, but I didn’t ask this time. I just asked if they still wanted roosters.
The next worst thing is that my pretty boy Americauna (Rooster) spent all day today calling me from his holding cell in the neighbor’s yard.
“Well, Mom, do you think I made a good choice?” We stared out the windshield of my parents’ van as my dad and new husband walked to the doors of a building.
She turned and looked me in the eye, one eyebrow slightly raised. “You really think it was your choice, Jahnelle?”
Memories of the past three years ran through my head. The first time I met this quiet, serious, shy guy who is now the Mr. to my Mrs., I was so full of mental anguish I couldn’t breathe because of it. At first, he was just a guy who went to the same church as me. Nice, but I wasn’t interested in – well, anything, to tell you the truth. I was lucky to get up in the morning and not fall apart.
For two years, he listened to me cry – hands in his pockets, warm brown eyes watching me. He became a friend, this calm man of few words. He asked questions, nodded at the answers or tilted his head to the side, inviting more. He listened as I worked through issues big and small. He was like those rocks in the middle of the Zen sand garden: peaceful quietude against my chaotic emotions. Continue reading →
Last time I published a post, I wrote about recently being diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Before that, I tried to find out what was wrong through the usual method of self-diagnosis: search engines. To tell you the truth, I’m not any happier to be able to put a name to it, especially since there isn’t much known anyway. Now I’m digging through the entire library of the Internet (which is, of course, absolutely huge) to find information. Continue reading →
About 3% of the U.S. population has it and approximately 83,000 are women. Although there’s lots of guessing by the medical community, there’s no known cause, no known cure, and most people consider it a “catch-all” diagnosis. Even some doctors believe it’s a psychological condition. Hypochondria, anyone? Well, it isn’t in my head. Continue reading →
A few months ago, my dad bought eleven chickens. He has since summed up the chicken caring experience like this, “Now I know when someone calls you a chicken, it’s really an insult.” Our little egg layers aren’t even laying eggs yet since they aren’t old enough to breed.
A few oddities:
One of our hens is a Silkie, given to my daughter by our neighbor who decided she needed a pet. J, who has unsuccessfully tried to name a series (and wide variety) of creatures Nala, now has a Nala of her very own. Apparently, Nala will be laying little eggs small enough that it’d take four or five to make a regular sized egg. I’ve never seen a chicken that looked like it had fur. Continue reading →
The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated ~ Mark Twain
When I first started Life, It’s a Work in Progress, I had all these insane dreams of how things were going to go. For example, I was going to post twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, without fail. After all, I’d actually like to build a readership and everyone knows you have to post on a regular schedule to do that. Otherwise readers get upset and go elsewhere, right?
In fact, my current site data tells me visitors disappear on the days I don’t post and take a week or two to come back. So, overall, keeping a schedule was a darn good idea. Right? Right. But.
Ah, yes. The well worn, often used, much smudged “but,” followed quickly by “life happens.” Continue reading →
I went and got my feelings hurt today because of a careless remark about a tattoo of mine. It’s the first time I’ve ever ended a conversation with my best friend feeling… well, less than beautiful. I wanted to cry. I wanted to smack them. Their words hurt, and it was about something I can’t change.
I’ve had this tattoo for over half my life – so long, in fact, that I barely notice it now. It’s just a part of me. And I think that’s what hurt. It felt, on some deep down level, that I had been rejected. This is someone who genuinely cares about me and is one of the most loving people I know. I knew better, and yet it still hurt.
As I’m dwelling on this, trying to swallow the hurt I know wasn’t intentionally inflicted, I got to thinking. This, as some of you know, is quite dangerous for me to do. And yet, sometimes, a little clarity and understanding comes out of it… Continue reading →