Its days like this, sunny and cool, Mother's Day, half-way watching the morning shows and half-way hearing that Obama is actually, really, realistically the democratic nominee, for whatever that's worth, that I gotta just take
Frank Rich's advice:
While we wait out her [Hillary's] self-immolating exit, it’s a good time to pause the 24/7 roller coaster for a second and get our bearings.
To some that may mean reconsidering what year this all is comparable to; has there ever been a year like this? I mean, come on, hasn't this been the most unbelievable 7+ years in modern American history just due to the boldness of whats gone on if nothing else, capped by this year of...of...well, what would you compare it to? Sometimes I wonder about Rich,( I always wonder about Dowd, ) there is something a little wrong there, and his choices do it for me less and less these days.
Due to a real lack of free time, while spending a down and dirty year, quite by accident doing some hands-on helping of inner city kids and dealing with the system that is in place for the other America, Ive found myself with less and less time for bullshit. So, out of some sort of underdeveloped survival instinct, Ive been seeing what life is like to just not even waste time on silly busy work, like comparing this year to that year or trying to unravel the morning idiots. Blogtopia (
Skippy!!) is no doubt full of people who can and will do that with one hand while doing real in-depth reporting with the other, so, I figure that I should aim my few still-beating brain cells at something or other that doesn't fill me with the equivalent of cheetos; air and oil and cheese powder. So, today, on this day-o-Moms, (and the sad last day of
Sammy Seder's Sunday Show, 4PM EST,) its Mom's choice day.
Hearing
Marc Maron this past week on
Air America Radio also reminded me of the clarity that comes from focusing on the 3 or 4 things that are really happening, and using the rest of my confusing, mixed-up life for the sort of busy work that, for me, is somehow reassuring and calming. Marc seems to be soothed by focusing on his own neurotic self, but for me, if I can just try to get out of that a little.... I live in a sort of bohemian dream with chickens walking through scenes of dappled sunlight, and every day unfolding into some sort of mini chaos that allows for all sorts of doable problem solving, (if I don't kill myself along the way.) There is something about just doing the chores and keeping things running, that makes for sanity of some sort.
So, today I am doing a little chicken blogging, politics be damned. Ive got Mom here puttering round and trying to figure out what different animals mean by the tone of their cluck or growl, (I said bohemian, right?) and my sister , with hopes of a fancy restaurant up-by-her of course, while my slacker teen sleeps and the other one is lauding his "Mom" downtown, waiting to come back to the ranch.
I'm reading
Tiabbi's new book, The Great Derangement, and Cliff Schecter's still fresh book, The Real McCain (see my Amazon widget on the right for that and more suggestions,) and trying to focus and project on whats ahead, while staying mindful of the ever changing textures here, where the leaves are out so quickly and if you didn't have rader of some sort, you could forget where you are in the mental GPS of things.
Spring at the ranch brings the inevitability of the arrival of a box o' chicks from the mailman and
My Pet Chicken. This one contained 16 fluffballs of different breeds, from the Polish with the big puffy head feathers,
to the Turkens with the naked necks (see pics of my actual Turkens below.) This year I got my mom some "real" chickens like she had in Illinois as a farmgal, (only till she was 12, as evidenced by the way she overheated and killed 10 chicks while I was at Yearly Kos last year,) in the form of 2 full sized white leghorns; they were out of Jersey Giants at MPC....oh well...there are always more chickens to be had, and here Ive got Favreolles, and d'Uccles, and all sorts of crazy brands, including the Americuanas which lay light blue and light green eggs.
************************clutch o' babies************************
***********************Turken********************
************************Polish*********************
*************************unknown baby; very cute and tiny****************
*************************Polish posing**************************
My new discovery this year, (last year it was ordering
hatching eggs on eBay...hence the multitude of roosters; because you don't get just hens when you hatch eggs!)is
EggBid, and the insane practice of shipping live adult birds in bird boxes. So, I won a trio of Frizzle Turkens, who are my absolute favorite creatures.
Now, some may call them ugly, and some may call them strange...but, this is the kind of thing that is right up my alley along with pin feathered baby parrots and hairless rats (or, as we call them around here, Chihuahuas.) I also got a real barred bantam Aracuana hen for my Coonie roo...oh this is starting to sound silly....but suffice to say that Ive been receiving birds in boxes.
Also joining us this spring is Blackie the hamster...don't ask me why I was compelled to buy another rodent when I had sworn them off, but Ben loves him and he is the cutest creature in the world. Ben named him Blackie the Token. I think Ben can do that, just like he can use the N-word (though hes not allowed to at my house at least...and its not his style anyway.)
And then there's Spike, who weighs just 2 lbs at 7.5 months old, and who was very, very sick, wasting away for months in a puppy store...and who is now much better, thank-you-very-much, and loves to jump on my keyboard and bully the big dogs, but who has managed to give one of my other dogs
Giardia and worms and whatever else puppy mills spread around these days. I had a half assed plan that after my older dogs start to go, I might just consider a retired racing Greyhound, but somehow I came across the exact opposite, and the rest is history. So cute and self possessed is Spike, that he draws attention to himself so that its hard to get through a store without people stopping in awe. His size is a bit daunting, but hey, maybe he'll grow a little before hes 1...
This is my William on the right with his cousin Zach on the left....both are 14 and disgruntled, both over 5'10" and still growing like weeds.....Ben? Where is Ben?...oh OK...
He is very shy lately, as they all are, so this is a little old, and it was actually taken upside down...I need some new pics where everyone doesn't look like they are being tortured.
I also have been keeping Poison Dart Frogs, which is something that has been in the planning for years (along with the reef tank, but that will have to wait.) The invention of a particular terrarium that has layers of different substances that, with a little misting, creates a self sustaining system that needs little to no cleaning, has made this easy; the invention of flightless fruit flies even moreso.
I used to keep Whites Tree frogs before we were struck with a quite strange and rare parasite in the form of a long worm that emerged from my frog's leg one day and that needed to be sent to some university for study, causing the frogs to have to be put to sleep, and I have done more reading about them than actually moving towards getting them. That is until Todd and I went to the reptile show to get some
Jacksons Chameleons for
the bird store. I became sort of fixated on the
Black Jungle booth...and, well, you know....
And, now I want a Jackson Chameleon again after hanging out with the 3 that Todd bought. My old one Jaques, was a grand old man by the time he passed away a few years ago...I really enjoyed him.
Anyway, I'm sure that's not all, but I guess that puppy worms aside, I really enjoy the animals most in life.
Last night, in a sort of idyllic splendor, I grilled salmon while Will tossed a Frisbee with his friend. I was filling the chicken waterer with my Jardines parrot, Kitty, who has her flight feathers cut, or so I thought....well, a shocking sound sent Kitty flying in full arc around the house and up into a tree, just out of reach of me dangling off another tree with a rake in my hand....and then off she went again to an old hemlock by the road, on a level with the power lines...which was where I found myself teetering on the top of a very, very old extension ladder with my Mom and complaining son, (apparently a stick fell in his eye,) holding the the thing, reaching up towards her, just grabbing a tail feather or finger, to have her turn and squawk and try to bite me with that big beak...and finally yelling "Kitty, step up!" she did, and I grabbed her hard and shakily descended the ladder.
It was up there on a level with the power lines, realizing that a fall from there could really, really hurt me...like, ambulance and hospital and casts, that I realized that I'm getting a little old for this stuff. But then, I also felt like I had solved a problem, (the bigger problem was solved in trimming her wing feathers this morning,) and that I have some control over my overabundant, crazy, confused life.
I suppose I don't have to go risking my life to feel that, but often I'm compelled by the moment, and ...whats a mother to do?....My Mom was standing below me shouting what seemed like inane directions to me, and she said "just let her bite you," which, if you saw her beak in person or have ever been bit by a parrot might sound sort of crazy, but I was actually thinking the same thing. And that's why we're moms, I guess...at some point you just put your hand in the poo or get bitten or hold a toddler while it projectile vomits across the room, and then methodically clean it up while weeping...today I'm covered with scratches and bruises, and so is my mom, though to a lesser extent...we did have some moments where the ladder swayed out of our control and we were trying to get ahold of it in a keystone cops manner, at one point with it falling actually on us, giving us matching shoulder bruises, with mine being worse and hers showing up more...but we lived to go and sit around the cluttered table and watch the large screen TV which only elicits talk of how things look rather than paying attention to the show thats on.
Happy mothers day to all you Moms out there, to all you dads who are also doing the mom job, and to all you folks who have the mother gene and express it on other's children and also on pets...this day is more about having a certain kind of empathy than a DNA match between one child and one woman....and a big part of that is about how most women are, (and some men too,) in taking care of business no matter what. That Mom thing runs deep, and its something to look towards in regards to regaining what America was before Bush drove this country into the ground.
And finally: Woostie still needs a home, I guess) He has been so bad lately as far as standing in the street stopping traffic and crowing at odd hours. Some of that has been solved with me caging him and covering him with a blanket at night, but he is still a handful here...and a great, loving guy, who is a good watch-bird... He just needs a whole flock of hens all his own!....
Labels: Baby Birds, Ben, Chickens, Parrots, wild animals, Will
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