A brief, quiet moment

~milk giving me the death stare

Milk, chicken of my heart, is now molting and has a big bare spot on her duff.  She just waddles around like everything's fine, which is wonderful.  In strict contrast to Anastasia who appeared to be suffering from a stroke.  She'd have to trace alongside the coop fence to get where she was going, since she couldn't run in a straight line.  Thankfully she's fine now.  Must mess with their nervous systems, all that feather dropping.  (The above-photo is from last week, when Anastasia would get trapped in the corners of the yard, indicated, and when Milk was still gorgeous.)

House is relatively tidy.  The girls have been awesome.  The least one polished our sweet collection of silver (all from my dear friend, Tina, but about three serving pieces and a fork and some knives from my grandparents), a job she loved.  Middle daughter has spent the last two days freshening up the paint in our 'only' bathroom.  Sixty plus years of yuck in that room, which has always been a major eyesore.  We're only the third owners of this house, but the second owners were self-improvement junkies, sadly they were amateurs.  Plastered 12" ceiling tiles indiscriminately, put up paneling (which we immediately painted over) and hung Masonite on the bathroom walls.  Still, I love the house, but like all of us, it has its flaws.  Tall son, the one in California, remarked on the bathroom ceiling last time he was in town, which has the tiles.  They're coming loose around the fan, and he said they looked about to fall.  I reminded him that they've been doing that for years.  And if they fall, they'll fall softly.

Not on my radar.

Resting now.  Scrambled eggs and buttered toast for dinner.  Church service.  The girls will make pies when we get back home.  We're on a roll, and I ain't lettin' nothin' get me down.

Take care all.