Pinterest widget

A sidebar gadget to allow you to link to your Pinterest account.  Mine is nice, yes? Mouse over the Pinterest images in the sidebar and they get bigger.  Wonderful.  And relatively painless to install if you pay attention!  Courtesy of Code It Pretty.

Note:  If you go over to your Pinterest, and pin new photos, they won't immediately be visible at the gadget. It takes awhile.  Just saying that in case you do exactly that and go back to your blog and scratch your head as to why they're not updated yet.

Now, if I could discover a foolproof way to have all my text line up on the left, and not leave me with indentions here and there.  Then I end up having to go back over my posts, backspacing and republishing.  Anyone have a solution for this?  It's a real problem when I change fonts.  Before Blogger offered so many fonts, it wasn't an issue.

Wanna wrestle?

Still thinking on a conversation I had with a neighbor's daughter earlier in the week. The neighbor was in his nineties and passed away on January 1st, but last year, before he moved out of his house and to his daughter's place, he was broken into.  While he slept.  Don't like the sound of that.  Anyway, the guy who got in took his t.v., but nothing else.  The police called the daughter this week saying they'd caught the guy.  She texted me about it and asked if our sons knew the burglar.

What?

After my face turned red and I got all kinds of mad, I went ahead and asked the boys if they knew anyone by the name of  'such and such'.  Of course they said no, and just shook their heads at the ridiculous nature of the question.

I texted her that they didn't (nicely, I might add) and asked why she'd think they'd know him. He's not even from this part of town.  Surely she just wasn't thinking.  Personally I found it offensive that it might even briefly pass through her mind that our sons would put someone on the prowl for her dad's house.  I mean, really.  As far as I know, our children don't make a habit of getting cozy with criminals.

She answered me by saying she really didn't think they knew him, but wondered if the name rang a bell.  Same difference, if you ask me.

I get myself into so much trouble by being a hot-head.  I don't mean to be, but I get so riled up.  Now I don't seem to be as effective with blood kin, but put a person outside the family in my face, and I'll get right back at them.  I really am like an old mother hen with our kids.  As far as I know that's not a crime, but to ask such an offensive question really moves into the realm of rudeness.

Wednesday

Sometimes there's too much movement around here.  Folks walking in and out.  Doors opening and shutting.  Dogs barking.  Lots of barking.  Turn-style living.

When I'm quiet on the bed, like now, I get all jittery when constant heads peek around the corner at me.  And when Gary has the t.v. on and is talking back to annoying commercials or news.  And then when the kids will come down and bounce on the bed in order to tell me things (waterbed....bounce, bounce).

My nerves jangle around.  And it's late and three of the boys are out, one at work who I can account for, one who should be home by now from visiting with friends, and one more who's been gone for awhile and will get home whenever he gets home.  I just like knowing where everybody is and when they'll be back.  Doesn't seem too much to ask. They're generally good about that, but every so often, they leave me dangling.

Blah, blah, blah.

After dinner, we decided (well, Gary decided) to let the chickens free-range in the backyard. I was paranoid that they'd fly to the top of our 6' wooden fence, but my worries were for nothing.  We sat in chairs in the backyard and they all stayed together, not wandering more than 10' from us.  Chickens are just that.  Chicken. They'd flutter up on the sides of the coop-in-progress, but no further.  When our next door neighbor fired up his lawn mower, they all stood stock still, cocked their heads and listened.  Same when he turned on the weed eater. Freeze!  No flying up and no misbehaving.  And while we won't leave them outside loose by themselves ever, it is wonderful to be able to give them a bit more freedom.

And on the plus side---it is very soothing to watch them scratch and wander about. They always stay together.  Always.  Mesmerizing, really.  Just slows a person down, watching chickens do their chickeny thing.  I highly recommend it.

Oh, and for a laugh, get this.  Our priest got about 8 chickens a month before we did. And remember this, here in town you can't have roosters.  Now while Gary showed real wisdom in buying chicks that had already been sexed to assure us getting females, our priest wanted to take his chances.  Out of 8 birds, he ended up with 6 roosters!  I think that's hilarious and miserable at the same time.  The sad part is that he and his wife got really attached to them, but happily they were able to give 5 of the roosters to a friend from church who has a farm across the state line.  One final rooster is still with them, not leaving I don't think until he begins to crow.  Apparently Leonard (rooster's wonderful name) is a lap-sitter, and full of charm.  Guess you could say they served as foster parents for the 6 roosters.  Darn.  That must be hard. You do get so attached.

More of My OCD---Obsessive Chicken Disorder

Two steps forward and one step back.  That's the way the chickens scratch.  Two steps up...then one back to see what they scratched up.  Repeat.  Repeat again.  Do a bit of a wiggle when you shuffle back and forth.  It's a chicken's way.

And a common quote, or pair of quotes have been spinning in my head.  Something about not putting the cart before the horse, followed closely by not counting your chickens before they hatch.  Runs along the line of one I just made up..."Don't buy your chicks before the coop."  Or you will also have a large Amazon cardboard box in your bedroom at night (to keep them away from curious dogs during the wee hours). Funny thing is, I've grown accustomed to their night-time sounds.  The chicks make a brrrrr sort of sound when they get to brooding for the night.  Pretend your Spanish teacher is teaching you to trill your R's. Same  sound. This is after they shuffle for dominance in whichever preferred corner of the box is choice for sleep.  They pile up together. Every night.  You'd think they were killing one another by how noisy they get before they go, "brrrrr," but so far, we've not noticed any plucked feathers the next day.  We thankfully don't have any aggressive chicks.

Second son said that because the chicks are growing so quickly, we're going to take the screen off the top of the box one morning, and there'll be standing room only.  The chicks will be standing shoulder to shoulder, not able to move.  If that happens, guess we'll just hunt for another box.  Huh.

Obsessed with Chicks

I felt like such a redneck yesterday.  Maybe if you feel like a redneck, then you really aren't one.  But, really, sitting in the backyard watching the chicks was like being on an urban farm, I guess.  The backyard is a MESS with construction on the upcoming coop in full swing.  Piles of wood, tar paper, and plain old stuff made for a very red-necky backyard experience.  Plus we have little grass, mostly under the clotheslines, but still, it's not a very nice-looking place.  And all the dirt/mud is covered in dog prints.  Ugly.

And silly me.  I optimistically took out my embroidery to work on while watching the chickens out back, who'd been inside all morning.  FYI, they're barricaded in part of the impending coop when they go out there, but we can't afford wire yet, so they can fly to the top of the temporary walls.  That's about 3 feet up, and easily reached.  I never knew chickens could fly until this madness.  Bummer.  Anyway, there I was (everybody was gone....which never happens anymore) and I'd gotten the chicks all settled, and I was sitting in a chair at the open end of the run.  Well, Piglet and Nora were very happy with taking a dirt bath, and Milk and Madelyn were minding their own business, which mostly consisted of digging up worms, poking them and leaving them for dead.  But Anastasia was a pain. She kept trying to go under my legs to the rest of the yard, and she's FAST.  Kept having to put down my handwork and watch her.  So much for multi-tasking.

And today we decided that for sure our dog, Romeo, is living here on borrowed time. He was cute when he was a puppy....when oldest daughter brought him home as a stray from her job, where he was dumped, but he's a bit unteachable.  Not sure what's up with that.  Anyway, he was out back when the least one was, she came in for a second, Milk got over the barrier and off she went with Romeo in swift pursuit. Thankfully, Milk still lives, though she was shaken up a bit.

Yes, I'm afraid chickens trump the idiot dog called Romeo.  Sad, but true.  He needs owners who won't be yelling at him all the time.  And our shepherd, Opal, would bow down and worship us if we gave him away. That might be cool.

'Francis, Man of Prayer' by Mario Escobar

After reading Mario Escobar's book Francis, Man of Prayer to review, I'm left with one thought.  It reads more like a lengthy encyclopedia entry than a biography.  I realize that historical information is important so that we can understand where Pope Francis has come from, yet the end result isn't personal, but more factual.

Don't get me wrong.  I like this new pope.  He seems sincere and as if he really wants to work with the people.  He's very engaging.  But to me he was displayed in the book almost as infallible.  He's human like the rest of us, and maybe I'd have to be Catholic to appreciate the honor bestowed on popes.

Still, for a book that was obviously whipped into shape at amazing speed, the information is helpful. Because of that, I would have been surprised if it had had a more personal edge to it, so a follow-up book after Pope Francis has proved himself might be advisable.

(i was given this book free to review from thomas nelson/booksneeze)

Saturday night chicken tales

...and sometimes Madelyn pulls out your hair

I can hear the chicks in their huge cardboard box up in the kitchen enjoying the macaroni and cheese I just gave them.  Their second helping.  They think it's yummy. They also like fresh bell pepper, though turn up their beaks at bananas.  At the very top of the delicious list is fresh roaches.  I know.  Disgusting.  You should hear/see them race around playing keep away.  I try to hurry though the room when they're in their box (with a screen on the top to deter escapees) because they'll look up and start this mournful chirp.  It actually sounds like they're saying, "Hay-ulp.  Hay-ulp." (they're not old enough to cluck yet) Always makes us laugh, but feel guilty as well.  The little beggars are always open for treats, and sometimes I just open the fridge and grab something.  Noodles and white rice are favorites as well.  They do eat chick feed, but love it when we feed them table scraps, which surprisingly to me, is allowed and encouraged by chicken folks (of which we are laughingly a part).

With the heavy rain we've had the last couple of days, Gary's not been able to coop-build.  But the chicks have been able to play outside anyway, getting into puddles and just meandering around.  We keep them barricaded pretty well, and usually the least one keeps watch.  There are hawks about.

Take care now and enjoy your weekend. Tomorrow will be church and then helping fourth son make homemade mint chip ice cream.  Chillin' as well.