Coffee

Let not your heart be troubled......
--John 14:1


Yesterday was a rough day.  (Please recall the flat-tire-missed-practice-frozen-chicken-escapee-bunnies morning.) But, there is something special, perhaps magical, about a frozen lake house. Quiet and calming, it is a place of tranquility, of cozy, simplistic order. Covered in snow, bright and sparkling or dark and hushed, it is the essence of beauty. It is that place where the stresses and problems of the world seem to melt gently away. You can forget your self here. Or find it.

Arriving is not easy though. After all the preparation and planning beforehand (not my strong suits), there are way too many bags, boxes and backpacks to lug through the snow and into the house, while also remembering to let go of your burdens at the door. Yet, we had managed all of that, had enjoyed a (not-so) quiet day of games, reading, general mess making and bickering over what is more wasteful, eating the chips or not eating the chips, and then sat down for a healthy, life sustaining family meal.

It was during the cleaning up after dinner that I accidentally knocked the coffee carafe into the sink, fracturing it into several irreparable pieces. Now, those of you who have come to love (i.e. NEED) your morning cuppa understand the shock and horror of such an accident. I mean, a flat tire is one thing but this. THIS! The weight was almost too much. Ridiculously, it was as if the shards of glass had pierced my heart. (Perhaps I need to consider my coffee "needs".) Having just discovered Bulletproof Coffee the week before, and having brought all my special stuff to make it, I was at a loss. I went to bed heartbroken that, not only had I broken someone else's coffee carafe, but tomorrow would simply not be what I had hoped (a snuggly Valentine's Day with a cup of warm joe in one hand, a book in the other while curled up next to a cozy fire.) Slumber did not come easily, and my sleep was fitful at best.

Around 12:45 a.m. Madeline woke up, calling for me from upstairs. I eagerly bounded up the staircase, thankful for the distraction from beating myself up. She was cold and implored me to turn the heat up. (Note: She had asked us not to turn the heat on before she went to bed so that she wouldn't be too hot. Kids.) I got her tucked back in, adjusted the thermostat slightly and then went back to bed. While I meditated on our fast from wastefulness, and reviewed the happenings of the last few days, the words "with God, all things are possible" ran through my head and I was struck with an idea: the coffee maker here is so old that it doesn't have that auto pause feature that allows you to pour coffee while it is still brewing. Admittedly, this is something I have grumbled about in the past. Clearly one of those disguised blessings as I now realized I could use ANYTHING to catch the coffee in the morning. My heart leapt like George Bailey at the end of It's a Wonderful Life. I drifted easily off to sleep after that with gladness and thanksgiving.

Thank you, Pyrex! And you, too, old Mr. Coffee who used to annoy me so!

Sunday arrived, and with it, coffee! Armed for the day, we loaded up and trucked into the little town (of like twelve people) to go to a local church. We about doubled the congregation, which we were assured was because of how cold it was that morning which tends to keep both the elderly and the young families at home. But it was what we needed.

In the Children's part of the service, the minister wrote out Valentines cards for each of the kids. He started with the children he knew, wrote their names on their cards and handed them out. He then turned to our children and asked each of them to choose between Star Wars and Avengers, then wrote down their names.

He started with Solomon.

"Hi! What is your name, son?"

Without missing a beat, Solomon solemnly replied, "Steve."

We about fell out of our seats. The minister began writing Steve on the card while the rest of us laughed so hard some of us were crying. The girls explained to the minister that that was not actually his name, just what he currently wanted to be called.

"So, Steve, do you have another name? Maybe an alias? You know, how Spiderman is actually Peter Parker by day?"

He shrugged. "Solomon, I guess."

And so he had his special Valentine......

And I had mine.

Ah! happy those whose heart can break
 And peace of pardon win!
How else may man make straight his plan
 And cleanse his soul from sin?
How else but through a broken heart
 May Lord Christ enter in?
--Oscar Wilde

  

Clutching Grace

We ought to approach Lent as an opportunity, not a requirement. 
-Editors, from the devotional Bread and Wine

On Day 2 of Lent I received a frantic call from a neighbor whose oldest child is suffering from bouts of severe depression. She has seven kids, a husband out of town and she needed help with two of her younger children so that she could get her son to a residential clinic in another state.

Right away I knew I had been blessed with this opportunity to help someone in a very tangible way. After dropping my kids off at school, I showed up at her house, held her baby while she got her kids ready, and just listened. She warned me that her three year old daughter was her "devil child" and thanked me for my willingness to help her out as none of her friends had answered her call or returned her messages. I assured her it was no problem at all, I mean, what's another couple of kids for a day?

Let's just say that her assessment of her daughter is pretty much on target. I have never seen a child quite like her: she can't stay still for two seconds, is all over the place, and her life's purpose is apparently to break any rule you set in front of her, with a sweet, innocent smile on her face. She is a precious little devil, to say the least.

At one point, she was sitting (and by sitting I mean she was half standing) on the bench at the kitchen table and started leaving with a fistful of pretzels clutched in one hand and a mouth so full I thought she might start spitting crumbs out at any moment.

"B, where are you supposed to eat in my house?" I asked her.

She mumbled something that sounded close to "at the table" and then smiled a huge grin complete with partially chewed up pretzels oozing between her teeth.

I helped her sit back down and as soon as she was done swallowing, she stuffed another fistful in and proceeded to get up again.

"B, please sit back down. You cannot leave the table until you are done chewing AND swallowing your food."

She gave me that devilish grin again. Clearly we were playing a fun game.

After several more rounds of this, she grabbed one more pretzel and started to "slip away" as she watched to see if I was paying attention. She was tickled pink when I held out my hand and asked her to give up the pretzel before she headed off to destroy the rest of the house. And so went the next nine hours.

Two days later, it would be me who needed the help. A flat tire lead to a little panic as I could not make it to the training facility I was supposed to coach at, there were kids and parents waiting to get in and it was single digits cold outside and our trainer had decided not to go that morning but hadn't told me. Furthermore, Kurt had taken his truck to pick up Aidan from swimming and go north to his parent's lake house with the boys (where we would meet up after soccer) and so now I was to get the tire fixed, reload the truck (dog and all) and somehow manage to get to the four hours of scrimmages with the girls after feeding and watering the chickens, where I found our Houdini bunnies roaming the shed, whose door was wide open and the chickens inside were shivering from the deep freeze of the night before!

I took a lot of deep breaths, reminding myself that I hadn't had to check in my child to a hospital for suicidal thoughts, that everyone was well, the chickens were still producing, the bunnies had not left the barn and soon I would be tucked away in the still of a private retreat.

AAA took almost two hours to arrive, only to tell me that my best bet was to blow up the tire and get to the closest tire center to have it fixed, rather than put a spare on and go on a road trip. After he added air and checked the rest of the tires, I thanked him for his time (even though I was pretty annoyed as I could have done that like three hours earlier and been off already). And then I immediately phoned a friend for help in getting the girls to where they belonged so that I could take care of the rest. I will admit, God has gifted me with very good friends in my life. I am utterly grateful.

While waiting in the lobby for the tire to be patched, I had the rare moment of no kids and nothing to do. That is when I received a phone call from a parent in Liam's class. You see, Liam has been invited to his first ever sleep over birthday party. Actually, this is only the second birthday party he has ever been invited to, which is sad when I stop to think about it. But then, I had requested to speak with this mom to make sure she knew how overstimulated Liam can sometimes get and that he might incessantly talk her ear off, if given the opportunity, and could very possibly rile the entire group up, although, I don't know for sure as he had never been given this kind of opportunity. At one point, I told her she was brave for inviting all the boys in the class for a sleepover party but as it turns out, she only allowed her twins to invite 6 boys.

And Liam made the cut! 

My heart was so full as it sunk in that Liam had been chosen, had been picked out by actual kids his age (whom apparently talk about Liam all the time to their mom because, as she put it, they simply love Liam) and that he would have the opportunity to participate in what is essentially a childhood rite of passage.

And then, perhaps due to the ridiculousness of the morning, tears started edging their way to the corners of my eyes, right there in the tire center. And it occurred to me that with God, we are all chosen, all called upon to participate, all invited to sit at the table and partake of God's everlasting love and grace.

And then, something dawned on me. I am just like my neighbor's daughter: trying to stuff myself as fully as possible while quietly plotting my escape from the table, all the while, clutching grace tightly, as if my life depended on it.

And it does.

As Paul wrote in Romans: 'For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.'

Fortunately, God has His eyes on us, knows when we get up to leave and like any good parent, calls us back to stay at the table.

Fortunately, that grace we clutch onto, clutches onto us, too.



 

Really? REALLY?!

True confession: Sometimes, when faced with what seems like an impossible biblical story, I feel a sense of sarcasm outrage.

Don't get me wrong. I have no plans on pulling off some crazy, movie-worthy scene of insanity but I am often left wondering what the H. E. DoubleHockeySticks was God thinking. It's like this intricate little dance we play out, over and over and over. He is who He is, does what only He can get away with and I shake my head in absolute incredulity because really God? REALLY?!

That's right folks. Sometimes I find myself JUDGING GOD! (Please pause for a moment of silent meditation as you think through that.)

Day Two of Lent found me reading the story of Abraham....you know, the story where God asks Abraham to sacrifice his only son, Isaac.  So, here's the thing. Abraham was an old guy. Perhaps what God actually said was to sacrifice A Yak and Abraham just misheard him. A YAK! Abraham, A YAK! Not ISAAC!

For the love of......why on earth would God ask someone to kill their own kid?

But Abraham, in all his faith and obedience, showed up. And he didn't waste any time either I tell you. Makes you wonder what kind of kid Isaac was really. But what we do know is that Isaac wasn't dumb because half way up the mountain there's Isaac scratching his head saying, "Um, dad? Wait a second. We have all the stuff to kill and burn the lamb but we have no lamb.....where's the lamb?" (That's right Abraham.....he's on to you.)

And Abraham, very composed, responds: "God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son." (Don't trust him Isaac! RUUUUUN!)

The story continues and right before Abraham sacrifices his son, an Angel calls out for him to stop.  "Abraham!"

"Here I am," he replies and is then told not to lay a hand on his helpless, bound up son. Phew. Disaster averted. A yak, Abraham! A YAK! (Or a ram, whatever.)

And the rest of the unwritten story is that Isaac becomes the first human needing intensive mental health counseling for the REST OF HIS LIFE! (Many thanks, God.)

But, here's the thing. When you back up and reread earlier in the story of Abraham and Isaac, you read that God promises to establish his everlasting covenant with Isaac and his descendants. God made a promise. The only way I can explain this story and Abraham's response is that he remembered God's promise and he trusted God.

Over and over God makes His promise to us. A promise to remove our hearts of stone and give us new hearts, and a new spirit so that we will be transformed. Into the likeness of God. But first, like Abraham, we must show up. (Watch out, kids.....I'm not old and slow like Abraham....)

****

So there we were, the first morning of our family's Lenten Fast and the kids are all in the kitchen rummaging through the pantry and refrigerator saying, "Well shoot, what CAN we eat?"

You see, our family decided that our journey would be a "Fast from Wastefulness". We vowed to give up wasting time, money, talents, food, stuff, etc. etc....... Easy peasy Mac-n-Cheesy, right? (Well, except for the Mac-n-Cheese part, which would be a waste of calories.....) But this fast is already causing such huge dilemmas that it added twenty extra minutes to our morning routine yesterday and Madeline ended up being 10 minutes late to school. And while I had half a mind to claim religious reasons for her tardiness, I figured having to explain that we were fasting from wastefulness and then managed to waste extra time getting ready was probably not what they mean by Religious Practices. (Uh, strike one?)

But, before you start questioning my motives here, think about all the grey areas in this life. In one day of "fasting" my kids have learned that sometimes you have to choose between bad and worse....sometimes you just can't win. (Do we eat the open bag of cereal that is not healthy and therefore wasting the calories we fuel our bodies with, or do we not eat it and then waste food that we have purchased which means we have to spend, [waste?] more money on something else? There is waste either way.)

I like to think of it as a platform to teach about biblical contradictions (God is Love but then asks someone to sacrifice their only son.....which IS NOT LOVING, GOD! Just sayin'.....) Kurt likes to think of it as a good lesson in economic trade offs. Either way, it's like a win-win, by way of failing. Easy-Peasy, without Mac-N-Cheesy!

Lenten Parenting

As it turns out, just showing up is often frowned upon in our culture. It is standard to bring something to a dinner party, to doll yourself up for a night out with friends, to prep for a meeting, to study for the test, to train, to rehearse, to do something before you get to wherever you are going.  I can recall one hectic Sunday in which some of my kids were still in their PJ's, hair unbrushed, faces smeared with breakfast, mucus, perhaps some tears, others in sports clothes and just as unkempt, and I probably looked like I had just returned from hours in the coop, when we finally slid into the back row of the church, several minutes late. One older man, a deacon in the church, eyed us with what seemed like utter disgust. Clearly, we were not "church-ready" by his standards. And while I know God doesn't impose those same human conditions on our outwardly self, that feeling that surged through me is unforgettable: one of judgement, of disdain and shame. I wanted to yell at him, tell him he had no idea what the last hour had been like for us, that we were just lucky to have made it at all, and that we NEEDED to be here as much as anyone, possibly more. Instead, I quietly prayed that both our hearts would be softened and mended. And then offered him the passing of the peace. Clearly he needed it as much as I did.      

So as I was thinking about Lent, it occurred to me (on Fat Tuesday) that if I was going to make the effort to show up for this season of preparation, and I wanted my family to tag along on the forty day journey, that I might actually need to put something together this time.

At any rate, I called the pastor at our former church in Minnesota. (In and of itself, calling to ask for help points to growth at least somewhere in my life! Ooooh, the vulnerability!) I guess my hope was that maybe they had some little family devotional e-book that they could simply email me. No such luck. (But not a bad idea for any church if you ask me!) Nonetheless, the conversation was affirming and renewing and lifted my spirits. And it assured me that I was on the right track at some level.

By mid-day on Ash Wednesday, I finally made my way to Google and found some good free resources.....right after ordering a bunch of family devotionals on Amazon. (Admittedly, my timing is not always what it should be.)

Anyway, I found that by piecing the two free devotionals together, we had something worthwhile to guide us through the rawness of Ash Wednesday, and the whole mess beyond.

That night, we read from Genesis, the story of Adam and Eve and their partaking of the fruit and their eyes being opened to everything. (Poor souls!) And we stopped at the point where God's strolling along and calls out to them: "Where are you?"

Well, that is where I stopped it anyway.....the devotional carried on to consequences and such but I could not get past the fact that even though God knew what had happened, he still searched for them, called for them, beckoned them forward....like any loving parent, He still wanted to be in relationship with His children, no matter how strained it had become.

And so I explained to my family that God is searching for us, too, calling us by name, asking us to show up, wherever and however we are. Even now.

It also occurred to me that this story resonated with me on an entirely different level. You see, God set a rule for his naive children, then took his eyes off of them for like two seconds, didn't bother to vet the company that they kept (darn serpent) and then came back, only to find that they had been disobedient (uh, duh....) And while they were busy pointing fingers at each other (well, you know, except for the serpent who didn't have fingers to point!), he totally freaked out on them.....condemning them to a life of pain, suffering, toil, sweat, bread-eating and finally DEATH. I mean, really! Kind of overkill God, don't ya think? Sheesh. (First time parents....)

But we can glean a lot from this story. I mean, even God felt like inflicting suffering on his children in the name of consequences. I get that. I really do. Which is why next time my kids fall out of line I am just going to calmly repeat in my most ominous voice: "You are dust and to dust you shall return." And then lock them all out of the house.

Hey, if it's good enough for God.....




Day one. We showed up.

Ash Wednesday: Showing Up

"I've missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I've lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I've been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed." -- Michael Jordan

It is a favorite quote in our house, one that hangs in Kurt's office, one that we make our kids read when they are up against the stresses of life and fear of possible failure. We cling to it like a kitten hanging from a high branch because we so want to believe that in the end our efforts, our failings and eventual successes will amount to something, will lift us up and bring us home to a place of safety and peace. 

When I ponder the journey to success through the lens of that quote, I envision a staircase, one that starts off with long, deep steps, whose foundation is made of messes and failure. And each step becomes more and more focused toward the top, yet still resting on that foundation of mistakes. More often than not misery and doubt carpet that early, messy place. But somewhere along the lines, those steps become small successes, and the momentum takes a turn, a new rhythm  develops, and the person reaching for that lofty goal, so determined to succeed, fails to even notice that no longer are they tiptoeing around their mistakes and messes but are being uplifted by their own success, no longer needing the stairs at all.....they reach a point where they can take off and soar. 

The thing is, most of us, leading ordinary lives, are not basking in the glow of MVP awards, championship trophies, fame, fortune. We do not always even have an end game, cannot even see a goal at the top, and are left wondering if there is one at all. We get stuck in the ruts of the stairs, sliding backward as often as we make progress, and when we read things about finding purpose and calling and thriving, not just surviving, our eyes glaze over as we scroll through our to-do list in the back of our heads and realize we have missed half of it, if we have even begun at all.....and the bacon is burning in the oven and the water is overflowing in the sink and someone clogged a toilet and everyone is hungry......and we realize that WE are hungry too. We simply cannot juggle all the balls we have going. Who has the time to sacrifice for success? And what is success if not the culmination of the many pieces of ourselves, good and bad, all coming together? 

This is the place I find myself in as we again begin the Lenten journey. I want to say that, because I am so empty, I do not need 40 days to ponder, to purge, to resist temptations, to prepare myself for the blessing of Easter. But the fact is, since moving here, my spiritual journey has stalled and taken a back seat, leaving me a lost wanderer in an increasingly bare desert.....perhaps the perfect place to find myself at the start of this season; unfamiliar and full of trepidation, yet somehow safe for I know I am not alone on this much needed journey. 

We do not show up whole and perfect. We do not need to. We cannot. Instead, we show up messy and fragmented, discontent and consumed and empty, and face to face with as many failings as there are stars in the sky. But we show up anyway. Just as God wants. And we are loved. 

And that is why we succeed. 

How is it February?

Several years ago,  you may recall that I lead the blog through a minimalist phase.....you know, where I started purging the house of as much stuff as I could. Much to Kurt's dismay, I believe I only made it through the first few stages of my Pack Rat Anonymous posts but still, by the end of the experience, we were well on our way to be a little lighter in our house.

Well, little did I know that part of the minimalism would include such a huge reduction in blog posts. It used to be that I blogged several times a week.....sometimes daily. And then Solomon came along and RUINED EVERYTHING! Ok, not really. He is actually a pretty cool little chap, you know, when he isn't destroying things. (So much for his name meaning "peace" and all.)

So, last month, he turned 5. FIVE! He will head to kindergarten this fall. He will learn to ride a bike (maybe) and tie shoes (assuming I stop buying velcro) and read (if he ever puts the guns down long enough to actually learn his letters and sounds)..... Already he can beat me at a game of Jenga (which I am pretty sure says more about my poor Jenga skills than it says about him) and he knows how to smooth talk his way in and out of anything. (Like the time he came into the kitchen and asked: "Mom, you know why I always kiss you and hug you?"
"Why's that Solly?" I asked back.
"Because I loooove you," he said. Then there was a slight pause as he handed me Liam's iPad. "Can you enter Liam's passcode for me?"......Sigh.
It's like butter.)

Solomon is quite the little guy, full of energy, curiosity and loads of love. He's already putting himself out there as the ladies' man, has a crush on a little girl in his class, whom he has declared his heart to, and his favorite place is still in my way, er, I mean, in my lap, layering me in hugs and kisses. He's a mama's boy to be sure (which is only annoying half the time) and he is of his own (read: stubborn) mind. He is certainly our kid on every level.

So, the day before his fifth birthday, he declared:
"Mom, I know what my name should be," as if he had been working on this for years and had finally come up with the right answer.
"Oh really? What should your name be?" I curiously wanted to know.
"Steve Rogers," he answered emphatically. "It is the best name, a good name, and I would like to be called Steve Rogers from now on."

Thank you, Captain America! Not only do you save the world repeatedly while acting as eye candy to an entire generation of women, but you have now solved the problem of what we should have named our son from the get go. (It's like he has some faint, subconscious memory of having been unnamed for the first few days of his life and the drama that seemed to unfold at the announcement of his given name. You can read that post here.)

Anyway, Solly turned 5, and then Liam turned 8 last week and now February has snuck up on us, as if we were in a rush to get somewhere. Slow down, Father Time, if not just for a moment, so that I can etch into memory these days that arrive too soon and are gone as quick.

Madeline's precision made for a lovely Steve Rogers Cake.  

Fiiiive, Silkie Roos, Part 3

Alls well that ends well.....assuming it ends!

A week or so after Rooster #3 appeared, I got THIS email:

Hey Karen!  (and A*.  I figured we might as well continue to keep you in the chicken loop :)

How are Eli and his new girlfriends doing?  Maddie is doing really well.  She is bonding with our two Buff Orphingtons, but prefers to sleep alone in a separate coop.   

Yesterday, Jo(e), our white bearded Silkie, decided to tell us that she is a he and thus we must change the spelling of his name.  :(  Kids are so upset and we are all just completely shocked.  Not sure if you wanted another roo.  I’m sure we can find him a home elsewhere if you do not want him. 

Hope all is going well with you and your chicken-hater neighbors!

Looking forward to your reply,

J*

(Seriously, how can one resist THAT beauty of a WHITE rooster?!)

****

And THAT is how we ended up with a 5th rooster.....(This is Common Core Math y'all.....3-3+3+1=5 (because I forgot to tell you about that OTHER silkie that ended up being a rooster....so really there should be another 1 in that equation but why mention ALL the facts when you can leave stuff out?!) and to complicate matters, I am almost positive one of the others is a closet rooster too.....he is just waiting to let us know until the time is right I am sure, like right smack dab in the middle of a HUGE family function where all our friends and neighbors are around to get in on the family dirt....so, 3-3+3+1 might now = 6!) 

So, I responded with something like this:

Yeah, it’s always tough when they surprise you with that whole gender change thing. But better now than a few mates or successful careers later…..just sayin’. 

Sooo, you know I wanted a white rooster…..and actually I ended up with one after all was said and done. Then, last week, one of my most beautiful Silkies (Whole Grain) started crowing….so, I am up to 4 roosters…..I haven’t decided how to proceed. I have some crow collars I was going to try. They are these collars that you put on slightly tight against their neck and it helps keep them a little quieter. I didn’t think they worked too well with my Three Stooges but I am hoping maybe these guys are young enough that they will learn. If they work well, you could potentially bring Eli home again. I would trade you for the white one if you like, lol. But we really like Eli. He is a cool little guy and is doing very well here. He is quite the social butterfly that one…. 

I will get the collar on him tomorrow and see if it makes a big enough difference for him to be a city dweller again but don’t hold your breath. I didn’t want to say anything before because really, they didn’t do a darn bit of good with my other guys and I wasn’t even going to try again but now, with four roosters crowing, three french hens, two turtle doves….doh, sorry….. I think I had better give it a go. (That darn Christmas song really missed out on their number 4…..but if I take your beautiful Joe (which is ironically the name of our chicken hating neighbor, hee hee hee, it’s like it was MEANT TO BE!), it could be "Fiiiiiiiive, Silkie Roos! Four calling birds, three french hens"…..ok, you get the drift….. 

So, give me a day to try this out and see if it makes a difference. I do have a friend who makes a habit of housing roosters so I could take Joe (because I think he belongs here) and give her my Whole Grain. Then Joe and Eli could take the silkie ladies as their beloved(s) to begin life in the other coop. 

Sound good? Just wait until you hear from me before you do anything crazy like looking for someone else! (Sheesh, I have known you for over a month and you are already looking for another farm…..some friend of an in-law you are! hee hee, just kidding.)

Talk soon!

Karen

p.s. I tried attaching pictures but my computer laughed at me and spit them out….will try again in a minute after I scold this thing.

*****

Then, apparently too much time transpired because I got this in my inbox:

Hi Karen,

We were checking in to see how things were going.  

We are happy to hear Eli is adjusting to things. 

The crow collar make me sad… what about ear plugs for the neighbor? (Blogger's note: Really T*? You're a softy! Or a genius, not sure which...)

Let us know how your Roo situation is working out.

While Eli was my favorite, Joe is a favorite to our kids… this is another tough situation… damn chickens! (Really T*, watch the swearing! This is a PUBLIC blog .... that you did not know you would be included in.....)

See what wives and kids do - - - Fowl Play — when Dad is away… ugh - buying chickens!

T* 

P.S. I’m glad we are keeping A* in the loop.

****

I hear ya on the crow collar….he was not pleased with it at first either…..then he did the whole Stevie Wonder thing and got it loose enough that it doesn’t bother him (and he crows away anyway…..) so basically it isn’t any good on him, other to make him look like a tough guy. He made sure to let me know how he felt about it when I let him out today though….that was not pleasant! (Little pecker!)

Anyway, I don’t care about the crowing, I was only seeing if it would reduce his noise so that you could have him but it does not, so he is perfectly at home here, still eyeing our hens every day. It is cute really.

I am going out of town for Thanksgiving (and by out of town I mean we are driving 5 kids and a dog down to FL…..don’t get too jealous, I am making the girls leave the other animals behind….) but we can do something about Joe when I get back. Hopefully you can keep him that long....

Anyway, I will let you know when we get back if you can wait that long (otherwise, just drop the rooster off in the bunker with Eli…..they already know each other so should be just fine…..lol….and I have someone coming to care for them all of course).

Have a Happy Thanksgiving!  

Karen

****

And then my brother-in-law chimed in with might be the funniest part of the entire exchange but I can't share it with you because you know, it might lose him his job.....well, probably not given I just took in 2 of his partner's roosters (I JUST SAVED YOUR JOB A*! YOU. ARE. WELCOME!) oh, and the fact that he is his own boss.....there's that little piece too....(nevermind A*....I am guessing you wouldn't fire yourself over your own inappropriate joke.....)

I bet you wish I would share it huh.....

Too bad. But Google Eddie Murphy's Delirious Ice Cream skit and then you will know why I am the way I am.

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