I know I've mentioned Suburban Bliss here before as a blog I love. I wish she had dated archives so I could start at the very first post and read every word thereafter. Every word. Then print it all out and highlight and annotate just like the used poetry anthology on the endtable here.
(Do you know anything about Richard Wilbur's work? Well, now I do, and let's just hope someday they make a game show where random people in southwest Las Vegas are approached on the street to answer questions about snow in Alsace for a million dollars. Pick me.)
Unable to cry, because I can only tear up over television and not over being stressed out of the ashes of my brain, I've been finding some solace tonight in Melissa's "Sigh" category of her blog. Other people are frustrated. Other people aren't always brilliant all the time. Thank you.
At some point she mentioned Crowded House, so now I'm listening to CH, remembering how great they are/were. (The full CH collection is just another part of Mike's dowry.) Now We're Getting Somewhere.
I also mention Bossy frequently, and recently in the drive-thru version of Bossy, there was a mention of baby chickens.
This has come up in our marriage before, but I need to raise chickens. Maybe you knew about the armfuls of house rabbits I intend to have by my side into old age, but have I ever mentioned the chickens? I can never remember what I've told you or what I've told the "real people," Internet.
Chickens are a big part of my life vision. Recently a fellow teacher told me that in recent years there's some big hoopla called "The Secret"? An Oprah thing? Something about envisioning your future? (Something we used to call planning and daydreaming?) I don't know, but this teacher has a canvas board covered with her photos that express her desires for her future.
Okay, if the under-construction Michael's on the corner was open yet, I'd be making a chicken board. Silky? Furry-footed? Bantam? I'm not sure what all of these things mean, and I won't let myself look it up yet, but I'm very excited and very ready to turn that excitement into years of giddy research and endless links and joining of Flickr pools, always smacked down with the ongoing disappointment of not actually having any chickens. What with not having a yard. What with not having a house. What with not having retired after a long and satisfying career to, say, Bridgetown.
(I know I've mentioned that Mike took that picture. But I'll mention it again.)
Bridgetown, where they have a jigsaw puzzle museum. And where I could raise my 25-for-under-$50 assortment of rare chickens. On cold nights, they can perch on the back of the sofa behind me, Mike, the sixteen bunnies, and however many dwarf hamsters we can illegally smuggle into the country.
Perhaps you think all of these critters are some sort of child substitute. Well, sure. Like the way I substitute made-with-real-sugar Jones Soda for HFCS Sprite. We all have our own tastes. It's good that some people want human kids, so I can have a job and a future not manned by robots, and it's good that I want animals, so that all this craziness ends with me.
Seriously, probably only six bunnies. Maybe eleven. But definitely 25 chickens. I'm undecided about the ducks.
Chickens?! Seriously?! Well, Ok.. but growing up I had a neighbor who kept chickens (we lived in the suburbs, SO not zoned for a chicken coop in the backyard... and the rooster... well, there was such an uproar that that poor fella didn't stand a chance...) but all I can remember is how stinky and dirty they were. But could that be because the neighbor who kept the chickens was stinky and dirty, too?
On the other hand, when I visited Hawaii, specifically Kauai, I was struck by all the WILD CHICKENS, and how gorgeous they were. I'm sure I've got a picture somewhere....
Hmmm. Chickens. Cool.
Posted by: Heather in PA | 08 February 2008 at 07:21 PM