The Middle Place

Photo by: Jared White Photography
See the original photo here.

Each Thursday I'll be posting my "Thoughtful" writing...it's a change from the usual funny stuff but I hope you'll enjoy it just the same. And I'd love to know what you think about it...if any of you are also in the middle place. And while it might seem bizarre, I'd like to dedicate this to a certain Beth, whose trials in the middle place are now over. I'm sorry I didn't know you better, but I prayed for you just the same.

I’ve lost track of time since I arrived in this middle place; where days seem to disappear in a breath and yet minutes in those days stretch on for eternity. I neither know what I want or who I am any better than I did when I was 12, or 16, or 25. As the days pass I simply know more about who I am not, but this knowledge produces no new answers.

The thing I like least about becoming an adult is witnessing and experiencing the pain in life and understanding that it is now my job to keep that from settling onto my children like caustic volcanic ash—affecting their views, their dreams, the delicate fibers of their safety net constructed by ignorance, illusion, and hope. I sit and lay and dance and sleep with my arms outstretched trying to filter the ugliness from this world, so that for a time, my children can focus on the sunlight streaming in through morning windows or giggle at the ant struggling to carry a crumb twice the size of his miniscule body.

As an adult I know that too much sun will blister their skin. And that ant may be a bird’s next snack.

This middle place in inevitable. When you are young you envision how you’d like your life to be—where you’ll live, the things that will motivate you—you dream and plan and prepare and then you meet Mr. Right. or Miss Perfect.

Together you both dream about a shared union of compromise and compassion, talk of kids and jobs and kitchen colors, promising to always, always keep communication open. You laugh about each other’s iniquities and peccadilloes; the toothpaste tube squeezed from the middle, the urine on the toilet seat, the nail clipping she leaves on the bedside table. In naive earnest you promise each other you won’t let the kids change you, you will always talk through everything, and most importantly—you’ll grow and change together. Forever. Promise. Whatever it takes.

You awake the next morning and ten years have gone by and you find yourself wondering over morning coffee and a sink load of dirty dishes how you ever got to this place and what happened to the goals and dreams you had and the promises you made to yourself, and wait a minute…

just who are you anyway? A glance in the mirror reveals the child you were just yesterday, in fact you’re pretty sure you graduated from high school last week, but suddenly there are more wrinkles and lines, and you don’t recognize the face staring back at you. Where did you go?

This middle place produces casualties; marriages of your friends ending around you because maybe they too woke up one morning and wondered who was lying next to them in bed and it occurs to them they don’t know this person any better than they know themselves. They’ve slept angry for years. The nail clippings and toothpaste tubes and peed on toilet seats become F-5 tornadoes that threaten to destroy the house, ripping out walls and scattering crayon pictures and homemade popsicle stick frames. The storm is always brewing just beneath the how-was-your-days and the peck-on-the-cheeks. All us middle people smile and dance because there are always little eyes watching and tiny ears listening and their dreams at night are scary enough.

The middle place house is not the one you pictured before, in that previous life before children and calendar boxes crammed with fine ball point writing. The leggos and Barbies, school backpacks and homework piles, have all settled in next to your furniture and on the floors and stacked on the kitchen counters. There are bins in the hallways filled with last season’s winter jackets, coats, and scarves that must be put in the attic, adding to the inventory of clothing and baby toys and luggage. And also up in that attic are the boxes of your wedding china that never made it into any china cabinet, let alone got used for a dinner because wedding china isn’t practical. Your life has been about practicality forever. And those crystal vases you loved so much and golf clubs your husband used to take to the course every weekend gather dust up in that attic too, because you’re saving your pennies for summer camp and braces and private school and there just aren’t any more pennies for fresh flowers for that vase or a round of 18 holes. You start wondering if maybe that attic contains more of you than you do anymore, because you’re still not sure who’s staring back at you in the mirror.

The middle place makes you question. Yourself, your choices, your life, your situation. The most important question—and yet the one that could change it all…

Is this it?

Is this life that I’m living right now….it?

And what of the answer?

And there you are an adult again, realizing there are no easy answers, that with each different answer there are deaths: of your dreams, or yourself, or your hopes, or your children’s innocence, or your marriage, or your happiness, or the very family and life you’ve created that has ironically led you to this very question.

Should you continue to sit lay dance sleep with your arms outstretched over your precious children regardless of the price to yourself or your marriage? But how long before your arms fail or your children grow past your reach and the soot of knowledge comes to slowly settle on your children’s heads? Can you protect them forever? And if their learning will eventually come one day, why not tomorrow? Would tomorrow be soon enough to revitalize yourself? Resurrect those old dreams? Find the happiness you think may have escaped you?

Beware of emerald fields viewed from afar. The mirage dissipates only after you’ve made the journey, and you find yourself with the very same body and the very same mind asking the very same questions just with a different zip code or mailing address.

Hindsight is 20/20. The future is unknown. The middle place is filled with What Ifs and Why Nots and If Onlys.

In this middle place I have no answers. I have right now. I have the silence ringing in my ears and the stained couch beneath my body and three sleeping children with sparkling eyes who love to laugh and tickle and wrestle, whose safety nets—for too short a time—still remain delicately held together by ignorance, illusion, and hope.

And I pray I’ll have tomorrow, with the morning sun streaming through my finger-smudged windows and the ants crawling around on our cracked driveway carrying food too big for their tiny bodies.

The ants are always there.

Writing Books? Now There's a Compelling Topic

Well. Here we are on Day 4 of blogathon and I’ve actually posted everyday. Is there a prize for getting this far? This year I’m patting myself on the back every chance I get.

Today is scheduled for a Theme Writing day: the topic being, “My Top Five Favorite books on Writing Are..”

Seriously?

I know I’m a writer, but that topic just doesn’t make me want to grab a cup of coffee, put my feet on the couch, and snuggle up with my computer. Perhaps the problem is I don’t read a lot of books on writing. Maybe if I did, I’d be making a hell of a lot more money in this career, or at least know how to market myself better. I have grabbed a couple books on writing in the past year, and (though my checking account balance wouldn’t show it) have read them. I did find them very helpful with a lot of great advice. Six Figure Freelancing and Goodbye Byeline, Hello Big Bucks both by Kelly James-Enger were both a wealth of information, even if I’ve yet to see six figures. Or four, for that matter. Or  big bucks. I haven't seen those yet either. But that’s less a reflection on the books as it is about my ability and comfort zone with marketing myself. Really selling my work. Cold-calling PR firms and publishing houses, and sending out Letters of Introduction in CitiBank-credit-card-application volume. I know. If you’re one of those writers who make six figures (and chances are you’re not because you certainly wouldn’t have time to waste on this blog, being busy with paid writing gigs and all) then I say, congrats to you. And if your six-figure salary is a direct result of those books, I say, Boo-yah! to you twice.

The other writing book I read and enjoyed was The Renegade Writers Query Letters That Rock. I read that over three years ago. To make use of that book effectively, one has to actually write query letters. Oh, I’ve written them, again, just not in the amount you need to be successful. To illustrate this point: four weeks ago I planted sugar snap peas in my garden. I planted half a package and seven days later planted the other half to extend my harvest. Out of approximately 200 peas, 12 plants sprouted from my first batch and seven plants sprouted from the second. That’s 19 plants out of a possible 200. Maybe some seeds were eaten by birds. Maybe some seeds were duds. That’s approximately a 10% return rate on investment. (And I only know that because I used an online math calculator to figure it out.) But query letters are exactly like that. You must send out 200 to get a few yes’s from editors, but most of those query letters die in the ground.

Which would make sense that I’m not doing very well, seeing as how I’ve sent out a total of seven query letters since January. Statistically speaking, my chances are nil before I’ve even begun and I totally suck at math. But let me tell you, they were great queries. C’est la vie, Important Editors. Your loss. (It’s really more my loss, but saying that makes me feel better.)

No, writing books isn’t what really moves me to read, honestly. I’d rather be reading a great fiction novel, or a book on raising chickens. That’s one bit of non-fiction I’ve been ear marking and reading over and over. Because the chickens in the basement playpen are starting to fly around in there and I'm not exactly sure what to do with them.

But if you are looking for a great fiction read, the latest books I’ve read are:

• Running the books; The Adventures of the Accidental Prison Librarian, by Avi Steinberg
• This is Where I Leave You, by Jonathan Tropper
• The Paris Wife, by Paula McLain

While they were all great, the one I loved the best was This Is Where I Leave You. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed out loud so many times reading a book. There’s even a great scene with a lit birthday cake and a naked man’s butt. Oh and for the bookclub we sat Shiva and dined on bagels and lox. If you need a good read, choose that one. Heads up though; it wont’ tell you how to be a better writer. It won't tell you how to earn six figures, or even how to pay off one credit card. But it will make you want to curl up on the couch with a good cup of coffee and read.

Sorry, folks. Dogs are not people too.

These ears belong to a dog, not a child. Just to be clear.
 Even though they are very, very, cute. (Photo by Debi Stone.)

The other night I was tucking  my 10 year-old into bed when she said, “Mom, I’m a lot like a dog.”

I took a deep breath. There were many ways this topic could go. Worst-case scenarios popped into my head as I wondered what I’d be explaining next: Bitch. Doggy-style. You’re a “dog.” Since we’d already discussed the difference between pimps and gangstas, I should have figured this conversation wouldn’t be too far behind. I mentally geared up for a discussion about self-esteem, ready to scold her for thinking so poorly of herself as to liken herself to a dog.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. (Good, non-committal opener, allowing her to explain more.)

“Well,” she replied. “I live here in this house, you feed me, give me water, and love me…just like you would a dog.”

Ahhh. So nice she is only making comparisons. “Well yes, in some respects I suppose. But unlike a dog, I have to feed you more than once a day. If I could figure out how to only feed you in the mornings, I’d be all set.”

“Ha, ha, very funny mom,” she retorted with 10 year-old attitude.

It goes without saying that kids and dogs are not the same, and yet when you think about it, have striking similarities. All of us know people who own dogs they consider to be their “children.” People get dogs to test their pre-parenting skills all the time, figuring if they can love, train, and take care of animal without killing it, perhaps they will have some success at rearing a live human. For some people it’s just the opposite: they own a dog because they can love it, play with it, take it for rides in the car, and kennel them while vacationing in the islands. Those people love dogs because their animals will never talk back, need to have an allowance, or vomit strained peas down their backs. They love their dogs because they do not love children (or perhaps just don’t want children for now)—and again, you only have to feed the animal once a day. I’m pretty sure people that do this to their children are put in jail.

Sometimes people get dogs because their own children are grown and past the point of wanting any nurturing; maybe those kids are out of the house or have children of their own, or are simply teenagers who’d rather get chronic acne than be hugged or snuggled by mom or dad. Dogs come in really handy in these situations because suddenly a tiny, furry, warm body needs you and loves you, and you can fulfill the need to be needed while your very own flesh and blood rebuffs and rejects you. And you never want to beat a puppy which helps dissolve some of your desire to thwack your teenager in the head.  

I’ll fully disclose now that I do not own a dog and am a fan of dogs on a case-by-case basis only. I’m not a dog hater per se, I just prefer cats, for reasons that would require another blog entirely. For me dogs are fine, as long as they respect my personal space (which is never), don’t slobber on me (which is never), or make my hands smelly when I pet them (which is never). I’m sure you can see why I’m such a big fan. (Yes, yes, I now own chickens, but again….that’s another blog.)

While hiking with my family in a public reserve a few weeks ago (with three children in tow including my three-year-old) we were approached by no less than five dogs, all of whom were unleashed and running ahead of their owners. While these dogs were sniffing my three-year-old’s face (while we clamored to pick her up as she’s crying nervously), and shoving their heads into our crotches and butts, their owners called out, “IT’S OKAY. SHE’S A REALLY FRIENDLY DOG!” or “DON’T WORRY, HE WON’T BITE, HE LOVES KIDS.” Hear me when I say your excuses do not make me feel less annoyed.

Perhaps if I let my children run up to these people, jump on their backs, beg for a piggy back ride, and then wipe their boogery noses and chocolately hands all over their white t-shirts, while I call out, “DON’T WORRY! MY KIDS ARE NICE, THEY JUST LOVE TO PLAY!” these people would understand how irritating it is to be accosted by a dog you don’t want to know. I don’t care if the dog is nice. Even the “nice” dogs can bite in certain circumstances. Like if my child kicks the dog away out of fear. Not that this has happened, but then whose fault would it be? Mine for not keeping my child from kicking a dog, or the owner’s from letting them run around?

But I can see how it might get confusing. Like my daughter pointed out to me that evening, there are many similarities between dogs and children.

• Both children and dogs require food, water, and shelter.
• Both require regular grooming, including baths and haircuts.
• Both can be trained to perform tricks (snapping the bone from their nose and peeing in the toilet. I’ll let you guess who does what.)
• When it comes to males (humans and dogs) they both pee standing up.
• When they are small, both require a lot of care, which also includes getting up in the night with them. As they both age, this care decreases. (Hopefully.)
• Dog owners and parents always think their “children” are the most beautiful creatures ever.
• They both get ticks. Some species more than others, but ticks just the same.
• Both like to dig holes.
• When they are sick, both vomit and have diarrhea. Both types of owners go out of their mind with worry.
• Vet bills and doctor bills are usually both outrageous.
• Both children and dogs will love their owners (parents) unconditionally if treated right.
• Both dogs and children have smelly farts.
• Both can follow basic commands.
• Both enjoy a biscuit every now and then.

 With so many similarities (and I only listed a handful) I can see why dog owners might have trouble remembering that a dog, is not in fact, a human. I can also see why some parents might be wondering what the hell they were thinking as they look at their children. Pets would have been so much easier.

But dogs are not the same as children. There are quite a few big differences.

• You can feed a dog once a day. They will drink water from a bowl on the floor.
• Children don’t smell when they get wet.
• Children don’t crap in your lawn or pee on your mailbox.
• Children don’t shove their noses into your butt or crotch.
• Dogs are cheaper. I don’t care how much they eat or how often they have a date with the groomer, dogs will never go to college.
• Children don’t eat sundries from the garbage can and drag it all over the house.
• A dog can’t reason with you about why they need the car.
• And when in the car, children don’t stick their heads out of it.
• You never have to shove your child’s nose in a pile of excrement so they don’t poop on the floor again.
• Dogs do not get baptized. (Yes I realize some children don’t either. But it’s always an option for them. Not so much with dogs.)
• If my child bites another person, or chases something around the yard and then kills it, I do not say it’s because “it’s in her breed.”
• Children will not eat your shoes.
• You can euthanize your dog for around fifty bucks.

 As you can clearly see, dogs are not children, even if it feels like it behind closed doors. Even if you love them all the same. I’m not meaning to pick a fight with dog owners—my sister is one, our neighbors are one, and many of our friends own them. We can keep the peace by making a deal. I’ll keep my children from shoving their heads into your private areas and licking your hands, (even though my kids are cute, friendly, and never bite) but you dog owners need to do the same.

But the next time I’m at your house and your dog starts toward my drawers; be forewarned. I’ve got a pocket full of melted chocolate bars for my children, just in case.

For Your Reading Pleasure

Last year during the blogathon, there were just over 100 bloggers signed up to write every day for the month of May. This year over 191 bloggers will be swearing, sweating, and stressing about posting everyday. The list is so long, I only included A-K below. I'll post the others tomorrow. The links should take you directly to their page. There were many great blogs last year and I desperatley tried to read everybody's at least once, but I didn't get all the way to the end of the list. With 191 bloggers, I'm sure to fail. But I'm going to try and visit as many as I can. If you click on the links below and find a blog that you loved, please comment and let me know!
A

Ahil Amar - Ahil Amar - Thoughts from Ahil Amar
Alana Mautone - Ramblin’ With AM, Living in upstate New York
Alexandra Grabbe - Chezsven Blog, What it is like to be a green innkeeper and live on Cape Cod year round
Alison Law - Lawthenticity, Personal and professional stories and observations
Alison Preston - LadyMoxie, Relationships with an added pinch of food, music, and bacon in the dish
Amanda Steinhaus - Ms. Panda’s Blog, Writing because I love to write!
Ana Gonzalez Ribelro - Our New Casa, Purchasing and remodeling a home; Live, Love, Laugh, Travel, tales of a traveling family; Ace the Journey, Making decisions about life and money
Andrea Parker - Autism Fundraising Guide, Advice from the trenches
Angela - Baby Hellfire has a Blog, Peace and Tofu Chicken Grease!
Annie Daniels – Aniel Daniel, Random occurrences and my ever-changing interests as college student
Anjuli - Unbirthday Escapades, Blog of memories past and present
Anne Wainscott-Sargent – The Writing Well, Mastering the power of prose in business and in life
Annette Gendler - Memoir, Writing & Life, Writing, teaching and publishing memoir, and creative nonfiction
Anyes - Far Away in the Sunshine, A woman pursuing her creative dreams
Arial - Contrapunto, Happenings in Panama
Ashley Lyon - You know I love You More, Book reviews and fandom excitement!
B
Barb Freda - Babette Feasts, I write about cooking and I stew about writing
Barb G - Never Another Diet, Finding Enough, the Quest for a Diet-Free Life
Bebe Bahnsen - Bebe’s Blog, Politics, religion, life in the South and general musings
Becky Leung - Tummy Time, Fixing digestive issues with a healthy lifestyle and good nutrition and exercise
Betty Draper - BettsDraper, Applying Jack Canfield’s success principles one step at a time
Bill Lascher – Lascher @ Large, Travels of a freelance journalist raised by a pack of lawyers
Billie Noakes - Billie Noakes, General musings (usually light-hearted)
Bree Hays - PenSlave, My move to Guam
C
Cara Law – Cake Me Home, Because life tastes better with cake
Carrie - Random Girl Geek, Reviews of things that catch my eye
Catherine Canaceli - Periwinkle Confessions, Finding God in Everything
Christina Leach – Chris Scraps, A blog about my life and crafts
Christianne - Cyanne99, Inner Thoughts and Ramblings
Christine Calvin - Inspired Life, Current events, women’s issues, randomness, sometimes silliness
Christine Evans - 52 Crafts in 52 Weeks, Exploring a new craft every week for a year
Claudine M. Jalajas - Belle Designs, Jewelry-making resources
Connie - bhulbhulaiyan, Travel and memories
Conrad Zero - Conrad Zero, Tips, tricks and resources for authors of all genres
Craig Motlong - Pacific Writing Company, Writing for writers
Cynthia Rosi - Simply Hug Yourself – Enjoy your whole self in Columbus, Ohio
D
Daisy - Compost Happens, Family, garden, crunchy green eco-writer
Dawndela Webb - Insomniac Imaginings, Musings and rambles of a stay-at-home mother of three; Erotic Images, Erotic fiction
David Allen - Amazing iPad, All things iPad
Dayle Fraschilla - I Shall Be a Toad, Passions, both big and small
Deb Wolf - Counting My Blessings, Gratitude at God’s amazing grace
Denae Darcy - Denae D’Arcy – TV journalist, freelance writer, social media enthusiast living near the Great Smoky Mountains
Don Gonzalez - Gonzo’s Gab, Pontificating on Catholicism, technology, politics, cigars, writing, homerdogs and teaching
Dylan Fogle - DiscordianZen – Dark and it’s different
E F
Elizabeth Humphrey - The Write Elizabeth, Writing. creativity. play. life.
Elizabeth - Amnesia Lane, Journey through the shows, books and characters that inspired my love of writing
Estelle Sobel Erasmus - Musings On Motherhood, Midlife and Other Forms of Madness, A Running Commentary On My Transformative Journey Through Motherhood
Esther Rumfelt - Health and Wellness Coaching, Helping you live well, be healthy and enjoy life
Frances Barker - Felting Needle, City and Guilds felt-making student, textiles and Suffolk living
G
Georgia Fogle - Got P.M.A.? – Positive Mental Attitude. Get Some.
Gerri Curless - 50 Is the New 40 – Wife, mother, grandmother trying blogging, crafting and sharing what I’ve learned with others
Ginnie - Nua Feileacan, 30-something woman on a journey of discovery
Glenneth - Let’s Talk and Walk, Getting healthy through walking, eating better, and having fun
Gloria Marie - GloriaMarie.com, Personal blog, mostly about photography.
H
Haley Shapley - Girl About the World, Travel writer’s tales of wanderlust
Harry Marks - Curious Rat, Chewing on the tech industry’s wires
Heather - Discover Washington State, Life in the Evergreen State
Heather Brooks - Serve One Another in Love, An online ministry for Christians of all ages
Heather Williams - This Blog Will Give You Cancer, Talking about nothing
Holly Green - WithoutAdo, Bible and secular articles
Hope - The Life of a Daydreaming Mommy, Mommy blogger
J
Jackie Dishner - Bike with Jackie, Turn obstacles into opportunities and other self-development lessons
Jan Culpepper - Life and Times of a Preacher Mom, Juggling life, ministry, parenting, a relationship and whatever else life throws my way
Jan Udlock – Imperfect Mom, Professional writer, parenting expert, mom of five
Jane Boursaw - Reel Life with Jane, Home to Jane Boursaw’s syndicated family movie and TV reviews
Janis Price - Whispers & Roars, Life of a writer when your full-time job is not writing
Jenn - Kepkanation, Politics and pop culture
Jenni Derryberry Mann - Mamahhh, Navigating the labyrinth of motherhood one breath at a time
Jennie Phipps - Freelance Success Blog, Freelance Success outtakes
Jennifer Walker - My Morning Chocolate, Delicious inspiration for people who wake up thinking about food
Jennifer Willis - Jennifer Willis, Journalist, writer and editor.
Jennifer Woodard - Wordzopolis, DIY marketing and public relations
Jenny Beikes - Out of My Head, Musings on life events
Jessica Braun - Pink Rose, Blooming in Generation Y, I write about me, my life, my VISTA experience
Joan Lambert Bailey - Popcorn Homestead, Gardening and living in Tokyo
Joanna - My Daily Mooosings, Simplifying life and culture in the Netherlands
Joanne Mason - About English Idioms, What they mean, how we use them, where they came from
John P. Jones - Writing at Gunpoint, When writing is not a comfortable experience.
Jon Bell - On Mount Hood, All things Mount Hood
Judy Downing - Customer Approach, Connect with customers to grow your business
Julia B. - Aunty JuJu’s Perspective, Thoughts on subjects that come up in daily life
Julia Munroe Martin - WordsXO – Words, writing, and life!
Julie – The Write Place to Be, Being a freelance writer
Julie Sturgeon - KnowledgeWebb, Don’t Sweat the Tech, The quirky, fun, interesting and very useful in social media technology.
Julie Tolbert - Culturally Speaking, Through technology the world is getting smaller; Today’s Tea, About tea in 2011
K
Karen Bannan - Natural as Possible Mom, Because being natural isn’t always possible – or easy!
Kari Wolfe - Imperfect Clarity, Literature and the writing and editing life
Kate Megill - Teaching what is Good – Teaching younger women according to the Titus 2 model
Kate Reilly - Polka Dot Suitcase, Family fun through creative living
Kathy Murray - That China Girl, A reluctant teen expat’s life in Beijing
Katie Jett Walls - One/Week, Blogging, finding my voice, and identifying my passions
Katy Manck - Books YA Love, Recommending standout young adult books, especially from first-time authors and small publishers
Kelly Morga - My Little Silly Life, The silly things, situations and people that make my life special
Khadijah M. Britton - BetterBio, Journalism that explores the intimate connection between life and science
Kris Bordessa – Attainable Sustainable, Reviving the lost art of self-sufficiency, one small change at a time
Kristi Bernard - Kristi Bernard, Information for new writers

Mediocre as usual

So. This year I joined the blogathon again, vowing to post everyday for the month of May. Today I woke up and realized it was the first day of May.

Damn. It's been a busy weekend. Wasn't it just April, like, yesterday?

So here I am, posting at the eleventh hour om my iPad of all stupid things, because my husband is sitting here in be next to me with my computer writing emails. This handy little gadget isn't exactly a productive tool for lengthy typing..unless you have the additional keyboard attachment, which I don't.

But I was extremely busy today, even if it wasn't writing a hysterical first blog, or adding to the family income with my labor, or cleaning my house, or doing laundry. Here's just a snapshot of the last 15 hours of my life.

Things I did today:
-went to 8:30 am mass
-took my son to baseball pictures
-frosted cookies for my daughter's bake sale in front of our house
-helped set up bake sale for daughter
-helped my son with his school project
-went to Lowes with my neighbor and bought herbs for my planters and a really cool ornamental grass. I have no idea where I'm going to plant it, but I bought it anyway.
-took my son to his baseball game. Even brought my daughters so my husband could have a few hours to work on the chicken coop. I am so selfless.
-forced my son to finish his school project
-bathed my youngest and told my middle daughter to get in the shower
-argued some more with son about his school project
-went to my monthly book club, where we discussed "The Paris Wife." Loved the book and had a very enlightening discussion at book club.
-came home, showered, put away all the remaining baked goods fromearlieer sale, still sitting on the counter
-got in bed and wrote a log on the iPad after having three (small) glasses of wine at book club

If you ever decide to tune back in after reading this pathetic first blogathon post, I promise it will be worth your time. Unless you don't like reading about chickens. I plan on posting a lot about them.

Decidedly, The Chick Came First

Meet Julia. She belongs to my three-year-old.

Last week while the kids were on vacation, I picked up six new chicks and brought them home.

No, not that kind of chick. (My husband would have reacted much differently if I brought home those kind of chicks.) Chick, as in baby chicken. Six of ‘em. Cute as can be.

Currently these little balls of fluff are living next to my washing machine in an old Pack n’ Play on loan from my chicken-owning-guru-and-friend, Kristi. We’re into week one of chicken ownership and I must say, it’s been enlightening.

I’ve been wanting my own laying hens for over a year now and started working on my husband long ago because I knew that having chickens catapulted me into a different category altogether. No longer content to grow my own vegetables or make jam from my own blackberries, now I wanted food producing animals. What was I anyway? A closet farmer? And what would I ask for next? A milking cow or grass grazing goat?

His first response over a year ago was, “Hell no.” (Or something to that effect.)

Next came, “We are NOT having chickens in the yard.” (Again, I’m paraphrasing.)

I’d make a comment to him and let it simmer. Try again a few weeks or months later. Finally one night after more chicken talk, he tried a different tactic and said, “When you publish your book you can get chickens.” I know he meant it to motivate me to get off my arse and publish my book (or at least work on it) but the comment felt more like what we say to our children about their grades… “You can get a cell phone when you earn all A’s…”

“Look,” I said to my husband. “I’m a grown woman with a Masters degree. If I want to get chickens, then I’m going to get chickens. I’m asking you out of respect. I’d like you to be on board with me.” I knew I would need his help with the coop and set-up, in addition to how much easier it would be to have his support. After that we shelved the chicken conversation for quite some time.

Fast forward a few months and while he may not be all the way on board (as in, I’ll never ask or expect him to clean or muck the coop) he is being extremely supportive. He’s already built me four nesting boxes and is going to trick-out the coop for me, even making sure the thing has a sun porch. Gosh I love that man.

I’ve also gotten a pretty mixed review from my neighbors, who think I’ve all but gone mad and perhaps over-the-top with this sustainable-eating-fresh-food thing. Worried that I’m going to turn this neighborhood into a live-action set from “Beverly Hillbillies,” the comments I’ve gotten are:

“You’re what?”

“Why?”

“Have you ever been around chickens?” (This is coupled with an incredulous, dumbfounded look.)

“Do you know how much they poop?” (Add curled lip in disgust.)

“Tell me why you’re doing this again?” (Tilt head, add above.)

“Are they going to be just roaming around your yard, or what’s the deal?” (Peer at me over bifocals.)

And the best from my sister-in-law: “Rachel wants chickens? Is this the same Rachel that doesn’t like germs? Is this my sister-in-law we’re talking about?”

While their response doesn’t shock me much, it certainly isn’t the egg-colored-glasses perspective that I’ve been reading about in my chicken bible. Yes, while Jesus is present in this one, albeit omnisciently (seriously, how does chicken mash and a worm turn into something I eat for breakfast with toast? Amazing!) Mathew, Mark, Luke, and John have nothing to say about the matter. My chicken bible, The Joy of Keeping Chickens, by Jennifer Megyesi was a gift from a neighbor’s daughter who knew I was interested in having laying hens. Her mother (my neighbor)—while she admires my chickens currently because they are palm sized and therefore not loud or smelly—can’t quite be labeled “enthusiastic” yet about my new adventure, and I secretly wonder if she’d like to kick her daughter for getting me my poultry bible to begin with. But that’s all water under the feeder now.

Everything I’ve read online and in my book (and I’ve done a lot of research) paints this lovely, picturesque painting of hen owning, one that is not only filled with emerald green meadows, bird chirp, and a fresh spring breeze, but also touts the myriad benefits of owning chickens. They eat ticks. They eat worms. They are fabulous for your garden. Their poop is great fertilizer. They are docile, loving, and smarter than people give them credit for. They are easy to maintain. They are maternal. Oh, and their eggs are pretty good too. Full of vitamins and nutrients. With yolks the color of the setting sun. You’ll never find a yolk like that in the grocery store.

And then there were my neighbors and anyone who ever owned a chicken or lived near people who owned chickens who cock their head to the side (much like a chicken, I might add) and inquire as to what exactly I’ve been drinking or smoking lately to make me want chickens. For a moment I was confused that there seemed to be two completely opposite camps: haters and lovers. Haters were real people. Lovers were published. Hmmm.

I suppose a book titled, “Why Keeping Chickens is a Pain in the Ass,” wouldn’t sell very well. Or, “Shit That Makes You Gag: 1001 Reasons Not to Own Chickens.” That probably wouldn’t be a very good title either.

In fact, this epiphany reminds me a lot of a conversation I had with my priest-friend some years back on the subject of birth control, specifically vasectomies. “Most of the married people I talk to say that having a vasectomy was the worse thing that happened to their marriage,” he told me. It didn’t occur to me until later that people who invited vasectomy into their marriage and loved it wouldn’t exactly go running to their neighborhood priest to tell him about it, would they? “Hey Father, just so you know, you were wrong about the vasectomy thing. We should’a done it years ago.”

It’s all about the audience really.

So the truth about owning chickens resides somewhere in the middle grey area of my happy-go-lucky book and my neighbors’ aghast astonishment. While I’m not regretting my decision, it would have been good for me to have this awakening before I actually bought the chicks.

But there they are, regardless. Six little balls of molting fluff and feathers living in a Pack n’ Play in my laundry room. My neighbors ask me frequently how it’s going and how the chicks are. I know that silently they are biding their time, knowing at some point I’m going to complain about the chicken poop smell, the frequent cage cleaning, the messy, grossness of it all, which will open the doors for them to nod their head with that I-told-you-so look on their face. I say bring it. Of course I’m going to complain. What’s a good blog without complaining? But I also have the final product in mind: fresh eggs, with deep sunny yolks, from chickens who lived a happy life.

And while I promise my intention isn’t to ruin the neighborhood with my bohemian tendencies and free-range birds (c’mon; my children are almost always clothed and we don’t hang our underwear on a clothesline yet), I am keeping chickens and a garden in the south part of Easton; once known for its peasant and archaic traditions such as farming food and raising animals. I mean, it’s not like I’m out of my element or anything.

And you, my dear readers, get to be with me all the way. You can live vicariously through my foibles. Lucky ducks chickens.

Meet the girls! From Top to bottom, clockwise: Molly, Giraffe, May, Blackie, Milly, and Julia.

Coming out of the fog



I'm finally coming out of a long winter's fog;
 the sunrise slowly lighting the road ahead of me.
My cousin Jared White took this picture. He's a brilliant photographer. Check out more of his stuff on his blog, Photology: Project 365.



Fortunately & Unfortunately…March pretty much sucked.

Quit looking at me like that. Rolling your eyes in disappointed-mother fashion. I know you tune in here for your daily (well, maybe monthly) laugh and I’ve been absent. Well, if you don’t know by now that us humorists are really just normal, occasionally depressed people who may have trouble dealing with crap in their lives from time to time, wearing clown costumes and face paint to make you laugh, well then, you’ve never heard of Richard Lewis. Or Richard Jeni. Or Richard Pryor. Or any comedian that’s had a stint on SNL. Two things you clearly want to avoid: naming your child Richard or having them work on SNL. My name’s not Richard, but it starts with R. Close enough.

To recap my life since my last post in….February (has it really been that long?), I’m going to do it in child-story format. We’ll ease back into this blog writing/reading thing together in 10-15 minute increments.

 My Life Since February

Unfortunately, after a really long winter, a huge snowstorm, and a few issues with my husband, I woke up one morning at the beginning of March with a headache.

Fortunately, I was still breathing and I had plenty of Ibuprofen in the house.

Unfortunately, the Ibuprofen didn’t work.

Fortunately, I had made plans to go to Arizona (and escape the grey New England winter) to visit my grandparents and family. Unfortunately my original flight was cancelled because of snow, but fortunately I rescheduled my trip for the beginning of March.

Unfortunately, my grandfather died before I got to Arizona. Fortunately, I was able to attend his service during my rescheduled trip as well as visit with my two grandmothers.

Unfortunately, my headaches continued during my trip, despite good weather, supportive family, and lack of snow.

Fortunately, I returned back home safely.

Unfortunately, my headaches decided to hang out with me twenty-four hours a day. And ibuprofen wasn’t working.

Fortunately, I went to see my Primary Care doctor, who was concerned about my  specific head pain and told me to get an MRI.

Unfortunately, I have a problem feeling trapped, but fortunately my husband came with me. Using the black eye mask I made it through the hour and a half MRI without freaking out. Bonus.

Unfortunately, I was expecting the worse possible outcome. MS. Brain tumor. Acoustic Neuroma. (I looked that one up online. It’s amazing what you can find when you google “head pain.”)

Fortunately, my MRI was clear.  I had nothing wrong with my brain. No lesions. No tumor. I was normal, normal, normal. “Are you under any stress?” my PC asked me. “Yes,” I replied. “A tad.” Hmmmmm, she said, jotting down notes in her notepad.

Unfortunately, the headaches, ear ringing, pain, and general malaise continued. I didn’t clean. I didn’t do errands. I didn’t do anything but want to stay in my pajamas and sleep, sleep, sleep.

Fortunately, I made an appointment with an ENT to have a hearing test and figure out what the ringing in my ears was all about.

Unfortunately, I was worried that my hearing test would hurt my already hurting ears.

Fortunately, my hearing tests were normal. My ears were not infected. They looked beautiful. My inner ear was fine. I was pronounced, normal, normal, normal. “Are you under any stress?” the ENT asked me. “Well, yes,” I replied. “A bit.” His professional suggestion was to do nothing. Wait it out. But just in case, I should see a neurologist because of all my headaches.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t see the neurologist for two weeks. I made the appointment anyway.

Fortunately, I woke up one Saturday morning two weeks ago and my headache was gone. Gone, just like that. As quick as a sneeze or a fart, they were gone. Five weeks of wanting to sever my head vanished like an apparition.

Unfortunately, I still didn’t know what caused them. What triggered them. What cheapy-plastic part in my brain snapped to make them last so long.

Fortunately, I still had my appointment with the neurologist who I hoped would have some answers.

Unfortunately, my appointment with the neurologist lasted two hours, during school vacation, and my children were home alone. Thankfully the doctor’s office wasn’t far away.

Fortunately, he gave me a complete exam. I answered a million questions about the life of my headaches. When they started (in college). Do I feel nauseous? (yes). Do I have urinary track problems? (what?)

Unfortunately, after reading my file and visiting with me, the neurologist told me...wait for it….that I was normal, normal, normal. Yes, I had migraines. I also had tension headaches caused by….tension. Was I under any stress lately? Ummmm,.... Try acupuncture, he said. Take magnesium oxide (but don’t confuse it with magnesium hydroxide, which is used to treat constipation. These are not interchangeable). Use a heating pad on your neck for 35-40 minutes to try and release the knots that are your shoulder and neck muscles. And stretch.

Fortunately, I am normal, normal, normal.

Unfortunately, the five weeks of headaches were apparently triggered by stress. Stress, that abstract noun without form or personality—you can’t feel it, touch, taste it, or put it in a paper sack, and yet, it can make you feel like a tumor is growing in your head. It tightens your muscles and fills your feet with cement. Covers your eyes so you stumble.

Fortunately, I’m in a better place now. The sun has actually come out (literally) and I’ve been able to prune my fruit trees, plant my sugar snap and shelling peas, and rake up the lawn debris from the winter. I’m back to doing laundry and picking up the house and occasionally preparing a meal. (Or ordering pizza.)

Unfortunately, there is a part of me that worries I’m going to wake up with another five weeks of headaches; or that the tiny headaches I feel everyday will morph into something larger. And of course I worry that all those many specialists missed something. But my husband would tell me that’s my worse-case-scenario-personality talking. Our counselor would agree.

Fortunately, I’m back. And not only am I back, but I also just signed up to do the monthly blogathon again this year, starting in May. And spring is here. Mostly.

That’s been my life in a nutshell, at least as much as I’m willing to divulge on the internet. I hope I haven’t lost you and you join me back here on Musings. I have a lot of stories to tell you when you return. Like I’m getting chickens. And my three-year-old told me she likes to eat boogers. And my son brought home THREE C’s on his last report card. And my husband built and installed a bat house. You’ll have to tune back in to get the juicy scoop on everything.

Happy spring!