Nobody Here But Us Chickens . . .

It’s Friday, so I thought I would share a fun picture of me feeding the chickens in Oregon. I am such a city girl, but it was so much fun feeding them! They would peck right out of my hand and they were so cool (for chickens and roosters, that is!) The rooster that you see in the middle is quite a character, so much so that Mr. Random’s Cousin is going to exchange him for a much less belligerent rooster pretty soon. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any pictures of the eggs . . . they lay such beautiful tiny eggs, some were baby blue, some pastel green and some a light beige. I didn’t get to taste one, but Cousin Random often takes the eggs to her Mom and Grandmother to use.

Just so you know, I’ve turned on the word verification thing on my comments . . . I hope it works OK, but if you have any problems, just shoot me an e-mail. I’ll actually try to check that address a bit more frequently. Since it is not my main e-mail address, I tended to check it once in a blue moon, which isn’t good . . .

Virginia Gal asked if I am worried about something, which is keeping me from a proper night’s sleep. Well, I guess I do have quite a bit on my mind . . .

I worry about my sister, who may be deployed at any minute.

I worry about my friend, C, who has been unemployed for two years and is reaching bottom quickly. Everyone has been helping her like gangbusters, and she’s had many opportunities, but she manages to bumble every single advantage she gets. It gets so that I don’t want to help her anymore, or listen to her complaints. I’m not a cold, heartless person, but sometimes if you keep giving and making suggestions and trying to help to no avail, after a while it gets tiring. She refuses to temp, and somehow she has made it to 50-some years old without knowing how to use a computer properly, and won’t take any classes or anything, so Mr. Random and I are constantly helping her with the most simple tasks. We keep recommending that she at least temp somewhere – some money is better than NO money – but she doesn’t. She has maxed out all of her credit cards. We theorize that things will have to get pretty bad for her to finally start doing things, but we are afraid of what will happen to her when she gets to that point.

I worry about money . . . we didn’t get a cost of living raise this year . . . but we’re not going to be out on the street or anything. I’d just like some sort of cushion . . .

I worry about Mr. Random, and hope I’m not driving him crazy . . .

I worry about work . . . and the gazillion projects I have to do, and whether I want to stay there, and the thousands of annoying things that come up each day . . .

I worry about going back to school and taking out loans and whether I can work all day and still do well, because we need the money, but I know that if I am trying to do everything well I’ll have a nervous breakdown . . .

I worry about whether I should start trying to have a baby again after October. I don’t want to lose this one. I worry about whether I’d be a good mother at this point. I worry that the baby if it does come, that it won’t be healthy. I don’t know how to deal with all of the possibilities that may happen . . . I’m scared. I’m more scared than the first time, when I didn’t know any better . . .

I worry about what my place is in the world . . . what am I meant to do? Why am I here? Is there a larger purpose for me? Should I be doing something else? If so, do I know what that is? . . .

I worry about lots of things, more than I could list here. I can’t type that fast.

However . . .

I do know that I am very blessed with a wonderful husband, family and friends who care about me very much. We can pay our mortgage and most of our bills. We are relatively healthy. (Knock wood!) We can occasionally buy books and other toys and eat out a bit. We have a cat who we can shower affection on, even if she doesn’t care.

When I get a case of the “worries” I try to remember all that . . . but you know how that goes sometimes . . .

We'll end with this lovely poem by Robert Gregory today . . . enjoy your weekend, everyone!

With and Without

By Robert Gregory

I'm walking in the everyday (like everyday) and looking

around as I go the way I used to when I was a kid, gathering

things (with my eyes now only) to put in my now

metaphorical pockets and take them out later during

Tedium to examine and starlings (about a handful)

are scattered on a big smooth lawn as if tossed there now

by X (like a hand) that does that kind of thing for reasons

of its own and they, not minding it at all (the lack

of a theory or an explanation) begin as always

to go about their business at once: balancing, watching

with amused & fierce attention whatever there is

to be seen, seeing who can make the best high looney whistle

or fat and juicy chuckle or squeaking sound

and creaking sound like Count Dracula's door

coming open, meanwhile stabbing down into the tough

hard mesh of roots and grass, the stems crammed in

together by the dirt that's been so dry, stabbing down

so as to pluck a juicy squirming thing and let it drop

inside their black and boiling inner works... and then

all together and suddenly they rise into the air (as if

to some loud but inaudible clap or bang) and curve away

and vanish all together, taking everything with them.

I find myself staring at their absence the same way

I stare at the very last scene of a dream sometimes,

the only one I still have with me on waking, with

a sleepy inability to get it straight what all this is exactly

but feeling no distress at that, some kind of rightness

in fact. Then, after a breath, the ordinary grass

is back again, single-minded now (a thought without

starlings), less green, more dry, more uniform,

more silent, and then almost everything else is back also.