Tuesday, December 15, 2009
As the new year approaches, it is usual to reflect on the one past and make a list of what one would like to do differently. My blogging has become a little haphazard and lost its original direction. Hmmn, somewhat of a reflection of my life!
I've decided to split up the behemoth and hopefully better stay on topic. I will keep "True Stitches", and actually write about stitching! Then, I will begin a blog, "Resting in the Grace of the World" about the experience of trying to live sustainably (and on a very low income) on this enchanted isle. And finally, I will start a third, "You Are One With Them", specifically about the community quilt project I have been participating in.
So look for that in the New Year. As probably my final stitching of 2009, I finished the little samplers that I started during Dorothy Caldwell's workshop, "The Expressive Stitch". I added some border stitches and embellishments and the eagle feather found after my cat's altercation with a young golden eagle.
The end of this year (and, concurrently, the period between two blue moons) has been particularly sad and dramatic and stress filled for me. I may talk more about this in time, but for now I simply wish peace, simplicity and calm for myself, and for you, my readers and friends.
And, as my beautiful friend Helene said to me the other day, "Let it rip!"
Thursday, December 10, 2009
I trudged out to the chicken coop this morning, ready to clean it as I do daily. What a total surprise to find this tiny perfect egg waiting in the nest, next to the golf ball that had been sitting there for a month (supposed to give the hens ideas).
I don't know which hen was the prodigal layer, but they all got a nice plate of porridge and berries to celebrate.
Unfortunately this welcome arrival was counterbalanced by the sad, bedraggled appearance of the one hen the others gang up on. Everyone says she's got to go to the stew pot. This is the one aspect of caring for animals that I've always found so difficult - the death factor. I don't have the same kind of emotional bond with the chickens that I have had with my pets, but that doesn't seem to make the thought of one of them dying, let alone at my hands, any easier.
Angus is a music lover. How many cats get to enjoy a private serenade from their human? He also likes to hang out at the Sunday jam sessions. His own vocal stylings range from a throaty rumble to Chinese operatic arias, as anyone who has ever met him can attest.
I have added a security level to the comments since for some bizarre reason I have been deluged with spam from a Japanese robot. Sorry for the annoyance.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
The ladies still aren't laying, but this guy has started to cock-a-doodle-doo. He looks quite startled whenever he does. However, in spite of his adolescent quaver, he has started courting the girls, so eggs can't be far behind.
He seems to be a good rooster. He makes sure the girls are in at night, flaps his wings at any intruders, and the house is far enough away from the chicken pen that he doesn't really bother us in the morning.
And, my, he is a handsome devil.