Scary Movie Therapy

For the past few days I haven't been able to turn my neck to the left. And the pain has been distracting to say the least. I made a chiropractor appointment, but as a new patient cannot get in until next Thursday. I could go to my GP, but it's a drive and, really, what would she do? Muscle relaxers maybe....

So a couple of quiet days with books in front of the fire and it's been cold. As long as I didn't move, things could have been worse. Then yesterday our youngest went into town for a sleepover. The three of us remaining took the opportunity to go see the latest Harry Potter. And it was there, during the snake scene, that it happened. I won't go into too much detail in case you haven't seen it yet (and still want to), but there's this snake scene (of course!) and you just think its over and are starting to take a big breath (just like at the chiropractor) and then suddenly the snake is BACK and BIG and IN YOUR FACE. Of course I JUMPED. And there was a crack and, oh the sweet relief of a rib or a neck or a clavicle snapping right back into place. I feel sort of all warm and fuzzy for the $8 popcorn and the big screen today.

I'm cooking a chicken?

Tonight, my daughter's Hebrew school class is coming to dinner. We will celebrate Havdalah (the closing of Shabbat) and share a meal together. It is also the first day of my son's cross country ski club. So Andrew and he are off to the mountain and I am left behind to ready the house and cook the chicken. Now let's note that I have been vegetarian for the past 26 years (at least!). My mother might say that I have, for all practical purposes, been vegetarian since that grade school tour of the hot dog factory. I seem to have blocked it from my memory, but she swears by it. And I certainly remember not being overly thrilled with meat in my youth.

It was not until going away to college that I could really declare myself. At my school, an entire meal plan line was devoted to vegetarian fare. Coming from a meat and potatoes family, it was quite a revelation.

But now the Jews are coming to dinner and I am cooking chicken. I have known this day was coming. The rest of my family has reverted to meat eating (at least poultry and fish), shattering my lifelong dreams of my peace-eating kingdom. But I'm not bitter...

I have gradually come to an acceptance with this seemingly incontrovertible family fact. After all, I don't begrudge others their meat. We have struggled through how to make that work in a way that is agreeable to all. We got a BBQ and we have meat dishes. I am waiting (though not praying) for the dishwasher to die so I can get those dishwasher drawers. I'll devote one to meat. Hey - THEN we'll be kosher!

As a small farmer, I am ready to butcher our own chickens when they pass their productivity. Which would you rather have your loved ones eat? Your own free-range chickens fed only on organic feeds and chemical-free pasture or chicken from the local restaurant? Who knows where that chicken comes from or what it has been through?! It's really a no-brainer. I'm even working up to raising meat chickens. In for a penny, in for a pound. The truth is, that a working farm can't afford to be a chicken rest home. And, if your family is determined to eat meat, better for them to know where it comes from and help to care for its life. Right?! As the primary farmer, I'll even be the one to deliver them to the butcher (I am holding the line at butchering them myself - that will have to be an Andrew job if we're going that far).

But I've been a hold out on the cooking front. That all changes today. With a heart full of thankfulness for the life that has been led and the nourishment that will be offered, I am off to channel Julia.... or at least Julie.

I'm a Reject

Ach. So, Andrew has been pursuing applications to teach internationally next year. One organization (which shall not be named), received his resume and called right back - they'd had it for like maybe 15 minutes. So, we got all excited. Maybe this could really happen? They wanted some information about me so I wrote up a little cover letter about my experience that might be applicable to a school setting, attached my resume and sent it off. The next night, I get this phone call from the organization. They got my "impressive" resume and could Andrew please get them home phone numbers for all his references.

Well. The next day Andrew gets this blunt email. Essentially I am a reject. They are only pursuing teaching couples at this time. DON'T bother to come to the job fair in January. IF they still have positions available, MAYBE they'll be back in touch. In other words, don't call us.

It's a little humbling (or is it humiliating), I have to say, to have this dream of living and working overseas AND to be the fly in the soup.

Goat Love

Two months ago we got goats. We now are the proud caretakers of four Pygora goats and one La Mancha. Such sweetness - who knew?! Pygoras are fiber goats (we've already had our first shearing) and little Mei-Mei, the La Mancha will be the start of our dairy herd. There have been some learning curves. Fencing, feeding, goat integration, fencing, vet care, fencing, and, oh yeah, there was that day we came home from a day in the city to find a mangled goat in our pasture (see fencing). That was a hefty introduction to emergency veterinary care. Can you say "Sunday"? Sure you can. I'll spare you the gory details. Suffice it to say that our Zoe escaped the fence and decided to visit the neighbor dog who promptly and viciously recalled his wolf roots. Yikes. I may never own another dog. Luckily for us, the neighbors were neighborly and we now all have active electric fencing - doubly so between our two properties. And, wonder of wonders (miracle of miracles), no escapes of either the caprine or canine variety since.

So yesterday, little Mei-Mei was acting very coquettish with our wethers. And they were returning the interest. A pretty funny sight considering that they have absolutely no capability of siring anything. That wee (pun FULLY intended) fact did not stop them from fighting non-stop over her. It was like the 8th grade boys locker room out there. By the end of the day, both boys had bloody heads. And Mei-Mei got to take a trip to her "home" farm for a date with Mystic Hollow's "Greco". I took my camera along, but thought better of it once the action began. Suffice it to say that I now know what people mean when they say, "the old goat!" about human men. It's not a compliment.

And maybe our Mei-Mei will deliver a blessing (or two or three) to the farm this May. Meanwhile, you should smell the Honda!