Rooster Soup

Several weeks ago we butchered one of our roosters. We procrastinated and procrastinated until finally the dynamics in the chicken coop was so unpleasant that we could no longer avoid the inevitable.
I was nervous. A friend of mine, M, volunteered to come over and help out. As soon as B got home from work he went to look for the hatchet while M and I discussed the game plan.
No hatchet was found. B thought a random big knife would do the trick, and as the sun was setting and time was running out, we agreed.
M and B cornered Mr. Rooster in the yard and M brought him over to the picnic table where I held his neck and body down.
Mr. Rooster was calm and accepting of his fate.
I said a brief prayer and turned my head as the knife made the first chop. Chop, chop, chop-"God, please let it be over!"
Finally it was done. Mr. Rooster was gone, though his body continued to twitch. It was so freaky-I asked M what we should do next, and she said "Run for the hills!" We ran across the yard, kind of in disbelief at the scene on the table.
A couple of deep breaths and I had regained my composure. I strung him up on the monkey bars to bleed out, and soon he was ready for the pot.
I dunked him in the boiling water, and then the ice water. I laid him on the kitchen floor and F helped me to pull off the feathers. It took FOREVER.
Finally, he was ready to be gutted. I took my poultry shears and cut him from top to bottom, opening him up like a mortician.
His organs were perfect. I was in awe at God's work. Everything was in its place, completely, perfectly formed. F and I took out the heart, examined the chambers and the veins. The lungs were spongy and soft, the intestines still had digested food inside.
Finally, I cut the the wings, neck and legs off and put them in the soup pot with the rest of the body.
Mr. Rooster made a delicious stock, a nourishing soup for my family and M. He provided us with a life lesson in the miracle of life and the order of the food chain. A hat tip to you, Mr. Rooster.

So much more than just exercise

I was talking with another woman today about exercising. She asked me how the running was going, and I expressed regret that I am not able to get out and run as much as I would like in the winter. She began to tell me about her treadmill and her membership to the Y. Thank goodness she didn't mention home exercise videos, or I don't know how I would have reacted. You see, I don't really run for the exercise. It does keep me in shape and helps burn off those unwanted calories, but if I was only doing if for the exercise I don't think I would have been able to keep it up for twenty years.
I do it for different reasons, reasons which have changed as I have grown and aged.

When I was a teenager I ran to be competitive. I wanted to be the best-the fastest and the strongest. Many times I was. But I was also a self-conscious runner. I didn't always run for myself or do what my body told me. I ran for my coach, my team, my parents. I felt at times that running was stifling me.

When I was in my twenties I wanted to push myself to the limit. I wanted to test my boundaries and see how far I could go. I became a solitary runner, competitive only with myself. I fell in love with running for the first time, and we had a nice co-dependent relationship.

After I had children I had to fall in love again each time I hit the road after having a baby. Three times I went through that cycle. Each time was easier than the last.

Now, in my thirties and a seasoned runner, I run for the freedom. I cannot imagine running on a treadmill inside my home or a gym. When I run I get away from diapers and dinner and the next load of laundry. I feel the same way I always feel out on the road. Ageless, weightless, exhilirated.

The same feeling I felt when I was ten and I galloped around the backyard pretending I was a horse.
The same feeling as when I was 16 and I ran around the neighborhood in the falling snow.
The same feeling as last summer when I watched the sun rise over the corn fields on my way home in the early morning.

A treadmill can't come close to that.

A little family vacation

A little vacation never hurt anyone. Unless you are a parent of young children and you go to a waterpark and get dragged around to every waterslide until you collapse with exhaustion. We attended a homeschool gathering, okay technically it was for unschoolers, but who's being technical? It was at a huge indoor waterpark which we are lucky enough to live within driving distance of. I admit, it felt wonderful to splash in the warm water, knowing that it was 20 degrees outside. And it was really cool to be surrounded by other home educators and their families. But we have an older one who wants to do everything and a very young one who can't do anything, so for most of the time our family is split. I spent quite a bit of time on the lounge chair with M while he nursed or napped, chatting with the knitting woman beside me who was lucky enough to have children that were old enough to go off without supervision. Still, it was lovely to get away for a couple of days. I'm always a fan of that-

Dearest Gigi 1921-2008

Dear Grandma,

I miss you already. I miss your laugh, your soft brown eyes, and your wrinkled hands. I miss your generous spirit, your sharp wit, and your honesty. I hate the fact that I will miss your funeral.

Remeber the time when I came to visit you in South Carolina, and you took me to see South Pacific? I remember so many things about your home there. The birds on the sofa and the birds on the sheets. The mallard duck decoys that Grandpa liked. The ping-pong table in the basement, and how I was so ashamed when I broke one of your paddles because I was angry at my sister and I hit it too hard on the table. The walks we would take around the marina, and the days spent swimming at the pool. I remember going to the video store and renting movies to watch on a rainy day and eating Jello Pudding Pops on the deck. You always had butterschotch discs in the kitchen and I remember how your favorite candy was butterum Lifesavers.

You always cried at the drop of a hat, and my cousins and I would laugh at your loud belches you were so well known for. You would tell us to look away as you drank the milk out of your cereal bowl, and you would do cartwheels for me on the lawn.

Remember your 6oth birthday party? Remember your 65th birthday party? I don't think some people ever recovered from those! I remember watching video from your 65th birthday party the next day at your home and my aunts and uncles kept rewinding the part where you got the balloon ornament over and over again. How we all laughed at your sentimentality and tears-and then at your surprise when you opened your card for a balloon ride! I hated to sing in public, but I did it for you Grandma. I think your 65th party was the last time I remember enjoying singing for an audience, and it was for you!

When I grew into an adult you were there for me, even though we saw each other so infrequently. As you grew older you remained the same to me, and you became a special person in my children's life. F and C still want to hear about Herbert the Lion, and I'm glad that F is old enough to keep some memories of you as he grows.

My most recent memories of being with you are this past Christmas. We played games, we ate, we opened gifts, and yes, you drank too much! How strange it will be to not have your liquor in Mom's kitchen cabinet, your coffee in the freezer, your "room" will be empty. I will miss drinking tea with you and just talking with you, Grandma.

I love you Grandma.

Guess what we got today?

Our first brown egg! I am almost sure this came from Comet, our sex-link hen. She was strutting around crowing loudly, and she has been showing signs that she is ready to lay for awhile. C found the egg, and surprised us with it this morning. We've gotten used to having blue and green eggs, the brown one is a nice change.

Oh glorious day! It was in the 50's-in January! Unbelievable. Tomorrow may hit 60. I'll actually have to run in shorts and expose my lily white legs.

I took down the Christmas tree today, and packed up the last of the decorations. Even with the mild weather I couldn't help but listen to my Christmas music mix on my ipod one last time. The Christmas season goes by way too fast for me. Winter nights are dark, and without the lights from our tree our house is dark. Dark and sad and depressing. I couldn't bear to pack away all the cheer, so I took my little miniature tree up to my room, and I may leave it up awhile. It helps. I never thought I was a Christmas in July type, but maybe I'm changing...

Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa's

This is a letter I wrote and read to my 91 year old grandmother this year.

Christmas at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s

My best memories of Christmas at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s come from when I was about 8, 9, 10 years old.
The day after Christmas we would pile into the Bronco and make the drive up north to Cleveland. As a child it took forever to get there! But it was worth the wait, because as soon as we pulled into Grandma’s and Grandpa’s driveway the familiar feelings and memories from the years before would come back, and I always knew what to expect.

Grandma and Grandpa were at the door to give us big hugs and say “Merry Christmas”.
There in the foyer was the Santa and Mrs. Claus with her apron full of candy canes. Into the rooms I would go, checking to see if everything was as I remembered it. Yes, there was the dollhouse with the teeny furniture, and the bear with the Bowling Green sweater. In the living room the cast iron cat sat by the fireplace just as always, and in the hallway cabinets were the photo albums I loved to look through.
In the family room was Grandpa’s leather recliner, which was supremely comfortable, though we didn’t get to sit in it much because Grandpa was usually in it. There was also the creaky 3-legged chair that I always had to sit in at least once, and the stack of newspapers and Reader’s Digest.

Grandma always had the table set and ready for dinner, and the children’s table was also set, usually with a foil wrapped chocolate or other treat on the plates.
The tree was gigantic to me, and the gifts that had already been opened were lying in their boxes, so I could always look and see what gifts Grandma and Grandpa had given each other. There was always the Higbees box which mystified me, as we didn’t have that store in Springfield. It must have been a wonderful store since there seemed to be a Higbees box every year.

When we were all settled in it was time for dinner. The dinner was always delicious, and Grandpa would proclaim his pleasure over our clean plates and pronounce us great eaters. The dinner highlight for me was always the cookie plate. The cookie plate had every kind of delicious cookie I loved. And it was so pretty, I liked just looking at the cookies and how the buckeyes sat so nicely next to the sugar cookies, Hershey Kiss cookies, and lemon bars. I always tried as many cookies as I could, and I was allowed to have as many as I wanted.

When it was time to open the gifts I could always expect a special gift from Grandma. I remember when she made me matching dresses for me and my doll, and sometimes I would get a Jo-Jo. Then Megan and I would have to talk about our sock monkey dolls, and I would wonder why Megan’s dolls were called Co-Co, when Jo-Jo was obviously the more fitting name.

Christmas at Grandms’s and Grandpa’s was always one of the best parts of the holiday for me. Playing with my cousins, drinking tea out of one of Grandma’s special tea cups, and getting a dollar from Grandpa were all things that made the times at their house so special to me. I am so glad that I was able to have those times as a child. During the Christmas season I am reminded of so many of these things. Each time I pass a cookie plate I can’t help but compare it to Grandma’s, and it is NEVER as good as Grandma’s!

Merry Christmas Grandma!
Love, Amy