When I was younger I spent a lot of time at a good friend's house. Summer was our season and we spent hours swimming in the canal, salting freshly picked cucumbers, and catching the lead singers of their backyard frog Choir. One of my favorite features of this home away from home was the "country" feel. This family had pigs and chickens to feed, apples to pick, sprinklers to move, and wild kittens to tame. I was convinced my dear friend had the life and true to kid nature, she did not agree. So at every opportunity I begged to be the one who got to feed the chickens and gather the eggs. She of course conceded easily and happily, and yet I felt like I had won something precious. I was so fascinated with those funny little chickens with their awkward neck movements and constant babbling. On one particular day I was gathering the eggs while quietly trying to persuade the chickens not to peck at me. My friend and her brother were outside of the coop, watching me through the holes in the wire. I suddenly noticed the backs of some of the chickens. They were missing their feathers and looked like they had been scratched. I was disturbed by the sight and remember urgently coming out of the coop and asking what happened to them. My friend and her brother looked at eachother and laughed. They then proceeded to tell me the Rooster did that to them. I was confused and asked why the Rooster was so mean to them. They laughed some more and then gave me a little talk about the Birds and the Bees- animal style. I was disgusted. I remember clapping my hands over my ears and trying to hum the disturbing away. But the lesson was inevitable and now the chickens weren't that cute and the task of gathering eggs had lost its innocence and charm. I gladly handed the chicken duties back to my friend and spent more time salting and eating cucumbers with hands at the ready if Rooster talk began.
Lately I've learned a lot about the people in my world mostly without any inquiry. Whether it's discovering too much information about ward members, becoming a confidant for the troubled, or having overtalkative coworkers the point is the same. There seems to be a constant stream of reality that's shattering the charm of well, everything. As much as I claim to be a realist, I still appreciate the warm and the fuzzy that keep the hard topics hidden. So in an effort to maintain a love for the human race and in the name of chickens, I will now be slamming my hands over my ears and humming my heart out.
I'm sorry...hummm.... I just can't hear you....hummm
Monday, March 14, 2011
Someone please tell T Swift she doesn't deserve a second chance-Girl, it's March.
My Red Toms are plain Cheery.
Lots of babies.
Chopped hair is lib-er-ating.
I gladly call my husband "Ninja"....when he's playing Volleyball. Seriously. Ninja.
Jon challenges us to a house cleaning race = me as Monica Geller. Smart Man.
I wish it was normal to talk to you.