Tag: My Peaceable Kingdom

My Writing Job Killed My Writing Hobby

The Hubster and I had a weblog-like thing before that’s what they were called. We posted pictures and wrote captions describing our activities. He posted graphs of his weight loss versus my pregnancy gain. No one read blogs, so we sent e-newsletter-ish messages updating everyone we know that we’ve updated our webpage.

It didn’t take long for blogging platforms to become all the rage and I was on it. I even dabbled with vlogging. Turns out that takes a certain moxie I don’t have. I started this blog and dreamed of getting the call all indie bloggers hoped for at that time — the “blog for me” job offer. I got that in 2010 and my writing changed.

My life changed too. Many bloggers who didn’t go the job route but the entrepreneurial route instead, hustled up advertisers and contributors and built communities around their own interests. That’s all great and I’m so totally envious, but I didn’t think that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to keep my quiet little life with my own thoughts, my environmental micro-movement and a focus on my kiddos. I need to take inventory to see if I managed that.

My writing is geared for promotion now, not insight. My mind is on how to engage, not to create community but to improve metrics. Documenting the little experiments and quiet moments at home is all but over. I cling to shared reading (right now The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn). We still do projects, sometimes. I even share through social media, though it doesn’t give me the same satisfaction as telling the story behind the moments.

I have a plan to scrape some of the better content that I’ve written for my employer and cross posting it here. It’s almost true to my voice. Maybe just that little effort will reignite the desire to make my own accounting and refocus my attention on the heart of my home and not just the functioning of it. Maybe… if I actually do it.

A Family Portrait

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We went on a hike. It was beautiful. I loved my family and the overcast day and all the creatures great and small whose paths we encountered. I wanted to capture the moment. I wanted a family photo. Maybe not this one.


The 9 YO looks genuinely happy, but the rest of us don’t appear enthusiastic. This isn’t the moment I had hoped to capture. We tried again.


Oops. Darn timer. One more time.


We could do better.


And here we lose the 9 YO. Nevermind. Some moments are best preserved in memory alone.

The Finisher – Could that be me? Nah.

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Recently I finished a dish rag I’d been knitting for two years solid. I gave it away straight away, so, no photos. I thought perhaps I could finish a few verbal projects here. I’m terrible at tying up loose ends. I’ll tell a tale like Nugget has joined the Peaceable Kingdom or Apples to Apples: An Ethnography of the Apple Store, and then leave it at that. It’s not that I don’t want to finish the story, it’s just that I’m a lazylou. I also have a 9 year quilt in the closet with my other skeletons. While unfinished is the way I roll, a little catch-up wouldn’t kill me.

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The Apple store totally took care of me. New battery, new battery charger, new battery connection, new keyboard plate, and totally wiped down and cleaned up. The outcome feels as luxurious as getting my car detailed, which I’m totally going to do one day so that I know what it feels like to have my car detailed. The best part? The cost of parts and services was over $400, but they charged me nothing. I may not understand the store setup and perhaps I’m doing it all wrong, but I’m not sorry I drank the Apple juice.

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Nugget decided to join the rest of our flock and even spent two nights perched with them. Unfortunately, the morning after proved to be no honeymoon. Buttercup would have none of it and, fearing a reprisal of the earlier victimage at the beaks of the Borton birds, Nugget quit roosting with the rest, choosing instead the grapefruit tree. We tired of retrieving her and so have reverted to roosting her ourselves in her segregated cell. I’m at a loss with her. I hate to see outcasts so if you have a suggestion, please let me know.

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You may have noticed from my Twitter feed that we were scrambling to find new digs. The landlady called to say she was ready to move in and was sending a contractor over here today. Being a glorious F-Friday, I overheard the contractor tell landlady that she should budget six months just to draw up plans for the renovations. She didn’t say we could stay for those six months, but I’m feeling more relaxed about the situation. Even better, I’ve spent the last seven days on overdrive trying to pare down our possessions in preparation to move. In other words, the house is uncluttered and light weight. In fact, we had a discussion over dinner that we should invite all three of our friends over for a party then tell them how embarrassed we are the house is such a pit. Get it? We’d come off as Model Home folks. Ah, we are so funny. Okay, not really. There’s still much to clean and even cleaner probably wouldn’t approach your level of cleanliness.

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Fluffy and Puffy are, for the most part, gone. Must be time to weed again!

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Oh, I am so exhausted! It takes the wind out of a person to attend to the details. There is no way I’m going to do the dishes now.

Freshly Mopped

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The Senior Warden and I recently marveled at how predictable our behavior can be. For example, both she and I rearrange the furniture when we are looking for new perspectives or needing to reunite ourselves with our under-the-couch pets. I also like to clean my house prior to embarking on a journey. That’s a metaphor, you know, and it’s related to the moving of furniture and my struggle for perspective because the dust bunnies can be damned. Unfortunately, my brain isn’t working that way right now.

The way my brain is working right now is that you can go on an actual vacation that leaves you feeling slimed – gooey, not skinny, because that would be “slimmed” and I just don’t care that spell check prefers not to recognize my noun verb; though you might feel slimmed, an adjective verb, if you are surrounded by of the sort of people who starve you. In either case, those are usually called home visits. Did I mention I’m going home? Well, I am and when I return, I want clean floors. I spent an hour in the kitchen on my hands and knees, first with a scrub brush (’cause it’s a hard knock life) then with a rinse mop.


Saltillo tiles really look dirty, I mean hide the dirt don’t they? Upon completion of the kitchen tiles, I did the same in the dining room (they’re going to shine like the top of the Chrysler building!). Hello, kitty.


Shut up! Those are the after photos. The kitten isn’t circling her own poo, that’s the original concrete stain showing through the peeling concrete paint. So… uhm… the moral of the story is you can shower as much as you want, some of the dirt just ain’t never going to wash away.

Nugget Update

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Perhaps you remember a nice family who, out of the kindness of their hearts, fostered a sick or injured bird in their peaceable kingdom. Not knowing the extent of Nugget’s problems, we opened our home to her. Everyone pitched in. The people set up a private space. The dog and cat kept predators at bay. The birds shared their food and bedding. Yes, we stepped up in service to one of God’s creatures when the pathetic Nugget pleaded for sanctuary.

After much tender loving care, it became clear that Nugget was not ill nor egg bound. Nugget came to us after being on the losing end of a fight with her peeps that left her temporarily paralyzed; then walking like a drunk; and now, almost fully recovered. We’ve taught her to take treats by hand; we’ve taught her to free range, and we are working on teaching her to properly perch. I don’t know what she was learning at that school she attended, but it wasn’t how to be a chicken.

Nugget is no chicken. Nay, she’s a pit bull. The Mom-a-Tron homestead is a place where we all get along – no exceptions, and frankly, I’m struggling. My sweet flock, who had risked illness and sacrificed their resources for the sake of this damn bird, has been sucked in by an impostor! Oh, yes. Today, Persephone innocently passed by Nugget who then jumped on her back and pecked away. Persephone said, “Screw this,” and booked it far away from the pesky pecker. Persephone is a lover you see. I don’t think Flower cared for the gross display of bullying and she barked at Nugget, who then attacked Flower.

“Dude!” I said. “You weigh like half what my lightest bird does and you still aren’t secure in your footing. They will take you down.” Clearly, we have to keep working on unschooling Nugget. She may be ready for the school yard or more likely the prison yard, but not yet for my yard. Even so, I thought her spunk was newsworthy for those who love her and would like an update on her progress. I grabbed my camera. This is what I caught.

Ho, yeah. She pecked at Sailor Moon. Nugget is lucky that I had put her back in the crate after she got onto Persephone and Flower. Sailor Moon likes her space and everyone else’s. She likes her food and everyone else’s. She can keep the banties warm or she can make them miserable. Better I distract Sailor Moon with a treat. Not fully expressing her aggression, Nugget then goes after Fireball. That’s right. The only hen Nugget hasn’t fussed at is Buttercup, who is my most haughty bantam. Even so, you can tell how much better Nugget feels by how she’s standing at full height and showing off those tail feathers. I’m thinking she has less physical rehab left and much more social rehab in her future.

And so if you were thinking good thoughts for Nugget and the kids who love her, you can quit. Instead, think good thoughts for my computer for the battery is deceased and think good thoughts for my work because they need traffic and think good thoughts about loose nukes and stuff like that. Nugget will be just fine.

Unexpected Guest

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We had a friend stop by for a bit of convalescence. Meet Nugget.

I suppose what I should say is, “You remember Nugget, of course.” After all, you met her earlier this year when she made her debut on national television.

She’s lost her balance and after a good hen pecking Hawt Mz Molly decided that perhaps Nugget needed a break from the bullying. There was more than one Recess Queen*in the school’s coop. Those chickens should set a better example for the summer camp kids. They could have inquired about her health. Fireball did.

So did Persephone.

Cessy said, “Howdi Do*?”

Boris, the best damn dog around, sat guard knowing an injured chicken is a lame duck in a neighborhood shared with hawks, owls, and coyotes, among others.

Nugget is quarantined. She can’t be around kids if she’s sick and I’m certainly not going to let her too close to my flock. My Peaceable Kingdom is no place for shunning or ostrich-ism, so nugget was forced out into the open to stretch her wings and eat ants. (I wish she’d teach my chickens that trick.) Looky there! She’s got her balance back.

Okay, she didn’t really. If you look closely you can see my finger under her breast. My finger is attached to my hand and my hand is holding nugget up.

In all seriousness, Nugget is *the* favorite hen of the kids at school. She is reliably compliant for holding and petting. She’s a good layer. While she’s perked up, her comb is noticeably flaccid. She moves her legs and wings on her own, but she tips over when not held upright. Those of you who are inclined to farm mentality or too busy worrying about Iran, this is the end of the post. For the rest of you, think kind thoughts for Nugget and the hundreds of kids who love her.

* Did I mention I am a sell-out, er, Amazon Associate?

What’s Blooming

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Our night blooming cerus attracted a visitor. Is this a cerus? I think so. It is now anyway. Sometimes we have more than 30 larger-than-your-hand-sized blooms on that cactus. Have you met our new pet bee? We are taking up bee-keeping. Not bees-keeping. Just the one. Doing our part to prevent Colony Collapse Disorder and therefore world destruction.

My great-grandmother in Alabama had a gorgeous backyard with a fishing pond. Along one side was a vegetation-covered corridor and I loved to walk around the pond to get to the fantasy world under those arched green shadows. Depending on which way you walked around the pond, you either passed her beehive before the tunnel or afterward. The bees terrified me, especially in those swarming massive numbers, so I made myself inconspicuous as possible when in their general area.

Do I need to state explicitly that we aren’t getting a hive? Well, there you have it, and our vari cacti don’t all bloom at night. My prickly pear blooms in the daytime and I have three sorts.

I have orange flowers (lots of them):


I have yellow flowers (just this one, but the promise of more):


And I have orange and yellow flowers (not sure this one is prickly pear):

I’m thinking of doing some tuna harvesting and making stuff.

On edit: I didn’t pay much attention to sizing, but the photos are much prettier when really big, so click on them to see up close.

A Chick Flick

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I love my hens just a little more now that they aren’t all molting and nekked. And my hens seem to love me ever so slightly more. Maybe that’s because I hand feed them raisins, a trick the neighbors taught me. The chicks don’t mind so much the huntress kitty cat, and Boris is largely unconcerned by the whole lot of us outside the Hubster. I dubbed the video sound to cover my yelling, “NO RAISINS FOR YOU!” I seem to be the only one who doesn’t kowtow to the Hubster’s Vader-like presence.

Oh, this is just too low. Pet blogging.

Inspirations:

Firstly,
Eons ago, when I was addicted to My Space and not Facebook, April March’s Chick Habit was Anna’s profile song. I thought it rocked and so I bought it.

Secondly,
Listen up

Poins: Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
Falstaff: What, upon compulsion? Zounds, and I were at the strappado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you upon compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
(Henry IV, Part One, 2.4.246-42)
Best, Michael. Shakespeare’s Life and Times. Internet Shakespeare Editions, University of Victoria: Victoria, BC, 2001-2005.