It's a stormy, humid, hot, muggy August day here in NW Indiana. If that ain't bloggin' weather, I don't know what is.
The remnants of laundry day still hang on the line. Since Monday.
It's been so muggy, then rainy - at this point - I'm not taking them down - they are stayin' til they dry naturally. I can only imagine what the neighbors think.
Can I just tell you how much I treasure each of you? You guys had me in stitches all week with your comments. Seriously. Oh my. Let's all go camping together, in August. What a tale we'd have to tell.
Sorry to leave you 'hangin' about 'The Change'. I had no intention of so much time going by.
Ize been bizzy.
The change is at the end of this post - and God bless you if you read the whole thing.
I think there about 30 pictures with this post, and endless drivel to boot.
Refill your glasses, order dinner in. It's gone be a while.
It's come to my attention today that this is a Chicken Blog.
So I'm going to start by talking about ducks.
SO much has gone on around here that I haven't taken the time to tell you about.
Remember Claude and Maude?
Claude is no longer with us.
He was run over.
Please, tell me how a duck gets run over?
Maude and Claude were inseparable. I loved having mallard ducks that came and went as they pleased about the yard. Maude was quite friendly, but Claude, he was always a little standoffish. I think he remembered how much I squeezed him as a duckling.
Maude was no where to be found after Claude was hit.
Almost two weeks went by.
I grieved them both.
Then - one wonderful day - Maude was back!
But she wasn't the Maude I knew before.
I'm serious when I say - this duck was depressed.
I've never seen anything like it.
She wouldn't fly. She'd barely quack. She limped a little.
She's snapped out of it a little now.
She's taken to me as her mate.
Oh how I love that duck.
She's my pal.
A widowed duck, is there anything sadder?
Poor sweet Maude. She comes to the back door now and quacks loudly, like she's telling me she's going away for the day. She flies off, and then comes home for supper.
All of the chickens are just fine and dandy - well, except for two.
Scarlett has bumblefoot. I can barely look at it. It's just a big lump on her foot. It looks so tender. I've treated it the best I know how, but it's not getting better, or worse.
Stubs has/had an impacted crop. The goofball started eating straw. The things I've done to that bird to get her to empty her crop. Have you ever tried to make a hen throw up? How did I become this person? I used to wear makeup and paint my nails. I used to have a skin care regime. Now I put antibiotic cream on chicken claws and try to make hens regurgitate.
I was really worried about Stubs. I tried everything, and then got all Benny Hinn up on that bird. She's doing much better now - not sure that she's out of the woods, but it's been three weeks now, and she's eating, pooping, and being a regular chicken.
Little Phyllis hatched out a couple of adopted chickens. I know who the daddy be, but I don't know who the mommy.
I'm letting her free range about the yard with the babies. It's beyond cute. Letting nature take it's course, and letting her teach them how to be chickens.
The bantys are growing so fast. I adore them. They are so compact and perfect in every way.
Fifi is on the nest - and I'm not sure what's going on. I didn't take a picture of her - but that bird is a mess. She's burning up, no feathers on her belly, and has a wild look in her eyes. Either I've done the math wrong, or those eggs aren't hatching. She's sitting on eight. She's been SO faithful to set, that I'd have a hard time believing nothing will hatch. I check about 10 times a day. I want to clean her, wash the eggs, and replace them neatly in order.
I have a feeling that's not a good idea.
I've had the immense pleasure of meeting this gal.
She reads the blog, and we started emailing back and forth - and then I met her.
She's only two towns over.
She served me pickled asparagus.
I won't ever forget it.
She has no idea how she healed my soul that night.
Her gift of hospitality comes so natural to her, that she doesn't even realize how awesome she is at it.
This past weekend, I had my first overnight guest at the Squirrel Inn.
I'll be doing a whole post about this girl, and the one above, but for now, just the highlights.
If you don't read her blogs, ya oughta. She puts a lot of time and effort into them. Yes. Them.
Looky what she brought me.
We yakked so incessantly that I ended up having to take her to the Tastee Top for supper. It was 6pm before we knew it, and we was mighty hungry.
I think it's a tradition.
The Tastee Top is where I take blog friends.
I suppose this is a tradition as well. Goofy hand gestures.
If you meet me, you'd better be prepared for them.
Haven't talked much about the boy, but he's fine and dandy.
Just took four of his photos and entered them into the Lake County Fair.
Ize so proud.
School will start sooner than I want to admit.
Whoulda thunk it?
Since the Garden Walk, I've just been trying to rest, and reconnect with friends.
Never before has it been this clear, that I need this as much as I need air.
A little road trip to Crete, Illinois.
Donna and Bert.
Don't get no betta.
This shop charmed my socks off.
This lady - she spoke with a REAL accent - and she was sittin' and making things for the store.
This dress made me hurt I wanted it so much.
Even if it were my size - imagine me in it?
It could bring on a seizure in some people.
Been to a few Farmer's Markets.
All in all - happy, busy. Busy, happy.
The garden looks sad to me.
So many things past their prime already.
BUT, the pumpkins are ridiculous.
Growing like weeds.
Ok - you've gotten to the part of the post that is about 'The Change'.
It's not winemaking - although that's on the list.
It's about changing.
I'm starting to feel like an old lady.
It's just a matter of time before I'm caught in a photo like these:
This picture was taken on a 95 degree day. Mmmhmmm.
This really needs to be a separate post. All to itself, but I feared if I did that, I'd never get to tell you about all the fun things I've been up to, or I'd never tell you about the change - and well - it's just a big ole blog mess.
I'm not a good blogger.
I'm a messy, confused, haphazard blogger.
These are a few things I must change if I am going to be happy.
Happy - content - 'ok' - choose your adjective.
I'm a little high-strung - just incase you hadn't noticed.
I need to have a mentally relaxed attitude.
I need to learn to let go.
Aaron is growing up.
It's freaking me out.
I can't control it.
I will delve more into this.
My weight MUST change.
These pictures were taken in 2004/05.
Please, if you can think of any other way I could embarrass myself more, please email me. I am looking for new ways.
See that look on my face? That was my happiness. It wasn't so much about my waist size as it was me knowing that I was being the best me I could be. Inside. Choices. Attitudes.
I just know if I can change this:
I can change my body again.
I can change my mind again.
I can change.
I have wrestled with myself to the point of exhaustion.
I'm carrying too much weight - physically and mentally.
I've had a couple of odd dreams that I'll hopefully share with you tomorrow or the next day.
It's time to change.
There will be much drivel ahead.
I hope you will join me.
I hope you will.