Today as we were heading to the car my mother-in-law’s rooster, a black and white Barred Rock, moved in a threatening way towards my four year old son, Lazarus. His wings were flared downward, his head and neck level with the ground. He rattled his feathers. I threw my flip flop at him and he ran away. He was a rooster with a history of violence. Thinking that he had been adequately subdued, I turned my back on Laz to put my camera in the car. By the time I walked back around our gray mini-van the rooster had returned and Lazarus was under brutal attack. The demon chicken was hovering in the air spurring my baby in the stomach and then went over his head and hit him in the back on his way back to the ground. Lazarus was hysterical in no time. At that moment my husband Scott walked out of the house and witnessed the crime. We both took off after that rooster, leaving poor Lazarus wailing on the sidewalk. I was absolutely furious!
Scott headed the rooster off and I swung around to flank him, trying to corner him under the porch.
“Let’s kill it.” I growled.
“Let’s. Scott agreed.
We tried for several minutes to catch that slimy fowl as Lazarus screeched and yelled at the top of his little lungs. I soon realized that the creature was too quick for us and I turned my attention to Lazarus and the wounds he had suffered. The rooster’s talons had left two long, red scratches and a small puncture on his belly and a smaller scratch on his lower back. It was sweltering out in the sun. I lifted Lazarus, who was still bawling, and carried him towards the house. Scott muttered something about putting out a hit and slipped past us into the air conditioning.
I put Lazarus on the kitchen island and found anti-biotic ointment for his damaged skin, thinking there was little I would be able to do for his damaged psyche. The noise Laz was making soon got the attention of his grandfather, who he calls Papa. Papa stood beside our wailing baby and tried to comfort him. He cooled his head with a cloth. I got the poor child a glass of cool water. After several minutes, Lazarus was simmering rather than boiling over and Papa said,
“Don’t worry Laz. Papa will make sure that mean, old rooster never hurts you again.” To me, under his breath he said, “I’m going to take care of this.” He sounded like the godfather.
The “grandfather”, Scott and his brother Richard went out after the attacker with a big, huge shotgun. Lazarus was simpering.
“Is Papa going to kill Pot Pie?” He asked.
“I believe so, Laz.” I answered hesitantly.
I wasn’t sure how he would react. He is terribly tender-hearted.
“Good.” He said grimly. “He is an evil bird.”
We sat there in silence for a few minutes and soon heard the first shattering “BOOM”! Lazarus gasped and then we were quiet again, listening. The second boom followed in several minutes.
“Is he dead?” Laz asked me.
“I think so.” I said.
Lazarus was quiet for several seconds and then asked, “Do animals go to heaven?” I thought for a moment about that question and it’s deep, philosophical implications, then I nodded. I couldn’t see the harm in saying, “Yes. I think that they do.”
Lazarus instantly started howling again. I was surprised. I had thought that knowing Pot Pie would be in heaven would be a comfort to him.
“Laz! What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.
It took him several minutes to answer me. His quiet little voice broke as he said, “Pot Pie will attack me! Even in heaven!” He cried as if his poor little heart had broken.
“Oh, Lazarus,” I clarified. “Only good animals go to heaven.”
He slowly calmed down and simply said, “Oh.” I was relieved that he didn’t logically follow with the next obvious question.
The posse came loudly back into the house, celebrating an easy hunt. The rooster was “nothing but a pile of black feathers”. Papa put his big black gun on the top of a high bookshelf and informed Lazarus that his enemy was no more. Lazarus was glad. He asked to see the dead rooster. I looked at Scott and he shrugged. I lifted Lazarus down and Daddy and Mommy took him out to look at what happens to you when you are an evil rooster.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
My Dream House... Tent...
My dream house isn't a house at all. It is a tent. A tent called a Yurt. Modern yurts are made of a high tech,reflective insulation developed by NASA. They are very heat, cold and wind resistant and are very economical to heat or cool. They are not as temporary and flimsy as you might think a tent would be. They are the offspring of the Mongolian Ger. Another round, warm tent, though I think that Genghis Khan covered his tent in animal skins rather than super-reflective plastic and treated canvas. Someday I will have my own yurt. Until then, I drool over google images of other people's. Here are some for you:
SimpLIFEication!
As we are packing and moving things from our apartment to my in-law's basement I am sorting and eliminating much of our stuff. I don't want to be burdened with things anymore. I also don't want to pay for a U-haul.
Seriously, though. I really want to simplify my life. I want to have sparse belongings. The fewer things you have to clutter your life and your house, the easier your life and your housework will be.
I want to have a bed.
I want to have books (not exactly simple, I know, but there must be this one exception)
I want to have a perfectly outfitted kitchen. Just exactly what I need and no more.
I want to have a big table to eat around.
I want to have a big comfy, ugly couch to snuggle on with my Scott.
I want to have my records and my record player.
I want to have sturdy, simple clothing that lasts for a very long time.
I want to have good, healthful food.
I want chickens.
I want a cow.
I want to have just enough and a bit more to share. I want to be safe, fed, secure. I want to have my family always close by me. I want to have a simple, healthy life.
And I also would like to travel the world.
Jenny
Seriously, though. I really want to simplify my life. I want to have sparse belongings. The fewer things you have to clutter your life and your house, the easier your life and your housework will be.
I want to have a bed.
I want to have books (not exactly simple, I know, but there must be this one exception)
I want to have a perfectly outfitted kitchen. Just exactly what I need and no more.
I want to have a big table to eat around.
I want to have a big comfy, ugly couch to snuggle on with my Scott.
I want to have my records and my record player.
I want to have sturdy, simple clothing that lasts for a very long time.
I want to have good, healthful food.
I want chickens.
I want a cow.
I want to have just enough and a bit more to share. I want to be safe, fed, secure. I want to have my family always close by me. I want to have a simple, healthy life.
And I also would like to travel the world.
Jenny
Right Across the Road
In three weeks we will be changing our chosen state of residence from Virginia to Texas. My family lives there and I have been itching to live near my mommy since she moved away from me three years ago. I am the oldest of seven and five of my six siblings live there. My brother Joel has his little family living in Hawaii right now (the bum). My brothers James and Jordon have new wives and they both live within spitting distance of my parent's little ranch. The last three sibs, Jacki, Jeremiah and Joshua are still living at home. Jacki is attending a ministry school out of state, but is at home when she is not in classes. I miss them all so much. I miss being part of what's going on in their lives. I miss the community of being in a big family. It's really like having your own little town.
My family is the most amazing group of people I know. I am completely content with the family God put me into. We are the coolest people I know. We are honest, loving, opinionated, fierce, vicious, loyal, determined, positively positive, intelligent, commonsensical, insightful, direct, fun-loving people. We probably talk too much. We definitely fight too much. We were raised talking! We said what we wanted to say. And we were never discouraged from that. We were always honest about how we felt... at least how we felt about what somebody else was doing. Or saying. Or thinking. Or feeling. We were keenly attuned to people's emotions. We called each other on everything. We still do. I love that about us. Sometimes we are hard for other people to stomach. Especially people with low self esteem. Not that we don't have low self esteem ourselves. We are delightfully self-depreciating (though, sometimes I think we put on a bit of insecurity to keep other people from thinking we are too sure of ourselves). We are proud. We have both the good kind of pride and the bad kind. We love each other and see the quality in ourselves and our ways, but we also have the poisonous, ugly pride that tries to make itself seem better than others. We fight the ugly kind and try to hide the prior. Both things are hard to do. We are just so wonderful, it's hard for other people not to notice. I jest, of course... kinda. I've read that humility is simply being able to admit that someone else is better than you when they truly are, not down-playing ones own qualities and abilities and taking joy from them. I think that in most cases, we are pretty good at that.
I, along with all of my brothers and my sister, was home schooled from the beginning of my education to the end of it. We were relatively secluded from the outside world. We were perfectly protected, I believe. Not over or under guarded from the wiles of the world. My parents, thanks to the hippie movement, had the desire and the ability to do things differently. They did. I am so glad that they did. I love that I have a different perspective than most people in this country. I love who I am and so much of who I am comes from the identity I developed in such an expressive, safe, loving, accepting, challenging environment. I had no pressure to be anyone but myself.
My parents have always had such a tangible relationship with God. My mother has always been my greatest example. She is the most wonderful woman in the entire world. I hope I am a quarter as spectacular as she is. My parents taught us morals and kindness, generosity and hospitality. They taught us that Christianity was not about following dry rules and rituals, but about loving the Creator of the universe and serving Him with your entire being. My parents were not religious people, they were righteous people.
I can not wait to be right across the road from them! That is where I am going to be when we move to Texas! Withing walking distance. I am so excited and feel so blessed. I know that being there with them will help me so much. I feel like a fish out of water. There is just no one in the world like them. They are my family. I know that we won't all be together on this earth, but I know that we will all be together forever in our eternal home. Our mansions in the Holy City will be right across the road from each other, too! God is so good.
Jenny
My family is the most amazing group of people I know. I am completely content with the family God put me into. We are the coolest people I know. We are honest, loving, opinionated, fierce, vicious, loyal, determined, positively positive, intelligent, commonsensical, insightful, direct, fun-loving people. We probably talk too much. We definitely fight too much. We were raised talking! We said what we wanted to say. And we were never discouraged from that. We were always honest about how we felt... at least how we felt about what somebody else was doing. Or saying. Or thinking. Or feeling. We were keenly attuned to people's emotions. We called each other on everything. We still do. I love that about us. Sometimes we are hard for other people to stomach. Especially people with low self esteem. Not that we don't have low self esteem ourselves. We are delightfully self-depreciating (though, sometimes I think we put on a bit of insecurity to keep other people from thinking we are too sure of ourselves). We are proud. We have both the good kind of pride and the bad kind. We love each other and see the quality in ourselves and our ways, but we also have the poisonous, ugly pride that tries to make itself seem better than others. We fight the ugly kind and try to hide the prior. Both things are hard to do. We are just so wonderful, it's hard for other people not to notice. I jest, of course... kinda. I've read that humility is simply being able to admit that someone else is better than you when they truly are, not down-playing ones own qualities and abilities and taking joy from them. I think that in most cases, we are pretty good at that.
I, along with all of my brothers and my sister, was home schooled from the beginning of my education to the end of it. We were relatively secluded from the outside world. We were perfectly protected, I believe. Not over or under guarded from the wiles of the world. My parents, thanks to the hippie movement, had the desire and the ability to do things differently. They did. I am so glad that they did. I love that I have a different perspective than most people in this country. I love who I am and so much of who I am comes from the identity I developed in such an expressive, safe, loving, accepting, challenging environment. I had no pressure to be anyone but myself.
My parents have always had such a tangible relationship with God. My mother has always been my greatest example. She is the most wonderful woman in the entire world. I hope I am a quarter as spectacular as she is. My parents taught us morals and kindness, generosity and hospitality. They taught us that Christianity was not about following dry rules and rituals, but about loving the Creator of the universe and serving Him with your entire being. My parents were not religious people, they were righteous people.
I can not wait to be right across the road from them! That is where I am going to be when we move to Texas! Withing walking distance. I am so excited and feel so blessed. I know that being there with them will help me so much. I feel like a fish out of water. There is just no one in the world like them. They are my family. I know that we won't all be together on this earth, but I know that we will all be together forever in our eternal home. Our mansions in the Holy City will be right across the road from each other, too! God is so good.
Jenny
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
July, 6th 2010
Today is day two of my super-duper yeast cleanse fast. For six months I plan on eating nothing with sugar or white flour or... I think it would be easier to list the foods I can eat than the ones I can't:
Green veggies
Brown rice
Dairy
Coffee
Sounds exciting, eh? I am a bit dismayed. I love to eat food. At this moment there is a cooling rack full of cookies that smell AMAZING sitting right in front of me. I want to eat one so badly! But I will not. I have to get my body in order. Last night I had steak for supper, which is acceptable, but it made me so sick that I don't think I will ever be able to eat steak again. I guess it's vegetarianism for me again. I was a vegetarian for two years right before I had Lazarus. While I was pregnant with him I had such huge cravings for meat. I had dreams about meat. I started to eat meat again and gained a lot of weight. I think it's about time (Lazarus is four) to get things back under control. I am praying that the Lord gives me the ability to handle my cravings and my problem with self-indulgence. I know that I can't do this on my own. I really, really can't! But! God is good! He wants me to be healthy and he knows how weak I am.
Jenny
Green veggies
Brown rice
Dairy
Coffee
Sounds exciting, eh? I am a bit dismayed. I love to eat food. At this moment there is a cooling rack full of cookies that smell AMAZING sitting right in front of me. I want to eat one so badly! But I will not. I have to get my body in order. Last night I had steak for supper, which is acceptable, but it made me so sick that I don't think I will ever be able to eat steak again. I guess it's vegetarianism for me again. I was a vegetarian for two years right before I had Lazarus. While I was pregnant with him I had such huge cravings for meat. I had dreams about meat. I started to eat meat again and gained a lot of weight. I think it's about time (Lazarus is four) to get things back under control. I am praying that the Lord gives me the ability to handle my cravings and my problem with self-indulgence. I know that I can't do this on my own. I really, really can't! But! God is good! He wants me to be healthy and he knows how weak I am.
Jenny
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The 4th of July!
Today is the 4th of July.
When I was growing up we didn't have many traditions applied to Independence day. As kids in Illinois, we would go to my Grandma's campground and watch the fireworks over the lake. I remember being very small, butted up to my Grandmother's side, watching her watch the sky and knowing that she was enjoying the colors and lights and the booms as much as I was. That is really the only fireworks related memory I have from my childhood. The four years we lived in Oregon we never saw a firework due to the strict fire codes. And when we were back in Illinois, I guess I was simply uninterested in seeing them. Too old, or some such. By the time I met Scott I'm sure it had been at least five years since I had seen fireworks.
The first time I visited Scott's parent's home was on New Year's Eve. The place was packed. There was a bonfire and food. Scott and I bonded over our shared disgust of cheese balls. Every one was having a spectacular time, especially Scott's uncle, Russ. He got to play with one of his favorite volatile toys, fireworks. When most people have their own fireworks display neither the fire or the works ever leave the earth. Uncle Russ may or may not have a fireworks license and he definitely has access to enormous, professional fireworks. He gives the best fireworks show I have ever seen. It lasts twice as long as any of the small towns around here and I'm sure it could rival even the biggest metropolis with the pure excitement of having the explosions in such close proximity. My very favorite part of the show doesn't happen in the air, though. My favorite part is 150 yards out in the field. There stands a wooden, flat bedded wagon, piled with powders trapped in boxes, waiting for fire to set them free. Gathered around the wagon are Uncle Russ and his assistants (the favored few). In their hands are lit flares, brilliant, hot pink light illuminates the dark figures. They light fuse after fuse and send bouquets of light up into the dark sky. Soon the field is filled with smoke and the light from the flares colors it pink. It makes me think of a battle. The smell of the gun powder, the smoke, the shadowy silhouettes of men with explosives. Sometimes there are accidents. Twice I've seen a fire start where it should not have started., fireworks shooting in directions that were not up. Once a girl got a hot ember in her eye. Once someone was burned by a flare. It's wonderfully dangerous.
I've had four 4ths with Scott's family and every one has been exciting and amazing and just FUN! Today is my fifth. Today, there are no fireworks. Not sure why, but it was decided that the display would not happen. I am profoundly sad. I really love fireworks now and I know that there is nowhere and no one who can make Independence Day as exciting as it is at my in-laws house. It's hard, on holidays with strong traditions, not to feel empty when the traditions aren't observed.
We are moving to Texas in less than a month. I don't know if I will ever get to see Uncle Russ do fireworks ever again. I hope I do. It's just not the 4th without them.
Happy Independence Day!
Jenny
When I was growing up we didn't have many traditions applied to Independence day. As kids in Illinois, we would go to my Grandma's campground and watch the fireworks over the lake. I remember being very small, butted up to my Grandmother's side, watching her watch the sky and knowing that she was enjoying the colors and lights and the booms as much as I was. That is really the only fireworks related memory I have from my childhood. The four years we lived in Oregon we never saw a firework due to the strict fire codes. And when we were back in Illinois, I guess I was simply uninterested in seeing them. Too old, or some such. By the time I met Scott I'm sure it had been at least five years since I had seen fireworks.
The first time I visited Scott's parent's home was on New Year's Eve. The place was packed. There was a bonfire and food. Scott and I bonded over our shared disgust of cheese balls. Every one was having a spectacular time, especially Scott's uncle, Russ. He got to play with one of his favorite volatile toys, fireworks. When most people have their own fireworks display neither the fire or the works ever leave the earth. Uncle Russ may or may not have a fireworks license and he definitely has access to enormous, professional fireworks. He gives the best fireworks show I have ever seen. It lasts twice as long as any of the small towns around here and I'm sure it could rival even the biggest metropolis with the pure excitement of having the explosions in such close proximity. My very favorite part of the show doesn't happen in the air, though. My favorite part is 150 yards out in the field. There stands a wooden, flat bedded wagon, piled with powders trapped in boxes, waiting for fire to set them free. Gathered around the wagon are Uncle Russ and his assistants (the favored few). In their hands are lit flares, brilliant, hot pink light illuminates the dark figures. They light fuse after fuse and send bouquets of light up into the dark sky. Soon the field is filled with smoke and the light from the flares colors it pink. It makes me think of a battle. The smell of the gun powder, the smoke, the shadowy silhouettes of men with explosives. Sometimes there are accidents. Twice I've seen a fire start where it should not have started., fireworks shooting in directions that were not up. Once a girl got a hot ember in her eye. Once someone was burned by a flare. It's wonderfully dangerous.
I've had four 4ths with Scott's family and every one has been exciting and amazing and just FUN! Today is my fifth. Today, there are no fireworks. Not sure why, but it was decided that the display would not happen. I am profoundly sad. I really love fireworks now and I know that there is nowhere and no one who can make Independence Day as exciting as it is at my in-laws house. It's hard, on holidays with strong traditions, not to feel empty when the traditions aren't observed.
We are moving to Texas in less than a month. I don't know if I will ever get to see Uncle Russ do fireworks ever again. I hope I do. It's just not the 4th without them.
Happy Independence Day!
Jenny
Ah, a fresh new BLOG.
Well, this is what, the third or fourth blog I have started? I wonder if this one will be as neglected as the last few. I hope that it will not, in fact I mean to keep up with this blog, this little chronicle of my life.
I tend to begin a new blog, used to be journal, when I feel like I am starting fresh. So many notebooks in my possession have the first twenty or thirty pages crammed with words and feelings. And then they are forgotten, often along with all my new resolutions. I am just not a very stick-to-it person. It's a horrible flaw. I can't remember which book or which character of L. M. Montgomery's said, "Either you are born with gumption, or you are not." I paraphrase. I was not born with gumption. I might even have negative gumption. I am a person of false starts. Do overs. But, I keep doing over. And over. And over again. I hope and pray, someday, God will settle me into a way, a routine of doing the right thing at the right time.
Consistency. I pray for consistency.
I suppose that I have my own sort of inconsistent consistency. I do always keep on trying, even when I mess up. I guess that all I can do is keep on praying and keep on going. Life is a long walk.
What I hope this chronicle will record is some change for the better in me. A clear and honest picture of where I am and where I can go with my next step. I want it to be a hopeful place in my life. I want it to reflect the new life I am about to begin. I want my new life to be worth reflection.
Well, that's all I have to say in this, my first post on my new blog! More to follow.
Jenny
I tend to begin a new blog, used to be journal, when I feel like I am starting fresh. So many notebooks in my possession have the first twenty or thirty pages crammed with words and feelings. And then they are forgotten, often along with all my new resolutions. I am just not a very stick-to-it person. It's a horrible flaw. I can't remember which book or which character of L. M. Montgomery's said, "Either you are born with gumption, or you are not." I paraphrase. I was not born with gumption. I might even have negative gumption. I am a person of false starts. Do overs. But, I keep doing over. And over. And over again. I hope and pray, someday, God will settle me into a way, a routine of doing the right thing at the right time.
Consistency. I pray for consistency.
I suppose that I have my own sort of inconsistent consistency. I do always keep on trying, even when I mess up. I guess that all I can do is keep on praying and keep on going. Life is a long walk.
What I hope this chronicle will record is some change for the better in me. A clear and honest picture of where I am and where I can go with my next step. I want it to be a hopeful place in my life. I want it to reflect the new life I am about to begin. I want my new life to be worth reflection.
Well, that's all I have to say in this, my first post on my new blog! More to follow.
Jenny
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