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Tuesday, April 14, 2009

I gotta change them pillowcases, 'cuz you know Otis slept here last night and got 'em all greased up with that cheap hair oil he uses

Jill, I blame you for my grumpiness--you and your rather quaint vacation! Zounds! I am super jealous and wish I could go on a vacation of my own*. Especially since before long we'll all be living in underground Quonset huts and eating our sea rations. Italy won't even exist as anything more than a geographical area populated by warring tribes of Morlocks. And I won't ever have gotten to visit Venice: Italy's Toilet. It's cheesy, I know, but don't try to tell me that you've never wanted to row a boat to the grocery store.

This gardening revolution is nice, I guess, but it makes me feel a little annoyed. Listen, all you Johnny-come-latelies, I've been sucking at gardening for years, now, so don't think you're so great. John was talking to a friend of ours the other day, and he's of the opinion that gardening is important for many reasons, but certainly not for the idea that it's a cost-saving measure. Growing different plants so you learn all the ways in which you can fail them, and growing the things that you love because they taste better? That makes sense. It's an important skill to have. But, as cleverer minds than mine have already said, it's a tremendous resource-suck. Expensive, time-consuming, and often a giant bore--when it's not giving you apoplexy, that is.

We got four new chicks last night. It's the single-site stores that are saving my bacon--these are from the Rockin' E Country Store in Woods Cross, which is the nicest farm store I've ever visited. Clean, well-lit, orderly, and it smelled like tack and bag balm, the way a farm store should. We got two Delawares and two Easter Eggers (everybody calls them Ameraucanas, but I have my doubts). They are named Brisket, Shank, Rib and Loin. And they are messy, of course. People like to say that chickens are so smart--that they are as intellectually advanced as a 3-year-old child, for example. Well, if they're so smart, then clearly they like drinking poopy water. Because it never fails: I change their water, and one of them moseys over to the dish, all nonchalant, and takes a giant dump in it. Within seconds, usually. So they can drink poop, as far as I'm concerned. My chickens have all been doing it for years now, and they're as healthy as horses when horses are healthy. Heck, I bet it's good for them, even.

Do you sometimes feel that there are not enough meals in the day to eat all the different things you want? I have the worst time choosing my meals--today I want a grilled cheese sandwich because of this, but I also want some lentil soup. And I've forbidden myself from cooking anything new until we make a dent in the leftovers. Israeli couscous cooked in chicken broth is a little piece of heaven, by the way.

*John thinks it sounds like I really am miffed at Jill, which is not the case. I sometimes exaggerate my emotions for comical effect, is all.

1 comments:

Jill said...

actally, you SHOULD be "miffed" at me. My vacation was AWESOME! lol..but, I am a bit miffed at you because who in this world doesn't want a bunch of poop slurppin' chickens? All I have is a dog who eats his vomit. I am jeleous.