Of Hawks and Men

You know about our resident hawk. I'm not sure what kind of hawk she is, or even if she is a she, but I know that she is a good hunter--she's taken a dozen of my little chicks!

Last weekend I was outside doing my chores. Taking care of the animals is easy, really, but does take some time. We acquired a barn cat, "Kirby", and I have to give her dry and wet cat food (the wet to trick her into staying) and feed it to her in one of my last ceramic cereal bowls on top of the hay. One of the chickens has figured it out and went snooping up there the other day, and I'm pretty sure the groundhog that lives in the barn is hip to it but can't get to it.

So it's feed the cat, throw some feed to the chickens, begin throwing the last of last year's hay to the big animals (the grass is getting pretty thin), and water everyone.

I'm walking back up to the house after turning off the water pump. The house is to my right, the eggmobile is still parked to the left, and SWOOP! "Squeak!Squeak!Squeak!!!" That damn hawk!

She had been around earlier in the day. She lit upon a walnut tree and got hassled by the tree's resident squirrel. Kevin and I watched as the squirrel scampered on the thin branch toward the great predator and seemed to say "Hey! Get the frick out of my tree!" and the hawk would turn and flap her wings. The squirrel backed off, came on again, flap flap, on and on. ("Eat the squirrel--stay away from my chickens!") She finally flew away, but the chicks felt her presence and had spent the day hanging out under the eggmobile. But, now, they had let their guard down...

The hawk must've been on the edge of the house roof--or else she flew like a stealth plane down its slope. She pounced, grabbed a chick that was just slightly out from under the protection of the eggmobile, and started to fly away.

I was 12 feet away from this. I started running after the hawk who had to fly around the side of the eggmobile to head for the hills. I was running after a hawk. Stop and think about that for a moment! She was within my vertical reach for about 30 feet, but moving forward and up like a jet plane carrying the lover I was ready to say goodbye to and then, suddenly, realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. (Here's a distraction--come up with a list of ALL the movies that end with someone going after someone at the airport.)

And my poor little chick was screeching the entire way.

The hawk landed at the top of a dead tree at the edge of the pasture. I went down there, tore a dead limb from the tree, stomped it into 2-ft. long pieces, and threw the pieces at her. I wasn't trying to hit her (and seriously doubt I could have if I had wanted to); just hassle her. Why should it be so easy for her? After watching me for awhile, she flew away, chickie dangling from her talon.

Later on, I did some yoga. During the relaxation part I started to feel bad about hassling her. She has to live, too. Same with the coyotes. It's up to me to protect my animals; if I can't, then it's me who has to rethink this thing. Not just start shooting. Or throw bits of wood.

As I wrote this, I thought of something I hadn't before. No one has asked me what my #1 issue in this election is. Everyone talks about the economy or healthcare or whatever. All very important. But my #1 is this: How will the U.S. use its power in the world? Will we continue to do this knee-jerk shoot-first, 'don't talk without precondition' bullshit? I want my country to talk. To try to avoid conflict. To realize that just because you can, doesn't mean that you should.

And that is exactly how I feel about my pasture and the larger world both around it and part of it. No preemptive attacks.

The hawk visited yesterday morning, too. When I opened the eggmobile, I found 19 chickens stuffed into two nesting boxes. Usually, they see the open door and flap right out. "What gives, chickies?" I looked for signs of raccoon attack. None. And then I heard a short whistle. I wondered if there was a hawk. I stepped back, scanned the trees, and there she was--in the high branches of the walnut tree, the one right next to the walnut tree that belongs to the very protective squirrel.

I stood in the driveway and looked at her, telling her to just fly on by. I took a few pictures and stood guard as my big girls came from messing up the mulch in the garden beds, walked across the blacktop (a clear shot), and ambled down by the barn. I got in my car and left. I counted the chickens when I got home and, apparently, the hawk decided that she didn't feel like chicken tonight. Peace reigns in the barnyard. And I'm considering a llama.

What if Blogspot Deleted Me?

Sometimes I think my blog's days are numbered. I'm still using the email address from my previous job and every once in awhile blogger will remind me that 'that email no longer exists', and won't let me in. Yeah, I know it doesn't exist, but I could not figure out how to get it changed over and, of course, there's never a phone number or even a person on the other side of an email address. So I take my chances each time I sign on.

Things have been better the last couple of days. I tried to made Friday a healing day, despite the trauma of the morning. I walked to work, worked little, got a massage, talked with a friend who either has enormous insight or has decent outsight that I'm letting in.

I've been stressed this weekend because I have two inservices to do for the Hill on Tuesday. The inservices are for teachers who have decided to pilot (test) the Hill's programs in their classrooms. I've never done an inservice for a pilot, and it requires knowledge of Hill technology that goes a little beyond me (probably). I'm hoping that the teachers will just try to plan their lessons and use me as a facilitator when they get hung up on something. The tech-savvy sales rep will be there if I get stuck, but it's better to practice and not get stuck than need to be bailed out. It will all be fine, no doubt. But this project is one of those things that I can't get a chronological grasp on. I don't know what to start with or what, exactly, to show these teachers.

Often, when I try to plan something like a lesson plan or a detailed task, I visualize it kinda like this: All of the information needed for the task is really little bits of information swirling about, up in the ether, waiting for me to pluck them and put them in a logical sequence, resulting in The Completed Task/Plan. I often have to add new bits of information to the swirling 'cloud' as I go, or learn new things to understand a bit of information in the cloud. But normally, I get a flash and the information tumbles down, in order, as if by magic. It often requires sleeping on it.

The critical thing is that I trust my brain to work it out. I've done this particular sort of thing--lesson plans--often enough that I have an internal sense of how long it will take to get it done. Often, I end up overprepared. Sometimes, and I fear this may be one of those times, I may be underprepared, with bits of data still floating out there in the cloud, and I can't wrestle them down. (I know I must sound high, but I assure you I'm not. My brain, when stoned, turns those same bits of data into brightly colored swirling balls, that majestically transform into little technicolor birds swooping around in a blindingly blue sky. Wheeeeeee! Fly away, birdies! :-D )

I've done some yoga the past few days and--already--the chronic tightness in my left hamstring is easing. I was finally able to pop my hip and produce some much-needed relief. And the homemade facial cleanser made by the local aromatherapist/healer/Christmas tree grower has made a visible difference to my stress-induced skin blotches in just 3 days! Or is it the vinegar and honey drink? Who cares! Wheeee!

Slowly, s l o w l y, getting it together. Just gotta get through the next couple of days. Thanks for reading.

A Bad Morning.

Dawn. I heard the chicken, and something was wrong. I jumped up out of bed and into the living room, and saw the coyote running to the other side of the eggmobile, by the tree where four of my big hens roost.

"Kevin, there's a coyote!"

"I know!" he said, as he ran down the stairs. He must've seen it from the upstairs window.

We reached the patio doors at the same time, and Kevin busted out, fully-clothed and shoed. Right before he did, I saw the coyote heading east, by the barn, the pasture, and freedom, a chicken's wing splayed out of its mouth.

Kevin ran out of the doors and looked south. The barn is east.

"It's by the BARN! The BARN! THE BARN!!!" I shrieked, standing there in my underwear and bare feet. The coyote could not have been more than 40 feet away from him and he's looking the wrong way! When he did turn his head, he saw the coyote, now over the fence and a good ways down the pasture. Instead of taking off after it, with some hope that 1. it would drop the chicken to go faster, 2. he could see where it was running to and, thus, where to coyote hunt later, or 3. he could at least start yelling and scare the crap out of it, he let it go. Let it go! "It's halfway down the pasture."

Meanwhile, I'm running to my room, tearing on a pair of pants, and tearing out after an invisible coyote that could have run in any one of 180 degrees. "Agggghhhhhhh!!!" I screamed at the morning air.

I stomped back inside, yelled at Kevin (I run after animals that have my animals in their mouths!), and stomped into the shower. If only I had an elegant way to express in writing just how PISSED AND FRUSTRATED I WAS. I am still frustrated. I'm pretty sure I could have made a bit of a difference if I had gotten there sooner. DAMN IT!

I just love my chickens. I could coop them up and they would be safer. Because now I'm confronted with a coyote who has successfully taken two of my big laying hens in the past 10 days. Would you give up freedom for more safety, even if that safety was not guaranteed? Would you ask your macho, gun-owning neighbor to kill those blasted devil dogs? The coyotes...we hear them almost every night, and they will come back and come back until my chickens are gone. Do I get a llama? Can I keep a llama in the fence?

After my edgy shower, I'm now facing my stressed-out kid. Stevie has been a mess for the past three days. First, on Wednesday, he had a melt-down when he learned that he had a dentist appointment after school on Thursday. Sitting at my desk in the Chamber office, he wailed and cried about why I would set up an appointment outside of school hours, how he wanted to be homeschooled, how math was hard (he gets A's in his advanced math class), how he was tired.

Teeth are a stressor for him--he doesn't do the best job on his teeth and Kevin and I aren't as vigilant as we should be.

Then, last night after a good appointment (no cavities, but brush better), he whined about having to stop reading to fill out his reading log, a piece of homework that requires a mere three sentence 'book report' on what he's been reading. He took ONE HOUR to sit there and stress about not finding the passage in the book that he wanted to write about. "Just write something, Stevie! Write that you can't find the passage you want to write about! Just write something, because you still have math to do."

Well...he didn't. And ended up stomping around, going upstairs where Mark was placidly watching "Cars" for the hundreth time and shouting, "MARK! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO WATCH 'CARS'?!"

And this morning, more of the same. His homework wasn't done ("Just take the 'zero', Stevie, and don't worry about it."), I was 'freaking him out' by asking him to put pencil to paper and get his work done, etc.

Just a shitty morning.

I'm trying to take care of myself a little better. I bought some organic, unfiltered apple cider vinegar the other day, and I'm drinking two teaspoons of it in a glass of warm water with 2 t. of local honey. It's quite good, actually, and it's supposed to help with immunity and allergies. I'm also using a saline solution to clear my allergy-clogged nasal passages. I walked to work this morning. I'm going to have a massage today (that I can't afford--but can I afford to never treat myself?). I fully intend to take the new yoga classes that are being offered.

But all that can't override the stress. Not even the fiery leaves that I could actually smell on my walk this morning, not even the clip-clop of the Amish horse pulling two young Amish guys down the street in their black carriage with a cooler on the back. Their friendly wave, the fact that I live in an area where the Amish come to town every Friday to do their shopping, the beautiful cool weather...it didn't quite get me back up to the surface. I'm worried about my kid, I'm worried about my chickens ("Take care of yourselves" I told them as my pretty gold girls pecked about on a carpet of pretty gold leaves), I'm worried about my presentation next Tuesday for the Hill, and that's just the start. I have got to break out of this, dear reader! Advice is welcome.

Lulu Goes America on Everyone's Ass.

The title of this post was shamelessly ripped off from this funny show called "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" that Kev and I have been watching via Netflix. You should check it out. I give it a solid B, with many hilarious A moments.

So, you know how much I loathe Sarah Palin. Here's another reason--"Drill, baby, drill." What a fucking tool.

What you might not have known is how political I'm getting these days. The pins and needles are starting, and I'm watching the Sunday politico shows, even though I usually hate them. I still hate them, but I'm always looking for another reason to hate Sarah Palin and they are good for that, and, yes, I know I'm starting to sound irrational in my hatred of that varmint (shoot it, Sarah!) and that this is a poorly-constructed, run-on sentence.

I'm actually taking time out of my ridiculously busy day to share this slick piece of direct mail politicizing that I, as a Current Resident, just received.

The front cover shows the candidate for the U.S. House of Reps talking, mid-word, and gesticulating with an old man in a ball cap, in front of an antique tractor:

"Political Candidate"
Raised in Northwest Midwest State,
her character was shaped by her
Roots, FAITH, Family

Raise the flap, and you are greeted with the candidate, an older, attractive woman, in the center of a group of weekend casually-dressed people whom I can only assume are her family (white). A smaller picture shows her in front of a cross, talking (mid-word) with a group of women (black). The headline is:

Political Candidate was raised on
FAITH
In God. In Country. In Each Other.

In the six short paragraphs that follow, the word "faith" shows up SIX TIMES. Here's an example: "The Christian FAITH instilled in her, along with FAITH in one another which is at the core of Midwest State communities, made a profound impression that she took to heart as an adult."

In a little highlighted box, it quotes her as saying, "Among my most satisfying jobs was bringing diverse Midwest Statians together to discover we shared a common FAITH in the life of Jesus."

The only policy information is on the back, where she is--once again--pictured talking, mid-word, and gesticulating to another old person. That policy? "Because I know from my own experience the power of FAITH-based work, I will support FAITH-based initiatives when elected to Congress."

Wow. Where does a little ol' atheist like me begin? You're probably wondering why I'm bringing this up, as I should just throw Republican garbage like this right into the trash (recycling in my house).

This is the DEMOCRATIC candidate, Dear Reader!

The Republican, if you can believe it, is even worse! He's so bad, in fact, that he has attacked "a good, Christian woman like Political Candidate" (no shit--they use that phrase) in his ads, and accused her of being a baby killer and letting illegal immigrants swarm around the NW Midwest State countryside.

Seriously, people. What am I supposed to think here? Is this really all that matters to people around here, around the country? Is this my choice in representation?

This is alarming. I know it's been happening for awhile now--this slow shift to the right, the slow shift to everybody being so incredibly religious, this slow shift to hell for me and my faithless peeps (and my faithful friends who don't like their core beliefs hijacked by people looking for power and a good job)--but that doesn't make it any less disconcerting. I can only hope that it all shifts back the other way. And soon. I can't run, you see! Atheist. It doesn't play well in Midwest State.

I'm not productive today.

The committee discussing whether or not to combine my two jobs voted 5-0 to combine. Overall, that's a good thing for Hometown and should mean a pay increase and more autonomy for me.

But I've been astonishingly unproductive this past week, even when I wasn't sick. Why is that? I think it has something to do with old perfectionist tendencies creeping back in, paralyzing me because when I do it, I want to do it perfect. Or with the fact that I have about 2 dozen things on my immediate-to-do list and most of them are in the beginning stage--if they've been started at all. Daunting.

I didn't get a weekend last weekend. I was working the festivals that pay my salary. Maybe I just need a good weekend. Talk to you later, dear reader. I'm going to clean up my desk, fax two things, pick up the kid, and head home.

Sure, we both have vaginas. I still don't like Sarah Palin.

During two different sexual romps with my soon-to-become and then husband, one hardy sperm from each romp managed to make contact with the mothership, and I've taken the resulting pregnancies to their squawling conclusions. As a result of this biological-miracle-that-happens-thousands-of-times-each-day, I am A Mother.

Motherhood gave me some insight into just how much other people care about their children; into how much you can love another human being. I can see myself taking on a bear who was threatening my children, or launching myself in front of a train my toddler stumbled in front of. Their poop, snot, filthy fingernails, and greasy hair don't gross me out nearly as much as some random person's.

But give me a break. It is not a sisterhood. I'm not voting for her because she's a mom. And the fact that she self-identifies as a 'hockey mom' (shudder) actually makes me less likely to vote for her.

All good mothers care about their children. It's just that some of us care about other moms' children, too. Other moms' gay children, and tree-hugging children, and community organizing children. And it doesn't take being a mom to care about those children. I mean--DUH!

I don't relate to Sarah Palin, and her obnoxious little winks and smirks and attempts to be all folksy at the debate last night cemented my dislike of her--that and her complete inability to answer a question with even a tiny bit of substance to back it up. (No thanks to Gwen Ifill, who did a great job of throwing grapefruit after grapefruit at both candidates.) I disagree with her stance on gay marriage, on religion and its role in the government in general, on the war, on her current ability to do the job, on her medieval stance on abortion, on taking part in beauty contests, on the 2nd amendment, on her lack of curiosity and knowledge about how our country works and our country's history, on her disgusting slams on community organizers, on her highly political policy change on the bridge to nowhere, and I'm sure there will be more. Hopefully, after next month, I won't have to hear a lot out of her.

Back to Hockey and Soccer Moms. Who are these women? How many of these moms are there? Is this the only category of motherhood that matters? The whole category smacks of yet another overhyped political box that politicos try to target and win over with grossly simplified statements like "I'm a hockey mom! I know what it's like to worry about the grocery bill! Blah, blah blah." And professional reporters just sit there and let it happen and, worse, feed on that bullshit! And then I'm subjected to four women sitting on stools, being interviewed by a woman, discussing the veep debate and 'how women responded', and being told that women--especially moms--can really relate to Sarah Palin because...she's just like 'us'! Give. Me. A. Fucking. Break.