You know that T-Shirt that you see at a lot of Souvenir Shops when you go on vacation?  It is the one that says in big bold letters:

“My Wife (or Husband, or Friend, etc.) went to New York City (or name of any city anywhere), and all I got was This Stupid T-Shirt.”

You know the shirt.

Well, my wonderful  and loving partner of 25 years went to Europe for 2 weeks and just returned.   Guess what I got?  A shirt.

(Albeit, a hooded gray hooded sweatshirt, of the variety I love, and pretty much live in…., and in big bold letters, it says ROMA on the front, and has the Italian Flag and all.  And since I was raised Catholic, and Rome is a pretty-dang big deal of a city for Catholics, especially since Pope Francis seems to have his Pope-Poop all-together…..IT is a ROCKING, rocking sweatshirt, but I am completely off track.)

So.  There you have it.  A Shirt from Europe.  That was my keepsake.  OR… was it?

NO.  What I truthfully got was SO much more.  This morning when I woke up, the song in my heart was back.  My friend, my confidant, my soulmate.  My kindred spirit had returned.

We caught up and drank way too much coffee.  We played with the dogs, and fed the chickens.  We fed the fish.  We laughed, and talked, and shared stories.  We sat in the newly renovated Meditation Garden and I got bit by bitey insects, while she went unscathed.  We watched the birds, and the deer at their feeders.

The beat in my heart came back.  The spring in my step.  And the sparkle in my eye.  THAT is what I got when my partner came back from vacation.

This, I can only tell you, is a state of mind which I cannot really re-echo in writing.  But it is the best state I’ve ever visited.  And it is right here, where I call home.

It is home.
“A soulmate is the one person whose love is powerful enough to motivate you to meet your soul, to do the emotional work of self-discovery, of awakening.”  —  Kenny Loggins

“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.”   — 
Antoine de Saint-Exupery

My entire life has been reduced to this.  I have become Mrs. Tweedy.  Either that, or Mr. Tweedy.  I am not sure.  And that is how pathetic I am.  If you do not know Mrs. Tweedy, you have not seen Chicken Run.  I feel that somehow your life is incomplete, if this is true.

You see, Chicken Run is one of my favorite movies. Ever.  But I am a big FAN of the Wallace, and the Gromit.  So it would follow that I like Chicken Run.  Anyway, digress.

Back to the Tweedy’s.  I think, apparently, I am spending WAY too much time with chickens.  Lately… I feel like Mrs. Tweedy, in that I am ready to make my world-famous Chicken Pies.  Mass-produced, in fact.

And I feel like Mr. Tweedy because most days, I suspect those chickens may be organized, and they are plotting against me.

Now if you had suggested to me 6 to 8 weeks ago, that  I would ever harm a feather on one of those baby chicks’ heads, I would have scoffed, spit, and forcefully objected to such an accusation.  But today, I am checking Angie’s List for chicken butchers.

Oh, you can only push a girl so far.  And Dorothy, and Edgar Allen Poultry, are really pushing those limits.

Truthfully, you know, I am mostly joking.  There are joys in each day with that batch of poultry.  Like today, Tommy found his voice.  Yes.  Tommy is our “pretty” rooster.  He looks just like the dude on the Kellog’s Corn Flakes box.  And today, he cock-a-doodle-doo-ed for the first time.  He surprised himself, and had to give a few more rounds.  The other roosters pick on him.  He is pretty, AND smart.  AND he can sing.  He must be gay.

Then there is one of the Blue’s.  She is so dang sweet and really likes to be near me.  All the time.  I’ve been calling her Ms. Addie.  Adele.

Madeline, or Louise, (they both look a lot alike, and were the pasty-butts when they were young)…. well ONE of them flies over into the New Hampshire’s Sanctuary, and gives them holy-heck.  I think it is because she is the smallest of the Orpingtons.  She gets holy-heck from her tribe.

These are just a handful of the chicken stories.  As for the ones who have really ticked me off… well…. I guess I need to find forgiveness.
Yes, “Forgiveness” is the message here tonight.  I should find complete absolution for them.

Is it okay to forgive a chicken?

I guess so.

If they, in turn, forgive me.  When I ship them off to Pie Factory.
Cock-A-Doodle-Do.

Some days, really big things happen.  Take a little time to consider this.  Way, way, way back in 1595, on July 19,   a guy named Kepler had a revelation of sorts.  Yeppers.    Astronomer Johannes Kepler had, what Historians call, an Epiphany.  And this big notion developed into his theory of the geometrical basis of the universe.

These works also provided one of the foundations for Isaac Newton’s theory of universal gravitation.

But the long and short of it, he figured out that the earth circles the sun, along with all the other planets.  He made major strides in other areas, but I won’t bore the crap out of you with all of that.  Thank your lucky twinkling stars for that.  But his theory met much opposition.  He had a rough way to go of it at times, but he knew he worked out the proof of it all.  Geometrically.  He persisted.

Okay… but some days… historically… really ROCK.  July 19th goes on.  It was a big old day for women.  Not so terribly long ago, in 1848….a handful of gals, led mostly by Elizabeth Cady Stanton, organized the very first U.S. Women’s Rights Convention.  It was held in Seneca, NY.

Most of them were Abolitionists, and Social Activists too.  They were all about human rights.  What a bunch of brave, brave, brave, and very smart women.   It wasn’t an easy path to take either.  But they went out, time after time, and fought for the right thing to do.  Amazing.   And … looky what happened.  I can vote.

I think there are lessons to be learned in both instances.

Sometimes in life, we know the right thing to do.  We have that “proof” of what is the right way to go.  Other times, we get the old “gut feeling” and we know we have to move toward it.

Either way… it isn’t always easy to do.  But if we know it is righteous … then any other way just would not be appropriate, or providential.  And so we go.  Or at least… I think… we ought to go.

Take that path less traveled as Robbie Frost once said…. about that divergent road in the woods.

And we scamper away down that path.  Poison Ivy and all.  Mosquitoes.  It makes no difference to us.  We have our cans of OFF and our Calamine Lotion… because we dare.  We dare to take the road less traveled.   And we persist until we make it right.

A little more persistence, a little more effort, and what seemed hopeless failure may turn to glorious success.  —  Elbert Hubbard

Permanence, perseverance and persistence in spite of all obstacles, discouragements, and impossibilities: It is this, that in all things distinguishes the strong soul from the weak.   — Thomas Carlyle

Oh, and by the way… today is Lizzie’ Borden’s birthday.  But she killed her parents with an ax, and that doesn’t really bode well for this message.  Albeit, she gave one of them 50 whacks and the other 51.  So… in that way… I guess she was persistent. 

Tonight, I have a million and one thought running through my head.  So many in fact, I’m having trouble narrowing down what to write about.  I swear, sometimes I think I am ADHD.  There are times when I get totally distracted.  Things that have gone whoosing through my little brain tonight…

• How many people live off the grid?  Where are they?
• South Carolina is the most violent state in the U.S.
• The time I spend in Seven Mile Creek today, and hauling rocks out of that creek.
• Hot weather makes me feel good. Right down to my toes.
• Thunderstorms and lightning strikes can be intimidating.
• My first memory is from when I was three.  And then I don’t really remember much for the next couple of years of my life.  Youth Amnesia.  It exists.
• The truth about the center of the Tootsie Pop.
• It doesn’t seem fair that Pluto got kicked out of our galaxy.

Okay, I do have to talk about that one for a minute.  Pluto.  What the heck?  Pluto was my favorite planet, and NOW, the scientists said it is not really a  planet.  It is now considered a “Dwarf Planet”…  So out of the Galaxy it goes.    Bull-puckets, I say.

I mean, we don’t kick Dwarf People out of society, because they are too small.   In fact, I think it is “politically” correct to call them “Little People.”

So why can’t we just call Pluto a Little Planet, and love it like we always did?  It still goes round and round the big sun, just like the rest of us.

And the Attention Disorder continues to shine through.    So.  Tonight, maybe just a couple of photos, and a few comments on them.  Before I get swept away and right a piece as long as War and Peace.

This shot is of Ollie.  She follows me everywhere, but she is deathly afraid of storms.  Tonight as the lightning was crashing around, I had to go out to the coop, to put the chickens up for the night.  She stayed right with me, an eye to the sky.  And when we got back to the garage, you could see the fear on her face.

And this is Mothman.  He reminded me of The Mothman Prophecies.  West Virginia, 1967.  I have been to The Mothman Museum in Point Pleasant.  Not by plan, but by detour.  Whether it is true or not… either way….  Moths can be creepy.

SO.  There it is for the night.  My disconnected rush of random thoughts… on a Saturday Night.  Did I mention the Big S’more Rescue in California.  Okay, enough.

How do we define our successes?  Well, I guess it depends on who is holding the measuring stick.

Many different labels abound.

Society puts so many of these on us.  Someone who makes a lot of money, drives nice cars, dresses well, and has a big home… might be referred to like this.  “Oh, yes, I know John Bigbritches.  He is highly successful.”  But, old John Bigbritches may not be very nice, or fair, or compassionate.  So.  What should we make of that?

Yes, most the time success is gauged on how much we have… not necessarily how much we do.

I think the measuring stick would better be served… if it directly related to what is important to us.  To each individual.

If all you care about is money, and wealth, and the Golden Ticket, that is your definition and life purpose.

But I know people who are CRAZY SUCCESSFUL and they drive worn-down cars, and work two jobs, and consider fine dining a night out to Le McDonald’s.  For a Le BigMac.

These people, by my stick, are successful in their spirit.  They walk with integrity.  They speak the truth.  They offer a helping hand.  They care about people.  Their hearts hold a golden ticket.

They struggle to make ends meet, but they are the first to offer you a drink from the well.  Metaphorically speaking, of course.

I can only hope, when they lay their heads down at night, that they close their eyes with the satisfaction that they have made another day, good.  Good for someone.  And I hope somehow, this makes them happy.

I hope they know… that their goodness of heart will bring them more success than they every imagined.  If they truly believe it.

It is said… in more ways than one… that we will always have what we want….. IF we want what we have.  What we need is what we have.  And what we have is what we need.

Perhaps, coming to this understanding… IS the success.

“Strive not to be a success, but rather to be of value.” -Albert Einstein

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“When I stand in the rain at night, with my face pointed toward the sky, and my arms outstretched, I know I have made it.” – Polly Kronenberger

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There is only one success — to be able to spend your life in your own way. ~Christopher Morley

I can distinctly remember standing there, with one hand twirling the back of my hair, and the other hand on my hip.  I stood there and shook my head, as I looked on.  I can remember thinking… “Heck.  I KNOW I can drive that thing better than that.”

I was probably about six.

You see… it had happened again.  For at least the 20th time, my sister had driven my brother’s go-cart into a large black iron pole, in our back yard, in the city of Dayton.  I am pretty sure you could here that “clunk” all the way to Oakwood.

She frequently did these sorts of things.  We would go sledding at Triangle Park, and always go down “Suicide Hill”.  I was never allowed to drive my own sled.  I stood at the top of the hill, I think with my brother Ed… and another sister’s boyfriend who looked just like Art Garfunkel.  Anyway… away Julie went, down the hill.  And as she was really gaining steam, she started veering right toward a lone huge tree on the hill.  Like a magnet, she went right into that thing.  I am pretty sure it knocked her out cold.

I can remember thinking… “Well, hold the mustard Louie, I think Julie is dead.”

She seemed to have the Klutz Chromosome.  I have it too… but she might win the prize between us.  I walk into walls and such.  Drop bricks on my feet.  Those sorts of things.   But her follies are epic.

It is kind of funny though.  We are probably the two clumsiest people in the family, but we are the only two college athletes.  Go figure.  We also share the silly-bug when we are together.  Like goofy as can be…..  to the point… people have stopped and stared.

At any rate, today is her birthday, (by the time you read this).  I am the youngest of seven kids.  She is number six… just four years older than I.

She is one of the people I am most thankful for in my life.  I am thankful for a whole LOT of people in my life.  I am blessed this way.  But there are some wonder-souls in life, who touch your heart… who make your life better… who let you know, at just those right moments, that life is this moment and none other.  They are golden.

So Happy Birthday to her.  I am so glad for the day she was born.

And Happy Birthday to all you beautiful people in life, who have touched my spirit. Those of you who make this world a better place… because you are in it. Because you, are you.

We are what we believe we are.
— C. S. Lewis

All the people like us are we, and everyone else is They.
— Rudyard Kipling

We get older.  All of us.  By the minute.

In my mind, I think I am 23 years old.  My body tells me differently some days.

Okay. Most days.

I’ve always had keen senses.  I think it was a result of pretending  that I was a SuperHero for the better part of my youth.  The power of suggestion.

The upshot of that… was that I developed things like great eyesight, an acute sense of smell, and sharp hearing.  I also had lightning fast reflexes.

These days… well….  I guess I’ve gone from Pseudo-Superhero to Mediocre-GoodCitizen.

I wear glasses.  Can’t see much up close with out them.  Or mid-range.
And unfortunately, I think my hearing might be slipping.

For instance, I grocery-shop at Marsh.  They are pretty awesome there.  Rarely do you have to wait in long lines.  They always have baggers, and always ask if you need help out to your car.

Today, was no different.  A manager came over and opened up extra lanes.  Another upper-level person came over and started bagging.  “Do you need some help out?” they asked.  Well.  I THOUGHT they said “Can you help us out?” (I saw they had very few people on duty.)  To which I responded … “Sure, I can stay and help out.  Can you just put my cart a cooler until I am done?”

They found great humor in this.

And there goes the hearing.

I still have a very discerning sense of smell.  Sometimes this is an incredibly good thing and at other times… it is an absolute curse.

But no matter, sharp or dull… these “Senses” of mine.  I am SO thankful for them.  I could not imagine a world without them, nor would I like to try.

So here is to the dimming physicality of the SuperHero.  Perhaps, if we hone our other SuperPowers… we can keep our capes.

Like our ability to be aware.  To be compassionate.  To be kind.

Now THOSE… truly are… Super Powers.

The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.
— Joseph Campbell

A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.
— Jackie Robinson

Believing in something can be tricky business.   To believe in something is to accept it as true….  to feel sure of the truth of “something.”

The capacity of the human brain is phenomenal.
Our ability of “thought power” holds incredible capabilities.
What we think, we do.  What we believe… truly believe… becomes truth for us.

People believe in a lot of different things.

I always feel like I equivocate.  I believe in a LOT of things… but I don’t know if any of them are true in existence.  There are always many possibilities, I think.

I’m not smart enough to know the secrets of all the Universe.
Are there Pearly Gates?  I don’t know one way or the other.
Same goes for Forest Faeries.  And Ghosts.

We can see things happen in our lives that may point us in one direction or the other.  But can we ever, ever, ever… really be sure.

Once upon a time I believed in Santa Claus.  I had proof too.  I saw his stories on TV and read about them in books.  I saw his photo in the newspaper, and such.  Smarter people than me told me great stories about him.  AND.  Every Christmas Morning… he would leave me gifts under our Christmas Tree, and in my stocking by the fireplace.  From, Santa.

Who else would have put on such a hoax if it were not true.  Much later in life, I learned that there may have been other possibilities.

Believe in YOURS. It is important that ALL of US do.  But tread lightly.  Mine and yours may not be the same.

Believe that life is worth living and your belief will help create the fact.
— William James

Believe you can and you’re halfway there.
— Theodore Roosevelt

As I have promised, no more stories about chickens for quite some time. Tonight, I want to tell a story about deep dark despair, panic, trauma, and misfortune.

Albeit, there might a chicken or two involved.

So a brief recap. We have Orpington Chickens, and New Hampshire Chickens. The Orps and the Hamps. They are separated in their chicken coop and run, by fencing. You see, the Orps are older and they are fifteen in number (Which include 9 Roosters, 6 Hens). The Hamps, just juveniles, only four by head headcount (all little girls).

I have to transport the Hamps in a plastic tub from their sleeping quarters, to their “run area” and back again…. each day. I can assure you, it is no small task to catch chickens, and enclose them in a plastic tub. But so it goes.

Eventually, they will have to be introduced into the same space, and hopefully, they will get along like champions. They say it takes 6 to 8 week of this side-by-side-ness to get acclimated. Mary thought we should give this WWWWWAY LESS time, and try it after a few days, or even a week. “My Orpingtons are sweet chickens….” she said.  That’s what she said.

So. This morning, as I dreaded catching and tubbing chickens… I decided to give this a GO. I let the Orps out into the main yard. Then I let the Hamps out of their “coop area”….. to meander into the main yard. Hopefully unnoticed.

This I can tell you my friends. It got ugly. FAST. Chickens NOTICE things. Like Foreign Chickens.

Yes, at 6:45 this morning, I had an ANGRY MOB of 15 Horrible and Ruthless Orpington Chickens, chasing down 4 little, Sweet-As-Can-Be New Hampshire’s.

Let me continue. The main yard is much bigger than any other area. AND. The larger the space… the HARDER it is to catch a small chicken, especially when it is being mobbed and pecked by chickens twice it size. Imagine this times four. In a yard filled with a muddy, wet, grassy surface, and chicken poop. Much to my dismay, I spent the next 40 minutes or so, diving, rolling, swatting, grabbing, for any feathered beast I could get my hands on.

I speak to you now, from the bottom of my heart….  .. ….. THIS was NOT my finest moment in life. My vocabulary, however, was quite stunning.

Eventually, I caught the chicks. Eloise suffered the most damage. But they seemed to be doing okay today.

I will not be trying this again. Ever. We shall build another coop. We shall have two flocks. And Chicken Life will be good.  In a segregated way.

Tonight’s quote is lovely… but this guy clearly did not own chickens.

“My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”
— Jack Layton

How much do we notice?  This universe, this very planet, is packed with things that we are not even aware of.  And if by chance we are privy to them…..  often times they are things which we cannot see, or hear, or touch.

Like the air.  Or electricity.  Energy without “physical” form as we know it.  How often do we consider such wonders?  The perfect molecular composition of the atmosphere we breathe?  What about heat, or gravity?  Oh the things we have!  WE haven’t even started to talk about cookies and ice cream yet.

OK, so then, there are the multitudes of gifts we CAN see and hear and smell and touch.  The sunrise melting the blanket of dew from the morning meadow.  A song by the likes of Patty Griffin, or Vampire Weekend… or maybe Opera is the apple of your ear.  Do we take the time to see, to hear…. to notice?

Henry David Thoreau wrote some very keen observations when he penned Walden.  You see, he went into the woods to reflect.   And that he did.  Old Hank said…. “To be awake is to be alive.”

He also said that he had never met a man  who was quite awake.  And I have to agree with the most of it… I think these people are few and far between.  When we begin to recognize, and realize… to grasp the incredible immensity of this gift…

…this gift we call life.  And yet we strive to exist.  We get by.  We survive.  But I wonder how many actually live?  By waking each day with the immense anticipation of what might await?

Thoreau goes on to tell us, “I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by conscious endeavor.”

Conscious Endeavor.  Oh to see, and hear, and smell, and touch.  To grasp and perceive.  To breathe each lasting breath

“The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.”
― Emily Dickinson

“Earth’s crammed with heaven… But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.” ― Elizabeth Barrett Browning