Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Blanket White Everything

An e.e. cummings kind of title, I write like that you know-an in way an out way and all around the words way. A full spectrum if you will, of words. It was suppose to snow here last night, I was prepared, and giddy and a bit reference to the "Blanket White Everything"- first snow is purity, a covering, an insulation. Though it did not snow, I suspect it will as my sinuses often react dully to barometric changes, and the chickens were all gathered in a mobile bunch. My butterscotch girls give me eggs everyday, no artificial lighting for my birds, no! I just talk to them, they are my production team so I try to stay on top of their chicken coop politics. I have one old gal that stays on the nest just long enough to
to give me hell when I reach in to collect the brood of eggs under her. I admire her tenacity, though I do not like her pecking and clucky aggression. She scares me and she knows it. I mean-a butterscotch bird with a brain no bigger than the eggs she lays, but she stands up to my minor annoyance with the threatening attitude of a wolverine, yikes-I could never do a reality show on my little farm-I fear the main idea that people would hold onto is that chickens are really meat eaters (given a chance, this one takes chunks out of me!) and that I am not at all as plucky as I seem. And, well...I don't watch TV all that much and the only reality of those shows is the world will suffer fools, call it entertainment, stack their own experiences up against the show and belittle the story. The reality of most lives, I think-we do our best, our lives are like quilts with many peices stitched together, circumstances in life can rip us apart, but being the sole seamstresses, we find ways to mend our tattered blankets, sometimes offering a covering for others who are not quite experts at stitching yet. Or unable to pull it all together to even begin to mend, some have no thread at all, for them, the most calico among us-we offer assistance, well, we should anyway. Sorry for the analogy-drives my kids insane! This is why I write, to drive my teens crazy and to well, display my beautiful quilt, though worn and quite tattered...and wrap it around them in such a way that they might learn the stitches of life...the ins and outs and all around thread that connects us all. And if I may quote the great Paul Harvey, "Good day!"
Take care

1 comment:

bam said...

dear true, i love theway you write, you write the way i type. without rules. i think i writethat way too. i know some of the rules. but mostly i break them, have no place for them here in the playground of the mind. or wordplay. i love your chicken thoughts. chicken peckings, i could say. but i won't. anyway, i love that at the click of a button i can be transported to your coop. to the butterscotch brigade. the girls. if only i could swing by, stop by the gate just as the sun is popping up, yolk like on the horizon, and fetch a few from you for my skillet up here by the big lake. where we are so close really though kept apart by miles. miles, though are transportable. and i, by the way, love your calico meanderings. i found the analogy breathtaking. thanks for letting me stopon by. till tomorrow then. love bam