My New Best Pal, Al

Well...my neighbor Al saw me cutting shit up with my chainsaw, and he came by to talk. With a cooler full of bad cheap beer. However, since it was bad, cheap FREE beer, I set my standards aside and spent the afternoon having a play date with Al. This is why I know I'm secretly a saint. Because my goal always is to spend my days off working in monastic silence on my never ending yard project. But Al slipped in under my "stay away from me" radar, and then he told me so many retired guy stories that I couldn't send him away.

I now know: He's retired from the state hospital for the last 6 years; he's a Viet Nam vet who didn't make good use for the G.I. Bill; he has a daughter with two kids from two ex-husbands and he worries about whether she'll ever make something of herself; his wife would like to meet me (I'm pretty sure that's not true, but I didn't openly scoff); he got a new bass boat, and would love it if I'd go fishing with him; he admires my ability to work outside for 12 hours a day, but he worries about my safety; he thinks I'm plucky (although he didn't actually say plucky, he told me over and over again how amazing I was).

In return, I told him: I'm gay; I dropped out of high school, but I went back and got a college education, and his daughter might too if she's inclined; I thought I could drink beer, but he wins hands down...I know when I'm beat.

He choked a little on the gay part, but bucked right up after he drank a little more. He invited me, and later Lori, to stay for barbecue...his wife's a real fine cook. By the time I managed to back away, mouthing lie after lie (I'd love to stay for another case of Miller Lite and a burger Al, but I think my girlfriend's calling me for supper. Maybe another time, okay?)

Now that me and Al are best buds, I'll have to slink around under the cover of darkness if I want to spend time alone in the yard.

I Like Bunnies Better.

I posted about Bruno the Pit Bull Bunny last night, and got this comment from EmilyS:

Bruno is quiet and well-mannered. He likes cilantro, dried papaya, banana slices, and hay. He has excellent litterbox habits. And he has yet to attack anyone"

actually that sounds a lot like my pit bull. Except for the cilantro-eating part...

And that reminded me that a few weeks ago I got bit by my mom's pit bull...twice. I walked up her driveway unannounced ("Mom? Do you have a phone?" says I. "Of course", says Mom. "It's not hooked up to anything, though." Sigh.) and did the rural driveway holler. "Hellloooo! Are you home?"

She certainly was home, and my first inkling of that was when her door shot open and a snarling pit bull ran down the driveway and clamped onto my calf, followed more slowly by my mother, saying "Down! Down! Don't worry, he won't hurt you."

Too late. He already did.

While she's explaining to me how nice the dog is and how his friendliness is often misunderstood, he broke from her grasp and ran back and bit my thigh. That was enough for me. "Mom, if you don't get ahold of him, I'm going to kick the shit out of him. And if I'm still mad, you're next."

She did, in fact, throw a chain around his neck that looked like it's previous duty was docking the QE2. Luckily the weight of that chain kept him from standing up tall enough to bite anything but my toes and I was fairly certain that I wasn't going to be caught unaware a third time. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...well, okay. My bad. Fool me a third time...OKAY, OKAY! I GET IT!

How Can You Tell a Pit Bull From a Bunny?

While searching for a good birthday picture for Lori, I ran across this post from a rabbit rescue organization called the Rabbit House Society Rabbit Center. Let's give it up for Bruno, shall we?

Happy Birthday, Bruno!

Friday 17 August 2007 at 11:14 am

He looks surprised, doesn’t he? It isn’t often we know the exact birthday of a bunny, but we do happen to know that Bruno was born August 17, 2006. That’s when he and his six siblings were found in the back of a pickup truck. The owner of the truck thought they were newborn pit bulls (!) and took them to the local shelter, where Marisa recognized them as bunnies and rescued them. Maya, a nursing mother rabbit from San Jose Shelter, generously agreed to raise the orphans as her own.
Despite his early resemblance to a pit bull, Bruno is quiet and well-mannered. He likes cilantro, dried papaya, banana slices, and hay. He has excellent litterbox habits. And he has yet to attack anyone. He is hoping his stay at the Rabbit Center will help him find the perfect home, where he hopes to be spoiled and fussed over.
For his birthday, Bruno has asked for a Michael Vick chew toy.

Of Birthdays and Pig Milk

It's Lori's birthday and we'll be working opposite shifts so, romantic fool that I am, I'll probably send her a festive birthday e-mail filled with protestations of my undying love, and maybe a shopping list for Wal-Mart for on her way home. Hey, romantic fools need rice and kitty litter too, you know!

But really, just because I fall a little short on the holiday celebrations (okay, a LOT short) I still take these holidays to reflect on how lucky I am to have lured her into my life with the promise of rural splendor on par with Green Acres. But not, unfortunately, as lascivious as Petticoat Junction And by the way, who thinks it's a little bit gross to have those girls swimming nude in the town's drinking water?

"Honest, Ma...I caught the syphilis from those Bradley girls swimming nekkid in the water tank!"

Why wasn't Hooterville scandalized over that?

Anyway...about Lori's birthday...I love you, Sweetie. Congratulations on surviving another year in Hooterville. Next year, after we start the pig dairy, we'll be having ice-cold glasses of pig milk with our birthday cake!

Mmmmm...Pig milk! The other white milk!

A Haircut...Plus.

I just got to perform an intervention. I was getting a loooong overdue haircut today, having that sort of stream of consciousness conversation you have with the person who cuts your hair...you know that one?

Me: I had to run to Wal-Mart this morning and I thought I'd stop for a haircut. My run to Wal-Mart is now over an hour long.

Her: I hate Wal-Mart in the daytime. It takes 5 minutes to shop and an hour to visit with everyone you see that you know.

Me: The worst is when you see your mom. You can't just blow by her and pretend you didn't recognize her.

Her: My mom can't go to Wal-Mart by herself anymore, She's recently become blind.

Me: Ack! How awful! What happened?

Her: Uncontrolled diabetes. She won't take care of it. We have a problem with that in our family. He (pointing at teenage boy) won't take his medicine for his seizures.

Me: Why not?

Her: He says it makes him sleepy.

Him: It does!

Me: I have seizures. I got hit in the head with a softball 10 years ago. I take the meds at noon and midnight when it's not so important that I be alert.

Her: He's had them for a few years...since he had a car accident. He doesn't go unconscious, he just blanks out. Stares into space.

Me: Absence seizures.

Him: yeah.

Me: They'll take away your license if you have a wreck and the cops find out you have uncontrolled seizures.

Her: That's what I told him.

Him: I know.

Me: Try noon and midnight. Set a timer on your watch or on your phone. promise yourself you'll be really responsible about it for a month...then see if you feel better. Just try, okay?

Him: Okay. I'll try.

Her: If he actually does it, I'll cut your hair for free next time.

Me: Woohoo! The future of my hair is on your shoulders, Kid. Don't fail me.

You have to feel good about that.

Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird, it's a plane!

Well...it's official. I've got too many "arns in the far." Tomorrow's my day off, let's see if I can put paid to some projects. Today, however, is a bust. I slept in, then sat on the couch and drank coffee and read the Internets.

Today SuperEvie is wearing her undies on the inside like a mere mortal. But like the slightly neurotic mortal you all know me to be, I worry about the undone things. Tomorrow, I promise myself. It's only a day away.

P.T. Barnum was a Big Fat Liar

There is not a sucker born every minute. There were, apparently, not that many suckers born between 1960 and the mid 1980's. Our friends and family are not suckers.

They discussed the geometry involved in the roof project, then watched us cut one roof panel, then indicated they were getting hungry. Wimps. It was only, like 2:30 in the afternoon.

We fired up the grill, ate the brats and German potato salad, drank the beer, had some chocolate cake for dessert ... and then discovered that we were all too full to go out in that ungodly heat and no longer committed to building projects. Even the ducks were too hot today. They hung out under the deck staying out of the sun.

It's becoming clear that this Ev and Kwach project is going to remain an Ev and Kwach project. We'll revisit the duck dome project on our next day off together. Hey, more glory for us!

We did have a rolicking good time, though. Many stories were told, much belly-laughter was had and the food was damned good. Sundays are best enjoyed as days of rest and relaxation.

: )

Of Bratwursts and Ducks

So, it's Sunday. A day reserved for church worship, dress clothes, potlucks, and CONSTRUCTION PROJECTS! And in order to save time, we've decided to forego both the church part and the dressing up part.

We're going to spending the day putting a roof on the duck dome. We pretty much finished everything that can be finished without a roof yesterday, then we hit the lumber store one last time before they close for the weekend and now we're ready to roll. This is where we're at:

As you cab maybe see, the structure is a bunch of equilateral triangles. The walls and floor are 8 ft. triangles and the roof is 10 ft. triangles. The peak of the dome is 11.5 ft., which made for a good geometry question in the truck on the way to the hardware store. "If the vertical drop from the peak to the top of the wall is 3.5 feet, and the roof strut from the peak to the edge of the wall is 8 feet, what is the radius of the dome?

We decided that that equation would require both a calculator and beer, so we waited to get home to figure it out.

The triangle frame is achieved by connecting the wall struts of a bunch of 5 sided metal plates, which can be used either for building purposes or as s handy outline for all your Satan worshiping pentagonal needs:

We've managed to lure our friends and families into this project with a promise of bratwursts and beer. They don't yet know what lies ahead. Heh. Suckers.

More Blogging From Nowhere

My daughter Carrie has given up on the food blog. She's tired of food after 60 hours a week of it. Her new blog is here. Check her out, she's a nice girl.

Cake-N-Cookies

Duck Dome: The Musical

The duck dome is coming along,...pardon the pun...swimmingly. Lori and I both had the day off yesterday and we got the unwieldy parts put together. That is, after we spent a few hours scratching our heads at the engineering puzzle du jour. This weekend we have friends and family coming over to help with the roof, but here's where we're at currently:

What the World Needs Now ...

Is ducks.

That's what I've decided. Everyone should have a couple of ducks. Forget a chicken in every pot ... there should be a pair of ducks in every yard. Ducks don't require that much care and they don't make that much mess and they're entertaining as hell. Ducks make you laugh out loud. Ducks give you a reason to get up and go outside early in the morning when all the really cool stuff is happening.

This morning, for instance, it's gorgeous outside. It's supposed to rain later, but right now it's breezy and cool-ish, and the trees are full of birds of all kinds, swooping around snatching up bugs out of the freshly mown lawn and singing their little bird lungs out. The ducks are especially fun to watch in the morning. If I didn't have ducks I'd be looking out the window thinking, "It looks windy and overcast ... yuck." But, because I have ducks, I drank my coffee and had my morning cigarette on the deck thinking, "It's so nice out here! The yard looks so good! Ev's 'take back the yard' project has really paid off!"

The ducks have been playing worm tag again today -- a game that always makes us laugh. One of them will come up out of a mud puddle with a huge, juicy earthworm dangling from its bill. The others will see the worm. The one with the worm will notice the others looking at it and take off running ... and swallowing as fast as it can. The others will quack and chase it as fast as they can, trying to snag the worm. This morning, the poor guy with the worm got running so fast it tripped over its own feet, but it still managed to keep the worm all for itself.

They're very close to learning to fly, too. For the past two mornings, as soon as they get out into the yard, they r-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-n to where our hill takes a steep slope downward, flapping like crazy, and they almost achieve lift-off. They try it a few times early in the day, and I'm hoping I'll be there when they first feel their feet leave the ground. I want to see their reaction.

Today they got curious about the back deck. There are about six or seven steps from the deck to the grass and Hillary decided to see what's up there, so she started climbing them. Three more of them followed her and she got almost to the top step, where she could get a good look. The rest of them stayed behind her quacking, "What's up there? Can we eat it? Are there worms???"

What's up there are Ev's pretty flowers. They love flowers. I guess we should discourage them from coming the rest of the way up, but I hate to discourage them from doing anything ...

Yes, I'm a permissive duck parent.

But the moral of the story is that everyone should have ducks.

Pictures, Pictures, Pictures

Ev can't view e-mail attachments at work, so she asked me to post pictures of a little problem I was trying to describe by e-mail. So, this is how Kwachie spent her Saturday. We finished framing up the Duck Dome this morning (no, it's not a big wooden tipi) and then went and bought the plywood sheathing for the panels. My job was to stain and seal them before it starts raining again tomorrow. (I should mention that I've never used stain before in my life ... I'll explain the importance of that confession momentarily.)

The first problem I encountered was that we had the nice lumberyard man cut the 4x8' sheets diagonally for us, and it didn't occur to any of us that we should have had him cut five of the sheets in one direction and five in the other. Since every other panel has to be turned backward, and since they were all cut the same, there are 10 panels with the "good" sanded side facing out and 10 panels with the "bad" knotty, rough side facing out.

This isn't a huge deal, except that a) stain doesn't cover the lovely "Weyerhouser" stamp on the "wrong" side of every other panel, and b) the rough side soaks up stain like crazy and looks blotchy.

No biggie. What did strike me as a biggie was that I picked out a stain that was, quite specifically, brown. As I was applying the stain (and yes, I stirred the crap out of it) it looked sort of light to me. When I went in the house and looked out the kitchen window at it, it looked really orange. Specifically, it put me in mind of a gigantic version of one of those chocolate oranges that break into slices ... the kind we always put in the kids' Christmas stockings. I asked Katie if she thought it looked like that and she said, "No, I don't think so. It looks more like cheese."

After I got below the halfway point in the can, and I was able to stir it with the brush instead of the stupid pain stick, I realized there was a lot of brown pigment still in the bottom of the can. So I put a second coat on one of the panels (the darker one in the photo) and I was much happier with that answer. Ev, in an effort to make me feel better about the oranginess, said, "Don't worry about it. Next year, when we have to re-do it, we'll get a darker stain."

Next year ... when we have to WHAT !?

And here is an updated picture of the ducks, especially for Pat. : )

This is actually a picture from last week, so it doesn't show the bright blue wing stripe the rouens have all developed this week.

I wish I could get a really good picture of the color on the cayugas. They look jet-black in photos, but their faces and wings are actually bright iridescent green in the sunlight.

They're free-range ducks now, and they only have to go into their pen at night. They've got a very specific routine every day. First thing in the morning they charge out of the pen and take off at a run for the back yard. While I'm filling their waterer they pick bugs and worms out of the resulting mud around the water faucet. During the day they alternately roam around the yard (always together, of course) eating weeds and bugs or following us around at a safe distance while we do stuff. They've become completely oblivious to the mower ... except to chase it. They take a little swim, they take a little nap under a tree, they hang out under the back deck for awhile and then they start the whole process again. At 8:30 sharp they let me know it's time for bed. While I refill the waterer and get their evening duck chow and cracked corn they head for their pen and wait for me to bring them their dinner. They eat like they haven't been eating constantly all day and then fall into a deep sleep until morning, when they wake up and stand by the gate waiting to be let out again. It's a tough life.

From Macro to Micro

While Ev has been building large-scale structures and garden accessories, I've been working away on my miniature house and garden. I realized, after the fact, that I should have taken pictures of the step-by-step process, but I didn't, so I took a few the other night of the progress so far on the dollhouse I started in January.

The staircase was a bitch. It was a special ordered fancier one than the one that came in the kit, and it arrived after I'd already glued up the house. That's when I realized it was too big to fit. So I chopped off some of the lower steps and part of the banister, reattached the bottom baluster and had to cut a big hole in the second story floor in situ, which was very tricky,since my fancy Dremel Stylus didn't fit in there very well.

I covered the gaping hole in the floor with homemade flooring (which has since been varnished and looks better than this. I'll be kit-bashing a second-floor railing to cover the ends of the floor boards.

Here's another view of the staircase and the downstairs. The wall is covered in fabric I had lying around that looked like wallpaper to me. The living room floor is covered in paper flooring we got at the Miniature Museum in St. Louis.

But here's the part I'm really proud of. I had Ev cut me a piece of plywood to mount the whole house on so I could create a yard, and I've had a ton of fun with the landscaping.

The pond came out of our burn pile. It looks like it was probably mud that's been burned at such a high temperature it turned into rock. The stepping stones came out of our driveway gravel and the trees were dead twigs out of a bush at the office. I used florist's moss and a landscaping kit for a train set to create the lawn, the walkways and the shrubs, and a product called "Realistic Water" with landscaping crap floated in it to create the duck pond (complete with duckweed).

Now all I need to do is figure out what to do with the rest of the interior ...

Ev asked me to post the pictures of the project in progress, so here ya go!

First order of business, stocking the beer fridge. Here you can see that Ev has chosen Sierra Nevada IPA as the beverage of choice for building a Duck Dome. Now, it's off to power up the miter saw and cut some wood!



When I got home, Ev had built two sawhorses, assembled the base of the dome and cut most of the remaining 8 foot 2X4's. They still needed to be measured and drilled for the carriage bolts, and then we started to assemble the walls.

Hm.

What odd angles. What counter-intuitive configurations. What peculiar contortions we had to get into to attach things. After getting the first two "walls" attached, we stood back to take a look. Okay, we can totally see where it's going ...

The additional of three more 2x4's made it substantially sturdier, and added to it's whimsical appearance.

With the sun sinking quickly in the west, we got a couple more walls and top rails attached before it got too dark to work, then stood back and said, "It's good! It's big!" We aren't at all sure how we're going to put the roof struts on, since we're very short, but now we know how to build the next structure ... the screened gazebo!

The ducks will have room to put in a second floor entertainment loft, and that'll be nice for them, don't you think?

More Project Fun

To those of you, friends and family, who have requested that I make a planter for you: No! I've moved on. We've got now projects in the works. Today is my day off, and we all know what that means...Yard Projects!

We ordered something called the Starplate Building System to make a more secure four season duck enclosure than the pen we're using now. The Starplate people send you a box of metal plates with predrilled holes that you bolt 2x4s to to frame out a five sided building. Depending on how you cover the walls, it can be a greenhouse, a storage shed, a duck enclosure or a cabin. Below is the cabin:

Obviously, we're not going to make it this fancy for the ducks, but we are going to make that basic size and shape. I will, of course, post pictures when it's done. In fact, if I can remember, I'll post pictures as I go.

In other news, Katie won a regional poetry writing contest at school, best out of all the high schools in Southern Illinois, for a poem she wrote about an egg salad sandwich. I'd like to say she gets her literary talents from me, but I suspect she gets them from her father's side of the family. I'm afraid she just gets her weirdness from me.

Anyway...we're proud of her!

I'm headed to town to buy all the necessary materials...lumber, bolts and beer. Wish me luck!

There!

And with flowers:

Planters

This is what I did with my day off yesterday. The planters are the legs of the bench I was planning to make, but along the way I decided I like them better as free-standing planters. That way we can scatter them around. What do you think?

Oh...and if I didn't want to put plants in them, they'd also make handy yard toilets. :-)

Me too! Me too!

It's hot and muggy, and I can't sleep for the night sweats, so I guess I'll check in briefly, too.

I've taken some pictures and videos of the ducks in the past few days, but I can't seem to find the misplaced cable to upload them off my camera, so just have to believe me when I tell you the ducks are funny, charming, entertaining and HUGE. We bought them a bigger pool yesterday, the 8-foot wader that holds about 400 gallons of water, so they're only getting it dumped and refilled once a week, no matter HOW disgusting it gets! (Do you hear me, ducks? I mean it. Crap on the grass ... and shower before you get in!)

We think we've got their genders figured out, but we're using the "best guess" method at this point. By our best guess, there seem to be an even number of boys and girls, and the girls seem to be bigger and louder than the boys. The loudest and bossiest of them all seems to be a female. She bosses all the others around; always has to be in charge of whether they should all eat or run or swim or sleep; and she's the one who quacks and squawks like she's being killed, so I'll run outside in a panic ... and find her standing under the water spigot demanding that someone turn on the sprinkler so they can shower and then play in the resulting mud puddle. She is one loudmouthed, demanding, controlling bitch! I named her Hillary. : )

The Oduckas (Michelle and Barack ... the black ducks, you know) are getting very pretty since their iridescent feathers are coming in. I haven't named the rest, but I'm considering calling one of the boys Gregory Peck. (And yes, Cedar, I remember that one of them is supposed to be named after you ... I'm waiting to see which one seems the most like a Joisey duck.)

While Ev was out in the shed working on her project today I finally went out and got myself the hobby table I've been needing and spent most of the day working on my dollhouse. One of these days I'll take it's picture. I'll even upload it, if I ever find that damn USB cable.

Other than that, I've been pretty much hyper-focused on the presidential campaign. This is my first experience with being a news and politics junkie and I'm finding that it's like any other addiction ... the highs are euphoric, the lows are crushing, it takes up too much of my time and energy, it forces me to get on other people's nerves and it returns my devotion with stress and anxiety. At least it's not an expensive habit. Honest, I've only sent Obama small donations!

Kwach

Where I've Been

I woke up this morning to this comment:

Hey - are you guys still alive? I miss your crazy real-life stories. What's happening with the ducks? What's happening with you all? Hello? Hello?

I had actually told Lori yesterday that I'd been away from the blog for the last six weeks or so - since Cory's death - because I couldn't think of anything to say except, "I'm still sad." I checked in to see if I'd be ready to go bad to the blog, and it was pretty much the same.

"Sad."

"Still sad."

"Yup. Still sad."

So I did what I do when I feel emotionally unbalanced: I took some time to get back into balance. I spent more time alone...working in the yard, watching the ducks...and listened to my head. I gave myself time to feel sad and bitch about the unfairness of it all and consider how it would be if it were me or Lori that dropped over dead with no warning. I gave myself time to wallow privately, and then I returned to my life. I'm still sad for Cory and I find myself absurdly concerned for how he's faring in the ground (he liked the sunshine), but I'm back to thinking about other things now.

So here's what we've got going on:

We had a bunch of family over yesterday for food and beer and conversation. When the crowd got a little overwhelming I slipped away for an hour's worth of yard work. If you're ever at a family shindig here and you see me trimming trees and pulling weeds, don't be alarmed. I'm just full up on people for a while.

I bought the wood for a new project. I was planning on working on it today, but it's been pouring rain since last night. Even the ducks are a little overwhelmed by it. Here's a picture of the project, though.

I'll post a picture of it when it's done. See you all soon!

Willie Nelson's Gay Cowboy Song

How could we have missed this??

Duck Blogging

I've been trying to get a good picture of the duckling's new plumage, but it's harder than you think to get ducks to pose for pictures!

The kids have grown by leaps and bounds over the past week. They're very feather-y in the tail area and the tops of their wings, most of them have their breast and belly plumage, and a couple of them have major flight feathers coming in. It's harder to see the cayuga's feathers, since they're replacing black down with black feathers, but the rouens are getting more pretty brown and black feathers every day.

They're also much friendlier and some are downright playful. They'll eat anything out of my hands, and then peck and play with my fingers and my jewelry. They other day they were taking turns getting me to gently hold their bills and pull them around the pool.

This week they figured out how to hop down out of the shed in the morning and let us herd them into the daytime pen instead of having to be ferried there by hand, one at a time. They have no idea about hopping back up into the shed, so going to bed at night was still a matter of carrying them --quacking and peeping and bitching all the way -- until last night. Last night they realized they could hop over the low block walls we put up in the shed to keep them contained, and as fast as I could carry one to the shed another one would hop back out and run out into the yard. I finally chased them all down and pitched them over the fence into the pool again so I could consider my options. I made the executive decision to herd them into their fully-enclosed hutch, which we weren't planning to do yet, and even though it was a little crowded they seemed to fare just fine overnight. Ev did have to get up earlier than she wanted this morning, because they started quacking as soon as they could see the pool in the dawn's early light instead of sleeping in like they were doing in the shed.

Now that they're staying outside all the time I'm a lot more worried about predators. We have just about everything here that likes a nice duck meal, and I'm not going to be any good at all at dealing with what predators leave behind, so I'm trying to figure out how to more fully enclose their pen with some type of screen over the top ( against hawks and owls) and make sure there are no small openings (weasels), latches that can be pried open (raccoons) or screen that can be torn open (foxes and coyotes).

Motherhood is hard and worrisome!

Kwach

There Are No Coincidences

At 11 o'clock this morning a nice young man stood in my front yard with me. He gave me $500 and I gave him the title to the Jeep, a set of keys, and the repair manual. May the Lord be with you, my son.

At 3 o'clock this afternoon, I stepped out the back door of the lab and turned left, headed for the bathroom. I passed a young man in the hallway, and it took me a moment to realize that he was the same young man I'd seen in my front yard 3 hours earlier.

"I know you!" I said. "You were in my front yard a few hours ago!"

He blushed cutely, looked at the floor, and said, "Yeah. My sister's having a baby."

I'll admit, I briefly considered that this may be a brush with Fate, and this poor flustered boy could possibly be my son-in-law one day. In some countries, driving a girl's Jeep is considered a marriage proposal, you know. And then I remembered that if he had to drive that crap-ass Jeep, he was clearly too impoverished to marry my daughter, the National Merit Scholar.

Oh! Did I forget to mention that Katie is a National Merit Scholar? Not only is she poised to become the first member of our family to graduate high school (But not, oddly, the first to get a college degree. We all do that, eventually.), but she's actually going to do it with her head held high. Huh. The ability to see a task through to the end? She must get that from her father's side of the family. Dogged bullheaded stubbornness? That comes from my side.

Do you know why I'm a Biologist? Because it was the only class I ever got a C in in high school. Imagine, if I'd sucked at English I might be a famous writer today.

We have a funny relationship with education here in Nowhere.

Fear Me! I'm Somebody's Mother!

In the Springtime when the weather turns nice, the loonies like to leave their nests. You don't even need a field guide to spot them. You can find them first by listening to their call: "I'm gonna fuck you up, Motherfucker!"

Tonight right before the end of my shift, a young man came into our E.R. holding his bloody head. He said, "I think I've been shot in the head."

He was fairly calm and alert, and so the E.R. staff rolled their eyes a little, but they sprung into action. The kid had a CT scan and indeed, he had bullet fragments and chunks of skull lodged in the back of his head. We don't do much neurological stuff at our little hospital, so the ER doc called for a LifeFlight helicopter to take the kid to St. Louis.

So far, so good, right?

Except by that point his 50 closest friends and worst enemies had arrived and were rioting in the waiting room. Security was there trying to break it up, then the cops arrived, and then the hospital was put on lockdown. No entering or leaving until the facility was deemed secure. Okay, that would have been peachy, except the air ambulance guys were among the people who couldn't get into the building. And I was one of the ones who couldn't get out.

My shift ends at 10:30. At about 10;20, we were informed that the hospital was on lockdown and we'd have to stay until the situation was resolved. I think that was the first of about 15 times that I said I just want to go home.

Okay, let's remember. I'm a lab rat. I wear a white coat, I look into a microscope for hours, I get excited about parasitic infections...I'm not a risk-taker. But at 10:30 I clocked out, picked up my keys, and headed for the exit. I figured if I met with any difficult people, I would tell them what I'd tell my own kids: Knock this shit off and go home. Now.

I figured that, plus the Mean Mommy Face, would scare the bejesus out of any thug with half a brain.

So I stopped to pee. Just in case the Mean Mommy Face didn't pan out, I thought I'd lose that authoritative menacing quality if I peed down my leg under pressure...

I went out the main entrance, and there were a half dozen minivans parked out front with alternating groups of people occasionally getting out of the vans, yelling "Motherfucker!", throwing something, and then getting back into the van, probably to watch a DVD on the little DVD player hanging from the ceiling.

Okay, as an aside...when did scary thug people start driving minivans? Was that so they could cram more scary thug people in? Like a clown car? Do thug people carpool to their fights? Do they get to use the HOV lanes for that?

The thug people, however, were not the slightest bit interested in a dweebie lab tech walking out to her truck. I'm sure it was my authoritative menacing quality, like Superman's cape, that gave me an aura of invincibility. Smart thug guys can spot that from a mile away.

So, at 10:30, with all my big strapping young hospital coworkers cowering inside hiding from the scary thug guys, I walked out the door with my cup of ice water in one hand and my book in the other, and glided right through that crowd of angry young men like I was flying Wonder Woman's invisible plane. But without the heels or the golden lasso.

Take that, Motherfucker!

Hey...is that The Sound of Music playing on your DVD player? Can I watch?

Duck Shorts

"Hmmm, I wonder how this 'video' setting on the digital camera works?" the little duckling asked, with a quizzical tilt of the head. "If I got a couple of my buddies to hop in yon pool, do you think you could try filming us and see how that goes?"

I'll do anything to oblige the ducks, so here's my first attempt at video -- a very brief 30 seconds of the pool. If this works, I'll put up a longer (and hopefully more energetic) video later:

The Tonya Harding Option

I read a rather good reader's blog over on TPM Cafe this morning. This blogger puts it in simple terms -- in case the Tonya Harding Option is too vague a reference -- by saying, "The Clintons are simultaneously knee-capping Obama and complaining that he doesn't run as well as a Democratic sprinter should. 'Why are you stumbling like that? Why can't you run straight?'."

We were marveling just last night over the array of Rovian swiftboat-esque tactics that have been used in this primary, and how easily American voters have fallen for the same old crap -- again. We really thought eight years of Bush and two stolen elections would have slapped some sense into this country. We smugly assumed that this time the American public would be more wary of media hype and manipulation, less inclined to fall for push polls, robotic vote suppression gimmicks, negative ads, surrogate smears and flat-out dirty tricks. Boy, were we wrong.

What the fuck is wrong with the electorate in this country, when we spend this much time vetting a candidate's preacher? I have the sense that Obama probably goes to church like a lot of us go to church. You take the kids to Sunday school, you enjoy the music, you see your friends and neighbors and you hang around for the refreshments afterward. It's a social gathering, folks. It's a chance to wear your Sunday clothes and Sunday shoes, and maybe even a big old Sunday hat. I couldn't tell you one thing I remember from any of my former preachers' sermons, but I remember the Sunday our choir sang a Pops Concert after the service and we had that really great pot luck. How ridiculous would it be for something one of those preachers said in a sermon to come back to bite me in the ass? I wasn't in the pulpit. Hell, I was barely present in the pew. I was there for the singin' and the shrimp dip! But you can't come right out and say that, can you?

So far I've heard more hand-wringing over the whereabouts of Obama's birth certificate than discussion of his plan for troop withdrawal in Iraq. More innuendo about how he qualified for his mortgage than discussion about his ideas on the mortgage lending crisis facing the rest of us. More redneck angst about flag pins and the Pledge of Allegiance than interest in his economic plan or his stance on gun violence. I'm seriously concerned about us, folks. Is this the best we can do? I keep hearing the Super Delegates (or the "automatic delegates," as Clinton calls them) talked about like a "Survivor-Washington, DC" alliance. Have we sunk so far into the "Reality" TV mentality that we're waiting to see whether Obama will play the immunity idol? Clinton is running for President, not HOH.

Now we're hearing that Obama is an "elitist." He's the pansy-assed arugula to her boilermaker. He's the effete snob to her Rocky Balboa. Guess what? I don't want a president who tosses back boilermakers between bouts while her husband plays grab-ass with the waitress. I don't want a president who has no moral bottom line, who will do anything to destroy anyone who gets in the way, and who will condone anything done by anyone that promotes her.

But a whole lot of people seem to be eating this shit up, so maybe we haven't really had enough quite yet. Maybe four years of McCain will do it. If we're really lucky we'll get Condaleeza Rice as Veep. There. There's your white guy, your African-American and your woman, all in one tidy little war-mongering, big-corporation pandering, middle-America screwing package. Something for everyone. Now shut the fuck up, and if you've got any money left or an able-bodied child who can hold a rifle, send it in. If there's any spare body armor laying around the house, send that, too ... they'll be needing it in Iran.

Kwach

Brush With Fame, Part I

I just read Feral Mom's post about the Beatles, and that reminded me of my brush with greatness.

I once delivered Sir Paul's paper.

His newspaper carrier had missed him (and I can't imagine how...he's right behind the massive iron gates in the foothills of Tucson), so I took a replacement paper to his house. I drove up to the iron gate, rang the bell on the gatepost and waited. After a time, a McLackey said, "Yes?" and I replied...

"Paper"

He said, "Throw it over the gate." I did. Me and Paul McCartney...we're like this.

Next: Part II, Diana Ross

An Open Letter to the DNC

I haven't been blogging as prolifically as I normally do (I know that sentence is butchered, but so what? It's my blog!), but stick with me kids...I'll be back up to speed eventually.

In the meantime though...

I keep hearing residents of Florida and Michigan whining about being disenfranchised. Did they not understand the Democratic National Committee's rules about when they could hold a primary when they chose to move their primaries forward? Did they think that if they bullied their way to the head of the line they would then be able to bully the DNC into reversing their clearly-stated policy? I don't get what they're so outraged about. They gambled, they lost. They knew the stakes when they made their move forward on the calender, but I guess they thought no one would dare call them on it.

Guess what, Florida and Michigan. You chose poorly. Next time your Democratic machine tries to pull a boneheaded stunt like this, remember to write to your state assemblyman and complain BEFORE you lose your seat at the convention. Then you won't look like such crybabies.

Wah-wah! We tried to cheat and we got thrown out of the game! We want our score to count anyway! It's not fair that only you people who play by the rules get to go to the finals!

And who didn't expect Hillary to keep ringing that bell? I'll bet she's got a checklist in her pantsuit pocket:

Race baiting? Check!
Classism? Check!
Christian Right Muslim dogwhistles? Check!
Blaming FL and MI political buffoonery on Obama? Check and double check!

Good news! We've hit all the points on the list. We're ready for the coronation.

Hopefully the erstwhile candidate and rarely-heard-from Chairman of the DNC, Howard Dean, will stand tough in the face of the Clinton campaign's desperate attempt to weasel it's way around the rules. I'm counting on the DNC leadership and the super delegates to sit on their hands and not do anything foolish that's going to make the rest of the country feel like chumps for following the DNC's own rules.

Remember, DNC. We got fucked in 2000. We got fucked in 2004. If you cave in to the tsunami force of political pressure from the Clinton campaign and steal our candidate from us, we're just going to pack up all our feminists, lesbians, blacks, Hollywood stars, former Clinton staffers and Harvard law grads and throw our support behind some other Inexperienced Elitist Muslim Election-Stealing Negro with suspicious ties to African Muslim Genocidal Death Squads.

I mean, c'mon. These guys must be a dime a dozen, right?

Corrections and Stuff

Ev informed me last night that "You Win Again" is not one of the Five Greatest Songs Ever Written. It's one of the Greatest Breakup Songs Ever Written, which is a whole different category of songs. I missed "One Piece at a Time" by Johnny Cash. This egregious error has been corrected.

She also pointed out that I have six songs on my Five Worst Songs Ever Written list. I can't decide whether to change the title or drop a song. Maybe I'll just leave it hanging out there like that, because I can't imagine which of those songs I'd take off the list, and if I just say Worst Songs Ever Written I won't stop before I fill the 100 slot playlist. I'm already missing "Feelings" and "Ben."

Speaking of "Ben," we sat here last night watching YouTube videos. We started with the Pips, then moved on to the O'Jays and the Temptations, and from there it was a short hop to the Jackson Five, where we reminisced about what how handsome Michael Jackson used to be and watched "Thriller." Fun!

Somehow we sequed briefly to David Cassidy (who bears a striking resemblance to my first girlfriend, and may have actually been my first crush on a soft butch tomboy) and Bobby Sherman's choker.



















Ev and You Tube are just about my favorite things that have happened on the Internet.

Kwach

Who Loves Ya, Baby?

To know Ev is to know which are the Five Greatest Songs Ever Written.

To know and love Ev is to not only know the Five Greatest Songs Ever Written, but to be able, at a moment's notice, to flawlessly perform the Pips backup to "Midnight Train To Georgia." All of her kids totally embrace Pipping, and spontaneously Pip whenever the song plays, without any prompting. I'm learning (a superstar, but he didn't get far), but I miss the "woo woo!" train whistle more often than not.

We met and started dating in April. April is the anniversary of the first time we had The Killer Sex. It's also the anniversary of our first day trip in the car, which is when I learned about the Five Greatest Songs Ever Written. Since it's once again April, and I'm romantic that way, I spared no expense finding the new widget gadget and installing it so that Ev can listen to the FGSEW whenever she wants to ... and so can you!

Ready, set, PIP!

Happy Anniversary, my little floppy-eared butch!)

Moving Day!

I woke up this morning to the sound of agitated, loud peeping, and instantly knew what was going on in the guest bedroom. One of the guests was running around the bedroom floor, peeping like mad, and the other guests were running around inside the pool, also peeping like mad. It was quite obviously moving day!

Luckily, I went to Rural King yesterday and bought them a lovely hutch and enclosure and assembled it in the yard under the shade trees.

Good timing!

The ducklings seem happy in their new outdoor home. They've been eating dandelions and scrabbling in the dirt for bugs, but so far they aren't too crazy about their little wading pool. I put them in ... they jump out. I put them back in ... they yell at me and jump back out. But aren't they pretty in their new daytime home?


At night they'll be sleeping in the shed, where they have a little enclosed space with straw bedding and their heat lamp.

I can see my future laid out before me:


7:00am - remove waterer and feeder from shed, clean and refill same, move to outdoor pen.

7:15am - remove ducks from shed (two at a time until they learn to follow me) and move to outdoor pen.

7:00pm - remove waterer and feeder from outdoor pen, clean and refill same, move to shed.

7:15pm - remove ducks from outdoor pen (two at a time until they learn to follow me) and move to shed.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

The checker at Rural King asked me if we had a rabbit ... she has rabbits ... she said she loves rabbit and dumplings. I told her we have ducks. She said, "Ooooh! Duck and dumplings is good, too!"

Philistine.

Bitter? You Betcha!

There's no reason to try and improve on what Jon Stewart has already said perfectly:




Kwach

Lesbianism: The Process of Processing the Process

I feel like I ought to be blogging, but honestly...I can't think of what I'd say.

Here's what's going on around here:

My project for tomorrow is to build an enclosure for the ducks. I think they're ready to graduate from the guest bedroom to the outdoors. I've got a nice semi-shady spot picked out for them in the yard.

It's time to start mowing again. I mowed for about an hour today but then I had to quit and get ready for work. I realized that that's going to be the quiet time I'll need to get down to the business of grieving (And, dare I say it? Processing that grief.), and maybe then turn my attention elsewhere.

The thing I've learned by living in the world for a few decades is that no matter how much you'd like to hurry sadness along, it stays as long as it damn well pleases. Sometimes it tries to move in and share space on the couch if you're not careful. The easiest way for me to send it on it's way is to spend a day or two paying attention to it, listening to it fuss about all the ways life's not fair, and then show it the door. Sometimes it takes more than a day or two.

Experiencing emotional upheaval is like listening to a child tell a story. You can interrupt it, but the kid's going to start telling the story again from the beginning, over and over until you shut up and listen to it all the way through. Better to just settle down and realize that you're going to spend the next few minutes listening to the story. Sadness is a story you have to listen to straight through from the beginning to the end before it lets you do something else.

So tomorrow I'm going to try and spend a quiet day working on the duck pen and mowing and listening to the story my heart needs me to hear. Then I'm going to settle down, stop worrying about who's going to die next, and get back to the business of living my life.

At least, that's the plan. I'll let you know how it goes. :-)

Look Ma, We're BIG!

Time for a duckling update.

This is the way the babies looked a week ago ...

See how tiny they are compared to their waterer and their feeder? See how unsteady they look on those feet?

Well, a lot has changed in six days.

We stopped using the blanket over the bedding a few days ago and let them start playing in their wood shavings and ground corn cobs. They tried to eat it for the first couple of days, and it's funny to watch them taste-test everything and then spit out what they can't eat. Sometimes Omelet will stop in mid-spit with her little tongue sticking out of her bill. (I'm assuming she's a girl, since she's quite petite and still much smaller than all the others.)

Here they are today ...

Look how duck-ly and tall they are! Those big feet sound like a herd of thundering elephants when they start running around the pool. They're going through a gallon of water and emptying the feeder every day now, and it's going to be no time at all before they're ready to move outside.

So far no one's escaped from the pool, but I think it's just because they haven't thought of it yet.

This weekend we're going to build their outside enclosure so we can start taking them out to the yard for part of the day. They're still all fluff and no feathers, but if it's warm and sunny it'll be time to let them try swimming a little.

It's not hard to get a picture of all eight of them together, since they never do anything without the whole flock. When we take one out to hold it the rest of them get worried and stand there peeping at us until the missing duckling is returned.

Kwach

Cory

So...as everyone knows, I had a bad week. My friend Cory died, which is indescribably tragic in a thousand ways, but particularly because he was one of the actually nicest people I knew. Not faux-nice-to-your-face, make-fun-of-how-weird-you-are-behind-your-back nice, but the kind of niceness (combined with the acid bitchiness that only gay guys can pull off) that made you wriggle like a puppy.

But now he's dead at 45, which is also not fair because he's much, much too handsome to die. He moisturizes, for God's sake! People who moisturize should at least get to live long enough to see the fruits of their labors pan out in the form of glowing skin in their declining years.

I could have made you a list of people I wish would have turn up dead on a Saturday morning with no warning, and he never, ever would have been on it.
Another way it's not fair is that I've gone from being 1/3 of the gay people at my work to being 1/2. The pressure just increased by 50%. I will not, however, succumb to the impulse to be nicer. I'll stay strong. For Cory. He'd want me to be a bitch, I know it.

Traci and I had an ungodly number of instrumentation woes last night, and she attributed them to the Ghost of Cory Past using that time to show his love and solidarity for us by fucking up everything we touched. WTF?? Whither Thou Fuckest?? Why would our Cory, he of the tidy pressed Dockers and stick-on henna tattoo of his dog, reapplied semi-weekly...why would that Cory fuck around with our beloved Coulter 750 hematology analyzer in the middle of a shift change?

Cory would sooner eat his daily banana before 11:30 than mess with the analyzer...even posthumously. He was not one to wantonly do anything irresponsible or different. There's a reason God made lunch happen at 11:30: so we'd know when to eat our banana. Duh. Life is meant to be lived neatly, and that includes good analyzer maintenance.

I listened politely to her theory before dunking her in the decorative fountain in front of the hospital. Take that, tool of Satan! Blaspheme no more, Witch!

She survived, so I think that made her a witch. Or maybe not. I get confused about this part. Where is the part where exonerated witches get to go home and resume their backbreaking 20 hours of domestic labor a day? Maybe drowning is the reward for righteousness.

So the real story is that I'm indescribably sad. I try not to cry more than once an hour when I sit in his chair, doing diffs and look up at his stuff and remember that he's not coming back. Cory liked me to tell him stories, so I've been consoling myself by telling myself stories that he would have laughed at. But I still cry.

I hate being a grown-up sometimes.

This Was the Week That Sucked

No duckling pictures today. They're fine, but we've had other things on our minds.

For one thing, we're heading into our annual April Crap-Ass Weather, complete with a plunge back into the 30's, overnight freezes, and that ridiculous snow flurry that always happens just after the tulips and daffodils and crocuses and hyacinths bloom and everyone plants flowers and veggie gardens, believing that winter is over. We've seen this before, so we went out today and bought a new chainsaw to cut up more firewood.

The weather turning nasty is really just the rancid frosting on the moldy cake of our week. It started out badly on Monday morning, when the little beagle mix puppy Carrie and the Man Friend adopted last month got hit and killed on the road in front of our houses with everyone watching. She just took off running without warning and there was no time for the woman who hit her to react. So we all started the week sad and mopey, and then the ducklings arrived ... but five of them died. And then this morning Ev got a phone call to tell her that one of her co-workers was found dead this morning of unknown causes. He was 44 and healthy, and one of Ev's very favorite people, and we can't wrap our minds around it.

So what we're going to do now is hunker down by the fire.

And Then There Were Eight

Sadly, the little runt didn't make it through the night, but we didn't even expect it to make it all the way home, so I guess that extra 12 hours was a small victory of sorts.

Omelet, on the other hand, perked right up overnight and is looking very duck-ly (as you can see to the left), and the Rouens have now accepted the Cayugas and they aren't shoving them away and pecking them today. I spent so much time yesterday holding Omelet and keeping the other ducks from picking on it that I've totally turned that one into a lap whore.

The Rouens remind me of a bunch of tiny umpires having a fight on the pitcher's mound. They stand up tall and get all puffed up and then bump chests with each other in a miniature shoving match, with much peeping of duckling obscenities. Last night I watched one of them scooch those big feet under another one and then punt it out of the way. I told Cedar that the Rouens are the Jersey Ducks. : )

So, it looks like we've settled on a nice even-numbered flock of eight ... six Rouens and two Cayugas ... all healthy and happy now. RIP, Quiche Lorraine.

Kwach

Delivery!

The ducklings are here!

The post office in Carbondale called bright and early this morning to tell us we could either drive there and get them or wait until tomorrow when they'd be at our local post office. Are you kidding?? It's only a 25 minute drive!

We ordered 12, and they shipped 13, and sadly, four of the Cayugas didn't make it. All six Rouens were big and fluffy and jumping around peeping, but the Cayugas were much smaller and only two of the seven were active. The tiniest one was looking really iffy and definitely wouldn't have made it till tomorrow.

We got them home and they all started drinking and eating and running around (and pooping) right away, except the little black one, who's still strugglin' a little and lagging behind. It's eating and drinking now, but only if we put some feed on the blanket in front of it and carry it to the water. Hopefully it's just dehydrated from the trip and will perk up. Of course, it's everyone's favorite because it's the runt.

They're very sweet, and the Cayugas are definitely the calmest ones at this point. They just like to be picked up and cuddled. The Rouens are full of piss and vinegar and want to climb up and sit on our shoulders and nibble at our necks.

More pictures tomorrow!

Kwach

More Labor ...

No ducks today.

I called the local post office this morning to make sure they had no stray boxes of chirping babies sitting around, and to let them know to watch for them.

So, since we have no babies yet, and it's a drizzly overcast day, and gas prices are too damn high to go driving aimlessly around the countryside in Ev's new truck, we're doing projects. Ev's been cleaning out and organizing our big shed, sorting through her tools and making space to set up her shop.

Last night we went shopping in our stored boxes and I ended up with six pair of almost new jeans that used to be Ev's, we found a whole box of books we wanted to read (culled from various and sundry of the 70+ boxes of books down there), I found about a dozen old cassette tapes I want to listen to again, and today I think I'll climb up in the storage loft and look through those boxes.

It's amazing how much stuff you pack up thinking you want, love or need it, and then a couple of years goes by without it and you open the boxes and say, "What the hell were we thinking?? We could have jettisoned this crap 1500 miles ago and had room to bring our furniture!"

Ooooooh, and the annual library book sale is this weekend! Wooohoooooo!!! Fifty cent books!

Maybe ducks tomorrow ...

Labor ...

The nursery is ready and we're now in the "pacing in the waiting room" stage of duck parenthood.

Doesn't this look comfy? If you were a duckling, wouldn't you be anxious to get here and start eating and drinking and pooping all over the place?

We've done everything we can do to over-prepare for their arrival ... we've got the vitamins in the water, the poultry crumbles in the feeder, the heat lamp and tripod adjusted to achieve the perfect toasty duckling temperature of 97 degrees, and now all we can do is smell the warm pine bedding under their soft cotton blankie and check the caller ID repeatedly to see if we missed a call from the US Postal Service.

Maybe tomorrow ... (sigh)

Ev and I have the rest of the week and the weekend off, so they should hurry up and get here! They're missing out on all this excellent imprinting and spoiling!

Kwach

Duck, Duck...GOOSE!

You know how we are...we get on a project and pummel it into submission. Once we've decided on something, we research it to death, check out all the "here's my experience with X" blogs and then start down the road, and then we start making bigger plans.

So a couple of weeks ago we decided not to move. Although we were excited about the house, we were not excited about the postage stamp yard, which wouldn't be duck/dog/alpaca friendly. We'd been sort of clinging to the hope that the half-burned derelict house next door would be torn down and we could buy the property, but when we found out the the owners planned to keep it and fix it up someday (even though they had yet to begin in the previous two years)...we decided to continue shopping.

What we really want is 5-10 acres, with room to have a pond and some pasture and some yard. We're comfortable where we are so we have time to keep looking, but while we're looking, we've bought baby ducks. And now I'm checking into a pond for the ducks to splash around in, and that's got me looking at pumps and filters and aquatic plants and koi and flow rate and landscaping and all sorts of other stuff to decorate in and around an ornamental pond.

The ducks will be here sometime this week. Lori's cleaned out one of the sheds for them to get out of the weather, they've got heat lamps, baby duck food, and straw to snuggle up in. We're all ready to be duck parents. I'm taking a few days off to work on a fenced in area for them to be outside, safe from predators. And soon...a pond. And maybe a fountain. And a gazebo. But that's it. I swear.

Guess who needs grandchildren?

Spwing!

Some of you might recall that last year we had a sweet little wild yard duck who met with an untimely end on the highway in front of our house. We were very sad at the time, having become quite attached to Duck while she lived with us, and we promised ourselves that in the Spring, when ducks happen, we'd replace her.

Last weekend we went to the duck store to buy a couple of ducklings, but we were too late! All the ducklings had, apparently, ended up in Easter baskets that weren't already filled to the brim with beer and chocolate. Sigh.

I tried looking in a few of the lesser-known duck emporiums ... Rural King ... Tractor Supply ... but alas, no ducklings to be found.

So last night we decided to take the duck by the bill and order some online. Since they come by US Mail you have to order the minimum number that assures they'll stay warm enough in the box ... which is 10. What the heck ... two or three ducks is almost the same as ten, right? So, being pro-active and assuming that in any random box of ducklings there might be some loss, we ordered an even dozen.

We're partial to the Rouens. They look like Mallards, but they're pretty much flightless, not prolific egg-layers (which is good, because we don't need hundreds of duck eggs), very friendly and get along with cats and dogs ... once you convince the cats and dogs).

Carrie likes the Cayuga's with their irridescent green plumage and pretty eggs. They're a quieter duck than average, which will be nice when they all start quacking (!!), and they have a calm and docile personality.

So we ordered six of each.

The babies will arrive the week of April 7th! So much to do to get ready! We're turning the landlord's abandoned shed into a duck house, complete with heat lamp, feeders, waterers, a little ramp for the ducks to ingress and egress the shed, and a fenced enclosure in the yard attached to the shed for when they're old enough to get out but still too young to peck the crap out of Mrs. Underfoot if she tries to go duck hunting.

Before they can move to the shed they're going to need a brooder. Since April weather here can be iffy, and there's usually at least one last snowfall about that time, we're thinking they should probably spend their first couple of weeks in the extra bedroom. So I'm looking around at the various ways people have brooded ducklings indoors. Right now the plastic wading pool arrangement is looking pretty good.

This will bring us to a grand total of eight cats, two dogs and twelve ducks here at the Family Compound! We're all excited about the babies, and Katie's already claimed the right to name one of them after herself. The rest will have to reveal their Indian names to us over time.

Stay tuned!

Kwach

You Asked For It...

We got this comment yesterday from Pat:

Kwach,Thanks for working so hard to comprehend who the candidates are. Because of you, I have decided to vote Obama. I hate politics because I seldom know what is really going on. I respect your opinions. BTW, I read your blog every day and just wish that you and Ev would write EVERY day, (heh). Pat

First of all, thanks. Second of all, I sometimes wonder what I would blog about if I blogged every day, which is weird since I find something to talk about every day in my real life, and it's not that difficult.

But in lieu of flirting with you all , which makes an excellent substitute for conversation when you don't actually want to talk (it looks like interacting, but really it's just performance art), I occasionally run out of things to say. But today I spent this morning in my jammies hanging out with my daughters and talking and laughing about how we're all alike.

We're bossy. really bossy. But we mostly feel justified because we've already spent a week or more fretting and stewing about whatever the problem is. Long before our partners even knew it was time to feel anxiety, we were already busy laying awake and self-flagellating over it. In my mind, that makes us more qualified to make decisions about it, whatever it is. When you've put in 80 hours of stewing, you can usually come up with a plan. It's like training for the Olympics...If I spend 40 hours a week training and lifting weights and running every day, I sure will resent some interloper coming along with a Twinkie in one hand and a beer in the other and eclipsing my efforts.

So this morning we put our heads together and tried to come up for a more diplomatic way for Carrie to discuss her relationship needs with her Man Friend than, "Because I said so." But the idea that the three of us would actually come up with a diplomatic way to say anything was so laughable that we gave up and moved on.

We also decided that anyone who can love one of us over the long haul has to be very determined and have a pretty sturdy ego. Or deaf.

That's pretty much it for today though. No brilliant political discourse, no dwarfs, no eBay...just me and my girls and the always-pleasant surprise of how satisfying it is to have a family you love to spend time with.