Friday, January 30, 2015

A Week's Worth of Rambling

This week went by so quickly.  I hope I have something to show for it. 

Tuesday called for a visit to KU Med Center for that Spouse o' Mine (He is FINE.)  After which, he was to drop me off into parts unknown to meet with women unknown, to hike parts unknown.  I was excited.  It was a Meet-Up group of women who want to enjoy the outdoors together.  Yep: calling my name.

Unfortunately, the KU Med center appointment, which is normally 20 minutes, took over two hours, and so I missed my hike with the women.  Happily, I had a Plan B and C.  And even D.  (Hey: I am a Girl Scout: "Be prepared.")

That Spouse o' Mine and I headed to Ikea, the world of cheap Scandinavian household wares.  We shopped and brunched.  We had fun salmon in different forms.  I returned to the Ikea grocery to pick up some horseradish/dill thing that I LOVED on our salmon sashimi.  It's a sign that we are getting older (in a happy way) that we enjoyed all the young mothers and their tykes during brunch.  Maybe a decade ago, we might not have cast a glance at these little kinder, but it was fun to see them now and laugh at their antics. 

The next day, the weather was cool and then warm.  I called off anything defined as work, and went for a bike ride in the warm and sunny afternoon.  I had beckoned a Facebook group called Manhattan Women's Rides for joiners, but there were none, and so I went out on my lonesome, and had a really nice afternoon.  I had plans for an encore ride the following afternoon, but the weathermen were wrong, and it was NOT warm and it WAS windy. 

It seems that the weathermen these days might not be scientists after all.  Meteorology is a science.  And with today's incredible technology, I would think the weather folks could get a pretty accurate reading on weather.  But they don't, and so I will continue to look out the window and look up in the sky and look out to the western horizon (from whence most tornadoes appear) and figure it out on my own.   

I re-homed our Indian Runner ducks this week.  That might seem like a big durn deal, but really, it was a very swift and simple decision.  I asked a family at church last Sunday if they would like our nine ducks, in view of the fact that they just moved to rural acreage.  I honestly think they would have taken them, but here is their story:  They purchased this rural home from a couple who are retiring and moving to Florida.  The property purchase included the family dog, a huge black lab mix.  You might think, "Oh, NO!!"  but this was a blessing all around.  You see, not two months before, our church friends' big ol' family dog died after many many years of life.  And POOF!  Now they have a new home and a built-in dog, to boot.  Perfect.

Perfect, except that this family returned home from church on a recent Sunday morning to find the dog-included-in-the-sale-of-the-property inside their little chicken coop, wagging his tail violently, as if to say, "I did a good thing, didn't I??  Yes?  A good thing????"   And all five of their chickens, who were pets, were expired.  Not eaten.  Just expired.

And so I agreed with this family that perhaps our ducks should not join their new rural home.

But then I went to Book Club four days later, and spoke to a friend who has ducks and geese, and she said she would love our Indian Runners.  Yay!  Make way for ducklings!

The day after my bike ride in sunny warm weather, I bundled up in my nastiest clothes and boots, and headed out to the duck house to collect said ducks, nine, to be re-homed.  How was I going to do this?  These ducks are NOT pets.  The nine are identical, they all move about our property as a flock - actually, to describe it better?  As a school of fish.  They are tight-knit and not interested in a relationship with a human anymore than I am with a duck.  They are wild birds with brains the size of an acorn.

So there.

I entered the duckhouse in the morning and shut off the light, and closed the door to make it semi-dark. What commenced was a cacophony of duck shrieks and a vortex of birds flapping all around me.  ALL AROUND ME.  FOR TWENTY MINUTES.

It was unpleasant.

Happily, all nine ducks were got and delivered, and I hope they live happily ever after.  They should: they have a barn and a pond and some pretty great folks to look after them.  My reason to rehome?  A time in my life that we can travel without worry.  And as that Spouse o' Mine mentioned after my decision: It is not difficult to acquire ducks.

And so, let's move on to later that morning, after which I was covered from head to toe with duck poo (another word comes to mind), and I thought to myself:  Where to go from here, all covered in poo?  Up!  Up to the barn loft, to fulfill, in part, my New Year's Resolution:

 "Order is the shape upon which beauty depends."  Pearl S. Buck

Yes: time to get started gleaning that barn loft, which holds scads of boxes from our move ~ fourteen years ago.

Happily, I had a trip down Memory Lane yesterday.  I went through boxes of our kids' nursery school things, and even pre-baby, pre-marriage things.  I found a box of letters I had saved.  I read through letters from my grandmother, and from two of my favorite great-aunts.  There were letters from my TWA flight attendant days; people asking if it had been MY flight which had been hijacked in Greece that week.  (No.  I flew to Greece, but it was not my flight that was high-jacked.)  I had high school and college letters.  You know what?  In this day of email, we will never enjoy hand-written mail again.  So sad.  I read letters from my father-in-law, which he painstakingly typed onto "airmail" stationery,  to send from Australia.  An advantage to today's technology is that I photographed a collection of stuffed animals and emailed our three adult children.  What did they want to keep?  It was fun and funny.  Maybe a little bittersweet, when son Graham mentioned that Aunt Barb (my sister, deceased), had given him such-and-such bunny.

Today, Friday, is my mental "Let's get everything done!" day.  Not a good mental health day.  But I sure do accomplish a lot.  I shipped off lots of instruments and parts and whatnots.  My little business: , after which I visited our local big-business grocer.  In addition to my small grocery list, I swept by the seafood place and picked up a Red Snapper for dinner.  YES!  Let's cook it with zucchini, small potatoes, and some of that horseradish/dill sauce we picked up at Ikea this week! 

Well.  I got home and the Red Snapper smelled like it had been netted twenty days ago.  It was a no-go.  I called the big-business grocer, and spoke to two employees who probably do not give a whit if my dinner was a bust or not.

Suffice to say, I am getting my money back next week.  (I explained that we live MILEs out of town and I would not be back in town for days.  I must sound like a pioneer throwback.  But - I am not.  Fresh fish authority, I am.)

And tomorrow, we celebrate our son's, our third child's birthday. 

Life keeps flowing; more to come.


Gillian said...

Too bad about the fish!

What ever happened to the Cabbage Patch? Trash?

twebsterarmstrong said...

No, I sill have it. Do you want it? It looks awful. And scary.

Louise Plummer said...

I love that meteorology isn't a perfect science;chaos theory prevails.

We need a surprise snow storm around here. No winter to speak of.

Melissa G said...

I believe I recall hearing a lot of duck commotion over your direction last week. I understand! Thank you for not asking me if I wanted nine more ducks. ha ha!

Too bad about the fish. Yesterday, Melinda and I were in the nicer big grocery store in town, and we could smell the fish from the produce department. We left post-haste. Bleh!

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