Dreaming...

Maybe it's the coffee talking. Or my penchant to become excited about new things and ideas. Or both. Spending almost 2 years without a garden or even the freedom to work in the dirt (those darn fire ants!) seems to have lent fuel to frenzy of backyard homestead desires. (Flash back to 2 years spent in an apartment without the freedom to paint my walls--which exploded into an earnest frenzy of self expression through an ever changing palette of wall colors in our new home) Buying some chickens only added credibility to the thoughts of more sustainable, less consumerism living. I have been digging in the dirt and reclaiming wood for our backyard gardening endeavors. (Of course, the last time I tried to grow anything, it was a dismal failure. But this time I am armed with the ammunition of friends who "know everything there is to know" about such things) I have been knitting with a vengeance, taking the time of sitting at soccer practices to do something productive. "You can never have too many dishcloths" I assured my bemused husband. I've convinced Chris to drag out his mother's old sewing machine- I'm determined to learn how to use it this time, with visions of a litany of colorful sundresses for Chloe dancing off my machine. My latest (obsession) is the idea of soapmaking. It's not the actual process that has captured my fancy but the idea of a delicious array of scents and herb infused chunks of hand hewn, creamy goodness. I confess that I tend to jump into things with a definite view of what I imagine for the outcome and kinda skip over the details of exactly how to get there. (Mom, I still haven't grown out of that...) "I could make that" is now being parroted by the younger set of Cummings. Aidan was looking at soccer goals the other weekend, but was put off by the pricing and the thought of losing the contents of his wallet. Instead, after looking over the construction, he decided that we could just make one, and he should buy a nerf gun instead which was cheaper and much harder to duplicate.

See, there's something green growing. A brave little green pea, and a measure of hope.

31

Yesterday was my birthday. I peered into the mirror and noticed the little lines around my eyes are getting more pronounced, the commas by my mouth are deepening, and my hair is becoming sprinkled with silver. I've wondered if it would bother me, aging. But I can look at the skin that is sagging and stretched and remember the two lives that I carried under my heart. I can look at the lines on my face and see the joys and the sorrows they represent. My mouth crooks slightly to the left when I smile, and based on the imprint it has left-the smiles must be frequent. My body carries a million different memories, each showing that I have lived. I have lived. I have laughed and cried, and squinted in the sun. I have stretched and expanded with birth. My nose quirks from being broken in a game of softball, and my knees ache sometimes when the weather changes. I have scars from chicken pox and spots from the sun. But I have been living, and I am reminded that that is a privilege denied to many.

Ten years ago, I was 21 and 4 days out from having Aidan. I was newly married and my husband still had hair. I was pretty sure I knew what the world owed me and what part I had to play. Today, I have more questions than answers some days. In some ways, I would have imagined my life looking like this, and in some ways I never would have guessed. But here I am, and I'm thankful. I'm thankful for the journey; for the joys and the scars. For the outward evidence and the inward transformations.

In ten more years, what will my life look like? I confess, I don't have much of an idea, but I'm looking forward to finding out.

Quirky

Some things make me inexplicably happy. Curvy sticks, for example. My neighbors were trimming their willow tree a few years ago and I snuck over and grabbed some of the loveliest curvy branches destined for the trash bin. They serve absolutely no use other than that they are curvy and that makes me happy. In fact, we drug them to Houston and back. As we were leaving Houston in the frustration of all the last minute packing I threw my sticks in the front yard for the trash man. Chloe found them and in tears because "mommy loves her curvy sticks" got her daddy to find a special place for them in the uhaul. My two kids have gradually added to my collection with bits and pieces of sticks they have found that look "curvy". I also love fence posts and barbed wire. I don't know why, but I do. It makes me happy.

I found a piece of curvy wire in an open field in Texas one year while traveling back from my brother's wedding. I was sure that it was going to be perfect for something. And I resisted when Chris wanted to throw it away the first time we moved. I caught his raised eyebrows the second time I loaded it up to drag it back across the country, but packed it anyways. It still sits in my garage waiting for the something that it is absolutely perfect for. I have driftwood in my kitchen washed ashore from hurricane Ike and in Aidan's room sits a large, heavy, weathered log I found outside. It's funny all the things I got rid of in the moves. But somehow my old pieces of wood made the cut every time. See what I mean, quirky? I also love rusted metal, but that is a story for another day....

Chicken Little

Our little urban farm grew just a little bit bigger this last week. Now in addition to 2 dogs, and a newt, we have added 4 chickens. I had talked about getting chickens for so long that somehow I assumed that Chris and I were on the exact same page. Imagine his surprise when he came home from a day of skiing to discover the living room interrupted with 2 day old fluffy chicks. I hadn't intended to get them that day; I only went to JAX to pick up some dog food...but there they were. And two kids and a mommy, who want some chickens make a very convincing argument. However, my sweet tempered husband quickly fell in "like" with the helpless little creatures. Probably everybody on Facebook is tired of hearing me blather on about our new additions, and I have been beginning nearly every conversation with the information that we just got some chickens. But they are so darn cute and I'm really just a farm girl at heart.



This is Aidan's chick. Her name is Pippi and she is a Buff Orpington. She already comes to the side of the box when Aidan peeks his head over and starts talking. She seems very gentle and calm. She's best buddies with Chloe's chick-they are hardly ever apart.



This is Katy, a Silver Spangled Hamburg. She was named after the city we lived in in Texas. She is the smallest and the most high strung and skittish of the bunch. She likes to try and burrow into the pine chips which provokes Pippi to come over and step on her head.

This is Ginger, an Ameraucana, who will lay blue green eggs. She's cream and brown colored. Last night I was woken up by a chick giving it's alarm cry and came out to see that someone had pooped on her wing and she was very upset by it. The three other chicks were lined up and trying to help her clean it off.

This is Chloe's chick, Tikka Masala (one of our favorite Indian dishes). She is the fattest and the sassiest of the bunch and usually the first to confront something new. Today Roscoe stuck his nose into their cage a little too close and to his shock, she marched over and pecked him soundly on his snout.

Winter Brown

A few years ago, when we first moved to Colorado, I remember feeling a bit depressed as the winter dragged on, and on, and on. I was used to spring coming early and the continual brown weighed heavy on me. In fact, I painted my kitchen a brilliant, cheerful shade of granny smith apple green because I was so hungry for the sight of something green. In Houston, spring was my favorite season. It came early and was too soon eclipsed by the heat of summer and the sting of fire ants. But it was beautiful. The air seemed to throb with the scent of growing, living things. And every day it seemed a new wildflower took it's turn by the side of the road. So I wondered how I would feel moving back to Colorado for a long winter and late spring. But since that beginning transition a few years ago, I have grown to love the barren winter landscape. Maybe it fits me more now. (My kitchen was painted a chocolate brown soon after we moved back) And contrary to my initial impressions, it's beautiful. Wild and cold and free feeling. With shades of brown and gold, blues and grays, silver and white.


Roscoe and I were surprised to see this guy in the field next to us howling for all he was worth. I confess that it made me a tad bit nervous since I was out in the middle of nowhere.
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My ever ready hiking buddy...

1/12/11

I wonder if I should be concerned with my infrequent blog updates. On the one hand, I could worry about the fact that if I only have a thought worth sharing once a month or so, that brings into question what is going on in my head the rest of the time. Or I could just give myself the benefit of the doubt that I don't see the need to join the clogging of cyberspace with every minute detail of my life as if the world cares what I had for breakfast. After all, that's what Facebook is for. (And for the record, today I had yogurt and granola with fruit and nuts) But that's not what inspired me to face my computer with my thoughts today. I was wondering what drove me to notice (or maybe to go looking for) a friend's need and go out of my way to help. It could be assumed that it's because I'm such a nice person. But that thought has to be dismissed rather quickly. I'm really not, and in fact, I can be rather selfish at times. Today I realized that certain situations I find myself in are because I am trying to pay a debt. Nope, this is not where I'm going to get all spiritual and perfect. This is where I will admit that every pregnant or new mom who has ever had me offer to clean her bathroom is because of Mary Bickham Thomas. Who came over cheerfully dressed in yellow rubber gloves and took it upon herself to clean a pregnant, sick girl's john, and in the process left a footprint on my life. If I've ever offered to watch your kids you can thank Tracy Howe Wispelwey who dropped everything she was doing to come over and take my kids on a date when she heard in my voice that I was overwhelmed and stressed. If I've ever brought you food it was because of sweet people who fed a new momma when the majority of the population only said "congratulations". And also because of friends like Emily Brashier who gave what she had and brought me groceries when I was too sick to leave the house. Tabitha Burgtorf left her job, her friends and even her state to live with me and feed me and my (starving) husband while I was pregnant and sick (yep it was a long, sick 2 pregnancies). And the friend who came over bringing coffee and offered to talk just because I sounded bummed made me more aware of those outside myself. And the list goes on and on... Still trying to pay all you girls back. By loving on someone else because I know how it felt when you loved on me. So don't think that you're not making a difference because you did, and you are. And all those little things that you have done for a friend, or a stranger, may have changed somebody's life. I know, cuz it did mine. To sum in all up with a nice neat bow, I only know how to love because somebody first showed me.

The Maytag Man

Monday, our washing machine finally kicked the bucket. It had been limping along, leaking water since we got home. Not really washing clothes, more like swishing them in soapy water. So we went in to our local appliance store. That is where we met the Maytag Man, Jerry. He was a second generation appliance guy (for lack of a better word). We felt like we had stepped into a different era. Jerry wore the blue coveralls that you would associate with Maytag, but sadly, not the hat. He was probably in his 60's or early 70's with white hair carefully combed with some sort of pomade. He knew everything there was to know about appliances and genuinely seemed to love the way that they worked. And he happily told me more than I ever wanted to know about the machines, frequently peppering his knowledge with advice and anecdotes. I found out how his dad died and that his wife wanted all her appliances and car to match her sister's. He treated me like I didn't really know anything about washers (which is true) and explained things to the minutest detail. He told us not to bother paying until he had delivered the goods in case he died before it got to us. (that's how I heard the story about his dad). That afternoon he brought over our dryer (by himself!) and manhandled it down the stairs. He apologized that he couldn't bring the washer alone anymore since he had had his knee replaced a few years ago, but he had a fellow to help him with it. He made sure to wipe the tires of his dolly so that he wouldn't track dirt in the house-he"just wouldn't feel right about that". Today I was told that he would arrive shortly after 10 with my washer. Sure enough, 10:02 came and he was pulling into the front yard with his fella to help-another guy as old as himself and politely dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans with a belt. He brought dog biscuits for my dog and was not in the least bit intimidated by Roscoe's size. I've never bought a washer before. And never had one this fancy. The two old gentlemen were nearly chortling with glee as they (ironically?) welcomed me to the "technological age".