Chicken Fashions

Kandi and crew came to visit this week. The weather was unseasonably warm, so Kandi and I had sauntered onto the driveway island to sit a spell, while 7 children climbed trees, captured tadpoles (all of which we had to drippingly admire), and played hide-and-seek in the woods.

Instead of taking her seat on the island, Kandi slowed her pace and began bending ever-so-slightly at the waist as she walked beyond her chair. She kept moving, continued bending, and her head seemed to be approaching the ground (hey, I was just watching this peculiar behavior and wishing I was agile enough to assume such a posture) when she finally said, "That ... chicken ..... is wearing ......... tissue ... as.............. a scarf!"

I followed her unflinching gaze to the base of the lilac bushes. "Oh. That's not tissue. It's a Wal*Mart sack," I said. I'd noticed the adornment, myself, earlier in the day. And while the sight of a decorated chicken was novel, it wasn't nearly as amusing to me as having watched Kandi crouch lower and lower as she moved across the island or listening to the halting sentence, with a disbelieving intonation, coming forth from her as she crept along.

A couple of people have asked now if I'm not going to get the self-styled scarf off the chicken, and I can only suggest that anyone who believes they can catch the diva, is welcome to come strip her down. Personally, I think we should just let the girl have her fun.

And having food and raiment let us be therewith content. ~I Timothy 6:8

Goat Milk

[or Watermelon Jello: I was 8 or 9 years old when I begged and begged for watermelon flavored Jello, new to the shelves around that time. How could I know watermelon Jello wouldn't taste like watermelons? I could know by pestering long enough to receive some. I tasted it, said I didn't like it, then threw up in my bowl when I was told I had to eat it. Any sort of pineapple had the same effect on me.]

All the bulging CowNot udders around here brought me to the realization that my dream of fresh, free milk was at the door. Well, not exactly at the door, but in the pasture and available for me to coax into the refrigerator...if I had a mind and body and spirit and zeal and insanity to do so. Would it be worth it?

Would it be worth it? Hey, or hay, I wasn't born yesterday. I could pop the nearly $4 for a quart of goat milk from the store and at least be certain the stuff is palatable, before building a milking station, hauling warm water to the barn, squeezing flippy little pygmy CowNot parts an hour each day, sterilizing buckets and bottles, and so on and so on. Four dollars well spent, because...

That evening, I poured a glass of the liquid gold, and I told myself I was going to like it: I'm going to like this. I'm going to like this. I didn't want it to follow the full route of watermelon Jello.

My, oh my, oh my. That stuff tastes just like Willie smells. I'm one of those people who have a greater than average number of tastebuds and can detect flavor nuances in foods. Listen, I wasn't ruminating with the slightest, expectant thoughts of Willie, but he was in that milk, and it warn't no nuance!

Willie! Ewwwww! (I did swallow, and it didn't come back up. I've matured over the past 40+ years.)

Goat milk is good for a body. It's the best. If you can drink it and enjoy it (i.e. you've never smelled Willie), do so in great health. My hands and mouth, however, will be busied in pursuits other than wresting and drinking baa-juice from flippy little pygmy CowNot parts.

We used that weensy egg yesterday in a pre-flouring wash for fried chicken livers.

Mrs. Piecrust, fret not. I bought the livers at the store. All hens and hennots present and just being chickens.

As newborn babes, desire the sincere milk of the word, that ye may grow thereby: if so be ye have tasted that the Lord is gracious. ~ I Peter 2:2, 3

Not Quite Spectacular

Mrs. Piecrust: What about the chickens?
CarolineNot: What about the chickens?
Mrs. Piecrust: You haven't said anything about the chickens.
CarolineNot: Well, they're not doing anything spectacular. They're just out there being chickens and laying eggs.

Having sifted through probably upwards of 300 recent CowNot photos and videos (yes, I'm camera-crazed), I'm tired of looking at CowNots. Here's a weensy egg offering we received earlier this month. Son4 apparently decided to do a little work with the camera, himself. I love it when I upload photos and unexpectedly discover what's stricken the fancy of others.

Maybe that little egg is spectacularly unspectacular.

I'm responsible for this photo of our spectacularly ugly little muledeer rabbit papillon, who was trying really hard to be cute, as he lounged with his reindeer. "Oh look. He's trying to be cute. Where's the camera?"

Then Cousin Annie sent me this photo recently, saying, "Yep, the snow's so deep here, it's burying the rabbits alive!" Sort of spectacular representation of Global WarmingNot, which I understand hit the news in a new light this past week. I tried to tell you.
*snort*

Okay, Cousin Annie admitted it's not a real rabbit. Maybe it's spectacular that her photos are often as entertaining to me as the surprises I find on our camera when I upload. Maybe Cousin Annie is a wee bit balmy in the crumpet.

Over and Out

Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompence of reward. For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise. For yet a little while, and he that shall come will come, and will not tarry. Hebrews 10:35-37

NanaCam

But Jesus called them unto him, and said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein. ~Luke 18:16, 17

Kids and Kids

Sharing the Love

Three of my sister's children were here yesterday, and we visited the CowNot babies.

Poor Katie probably ruined her stylish, fabric-clad shoes, slogging around in CowNot ooppay. [The Pig Latin is for you, Kate, since I know you don't like that word in English. 'Sides, I can see and hear you gasping as you read, and that's what it's all about. And they won't be teaching you Pig Latin in college. You need me. You eallyray eednay emay. Love ~ Aunt OprahNot ]

Rikki did some squealing, when Eliza Jane climbed her leg, looking for cookies. Rikki was my Piglet (and I her Aunt Kiki) when she was little, which had nothing to do with any noises she made at the time and everything to do with adoring the wiggly little kid...who now towers over me.

LittleNoMore Larry, a manly-man who instructed me in the proper way to prepare Kraft macaroni and cheese, when he was Little Larry (more than two decades ago), eventually whisked up a kid for a closer look. [shhh...He petted it too. I knew that precious little boy was still beneath the attorney's facade!]

Sharing the love...and the sweet tea...and the good memories.

When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. ~Isaiah 43:2