Okay, before you animal lovers get your no-animals-were-harmed-making-them-panties in a bunch, you must know I am not talking about blood sacrifice, but chore sacrifice. Not really a sacrifice at all, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
LENT
So Lent began on Ash Wednesday, February 18th this year. Since we are not able to go to our Oregon church Ash Wednesday service -- one of my favorite services of the year -- I searched out and found a local one in Fullerton. However, by the time Bill got home, I was so hungry I forgot all about it and we went out for a decadent dinner. That's kinda like Moses chomping on a Philly Cheesesteak with carmelized onions while all the Israelites stagger through the desert on their manna diet. An inauspicious beginning, wouldn't you say?
In previous years I have bravely chosen something to give up, such as sugar, tea, or spandex (not really). If you read earlier blogs, you would even see that one year I gave up all foods except seven.
But this year, being out of my element in our little one-bedroom apartment in the concrete jungle, I just don't have the stamina to give up something I daily indulge in. So in an effort to still sound spiritual, I am proclaiming a sacrifice that I already made by moving here: No contact with my animals, including feeding, watering, brushing, egg gathering, petting, and cuddling my goats, chickens and cat. Oh hey, I can list other things I've given up too.
* Clean, smoke-free air.
* Really green things
* Church where everyone knows my name (I don't have a favorite bar stool, but a favorite pew)
I suppose I could list more things, but then this would turn into a complaint-fest and I don't mean it to be. Let's just say that Lent looks a little different this year. In order to keep turning my face toward God, I will need to remind myself how blessed I am that someone else is doing all my chores. And I will also need to work on my reaction to the smokers downstairs, as I think slamming the windows every time I smell it is not "What Would Jesus Do."
Friday, February 20, 2015
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Webfoot farmer turned barefoot beach bum
Yes, I'm a terrible blogger. But who wants that on their tombstone? "She was a blogger extraordinaire." Let's face it, blog is not a poetic word.
Okay, so we jumped to February 2015. Although I'm still a "Fake Farmer," the farm is in the capable hands of a house sitter while I am now a temporary apartment dweller in the City of the Angels, or as I call it, "Halos of Smoke Rings." Not because of the smog, but because apparently 75% of apartment dwellers are required to smoke, or so it seems. These are the steps that led to this adventure:
1. Husband retired after 34 years of teaching.
2. I gained more online transcription work, making it very portable.
3. We (foolishly) told God we would go wherever God wanted us to go.
4. Megan's track coach at Biola suddenly retired 2 days before Christmas.
5. Bill fit the, uh, bill for an interim track coach.
6. So we packed up the truck and we moved to Beverly...or Fullerton, that is. No movie stars, but there is a swimming pool and bonus! A hot tub!
Really, it was quite amazing how God lined up all the details that had to fall into place for this to work. (Can you tell I'm the daughter of an engineer the way I number everything?)
Okay, so we jumped to February 2015. Although I'm still a "Fake Farmer," the farm is in the capable hands of a house sitter while I am now a temporary apartment dweller in the City of the Angels, or as I call it, "Halos of Smoke Rings." Not because of the smog, but because apparently 75% of apartment dwellers are required to smoke, or so it seems. These are the steps that led to this adventure:
1. Husband retired after 34 years of teaching.
2. I gained more online transcription work, making it very portable.
3. We (foolishly) told God we would go wherever God wanted us to go.
4. Megan's track coach at Biola suddenly retired 2 days before Christmas.
5. Bill fit the, uh, bill for an interim track coach.
6. So we packed up the truck and we moved to Beverly...or Fullerton, that is. No movie stars, but there is a swimming pool and bonus! A hot tub!
Really, it was quite amazing how God lined up all the details that had to fall into place for this to work. (Can you tell I'm the daughter of an engineer the way I number everything?)
1. I felt God telling me to back off of most of my commitments, including Bible study, which really broke my heart, but it's obvious now why he wanted me to.
2. We had to make a quick decision about the job and step out in faith, not get "all our ducks in a row first." My ducks may never have lined up otherwise.
3. We found a capable woman who was looking for a house sitting situation and likes to clean (Praise you Jesus!).
4. We have been lent a nice table that we needed and given a toaster oven, as well.
5. God has been speaking to me just about every day about "trusting him without borders," and "walk upon the waters wherever he may lead me." Yes, I suddenly hear that Oceans song at least twice every day. Really.
6. As I began to pack in earnest, my Daily Bread story was called "Leaving it Behind." For those who know me, I'm a pack rat and I like to have all my things around me "just in case." It says, "Our new life of following Jesus Christ may mean that we have to leave things behind, including those that don't bring lasting satisfaction." Ha!
So that's a lot for one day. Maybe I will get back to this again this week, or maybe another year or two. Who knows?
So that's a lot for one day. Maybe I will get back to this again this week, or maybe another year or two. Who knows?
Monday, March 11, 2013
It was a rough weekend. You know the line, "Sugar plum fairies dancing in their heads"? I had donuts dancing in my head in my dream last night. They were gray, though. Not sure what flavor that was. Maybe sin flavor. I have completed 3 weeks and am beginning week 4. Ten more days to go.
Week 3 was uninspiring because my body quit functioning well (think drain clog), I didn't sleep well at all (awake at 4:30 every morning), and I failed to drop any weight. I know, I know, losing weight is not the point. It's not a DIET. But I'm looking for the gold at the end of the rainbow, um, besides the gold of knowing and hungering for God more.
Okay, here are my spiritual gems this week: "The Supremacy of God in all things is the great reward we long for in fasting." Not the slimness of the waist. "Fasting expresses rather than creates hunger for God." Still trying to process that one.
And the best one:"Most of us run the risk of being overly 'sensualized' simply by having every craving satisfied and rarely pausing in a moment of self-denial to discover if there are alive within us spiritual appetites that could satisfy us at a much deeper level than food, and that are designed for the honor of God."
On my way to search out bargain chicken.
Week 3 was uninspiring because my body quit functioning well (think drain clog), I didn't sleep well at all (awake at 4:30 every morning), and I failed to drop any weight. I know, I know, losing weight is not the point. It's not a DIET. But I'm looking for the gold at the end of the rainbow, um, besides the gold of knowing and hungering for God more.
Okay, here are my spiritual gems this week: "The Supremacy of God in all things is the great reward we long for in fasting." Not the slimness of the waist. "Fasting expresses rather than creates hunger for God." Still trying to process that one.
And the best one:"Most of us run the risk of being overly 'sensualized' simply by having every craving satisfied and rarely pausing in a moment of self-denial to discover if there are alive within us spiritual appetites that could satisfy us at a much deeper level than food, and that are designed for the honor of God."
On my way to search out bargain chicken.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
It is now day 6 of my fast. I am uninspired. To eat. Anything. Little did I realize how much food inspired my day, something to look forward to. I love to cook and actually get excited to try to new things and see how they taste. Last night I tried a "hash" with chicken, sweet potatoes and spinach. I threw some rosemary in there to hope to give it some flavor. It was eaten with a poached egg over it. If compared to baseball at-bats, it was a bunt that dribbled 3 inches from home plate. I now feel like I could probably say sayonara to sweet potatoes forever. Yet, I have 24 more days to eat it, but who's counting?
On the positive side, I am reading Hunger for God by John Piper. I have gleaned wonderful gems from it so far. The reason we fast is because "there is an ache inside every Christian that Jesus is not here as fully and intimately and as powerfully and as gloriously as we want him to be. We hunger for so much more." And I love this part: "Fasting is a hunger for all the fullness of God, aroused by the aroma of Jesus' love, and by the taste of God's goodness." Okay, that does inspire me, and I guess that's the point.
Sayonara
On the positive side, I am reading Hunger for God by John Piper. I have gleaned wonderful gems from it so far. The reason we fast is because "there is an ache inside every Christian that Jesus is not here as fully and intimately and as powerfully and as gloriously as we want him to be. We hunger for so much more." And I love this part: "Fasting is a hunger for all the fullness of God, aroused by the aroma of Jesus' love, and by the taste of God's goodness." Okay, that does inspire me, and I guess that's the point.
Sayonara
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
It's now 3 years after the horrible spring and I never did finish that story. The rest of the horribleness had to do with kittens. I won't go into the details now, but out of a litter of 6, we lost 3, having never lost any of the previous 5 litters we've had. It was very sad. But now, alas, onto other things.
Fasting!
I'm following Jen Hatmaker's fasting from 7, eating just 7 foods for Lent (actually only 30 days of Lent because I want to actually enjoy my Spring Break vacation and eat myself silly). In the interest of simplicity, and let's face it, laziness, I'm eating her same 7 foods so I don't have to research nutrition. They are:
Chicken
Egg
Whole wheat bread
Avocado
Sweet potato
Apple
Spinach
I asked my husband to do it with me. He has modified it because he likes to eat a salad for lunch EVERY day of the work week. This, in itself, would send me over the edge. I love variety, and I love many flavors mixed together. So he's eating lettuce instead of bread, and white potatoes instead of sweet potatoes. My biggest challenge is that I don't really like spinach cooked, especially by itself. Smothered in cheese and red sauce in a lasagne is fine, but this is a wimpy limpy pile of green stuff that smells slightly like skunk. My son wouldn't eat it. He's the other challenge: a 17-year-old that eats food by the pound, by the hour. He may just have to start cooking for himself.
So anyway, here it is, day 3. Not sure if it's fortunate or un-, but I started this journey with the flu. It makes my appetite much smaller, but my choices don't inspire wellness either, really. So today it is nearly 10 and I've only had apple cider. Can't work up an appetite for eggs or something. Okay worn out. Going back to bed.
Fasting!
I'm following Jen Hatmaker's fasting from 7, eating just 7 foods for Lent (actually only 30 days of Lent because I want to actually enjoy my Spring Break vacation and eat myself silly). In the interest of simplicity, and let's face it, laziness, I'm eating her same 7 foods so I don't have to research nutrition. They are:
Chicken
Egg
Whole wheat bread
Avocado
Sweet potato
Apple
Spinach
I asked my husband to do it with me. He has modified it because he likes to eat a salad for lunch EVERY day of the work week. This, in itself, would send me over the edge. I love variety, and I love many flavors mixed together. So he's eating lettuce instead of bread, and white potatoes instead of sweet potatoes. My biggest challenge is that I don't really like spinach cooked, especially by itself. Smothered in cheese and red sauce in a lasagne is fine, but this is a wimpy limpy pile of green stuff that smells slightly like skunk. My son wouldn't eat it. He's the other challenge: a 17-year-old that eats food by the pound, by the hour. He may just have to start cooking for himself.
So anyway, here it is, day 3. Not sure if it's fortunate or un-, but I started this journey with the flu. It makes my appetite much smaller, but my choices don't inspire wellness either, really. So today it is nearly 10 and I've only had apple cider. Can't work up an appetite for eggs or something. Okay worn out. Going back to bed.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
November news
I have now had Korina the goat for 5 weeks. At the moment I am writing this, she is pacing in her pen because I haven't been out to see her yet today. Not because I'm a neglectful, mean owner, but because it's 40 degrees outside and raining. However, I will trudge out in the mud shortly to give her some reassuring pats and feed her some cornstalks.
We have made some progress:
1. She will allow me to touch her most of the time without jumping out of reach.
2. She will allow me to somewhat lead her on the leash (though I discovered that if you press too hard on their windpipes they fall to their knees and convulse - a scary observance).
3. She knows that the coffee can means grain is coming and I'd better run into my house to get some.
Areas we have not progressed:
1. She still will not eat hay, and the leaves will be gone soon.
2. She's still trying to get out. The other day I came out to see her rather late in the day, then soon walked away to do some gardening. Not hearing her cry, I thought maybe she was handling separation better. Silly me. I kept peering over at her pen and didn't see her hanging out in front looking for me. Finally I went closer and discovered the reason for her stillness. She had shoved her head under the gate and was stuck. Good thing I hadn't left home!
3. She's lonely, and the cats do not seem to be sufficient company.
Regarding chickens, of my 3 youngsters left, 1 died suddenly last week. Have no idea why, and another one had, I believe, Marek's disease and sat pitifully on it's belly all day with legs extended at unnatural angles. I had my husband put it out of its misery. So the lone one left - which I don't even know if it's a pullet or cockerel - was thrust into chicken society. Not surpisingly, it has not been warmly welcomed. I'm still praying it's a pullet. It's about 4.5 months now, and should lay or crow soon to let me know. Hopefully it will survive initiation.
We have made some progress:
1. She will allow me to touch her most of the time without jumping out of reach.
2. She will allow me to somewhat lead her on the leash (though I discovered that if you press too hard on their windpipes they fall to their knees and convulse - a scary observance).
3. She knows that the coffee can means grain is coming and I'd better run into my house to get some.
Areas we have not progressed:
1. She still will not eat hay, and the leaves will be gone soon.
2. She's still trying to get out. The other day I came out to see her rather late in the day, then soon walked away to do some gardening. Not hearing her cry, I thought maybe she was handling separation better. Silly me. I kept peering over at her pen and didn't see her hanging out in front looking for me. Finally I went closer and discovered the reason for her stillness. She had shoved her head under the gate and was stuck. Good thing I hadn't left home!
3. She's lonely, and the cats do not seem to be sufficient company.
Regarding chickens, of my 3 youngsters left, 1 died suddenly last week. Have no idea why, and another one had, I believe, Marek's disease and sat pitifully on it's belly all day with legs extended at unnatural angles. I had my husband put it out of its misery. So the lone one left - which I don't even know if it's a pullet or cockerel - was thrust into chicken society. Not surpisingly, it has not been warmly welcomed. I'm still praying it's a pullet. It's about 4.5 months now, and should lay or crow soon to let me know. Hopefully it will survive initiation.
Monday, October 3, 2011
I am so brilliant a computer user, that after I posted that last blog, I couldn't find my blog again! Therefore, the lack of conclusion. I will try to remember the rest of the horrible spring, but I've put a lot of it out of my mind. To continue:
My orange cat, Ellie May, had discovered she could just fit her paw through the wires in the rabbit cage and pull out a wee babe chick. She also managed to scratch the eye of another (ouch!) and terrorize them all. I managed to save the chick and get her safely back in her cage. This cage would be locked in the workshop away from cats from now on.
Fast forward 6 weeks. The 6 chicks are beautiful - white, black, brown, red, and growing nicely. Time to put them in a separated part of the chicken coop to give them more space and used to outdoor weather. A few days later I come home to find a black chick staggering in my car port. I run out to the coop to see 3 more missing! Drats! I go back to the old stake pounding in their section of the coop to keep out what I thought was a coyote. Next day, 2 more missing. I realize now that the predator is much smaller than a coyote, and borrow my neighbor's safe animal traps (i.e., they trap them but don't slice their paws/tail/face in half). My only surviving chicken is the same Rhode Island Red who was ripped from her safe haven cage by my cat, Ellie May. This chicken has serious post traumatic stress syndrome by now. We placed the trap next to the chicken coop with some lunch meat in it. Two days later, we were shocked to find a large cat in the cage. It looked part domestc, part wild. It's head and paws were huge, but was the size of a Maine Coon. The day after we caught that cat, I see another cat in my neighbor's field that looks like it could be his brother. Therefore, another trap was set, but this time - and I'm trying to remember my reasoning - I set it under my bedroom window. Why? Why? The next day I look out my window and am thrilled to see a trapped animal. I call out to my husband, "I caught it!" He peeks over and says, "Uh, I don't think you caught a cat." The next words are redundant as the odor beginning to permeate my bedroom already warns me of what I caught. "I think it's a skunk." Unfortunately, in my brilliant cage placement, not only was it under my bedroom window, but also next to the dryer vent, which of course, is connected to my dryer in the middle of the house. It provided a speedy conduit.
Watching my husband trying to sneak up on the cage to throw a towel over it was humorous. After doing so, he managed to shove a brick under the door and hop, skip, and leap the heck out of Dodge. After dark, our skunk wandered out of the cage, having lost a day in skunk prison, though that prison was much mroe pauinful for us than him, for sure.
In conclusion, our Rhode Island Red, which my son had named Hueva, was the most neurotic chicken I've ever seen. She followed me around like I was her savior, and took a very long time adapting into the flock. I also bought 2 adult Marans to replace the others I had lost.
My orange cat, Ellie May, had discovered she could just fit her paw through the wires in the rabbit cage and pull out a wee babe chick. She also managed to scratch the eye of another (ouch!) and terrorize them all. I managed to save the chick and get her safely back in her cage. This cage would be locked in the workshop away from cats from now on.
Fast forward 6 weeks. The 6 chicks are beautiful - white, black, brown, red, and growing nicely. Time to put them in a separated part of the chicken coop to give them more space and used to outdoor weather. A few days later I come home to find a black chick staggering in my car port. I run out to the coop to see 3 more missing! Drats! I go back to the old stake pounding in their section of the coop to keep out what I thought was a coyote. Next day, 2 more missing. I realize now that the predator is much smaller than a coyote, and borrow my neighbor's safe animal traps (i.e., they trap them but don't slice their paws/tail/face in half). My only surviving chicken is the same Rhode Island Red who was ripped from her safe haven cage by my cat, Ellie May. This chicken has serious post traumatic stress syndrome by now. We placed the trap next to the chicken coop with some lunch meat in it. Two days later, we were shocked to find a large cat in the cage. It looked part domestc, part wild. It's head and paws were huge, but was the size of a Maine Coon. The day after we caught that cat, I see another cat in my neighbor's field that looks like it could be his brother. Therefore, another trap was set, but this time - and I'm trying to remember my reasoning - I set it under my bedroom window. Why? Why? The next day I look out my window and am thrilled to see a trapped animal. I call out to my husband, "I caught it!" He peeks over and says, "Uh, I don't think you caught a cat." The next words are redundant as the odor beginning to permeate my bedroom already warns me of what I caught. "I think it's a skunk." Unfortunately, in my brilliant cage placement, not only was it under my bedroom window, but also next to the dryer vent, which of course, is connected to my dryer in the middle of the house. It provided a speedy conduit.
Watching my husband trying to sneak up on the cage to throw a towel over it was humorous. After doing so, he managed to shove a brick under the door and hop, skip, and leap the heck out of Dodge. After dark, our skunk wandered out of the cage, having lost a day in skunk prison, though that prison was much mroe pauinful for us than him, for sure.
In conclusion, our Rhode Island Red, which my son had named Hueva, was the most neurotic chicken I've ever seen. She followed me around like I was her savior, and took a very long time adapting into the flock. I also bought 2 adult Marans to replace the others I had lost.
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