weddings, funerals and one big baby

This illustration popped into my head today and I really want to share it.  It's funny that I have not thought of it in such a long time because I purposefully hung it at the bottom of our stairs so that I would see it every day and measure myself by it.  I wanted to make sure that, no matter what the day had in store for me, I would try not to face it with this attitude.  For a while I did notice it every day and if I was in a good mood I would laugh at this poor guy. Other days, when I was not in such a good mood I would see it, grumble a little, but still, straighten my back and push forward.  And then, for a while, as is the potential with all things that we are surrounded by on a regular basis, I didn't see it at all.  

At the bottom of the illustration it says, "I am a sulky and ill-humored man, and in this way I knock my head against the wall."  And then, as if the lesson were not clear enough: " The angry protagonist will never butt through that brick wall."

The last few months have been chaotic.  I have traveled to Chicago, Boston, Morocco and more.  I have embedded myself in other people's families and watched them celebrate the newness and wonder of commitment.  I have also watched old friends say good-bye to loved ones - parents who lived a full life and spouses who went too soon.  

Then, on Friday, I got to see a beautiful, healthy, GIGANTIC baby be born to my cousin and his (heroic) wife.  This birth felt like the climax, the punctation (an exclamation point, of course) to this period of time.  It was as if all these stories were told again in watching a woman labor and give birth to a new life that started its own, new, story.  

And I wonder, did I stop seeing this illustration because I FINALLY learned the lesson?

one broody hen

One of the main reasons we moved from San Francisco to Beacon was to have a yard where we could grow a garden and raise chickens.  This came from some kind of biological longing that had been rising up in me for as long as I can remember.  I was not raised on a farm (though my mom did try to grow corn in our backyard one year) but my husband was, and my experiences on his family's farm had really sent this need running.  

So we moved to Beacon, put some seeds in the ground and actually inherited our first chicken from a friend who found 'dirty bird' on the sidewalk after she had fallen out of the back of a truck in Brooklyn.  Several generations of chickens (and the construction of a sturdy coop) later we currently enjoy the company of Taloula and Honey.   Taloula is sweet, calm and loves to be picked up. Honey, on the other hand, is a nervous bird and she has the unpleasant habit of flying straight into the head of the unlucky person who is opening the coop every morning to get away from the possibility of human contact.

Honey's faults aside,  I found myself feeling sad the other night as I looked around for her in the dark with my flashlight.  Chickens, unlike children, are notoriously good at putting themselves to bed when the sun is going down and so if, when you go to close up the coop, a chicken is missing, it rarely bodes well.  Honey has done this once before, and survived, so I comforted myself after searching around that maybe her shape-shifting ways would save her from prowling skunks and raccoons throughout the night.  I tried to shrug off any attachment to her, reminding myself that she hadn't even laid any eggs in the last couple of weeks - Taloula either, for that matter, and that is why we got the darn things in the first place.  

The truth is, these hens are pets, albeit with benefits, and I have been pretty crushed every time something happens to one of them.  The next morning, as soon as I woke up, I headed outside to look for the unnerving sight of feathers spread around or some other evidence of her fate.  What I found was Honey, alive, but broody. She had been saving away all of the eggs that she and Taloula had been laying with the hope that one of them would turn into a chick.  (This will never happen since we have no rooster.)  She was sitting on so many eggs that they were leaking out from under her.  I went to get the egg carton to fill up with this windfall and was shocked to find twenty one of them!  Guess what we're having for dinner tonight.

vassar

I was asked up to Vassar this week, to speak to budding photographers about my work and give them  a critique of  theirs.  It was great talking with students, trying to give them some sense of my process and seeing some of the really great work that they are producing.  Afterword, I wandered around the campus - here is a pic from the evening.

what now?

My son is desperate to continue to use his favorite pencil.  I tried to tell him that he got as much out of it as he could but then I noticed that the eraser still has some life in it.

found

Looks like some little bird had a little bit of a tough time getting off the ground after the most recent snow.

found

craft gone too far

I did not pull this out a box of 1970's memorabilia.  It's from the latest JoAnn Fabrics insert.

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radical electric car

this one runs on fat

found.

Went out on a walk, looking for morels.  Came back with only this.

jesus called.

another good one about dirt

The Known World, Edward P. Jones

dirty life

I just started this book.  It's perfect for Spring.  I love when people write about dirt.

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This morning, waiting for the bus, my sons and I were amazed to see perfect snow flakes falling on us.  They were gigantic and fantastic - caricatures of what a snowflake should look like.

I tried to take picture but they were hard to capture, big for what they were, but still miniature and fleeting.

In a dark, dark room

This illustration by Dirk Zimmer really tickled my funny bone.

nice wall