Cryin’ Over Chickens

Rooster (AKA Pretty Boy) is featured in the middle in all his glorious color, with one of our Barred Rock hens taking the opportunity to photo bomb

It’s been a hard two days on the chicken farm for this momma. I gave away two of my three roosters. Never thought I’d cry over chickens, but I’ve raised Rooster and Bird since they were hatchlings. Yes, we’re pretty original with the names around here.

The absolute worst is, I don’t know if they’re going to a farm or into a stew pot. I was afraid to ask. My neighbor told me her uncle had a farm; we sent our first rooster to the farm months ago, but I didn’t ask this time. I just asked if they still wanted roosters.

The next worst thing is that my pretty boy Americauna (Rooster) spent all day today calling me from his holding cell in the neighbor’s yard.

My heart has never hurt so much over something that’s meant for food.

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With Lessons in Self Control, I’m a D Student

Wow… this week started with a bang in the “no self control” department. Anger and I have been friends for a long time, but it’s been awhile since it’s visited so frequently. Of course, the fact that we’ve been hanging out again is probably due to anger’s co-conspirator, frustration, as well as a healthy visit by insomnia (which, by the way, still refuses to leave).

Let me tell you, frustration and lack of sleep are not conducive to a peaceful attitude. I woke up Monday morning growling, and didn’t stop growling for several hours. A seriously intense conversation with myself was as futile as picking dandelions one by one to get them out of your yard. They just grow back and multiply.

Painful Moments and a Child’s Tears

All the love in the world...

I started the section “Catharsis” as a catch-all of things that I need to get out, and hopefully make some sense of along the way. I’m hoping that one of these days in the future, I can look back through them and say, “Thank you, Father, for getting me through that one.”

I’m hoping that I can see with clear eyes– that I can look at the experiences, memories and painful moments I write now. Maybe then, I can see what I’ve done wrong and need to change, how I can grow to be better than I am now; more than I am now. I’m hoping, because something has to give; somehow I have to learn, because the consequences of not learning are too painful. Not just for me, but for my loved ones as well.

Cancer – The Not So Silent Killer

About two years ago, I was diagnosed with a rare form of HPV, or Human Papilloma Virus. The kind, but impersonal voice on the phone informed me that they’d found a tiny lesion on my cervix, indicating that I had a precancerous condition. I have a 70% chance of developing cervical cancer by the time I’m 50.

At the end of 2010, my dad – my superhero – was diagnosed with an aggressive form of prostate cancer. He’s stage 4, which means the cancer had moved from his prostrate to his bones before we even knew anything was wrong. He has a 70% chance of dying sometime within 5 years from the time of diagnosis. By that statistic, he has less than 4 years left.