Joel and Ferdinand

Anybody remember that children's book all about a bull in Spain who would rather sit and smell the flowers than become a fighting bull? Well the other day Joel and I were out on the town and noticed it in a bookshop. He had never heard of it so I told him I would bring my copy back with me next time I was in New Hampshire.

A week or so later I was back with the much-anticipated book in hand. I was in the middle of cooking syrup for a batch of cream, so we sat on the floor with our backs to the fridge. Joel was curled up against me and hanging over my shoulder.

The text is simple and the pictures delicious. I love this particular book and was expecting Joel to as well. But I was forgetting my Joel. He is a man of action. A man without fear. A doer in the field of life. Strong and straight and very manly... even at the tender age of five.

At first he was entranced, then when Ferdinand first expressed a desire to smell flowers he made a small sound of disgust. Suddenly I realized how little he would appreciate a sensitive soul like Ferdinand's. After that it was just funny. Nothing Ferdinand did was right. Joel was revolted by his wimpiness and indifferent to his plight. The book was not a success.

I suggested they name their new baby bull Ferdinand. He rejected the idea out of hand.

Frozen Chicken

I haven't been here in forever. Sorry. I guess. Anyway, I'll give it another shot. Maybe I should stop apologizing every time I disappear for a year and then pop back up again.

So lets start with something random to get my brain in a writing mode again.

Reagan the large and happy puppy who lives outside has found a new and interesting hobby. He chases chickens. On a small farm with many chickens who actually earn their keep by producing eggs, chicken-chasing is a deadly sin. Reagan knows this, but some deep and carnal urge within him keeps him at it.

During the winter its not so bad becasue the chickens are confined to the barn and Reagan is never allowed in. But as spring approaches the hens find their way out by hook or by crook and wander about looking for...whatever it is that hens are seeking in life.

Reagan found one the other evening and chased it under a car by the garage. He got yelled at and chained back up. We assumed the chicken found its way back to the barn.

The next morning I was out working in the woods. Mid-morning I came back down and noticed a chicken sitting on the ground in front of the garage. The chicken didn't move as I approached, which was a bit odd. I was practically on top of it before I realized the problem and the signifigance of its location- somebody had moved the car since the night before. This was the chicken Reagan had chased under that car. It had settled down in a puddle of water, too terrified to move. Overnight the water froze- with the chicken in it.

I was horrified at the thought of the wretched night it must have spent- and dubious that it was going to survive. I ran to the house and came back with rags and warm water and started to pry her up. She had been smart enough to pull her legs up into its breast feathers. So all that was actually frozen to the ground were her feathers all the way round.

It took several buckets of warm water and some gentle pulling to remove her. She never made a sound or flopped about. We wrapped her up in rags and brought her into the house to thaw in front of the stove.

Less than an hour later she struggled out of her wrappings and started to protest. Completely normal and healthy.

Crazy bird.

Beyond the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea,
And East and West the wanderlust that will not let me be;
It works in me like madness, dear, to bid me say good-by!
For the seas call and the stars call, and oh, the call of the sky!

I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are,
But man can have the sun for friend, and for his guide a star;
And there's no end of voyaging when once the voice is heard,
For the river calls and the road calls, and oh, the call of a bird!

Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and day
The old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away;
And come I may, but go I must, and if men ask you why,
You may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the white road
and the sky!
-Gerald Gould

You know how memories from childhood can linger such a very long time and have a huge impact on one's life? Well, I'm going to share one of those with you.

Every time I throw away the cardboard tube at the end of a paper towel roll I get this little twinge of regret. I feel a sudden urge to hoard it...

This is all because when we were children we traveled lots and couldn't have large pets like rottweilers or ponies. So we had rodents small. Mostly gerbils. Gerbils chew things- all night long. They chew them up and make nests out of them. So I would eagerly await the end of each paper towel roll, grab the tube and give it to my darling gerbils. They loved me for it. At least they loved my cardboard paper towel tubes.

But why should I continue to feel a need for paper towel tubes?

I'm just sayin'

More Donne

A Hymne to Christ

In what torne ship soever I embarke,
That ship shall be my embleme of thy Arke;
What sea soever swallow mee, that flood
Shall be to mee an embleme of thy blood;
Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise
Thy face; yet through that maske I know those eyes,
Which, though they turne away sometimes,
They never will despise.

I sacrifice this Iland unto thee,
And all whom I lov'd there, and who lov'd mee;
When I have put our seas twixt them and mee,
Put thou thy sea betwixt my sinnes and thee.
As the trees sap doth seeke the root below
In winter, in my winter now I goe,
Where none but thee, th'Eternall root
Of true Love I may know.

Nor thou nor thy religion doest controule,
The amorousnesse of an harmonious Soule,
But thou would'st have that love thy selfe: As thou
Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now,
Thou lov'st not, till from loving more, thou free
My soule: who ever gives, takes libertie:
O, if thou car'st not whom I love
Alas, thou lov'st not mee.

Seale then this bill of my Divorce to All,
On whom those fainter beames of love did fall;
Marry those loves, which in youth scattered bee
On Fame, Wit, Hopes (false mistresses)to thee.
Churches are best for Prayer, that have least light:
To see God only, I goe out of sight:
And to scrape stormy dayes, I chuse
An Everlasting night.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I wander around aimlessly; bereft. I feel as if I belong to no one, that I belong nowhere. Life is just not what my child-self expected all those years ago. Where is the wonder and joy?

Then I remember...

This is not my home,
I do not belong;

and some day soon I will arrive at the door of Heaven, see Him whom my soul loves and I will be at Home forever.



And on a trivial note: the quality of one's life is sometimes temporarily improved by the addition of one pair of astonishing striped knee socks.