chicken tv (with thanks to toni)

I didn't coin the phrase, but 'chicken TV' is rather an apt description of the joys of owning chooks. I can idle away considerable amounts of time just following the chicken's antics around the back yard. They are very entertaining - never more so than the last few days.

Two of our three chooks have been broody since before Christmas. This initially caused me quite some consternation, because I was of the belief our chickens had had their cluckiness bred out of them. How could this be? Broody hens? Then there's the lack of a rooster (RIP Hector the Protector) and no fertile eggs, making it entirely pointless for two chickens to sit and sit and sit on empty nests or a clutch of dead eggs. Add to that the drop in egg production - once a chicken goes broody there are no eggs for weeks - and to top it all off, we were about to go on holidays and could not keep a watchful eye on proceedings.

I really don't like it when things don't go according to plan, so I set about disrupting the mothering instincts of the chickens. I (gently of course) poked sticks at their legs to make them stand up, all the while dodging their protective pecks. When that failed to achieve anything, I opened the coup door on one to deprive her of her sanctuary. Not a zot of difference. The other chicken, hiding behind the train carriages in the neighbour's yard (long story), I lifted off her nest and carried back to our yard. Another dismal failure - she clucked around for a few minutes and moseyed on back. Perhaps I should have read the chicken message boards more carefully.

Off we went on our holiday and Frank returned two weeks later to find both chickens still broody. Only now, the neighbour's who had watered our garden offered some of their fertile eggs to our ladies. Frank carefully placed 7 eggs under the chickens, two under one, five under the other.

And still they sit. They've been sitting for around four weeks now and, by our calculation, have another 9 days 'til the eggs should hatch if they are going to. Each day we take feed and water to them, and they cluck softly as they look up wearily. (There is a reason why we say people are 'clucky' when they want babies after all. Broody chickens make a particular cluck quite different from all their other communication!)

Yesterday we decided it was time for the girls to have a stretch as well as food and water. Once again I poked gently with a stick and again this had no effect. I came back into our yard, when all of a sudden there was quite a chicken commotion. Penelope had given up her nest and come (almost) flying into our backyard, wildly begurking and carrying on before frenetically dust bathing in a way I have never seen before. She did this for nearly 10 minutes before pecking the ground, preening herself, a bit more dust bathing, more preening, a drink and... I gave up on waiting for her to go back to her nest. 'Those eggs need to be warm,' I thought to myself, 'and she may well have given up on them.' I have read chickens do this eventually, give up on breeding and return to normal life. Which would be nice... eggs please! We have none at the moment because the remaining normal chicken (Roxanne, who seems rather perplexed by the whole thing) appears to have been pushing Penelope off her nest, laying an egg then leaving it to be sat upon. Semi-cooked eggs aren't on my menu.

So I gave up on Penelope and went and collected four dated eggs from her nest and placed them beside Gwendolene. She looked at me dolefully before gently pushing them underneath her feathers to warm them. Problem solved. But then, all of a sudden Penelope went back to her (much depleted) stash of eggs, broody as ever.

Today both broody chickens had a moment of clucking madness, frantic dust bathing and wild grass consumption before heading back to their nests. They are a wonder! I just hope I didn't shake the eggs around too much as I transferred them, and that healthy little chicks hatch out in a few days, otherwise those girls could be sitting on their nests... forever! (And maybe tomorrow, when Gwendolene is running around like crazy I'll pinch a couple of her eggs and give them back to Penelope. Or not. I don't know! The dilemmas of chicken husbandry)

And just when I thought I would need to buy eggs... buy eggs when I have three chickens?!... there was an egg under the deck. No idea how Roxanne got herself out and back to lay it (maybe snuck through an open gate while we were away), but when I tested it it was still good. Hmmm, poached egg for breakfast anyone?

blur (they don't call it the silly season for nothing)

Fancy that. Blogging because I want to, not because I have to. (Although I will admit it's debatable whether I really had to or not. No one forced me to join NaBloPoMo or stick to it!) Anyway, since getting back into the swing of writing, I keep thinking of things I just have to put out there. Fancy that indeed.

2010 was a year of paring back for me. I resigned from one of my jobs, worked less, volunteered a bit, kept a tidier house, crafted lots, exercised more and took time to smell the roses. I liked it a lot.

Towards the end of last year I picked up another job which technically involved one day a week, but community work being what it is, the seven and a half hours bled into nearly every spare day of the week. Suddenly life was busier, and 2011 continued the same. Not crazy, but busier than I like to be.

As the year has progressed I've slowly reined things in, to the point now that one day a week I choose not to do work for any job. It's been good, even if I only got it together in the last month or so. I've cleaned out some cupboards, mended clothes, walked through beautiful parks, tended the vegie patch and just enjoyed the space.

Enter Christmas. Oh the madness! Choir performance after choir performance (all done now! Tonight we had the fun of recording some of our favourite pieces), rehearsals for two other Christmas services (I'm singing in the Carols by Candlelight event. Fun!), three work Christmas parties, Christmas market, choir Christmas party, assessment for foster care suitability, Christmas gifts for work mates, Christmas shopping, Christmas lunch with the knitting group, Christmas lunches with clients.... Christmas, Christmas, Christmas. It's madness!

Madness and crazy and life is passing in a blur of dates and events, but I'm loving it too. The whole thing is stimulating. I'm organised, having fun, managing the busyness, enjoying doing things I love.

Not that I can maintain the pace... good thing Christmas is just a couple of weeks away. In the meantime, I'm off to get my beauty sleep so I can keep up with it all. Hope you are enjoying the Christmas season as much as I am.

the end. of nablopomo at least.

So that's it. Thirty days of blogging. I was rather relieved last night when I remembered November has 30 days not 31! Such a relief to be done.

I still haven't caught up on all the blog posts in my head (I actually can't remember what all of them were any more), and there's a few too many verbal diarrhoea type posts where I just blurt out whatever happened one hour earlier. Then there's the duds, and occasionally there's a deep, meaningful, reflective piece. It's been a moderate effort.

I was in two minds about NaBloPoMo-ing this year. I've hardly blogged since last November and I didn't know if I even wanted to keep blogging. It has been good to get back into it, but it isn't all been positive.

A few weeks before NaBloPoMo I decided to try an internet sabbath or fast on Sundays. I was having moderate success, but even with the occasional sneak peek at facebook, I found my head clearing. I began to look forward to my Sunday 'withdrawing', and I became much more productive in many other ways.

Since I started blogging again I've noticed my head feels a lot more clogged - what to write about today? How to say it? What was it I thought of earlier but can't remember now? My brain became busy and I haven't really enjoyed that. I would go so far as to say my stress levels increased - although that's probably putting too high a value on NaBloPoMo. (We are getting closer to Christmas, and I'm crazy busy with rehearsals and performances... that probably has more to do with the stress levels than anything else!) I'm less productive, I stay up later writing and so I've been more tired than normal this month. It might have been good to get back into blogging, but there have been plenty of cons.

So, the big question. Will I keep blogging now? Maybe, maybe not. (Of course it depends how many comments I get on this post. Ha. Not. But feel free to leave a comment if you've lurked this month... I know you're there, sitemeter told me so!)

We'll see. I guess I'll blog soon - I still have to tell you about getting my ears pierced.

(But if you don't mind, I'm going to be taking tomorrow and Friday off - the rest of my life will be clicking into action again now!)

permission to be average

On Sunday, my choir held their annual charity fundraising concert. Two and a half hours of joyful, amateur music from a couple of choirs, and some carefully selected young soloists, followed by champagne and Christmas cake. There were high notes of beauty and pathos... and low notes, mistakes, fumbles and mistiming. But in spite of all that, it was a lot of fun!

You wouldn't know it to look at Launceston, but there's a lively underground subculture of musicians lurking just below the surface here. This music scene is a whole new world to me. I'm used to the church scene, where everyone knows everyone, but here is this parallel universe of singers and players who all know everybody and are just as busy practising and performing and socialising as we ever were at church.

I love it. Society puts a lot of pressure on all of us to be perfect. Perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect teeth, perfect house, perfect car, perfect... everything. It's all crazy. None of us are perfect, we never can be, and all those celebrities and magazine scenes are fake and not worth aspiring to.

So when I rock up to an amateur musical or choir performance, sure there are mistakes and imperfections, but more than that... it's a whole bunch of people who know they aren't stars, and can sing and dance perhaps moderately well, but they get in there and have a go. They cut each other slack when mistakes are made, because (whoops) they just made one too. And the audience clap and cheer because they know one or two or more in the cast and love them, and are delighted to see them giving their best and producing something good. It's like we have permission to be average. Not that we don't aspire to do our best, just that if our best isn't perfect - that's OK.

I'm still learning the culture of Launnie's music scene, edging my way in slowly and trying not to over commit. It was a little scary to begin with, but more and more I feel part of the 'family', that I can be myself, relax and have a go, whatever the result.

This could be the antidote to that perfectionist streak that keeps on rearing its ugly head. What a sweet relief.

i heart shopping local

It was a day for the firsts of the season. First raspberries (from the shop that is - we've already picked two from our long neglected, too late planted canes and the birds have eaten two) and first grapes.

I grasped greedily at the grapes, selecting an enormous bunch, but just as I was about to drop them into the bag, one of the shop assistants said (agape) 'You did see how much they are didn't you?'

Ah. No. One of the pleasures of my life is not worrying too much about the price of things. I had not checked the price, but I had noticed they were Australian. Big cash cost, lower environmental cost. Those are the kind of calculations I make.

So I checked the price, and... they were $19.95 a kilo. I put the big bunch back and reached for a smaller bunch or two, although in the end I think I selected so many of them they were probably the same weight as the first enormous bunch. Oh dear! However it did satisfy the horrified shop assistant.

Oh dear, oh shmeer... I like good food. And I have found a really good way of justifying paying any price for it. (And yes, I babbled on to all the shop assistants about my clever little calculation)

A packet of rubbish crisp chips, full of trans fat and empty kilojoules, completely lacking in nutritional value, costs $1.50 for 50 grams. That works out to be $3 per 100 grams, $30 per kilo... a whole lot more than today's grapes or the coming cherry's $16 per kilo.

So, when you boil it down, good food costs my wallet less, costs the earth less (don't tell me the production and packaging and transport of all that crap food doesn't rack up quite the carbon footprint), and fills my body with a whole lot of nutritional goodness.

So I bought the grapes and I don't feel even a little bit sorry. In fact, I feel quite replete. Nom nom.

i fell down an internet recipe hole

It started with Nigella Lawson's chocolate peanut butter cheesecake, passed through soured cream and moved onto wholemeal soda bread.

Not that big a hole really, but gives me something to write about.

No more for today. I am very tired.

of clothes and cupboards

I've been swapping the wardrobe from winter to summer supplies today - which seems a little un-prescient of me, since it has rained absolutely. all. day. and barely reached 17 degrees. (On the bright side, we hit 25 yesterday, basking in the all day sun. Warmest day so far)

What a lot of clothes. I was forced to sort and turf after a) pulling all the summer clothes out of their box last night and dumping them on the floor in search of the perfect item to wear to a wine tasting; and b) going op shopping this morning for black clothes for choir performances, but coming home with black clothes and more. That, and not enough space in the cupboards and drawers.

Three piles later - {keep- maybe - turf} with the odd item rescued - and I have two garbage bags of clothes to pass on to others. That's one bag to the op shop and one for the next clothing swap... I've kind of graded the clothing. Those that I like but don't wear because they don't fit well or don't suit me no matter how much they are in fashion (but my friends might be able to get some great wearing pleasure from them), and those that I don't wear because they are so dated I don't want to be seen in them (and I doubt any friends would want to be either). There's a lot more space in the cupboard now.

It was interesting, the sorting of my clothes compared to what was on offer in the op shop today. I tend to wear and wear and wear things (if I like them)... some aren't even worth giving away. Most of the clothes in the op shop seemed barely worn. I could buy them and wear them lots.

I'm writing this while watching TV and can't draw it to a conclusion because I can't think for laughing at the stupidness on screen... except perhaps that I wear clothes more than I buy them? And maybe that's a good thing?