Getting Chicks to Get Along

Chicks can make life difficult, that's for sure.

Now don't get your nose all out of joint. :D

I'm talking about poultry.

The first batch really is quite easy... but the subsequent, newer flocks are more difficult. Why?

In real chicken life this is not such an issue because the little chicks usually have a Mother around to defend them all the time. However, bringing home a bunch of chicks from a breeder, breeds a whole new set of problems because the bigger chicks will peck the tiny chicks to death if they're allowed access.

Then, you've got to deal with 'gentle introductions as the newer chicks become teenagers, so that the older chickens don't assault them continually.

Here's a method that worked well for us:

At first, we just put the little day old chicks in a kiddie swimming pool during the day. And we kept them in a rubbermaid bin at night in our back entryway to keep them warm enough.

As they got older, they needed more room, so we built a covered pen to protect them during the day from rats, hawks and the other chickens. The older chickens free-ranged around the little chicks though, which I believe, is part of the process. It's just a bunch of 2x2s covered with chicken wire and a tarp on one end for sun/wind/rain protection. The bin that's located on its side in the pen, gives really good wind protection for the chicks that feel they want more coverage. We keep a towel on the 'floor' of it.Once the chicks became teens, we simply let them free-range in the yard with the older chickens. No one seemed to really notice that the barrier was gone. However, we still kept the younger ones in our back entryway at night.

Now, the teens have graduated to the large chicken pen where we keep the chickens when we leave the house. It gives them a fair bit of room to roam while covered with wire, while still being protected from the neighbourhood cats and hawks (they're too big for rats now).

Don't get me wrong, someone still gets pecked every once in a while... but they're not so small that one good peck will kill them. They're big enough to run away... and the older chickens just couldn't be bothered to chase them.

You can see that Cutie, our old girl who is more than 5 years old now, couldn't really be bothered with the teens that are right beside her.

Right now we've got a third batch of Barred Rock chicks, so the pen is still being put to good use because the 'teens' are really on a bit of a power trip and cannot be allowed any access to the very tiny chicks at all.

Later on, we'll disassemble the 'chick pen' and use the panels to keep the rabbits out of the vegetable garden. :/

Here Am I
Under the blue sky
Crisp and clean
Slight and mean.

I leave a trail
Of wispy fog
In a hair of night
On a small green frog.

I planted seeds
Some years ago
A few grow fast
Most grow slow.

So here I sit
To learn a bit
Under the blue sky
Here Am I.

Kim
Tuesday March 20, 2007

Hello all. Greetings to everyone.

I must admit that many times in my life, I've felt like my name should be different considering the phase I was in... or to help me belong where I am at the time... I am still tempted...

But now at 40, I'm just me... and all I've sat and learned over the years has culminated and resonated in my life and made me... me... and I am Kim. So I suppose I shall keep it as it has done well enough by me up to now... as I sit and learn some more.

I came to love the earth as a small child. My favourite place was my Grandparents homes where strawberries grew and lightening bugs hovered. With no running water or electricity, everyone was busy every day and fulfilled in the evenings.

Then I forgot about them and became 'driven' in my twenties. I forgot about the earth and focussed on humans, their rights and plights in the working world.

Then I had my first child and came back to the earth. The longer I am a mother, the stronger the pull to be closer and closer to her and the more I feel part of her. It seems that she is rewarding me for my return... as life is only get better as time passes. She whispers secrets to me now.

My question for her this year is: Why won't she let me grow my food on her?

Kim

Rottweiller? Rottweiller! Rottweiller.

Our Bouvier-cross, Sonja, adopted full-grown and with us 10 years, had just passed. It was horribly sad for us. I, in particular, still miss her as she was with me before I was either married or had children. It seemed, she was with me for my entire adult life. I guess she kind of was...




We wanted a mature dog because Czar, our GSD was 8 years old and a rescue who had recovered from heartworm. And honestly, I prefer the ease of training an older dog. They 'get it' so much quicker than a pup ever does. So, I did my searching on the net using the animal love foundation.


This 5 year old guy looked like a big couch potato in the photo. Perfect for us, I thought.

The previous owners drove almost two hours to bring him to us. It was important to them that he have a good home... that was obvious.

They had said that if they couldn't find him a home, they would put him to sleep, rather than risk him being adopted by the 'wrong person'. I appreciated their passion about his being safe and having a good quality of life. I empathized with their desire to ensure their dog's well-being, and sympathized with their position of being unable to keep their dog because of having to move to the city with a small lot and no fences.

Then when this big bag of muscle jumped out of the vehicle in our driveway, I felt my face do a twitch. :rolleyes:

This was a big rottie. Nothing I would ever think of wishing for in a dog.

He had mostly lived in a garage for three years. (Turns out he was two years younger than they remembered.) He had no manners. He fell up the stairs. He fell down the stairs. He chased my 18 year old, cancer-filled cat. :(

His name was Rush. (For Mount Rushmore - they said.) He didn't answer to it. They didn't take him off the leash for fear that he wouldn't come when called. Uggh! What had I gotten myself into? :eek:

I leashed him to me both inside and out, granted him privileges with appropriate behaviour, and he went from sleeping in the sunroom to sleeping in our bedroom within the first two weeks. He was soon following me from room to room without the leash. He still does, even though he's been with us for three years and doesn't have to so much anymore.

He didn't seem to know his name anyway and I didn't want a dog that looked tough to have to tough name too... So we sat around the table and made a long list of names. We got down to the last two... Fred and George. Between two 37 year olds, a 6 year old and a 4 year old, we couldn't decide. The dog just lay there, enjoying his bone near the kitchen table.

So, I told everyone to be very quiet and said 'Fred'... nothing. Then I said, 'George'... and he looked up at me. We all laughed and figured he had chosen. He has answered well to that name ever since he chose it. (My Grandfather's name - could he be a reincarnation? :D) And it didn't take long for him to come easily when called, even when he's got half an acre on me chasing the birds or a rabbit... or the neighbour's cat. :eek:
















The previous owners said that he wouldn't like it inside but I leave our kitchen door open and he only wants to go out when nature calls or if I'm outside. He really doesn't go outside just to sit by himself or even with Czar.

When he is lying down and being petted, he makes a growling sound. This made me very nervous. Soon, we realized that it was really his, very loud, version of a 'purr'. Later, I found out that this is common in rotties. It is referred to as 'the rottie rumble'. (Though I warn people that it must be assumed to be a warning growl until you are very sure it's a rumble... to be on the safe side. Even living with him, it took several weeks... a couple of months even, to establish that this dog is not a big 'growler' but is indeed a big 'rumbler'.)

He's not allowed on the furniture but does have a very big, thick cushion in the living room, a blanket in the kitchen and several blankets in the bedroom. He sleeps right next to my bed so that I can just reach out and give him a stroke through the night.

He also MUST do a sit/stay every time he gets food and he MUST go into a 'down' position if a visiting child goes near him (a 'sit' for adults). He doesn't mind doing this because he loves children and knows that if he goes into the 'down' position, the child will be allowed to pet him. We have 3 children from 9 yrs to 1 yr in the house and he gets loads of regular strokes from them... But there's just never enough love for George!

We've had him for three years and every person who comes to our house is, at first, taken aback by his size, and then reassured by his well controlled behaviour.

George, we found, also had hidden talents. He duck sits the chicks and ducklings, staying ever vigilant.  It seems that he takes extra special care of the babies with extra challenges.

After some training so that he knew not to kill our yard chickens, I found that he would help me 'round them up' at night when it was time to put them back in their coop. Chicken rassling for rotties 101 was, apparently, not a required course for him... it just came naturally.

We've got one nasty chicken. Blooie-the-wicked-chicken will wait until your back is turned and then sneak up behind you to peck you hard. Well, when George is on watch, he will chase that Blooie right back to the coop if he notices her taking her 'attack' stance.

And though the chickens will run from him, if he is in between them and a bucket of tasty kitchen scraps I've brought out, they will not think twice about using George-The-Great-Launching-Pad to get to the food post-haste.

This is the same dog who (with us only a year at the time), when my 5 year old upset a wasp nest, knew immediately that my son was in danger and went to the rescue.

George was snapping at all of those wasps, flying in the air, all around my curled up boy, until I finally clicked onto what was going on, raced over to them and pulled my son out. Then we all ran away together.

That dog took at least 20 stings in his mouth and around his face that day... on purpose. I just shake my head when I think of how George knew my son was in danger long before I did... and that he knew just what to do without being told. - You don't hear THOSE stories in the news too often. :frown: George will always be our hero!

We've also found out that rotties are the kind of dog whose world will stop when their person is away.  George waits for me by the door, by the gate or at the end of the driveway.  He never tires of waiting for me and he really has turned into the biggest baby I have.

I believe it is important to show people that this is a breed that is well worth saving.

I never would've wished for a rottie because I never knew one. Now, I'm glad they got his age wrong, because that means I get two extra years with him :)... and I just can't imagine my life without my George. :wink:

Please contact the Animal Love Foundation or Humane Society and ask about adopting a 'senior' in your area! We've had three and loved them all!

The Blooming Period

What an artsy/philosophical title. That was my first thought. People will want to know what it is. They will be intrigued. It sounds wonderful. It sounds 'zen'ish.

And it is... kinda...

The other titles that came to me were 'Buddha and The Banshee' and 'On Being Buddha'. Any guesses? Anyone?...

It's my bloomin' period. It's finally started up again now that the baby is about 14 months old.

I can sense the readers groaning... Oh, just give me a minute! I'm sure I can twist this subject into something thoughtful, a little funny, somewhat educational and hopefully a bit different than anything you've read on the subject before. Just give me a chance!

*******

Blooming is hard work for a brain. Waves of patience and impatience sometimes drift and sometimes crash back and forth.

On one hand, I have the patience of Buddha, which is highly unusual for me as I'm almost constantly stressed about how much I can get done in a day. The patience of Buddha, for a person like me is absolutely wonderful but also a sign of things to come.

...the pendulum swings...

On the other hand, I have to practically put myself in a straight-jacket and muzzle to stop from flying (on my broomstick) to the nearest mountain-top and sending out a deafening SHRIEK to the entire world (and a few space aliens who are in close enough proximity) to "BEHAVE!" and "LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"

Prestigious universities are doing many studies about brains and meditation and exercise and vitamins. These studies make me wonder what is going on in my brain during a bloom.

They make me wonder if my Anti-Banshee-Potion results are all in my head. Perhaps, later on when I can think straight, I will look and see if another doctor has done any studies of the female brain in bloom.

Nevertheless, in one respect, my family benefits because on the surface I mostly look like Buddha. Why is this? Because I have become painfully conscious that I could blow my top at any moment and I would feel awful if I turned the children into 'victims of the bloom'. And of course there's the Anti-Banshee-Magic-Potion...

It's helpful to have, not only a good potion but a good husband at this time too. He makes it possible for me to manage the Buddha facade even through the Banshee period(pun intended - as always).

It all started a couple of weeks ago. My body chemistry changed... again...

When I get pregnant (as I have been seven times now - so it's definitely a pattern), I don't need deoderant. Other bodily fluids also cease to be produced (but not spit and tears)... I'll let you mull that one over...

Then blam, almost like a lightswitch being flicked on and off, it all comes back in a way that my body is making up for all the 'non-smelly' days I've had for the last two years. I told my partner that I suspected my vacation from blooming would shortly be over. I think it's important to warn people in my immediate vicinity of this... especially him as he becomes a prime target.

Then, last week I started waking in the middle of the night and craving chocolate badly enough to get up and come all the way downstairs to sneak some. The second night this happened, I quickly ingested some Anti-Banshee-Potion (B50 vitamin, a good dose of zinc and a fairly big dose of Evening Primrose Oil) and tried to get some more good sleep. Two more nights of the same schedule and then... Voila! The Blooming Period.

And I could not follow through on anything! I frustrated myself beyond all comprehension! Time becomes irresolute. I cannot keep track of anything. And so I have two choices...

One, become an army sergeant, bellowing orders to everyone around, of the tasks that need to be performed.

Two, let everything go and let everyone do whatever they want to do. As long as they demand nothing of me, I can focus on Being Buddha.

The Anti-Banshee Potion allows me to make this choice. With it, I have learned that my tides lull back and forth, gently, the way petals open in the morning and close up at night, so that I can hang on to the Buddha surf even as the Banshee wave drifts toward me. Without my magical potion, enormous waves of Buddha and the Banshee come crashing down upon me with such speed and force that it is unnerving and I cannot brace myself... and the damage done spreads to all things near.

Okay, it's a little over-the-top, poetically... but it gives a good picture. The other thing the Anti-Banshee Magic Potion lets me do, is call my loving partner at work and let him know what he's coming home to so that he has plenty of time to get into his "Yes dear. Why don't I take care of the children and let you have some quiet time."-mode.

Now, I know that I'll probably publish this today and so it will look like I do nothing but worship my Love. This is truly not the case. I have, at least, 5 other essays in my drafts, that are not yet ready for public consumption. Not one of them has anything to do with him but they're just not finished yet. And so, dear readers, you get to read, once again, about my wonderful Darling.

On Friday, I called him at work to let him know that...

"The other day I was right... I'm in the midst of Blooming and my petals are feeling a touch bruised... And the children are not dressed... And the living room is a mess... And all I've fed everyone all day long is taco meat because I just can't seem to muster up enough emotional strength to do anything but heat up stuff-to-consume-that's-already-made.... And the only thing I've managed to do, somehow, is make sure that the things-that-eat-stuff got to eat stuff... And the things-that-need-to-do-math-and-music got their mathwork and music done for the day... And I'm disappointed in myself to the point of wanting to have a good cry, not just because I can't get anything done today (except sitting and reading) but because I'm refering to all the cat, chickens, dogs and children as 'things', which I'm sure makes me the worst mother on the planet. Waaaaaah."

He came home with 3 sunflowers (we have 3 children), did not say a word about having a bowl of taco meat for dinner and took the children out to their Friday night social, thereby letting me have some quiet time - alone - with me, myself and I, all in attendance.

And when he got home, he made me a lovely gin and tonic (which we only treat ourselves to on Friday nights) because half an hour alone was no where near long enough for me to get such a task done.

Finally, when I suggested that we had not seen our lovely neighbours (adopted local grandparents for our children) in a while and should have them over for breakfast on Sunday, He did not invite them. (I can hear the huge sigh of relief from all the way over at their house. And they also are thinking of Him in capitals now.)

Can you imagine a blooming brain on gluten?!

And though I may be a bit more smelly, my nursing babe and I have lovely, creamy, flawless, glowing skin to show for it.

Life is good and messy and crazy and calm and flaw/less... here in The Gray Zone.

I Wrote A Letter To My-Love-in-Capitals

I did it. Then I crumpled it up and threw it out. I have been struggling with this letter for six months. It plagues me.

We have been married for ten years, this Christmas Eve, and I cannot, for the life of me, come up with the words to express how much I cherish HIM... every day... More now than when we first met.

Part of the reason is because, of the two of us, HE is the romantic. I am the one who said, and I quote, "No anniversary gifts. No Valentine's Day gifts". Don't get me wrong, I like having a special dinner and calling it A Day. But HE is the type who still couldn't resist bringing me a beautiful, single rose on our first anniversary. (A wonderful sentiment without the expense of a dozen roses - which would have definitely had me blowing my top about wasting money.)

And I do realize that reading the words 'HE' and 'HIM' makes one usually think that the words indicate the Christian God... but I could not resist capitalizing the words because this is how I always think of MY PARTNER... in capitals.

I wonder about this very thing all the time. Every time I hear a person complain about their mate, I am thankful that The Fates have brought us together... Every time we pull into our driveway to see his car there and the children screech, "Daddeee's Ho-o-o-o-m-m-me!", I pay homage again to The Fates. Every time I'm craving chocolate and he pulls 'something special' out of the trunk of his car for me, I thank The Fates... It goes on and on... it really does!

This could, potentially, be the longest essay I have ever written. And so I have decided to go with point form on only a few of the reasons why I wanted to write a letter, on this auspicious occassion, to MY LOVE:

1. HE often knows me, better than I know myself. HE always goes into 'listening mode' after we leave a family gathering. HE realized, long before I ever did, that those things are just a formal invitation for me to go deep into self-contemplation. Also, see the 'rose' situation, above.

2. HE half-expects to, and accepts, doing things over... because I've changed-my-mind. HE's started putting our kitchen cupboards up on wheels. And never complains when I've decided to move our bedroom closet, which is now in its third position... And yes, it is the regular built-in kind. (And no, he is not a carpenter-by-trade.)

3. & 4. HE always tells me the truth AND often knows what to do with me better than I know myself. Like the time a couple came to visit and the woman didn't like me even though I was doing my very best to be likeable (as most people do when they receive company).

After they left I was upset by the firm impression that someone on the planet didn't like me and HIS response was, "No, I don't think she does like you... BUT Don't worry - She's obviously just jealous because you are everything she wishes she could be." I didn't even know those words could 'make-it-better'... but they did. One would think that HIS words might not have been true. However I have a talent for pre-supposing that people (including HIM) are lying to me and so, HE always tells me the truth (I have come to trust this over the years because I constantly test him on it)- But even suppose that that woman doesn't actually wish to be like me (go figure) - Perhaps the words were comforting in that HE thinks I am so wonderful that other women wish to be like me.

5. For 24 hours after I have done-wrong, HE lets me blame HIM for it. I can't even state one example because there are so many of them.

6. & 7. Though I blather-on with my Suppositions-of-life-in-general so much that, as one would expect, it all eventually comes across as 'white noise', HE still went, in good humour, and got his hearing checked, twice, at my insistence, only to find that his hearing was perfect... just selective. And in so-doing, gave us a funny short story to tell for the rest of our lives.

8. & 9. HE still thinks I'm sexy, even after seeing my intestines during a C-section and even now with all my 'baby skin'(after having gone from 125 lbs to 175 during a couple of my pregnancies and back down to 110). I don't claim to understand it but I appreciate it.

10. HE is the most supportive father, ever! And one who willingly went on a special-diet-for-life, without complaint, to show his children that a special diet is no big deal. At the time, a gluten free diet meant 'no beer' (and other gluten grain alcohols). HIS response was, "I will - eventually - figure out a way to make homemade gluten free beer." I have seen and known a lot of men in my time but have yet to meet another one who would be equal to this task.

11. HE accepts the fact that I am an 'experiencer'. This means that I have tried, and continue to try, all kinds of things in life, often expecting to fail and try again until I get it right and then move on. Generally speaking, this means I have done things that are hazardous to most men's egos, but not MY LOVE. In fact, somehow, I think HIS ego grows because of the things I have done and continue to do. Or perhaps it is because I feel that HE is so perfect for me, that HE and HIS ego are so rock-like...

12. HE has always insisted that I-am-the-one-for-HIM. When we first dated, I, who had dated hundreds... even thousands, refused to believe that he could know this because he had only dated two other people... ever. We broke up for five years because I did not trust or believe that he could know that I-was-the-one under these circumstances. He dated one other person during that time... maybe two... and still insisted that I-was-the-one-for-HIM. How's that for stick-to-it-iveness?

I could go on and on. Really, this is just an example of me warming up to the heavier examples of how wonderful HE is. So is it any surprise that I, of a million words in a mundane situation, cannot find enough words with which to express my love for MY LOVE?

Actually, I feel lucky that I am so verbose. I can't imagine the angst of a person who is generally plagued by the inability to put words to their thoughts...

Oh yeah, HIS one drawback... HE, despite being nothing short of a genious, has great difficulty in putting thoughts into words. This means that sometimes I have to work pretty hard to draw the words out of him...

...Although it also means that I'm pretty much the constant winner in all of our disagreements...

...Maybe it's not such a flaw after-all... here in the Gray Zone.

Honour Thy Dead, Wave to Your Ghosts and Awaken Your Pagan

Halloween is one of my favourite holidays of the year, mostly because it makes the most sense to me.

It is, doubtless, an important 'mark of transition' in our year. It connects us with all that is in the past (the season of growing, the sun, the dead) and that which comes to us in the future (the rebirth of the earth, the sun and when we will be spirits of the dead, ourselves). It reminds me to honour those that came before and that one day I will, indeed, be the past... And in so being, will feed the future.

It is a celebration of the season of sleep, death and the spirit of the earth and people around us. It is the one night of the year that I allow the issue of 'time' to become inconsequential just for a little bit. It is the time that I think of myself in terms of being in all of the past, present and future.

I enjoy celebrating the death of the old year (and how wonderful it was) and looking forward to the 'sleepy time' that comes before the awakening of our part of the earth in the spring. I cannot figure out why New Year's Eve is at the end of December. (If someone knows, I would gladly learn something new.) Anyway, I thought I would write something here for anyone who might want to learn more about the CELEBRATION of Halloween... and it is, indeed most worthy of celebration!

In a more simple aspect, Halloween is, in our home, a celebration of the harvest and the subsequent 'great sleep' of the earth... which is absolutely necessary for the 'rebirth' or 'awakening' of the earth in the spring.

This is why it is important to have a day to honour death and the dead, because without them there would be no renewal (new babies, new food, new everything). Nothing grows in soil that is not fed. What feeds soil? Dead plants, animals, people.

Also, on a lighter note, this planet is way too small for everything to just continue on existing forever... And on a science note, if an area becomes over-populated, fertility drops, the whole population ages too much to reproduce, no food is left, disease runs rampant and everything dies, leaving a big blank, yucky space. (Think of that fruit fly experiment in highschool. By the time all the fruit flies died, that jar was absolutely disgusting!)

Also, Halloween is a time to honour the wisdom passed to us by our predecessors. After all, without their wisdom, where would we be today? In kind, without a past, there is no future... and it is important to celebrate the lessons learned in the past so that we may live a better, brighter future.

This is the time of year that I enjoy taking special time out to meditate upon the memories/ideas of those who came before me. Here are a few small examples:

I think of my Grandfather, in South Africa, who passed many years ago. I remember how he taught me to play chess and poker dice and how we would play every day when I would visit him in the summer (winter - over there). I remember how he taught me that it is never acceptable to resort to violence (a rather embarrassing but important memory for me, after having slapped my sister - for the last time). I remember what a good man/male role model he was to me.

I think of my down-to-earth Granny who taught me to love to cook from scratch and filled my mind with the wonder of how to live off the land without the support of a city.

I think of Joan of Arc and how she gave her life and what it means to us today.

I think of our neighbour, who passed in his house next to ours and pray that his spirit is at peace.

I think about how all of our spirits are connected without the barrier of time and space.

And of course, yes, it is also about passing tales of the dead (so as not to forget them) and a few true ghost stories onto my children. Here is one of my favourites:

When my daughter was very young, less than two years old, my husband's work transferred him to a city far from us. And so, until we could find a new home, we spent our mornings at my (adoptive-paternal) Grandparent's apartment.

My Grandmother (Great Meme), my daughter and I, listened to my Grandfather (Great Pepe), read the newspaper aloud as he sat in his recliner, with extra emphasis on the obituaries. (He liked to see who he knew in there.)

While he did this, he would also keep up an, almost constant, dialogue with my daughter who would toddle all around him, trying to steal sips of his coffee. They absolutely adored each other! And so, every day, my daughter and I visited with them just so, for about four months, until we finally moved a couple of hours away and could no longer visit as we used to.

Soon after we moved, Great Pepe was put into the hospital for cancer. He was not doing well enough to be at home but was not expected to die very quickly. Life continued on as best it could in these circumstances.

Then, in the wee hours of one morning, my, now-two-year-old daughter, who was positioned between her father and myself in the bed, awoke, sat up, waved at the unlit ceiling lights and returned to sleep. My husband and I looked at eachother, shrugged and also went back to sleep.

At 8:30 in the morning, the phone rang, it was my Mom. I said to her, "Great Pepe died last night, didn't he?" She said, "Yes. How did you know?" I responded, "He came to say good-bye to the baby in the early morning, she sat up, waved and then went back to sleep."

I asked how he had passed so suddenly. Apparently, he got out of bed for some reason, slipped on the concrete floor and hit his head. They said, he died instantly and did not suffer at all.

And even though all of our children have slept with us, none of them has ever done anything like that again.

******************

Ahhh, I love a good ghost story... I do! And though I have no patience for the ridiculous, creepy, gruesome, evil-spirit type Halloween movies, I do, like a Christian parent who allows Santa into their celebration, allow for some of the celebration to be based on pure fun.

My children bear witness to this as I only bring forth but once a year, my horizontally-striped, purple and black stockings and black dress. And I do try to honestly praise my children for their wonderful creativity... when they come to me, brimming with pride, telling me of their idea to cover styrofoam heads with toothpicks.

All the while I repeat to myself, in the form of a mantra, that there must be some artistic creative puff of smoke involved in there... somewhere...

And my ever dutiful husband may still insist that, in our house, it is really the celebration of many candies and chocolates... sigh...

All is not cut and dried, so to speak, during Halloween, here in.... the Gray zone...



For anyone who'd like to do some more reading up on Halloween. I've listed a couple of good sites and quotes below:

University College Cork of Ireland: explains the historical origin of Halloween and how it is linked into Christianity:

http://www.ucc.ie/fecc/samhain.html

Not only is Samhain (pronounced "sow-in") the end of autumn; it is also, more importantly, the end of the old year and the beginning of the new. ...These two themes, celebrating the dead and divining the future, are inexorably intertwined in Samhain...

Samhain, which means “summer’s end”, according to their ancient twofold division of the year, when summer ran from Beltane to Samhain and winter ran from Samhain to Beltane...

...with its emphasis on the “historical” Christ and his act of Redemption 2000 years ago, is forced into a linear view of time, where seeing the future is an illogical proposition. In fact, from the Christian perspective, any attempt to do so is seen as inherently evil. This did not keep the medieval church from co-opting Samhain’s other motif, commemoration of the dead. To the church, however, it could never be a feast for all the dead, but only the blessed dead, all those hallowed (made holy) by obedience to God—thus, All Hallow’s, or Hallowmas, later All Saints and All Souls...

http://landscaping.about.com/cs/landscapecolor/a/halloweenOrigin.htm

Cri-i-i-ck: Saved Your Life

My husband threw out his back. All I can say is, "Unbelievable!"

And you may not believe it now but read on, and you will realize that it's the truth I'm telling you, when I say that this, seemingly inconsequential event, may have saved the lives of his entire family.

I know what you're thinking... "No way!"... "People cannot save lives by throwing out their backs. There's no way THAT is possible... "

Oh, but I assure you it is... because as you know... nothing is simply what it seems... here in the Gray Zone.

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What makes it even more unbelievable is the fact that he spent the summer demolishing half a roof with no adverse reactions. And then he threw it out picking up our 20 pound baby off the bed to give him a kiss bye-bye on his way out to work. What are the odds? :/

Now my husband may be a lot of things, but when it comes to pain he never complains. When he could hardly walk the next day, I knew he had to be sufferring horribly. And so, I put a call in to the chiropractor who was able to do an adjustment within a couple of hours.

We had to go back in the next morning, again. Happy 40th birthday, honey!

Yes, on top of it all, my poor husband was confined to spending his birthday flat on his back after his second adjustment. Things were looking better... He had more motion but was still in a lot of pain.

At least he had the house to himself.

You see, homeschoolers have all their 'outside' events that begin to take place toward the end of September. This gives you a couple of weeks to get the 'home' schedule back on track before you add in the extra-curriculars.

So, Daddy's birthday is generally a busy, busy time for us. The first day of gymnastics, the first day of dance class (two separate classes - one for each older child) and Mama's night out for the first annual homeschooling Mama's social (so that we don't go completely insane).

Did I mention that we live in the country and generally it takes half an hour of highway driving to get... well... just about everywhere? ... And this is our pivotal point...

Because we had to go out to the Chiropractor's (who happens to be a mere 3 minutes from our house) twice, before going anywhere else, the brakes on the van did not SUDDENLY fail on the highway on our way to gymnastics at the speed of 100 km/hr. They failed in the driveway, going 5 km/hr... after the second visit to the chiropractor.

And so, for his 40th birthday, this man may possibly have saved the lives of his wife and 3 children.

Suddenly... a thrown-out back seems like a really great gift.

Thanks honey. I luv ya.

The Girl, The Ego and The First Grocery Shop

Grocery shopping.

It even sounds mundane. It's that thing we all have to do every few days or so if we want to maintain our stash of fresh fruits and veggies. And so it was to be our 'event', last Tuesday. As usual, nothing here is ever just what it seems on the surface or even at second glance.

This grocery event actually harkens back to last weekend. At the time, we would never have realized that... days before actually arriving at the grocery store, we began our journey...

It was the annual town-wide yard sale. We've lived here for seven years now, in this small community. Having grown up in the big city, it is a whole new way of life for me and this yard sale extravaganza is no exception.

Here's the deal: We live just outside of town and so we turn this into a full day outing. We load up the bikes, trikes and buggies and a picnic lunch before heading out. Once in town, we park the van (of course with all of our 'gear' it has to be a full-sized eight-seater) and then we walk and walk and walk...

It's a wonderful walk because the gardens are all blooming and it seems almost everyone in a small town really tries their best to have a wonderful looking yard. It inspires me. (It doesn't make me a successful gardner, but it does inspire me to keep trying to be one.) And every third house seems to have their driveway filled with wonderful magical goodies that will somehow make our lives better.

And so, to provide lessons in economics, negotiating and budgeting, each child was given five dollars to spend as they desired.

Of course, the first thing my son saw was an enormous dinky car track/digger toy that he just had to have. I told him not to pay more than two dollars for it but, at six years old, he was too shy to make the deal. So, I went with him to talk to the lady. She was asking $5. I offerred $2. She kindly accepted. And then I made my mistake. (Pay attention parents-of-young-children...)

I grabbed a toonie out of my purse, thinking that my son's $5 should go toward his own negotiations. Feeling strangely rewarded and satisfied with our deal, we balanced the toy on top of the double stroller and moved on.

We then came across another house that was selling cloth diapers and infant summer clothing that I enjoyed perusing for about half an hour. During that time, the children went to the home two doors over. Though my son was still feeling too shy to negotiate, he stood witness as my eight year old daughter did the haggling. She managed to master the technique in about five seconds and scored a $3 Bionicle for $2, a 50 cent slinky for half price and other unnamed treasures.

All this time the children were running back and forth, between the neighbour's house and our buggy. I was thinking that they were putting their 'deals' directly into the buggy. This was not the case. They were using up the change in my purse before 'breaking' their own five dollar bills.

By the time I finished making my own, extremely satisfying, deals. I realized that I had indeed made a gross miscalculation. I had promoted the idea of making one's money last longer by using someone else's money first. And so the change purse bank was immediately closed for business and the children were left to their own devices and five dollar bills.

It didn't do much good though. They already had pretty much everything they wanted.

My son declared, "I'm going to put mine in my money jar at home to save for something really big. Maybe even for my Smart Car!" (To my chagrine, he has recently stated that he's not going to have children when he grows up because he's getting a Smart Car. Therefore, there won't be any room for children. .. DARN that Smart Car!)

My daughter, in her usual subdued manner, refused to comment in any way, on the future of her own five dollar bill.

Then, several days later, at the grocery store, she confidently announced that she would be using her money to do her very own "First Grocery Shop".

Believe me when I say that I had some difficulty with this. I had all kinds of dreams about what creative thing she would do with her money. Buying food was not on that list of possibilities. My first reaction was that she would have to spend her money on groceries when she grew up. She should get other things now. However, I curbed my tongue because I had made the commitment that they could spend their money however they please and I would not interfere.

I am glad that I did not interfere... and I know that there is another parenting lesson in there but I will have to give it some time to let it sink in.

Her excitement was almost palpable as she placed the marker on the checkout belt to keep her items separate from mine.

On the way home, every time I looked in my 'kiddie' rearview mirror, she had a big grin on her face whilst looking out the window. Finally, she exclaimed, "I love buying my own groceries!"

Usually when her father comes home, he has to search her out to say hello. And when he asks what she did, the usual response is, "I forget." (The bane of all homeschooling parents, worldwide.)

But this day she ran to the door and blurted out that she had, indeed, done The First Grocery Shop of her Life. She then proceeded to list her carefully and wisely chosen items: "...6 kiwi for $1!... a package of radishes... some Fruit-To-Go travel snacks... and some moneyplant seeds!" (Perhaps she thinks that she can grow some money?)

And even now, her thrill is as palpable as if she's just disembarked the biggest roller coaster on the planet, as she replays the events of her "First Grocery Shop".

This is the beginning of something BIG... here in The Gray Zone...

The-Best-Frisbee-Ever

Today is Mother's Day.

I received a small and inexpensive gift.

My six-year-old son made me a frisbee out of a coffee can lid. He decorated it with special drawings and added pinwheel stripes, and an edge, made of golden star stickers.

Now I know that to some, who may not be parents or who are more inclined towards gifts that cost more financial dollars, this may seem like a simple, somewhat benign child's gift to his mother.

And to others, it would hold more weight simply because of the extra effort a homemade gift requires.

Neither of the above frames of mind apply to my way of thinking because I've never really put much value on these 'extra holidays', and actually don't care much for the value placed on gift-giving.

However, in my Mother's Heart, Today, I just know that this is absolutely The-Best-Frisbee-Ever!

I know this because, unbeknownst to my small boy, it is not the only gift that he gave me. This frisbee is simply the vehicle/respresentation of many other gifts with which my son bequeathed me today. And the true gift, again, unbeknownst to him, was actually in his declaration to me upon presentation of said-homemade-toy.

You see, the truth of the matter is that he made this frisbee completely of his own volition. effort. time. and creativity. (Not because of school, as we homeschool. And not due to television, as I asked if he had watched a craft show that made one.)

So, yes, this is a very small gift. However, It is also infinite in size and importance. It is a combined thing being: inexpensive, expensive and expansive. It is enormously simple and simply enormous. It is both intro- and intra- spective. Because of this best-frisbee-ever, he has given me the wonderful realization that he has the abilities (completely on his own) to:

1) Think critically;
2) Build on a penchant for creating something constructive by making it pretty too; and
3) Place importance and value on his relationships; followed by the implementation of a plan that will foster continued growth in relationships-that-he-values, by showing his appreciation in terms of both time and effort. (Big inhale after saying that last one.)

And as he held his small, inexpensive, seemingly benign, physical gift out to me, he most formally and quietly said, "I made this frisbee so you and I can have lots more play time together."

Things are not always as simple as they seem... here in... The Gray Zone...

A Glass Sink In A Dance Studio Bathroom

Everybody's seen just one of them. You know... those renovation shows where they finish some glorious project in a weekend? In two days they perform miracles on houses that need far fewer miracles than my 100 year old farm house does.

That's not to say I don't like my farm house. On the contrary, I love it... But it needs some work. We knew that when we bought it. My husband and I are both fairly handy and have a love for older architecture. That's what made the house attractive to us in the first place... We could make it our own.

We've been wanting to renovate the downstairs bathroom for quite some time but I could just never find 'the perfect sink'.

Well, I finally found one! It looks like a square-ish glass salad bowl.

Now I realize that there's no overflow and we have three children. I know... I'm asking for a tidal wave in my house... But it really is such a beautiful sink!

*************************************

So last month we got the sink and tap (I already had the antique table to put it on) and got started.

We've decided to make it up like a dance studio, wall mirror and ballet bar included. I was so excited. The first step is gutting the place. That took two days (and we didn't have to replace the tub). End of show.

Filling and sanding and installation of toilet and sink... another two days... End of show.

We have three children, two dance recitals, a couple of playgroups and no project time. End of third show.

I managed to find a narrow, antique wooden door. So now I am in the process of putting in a new doorway to connect, said bathroom, to the laundry room. I have to cut out an old hand-hewn beam to do it. RATS! If I can figure out a way to keep it, I will... but it's not looking good. Then I'll try to finish up sanding and painting. End of fourth show.

Oh, and did I mention that when we installed the sink, I went around the mulberry bush with the store because they didn't have the proper plug (the one without the overflow holes in the pipe)? No one ordered them because they didn't realize they needed them..... Sheesh, it was a hardware shop not a department store! You think they'd know that if they sell sinks without overflows that they're going to be selling drain pipes to accomodate the lack of overflow. I didn't fail to order it, they failed to tell me that they didn't order it... until I called to find out if it had arrived. "Oh, we're very sorry, the warehouse should be receiving the shipment in approximately two weeks."

"Oh." Shows 5 and 6.

Now, I'm not saying it's not worth it but it's just not happening in one show... here in... The Gray Zone.

Gluten: You had to know I'd get to it!

For those who don't know, my son (who was born very healthy), from the age of two weeks to three years, was very ill and not growing as quickly as he should have been. He also seemed to cry a lot and could not be consoled. It seemed he was exhausted but could not sleep properly. He also seemed to have some vague type of seizure disorder where, when he cried, he would get 'stuck' in an exhale and couldn't inhale again until he passed out, which of course put him under constant threat of a concussion because he was crying so often. He had heart tests, lung tests, blood tests, cystic fibrosis testing, etc. Yet no specialist could figure out what to do with him.

Finally after two years, our pediatrician came back from a convention and said, "I think he has celiac disease." She promptly sent us to the local pediatric gastroenterologist who looked at him and after a cursory visual check deemed him not to have celiac disease. I did not know, at the time, that it is not possible to tell if a person has cd just by looking at them... and so I went home, relieved that cd had been ruled out.

So another year passed and he just seemed to be getting worse and worse. However, after the suggestion of cd, a bug had been put in my brain that maybe we should eliminate all food as an issue. I did not act on it until I came across a book in the library called "Breaking the Vicious Cycle", by Elaine Gottschall. The book was in the wrong section of the library which leads me to believe that God, the Goddess, our angels, Buddha... or some higher entity, made sure that I found the information to improve, not just my son's life, but the lives of every individual in my family! Anyway, finding this book was the motivator that brought us to the decision to try an elimination diet to rule out food as an issue.

Honestly we did not expect any improvement at all. We just wanted to be able to say that we had done it, and done it well. Well, in four days we had a brand new child who was happy and carefree and without bowel issues for the first time in three years. Our pediatrician subsequently sent us 3 hours away to a pediatric gastroenterologist who specializes in celiac disease who has since deemed my son as Celiac based on the outcome of the diet.

What's more? Well, I lost my lifetime worth of daily headaches (sometimes very brutal), and my daughter and my partner were no longer fatigued (among other more private functions that I don't have permission to divulge). None of us wanted to go back to eating gluten because we liked feeling better and didn't want to go back to feeling so crumby (hah).

Well, after watching my son get so much better (No more doctor/hospital visits for 3 years!), our diet is becoming more strict all the time (no gluten, limited grain, no cow dairy, etc.). The dichotomy is that it is also expanding at the same time. (Hooray!)

Now we eat squash, all kinds of squash. Squash was something I never cared for before but now I have found that you don't just eat it plain, you actually do stuff with it and it tastes good! I use it to make pizza dough and tea bread (among other things).

The same goes for goat dairy (all kinds), buckwheat (not really 'wheat'), eggplant, beets, avocado, parsnips, turnips, cabbage, berries, apples, pears, and on and on.

These things have all increased in our diets so that we are eating a more varied diet than we were when we could take the easy way out and just bulk ourselves up with grain.

So when someone tells you their diet is extremely limited... you should really take it with a grain of sea salt... here in... The Gray Zone.

The "Far Apart" Children

The “Far Apart” Children

As a young girl, I remember my friends and I all wanting our future children to be close in age so that they could grow together and play together. Some wanted the boys to be older to protect the girls and some wanted the girls to be older so that they could babysit the boys. (As if boys are not capable of this task…And as if you’d ever leave a 13-year-old in charge of an 11-year-old…Hah!)

Now, as life would have it, the greatest teacher about the truths of our existence, is experience...

My first two are close together. Whether they know it or not, they are truly each other’s best friends. They keep each other constant company. My daughter, the older child, teaches the younger one to strive to keep up. And my son, the younger of the two, forces my older child to put into practise, lessons of patience and endurance. It is a thrill to watch them build on each other’s creativity when they concoct all kinds of stories, plays and dramas.

When my son was born, however, it was not as ‘easy’ as it is now that they are both walking, talking and independent. My daughter, at two years of age, was truly remarkable in her desire to help in the care for her younger sibling. But let’s face it, caring for an infant and even the most cooperative toddler is extremely time-challenging and those ‘special moments’ with the younger infant were fewer and farther between than they were when I only had one infant and no toddler distracting my focus.

With a miscarriage following our son’s birth and several years of unexplained infertility, I found myself pregnant after suffering a cold. Why it is, that a husband can still find his wife to be sexually appealing when she has a runny nose, cough and is all the while ingesting as much over-the-counter cold remedies as she can, is beyond me. However, I am convinced that the particular cold remedy I was taking has some magical ingredient in it that ended our bout of infertility… but that is another article.

And so our third child, Ben, was born into our family with siblings, six and eight years older than he. He is also the child who has more helping hands at his beck and call than any child should probably bear witness to on this planet. At 5 months of age he has no worry of any toy dropped, as someone is there to pick it up for him within 5 seconds. He gets more kisses than the other two did because there are two more sets of lips in the house. And because my daughter thinks of him as her own personal, living doll, he is almost constantly carried which is, of course, one of the things in life that babies love most. He wants for nothing that a baby wants. And now, I can witness all the joys of having a small baby in the house, yet enjoy my very own, unaccompanied, visits to the bathroom... at least for the time being.

I’ve noticed that the older children also have tolerances for the baby, that they do not afford eachother. For example, they find eachother’s spit disgusting and/or offensive. And they seldom say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to eachother without some kind of prompting from my partner, or myself.

However, Ben’s ears, according to them should only be encumbered with sweet, almost melodic tones and they never miss a ‘thank you’ for his gobby, spitty, stringy, baby-kisses. In return, my older two children are learning some wonderful care-giving recipes that they would not have without their much younger sibling.

My six-year-old son will spend half an hour making funny faces that make the baby laugh and squeal. When that same six-year-old was 6 months old, there was not an adult within 50 kilometres that would spend half an hour making faces… no matter how cute and adorable those fits of giggles were. Adults just don’t have that kind of time. And a two and a half year old is just too busy doing... well... all that self-absorbed, two-and-half-year-old-stuff, that two and a half year old is supposed to be doing.

So there are some wonderful benefits for all of our children in this scenario. And yes, the ‘close together’ children are wonderful to have…but so are the ‘far apart’ children...here in... The Gray Zone...

The Gray Zone

I’ve been thinking about writing a series lately that has a lot to do about nothing, yet everything. Things that are black and white, yet not black and white. Things that have a lot to do with life and living… with death and dying… with existence and existentialism...

And so, you have now entered... The Gray Zone...