Here is your daily chicks-and-mama picture update. As you can see, they are all doing well. I have thrown out the last of the eggs that did not hatch as obviously Darla has no interest in sitting on them any longer. She has those chicks all over this yard. How they can cover so much ground on those tiny little legs, I do not know. She scratches and scratches and scratches and cluck-tuts for the babies to come and get what she's found. The chick-starter feed I had Mr. Moon buy has hardly been touched. This mama-raising situation seems to involve mostly natural food. She's tid-bitting the way roosters do when they find something tasty he wants to share with the hens. The noises she makes to call the babies even sound like the rooster's when he is calling his ladies. I have noticed that Darla does take rest periods with the children. She wallows down in the dirt and they settle in beneath her feathers, safe and cozy and invisible to predators. Yesterday evening I even got a little worried because one of their nap times seemed to be going on for a very long time and I was afraid that she would not get them into the roost by dark but I kept telling myself that she knows what she's doing and she really does. When I went to shut them up for the night, she had them all beneath her in the hen house in the little nest place I made up for her.
Violet is still sitting and I feel so sorry for her. It's getting up into the nineties every day now and that can't be comfortable. As far as I can tell, she hardly ever touches the food or water I've put in the nest with her. I can't wait for her eggs to hatch so that she, too, can get off the nest and resume the daily activities of a chicken which involves scratching, eating, drinking water, and taking dirt baths in the sun. I really also hope that at least one or two of the eggs she's sitting on hatch.
I could be wrong, but I think that Dottie, Darla's sister, may be getting ready to brood again too. She's been fluffing and spreading her tail feathers the way a broody hen does and making little broody sounds and as I recall, she did this last year before she settled on a nest.
We shall see.
I am still, quite understandably, very upset about the Supreme Court leak. It is so obvious that this whole save-the-unborn crap is pure-T bullshit. The people who spout it have no interest in the lives of the children who might result from unwanted pregnancies. They're the same ones who constantly vote to cut any sort of social services that might actually help the mothers and children who are struggling now. It is all such a smoke screen. It's a weird and bizarre kind of virtue signaling (which I despise even though I'm sure I do it too) because it's so fucking easy to cry and moan about killing babies. It's a hell of a lot harder to do anything about the poverty which leads to crime and imprisonment, or the rights of disabled people, or health care for mothers and children, or ensuring the type of education that produces people who are qualified and trained to join the work force.
Oh, it's just all so fucked up.
Regulate penises! Okay? You know what leads to unwanted pregnancies?
Every. Fucking. Time.
Can you IMAGINE what would happen if suddenly the rules and laws and regulations were being made by women who decreed that men should not have the right to use their penises in the service of intercourse unless they are ready to sign a document stating that any child those organs cause will be financially and emotionally provided for by them? FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES?
As I have said recently, the older I get, the more the scales fall from my eyes concerning the way men are regarded and treated versus the way women are. And it is not pretty and it is not defensible.
And it is in no way close to changing.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, Mary.
So I went to lunch today with Lily and Jessie. We had a good time, eating Mediterranean-type foods and laughing about things that I am so grateful my daughters and I can laugh about together. I am so damn lucky there. And then I did something CRAZY and went shopping in an actual store.
I have confessed before that I love and adore and have a sort of unhealthy relationship with purses. In the last several years, I have had the whole thing under control. I haven't bought a new one since before Covid. And the last one I bought I am still using and it is fine because I only buy good purses, quality purses, made of delicious leather. But lately I've been jonesin' for a new one. I have tried and tried to restore one of my oldest, favorite back-pack bags that I actually bought at a Goodwill many years ago. I used the leather products I have here. I ordered some super-recommended leather treatment online and used that. I have scrubbed and rubbed and it is still not supple and lovely the way I want it to be. Plus, it smells of mildew.
So what the hell? I went to a Marshall's which was right down the street from where we ate lunch but their purse-selection was sad and uninteresting to me.
I did buy a hat and some stainless steel cleaner and some essential oils to sprinkle in the shower. Whoo-hoo!
And then I went to Goodwill- the same one in fact where I bought my beloved back-pack bag so many years ago. The most interesting thing there was a lady I'd seen at Marshall's, too. What are the odds? She was a very tall woman and she sang to herself as she shopped in both places. She was gorgeous. She'd pull a dress off the rack at Goodwill and stop singing to say, "This is so cute!" The dresses she was obviously attracted to are what I would call club dresses. Short and elastic and shiny and glittery which she could pull off with great style and grace with her body and ten-foot long legs. As she shopped at the Goodwill, she was wearing a sort of sombrero with the tag hanging off it.
I fell a little bit in love with her.
She may actually have been a drag queen. I don't know. I don't care. She was awesome.
And I didn't find one other thing I wanted to buy. There was a rather nice vase of vintage make and design but they wanted twenty dollars for it and it had obviously been broken and repaired.
When I got home I did something that I did yesterday as well.I sat down at my ancient, incredibly out-of-tune piano, got out one of my old childhood piano books, and played around.
Oh my heart! I have never and will never have the least bit of facility on the piano or any other instrument but I did take lessons for a few years when I was young. My teacher, Mrs. Mueller, screeched (Flat, Mary! Flat!) at me regularly, knowing, without a doubt, that each and every hour she spent with me was a complete waste of time. She was a professional musician. She and her husband had a duo called "Harry and Hildred" and they were a popular act for local Women's Club luncheons and so forth. He was a short, round, jolly man who sang the hits. She had cat's-eye glasses that dangled from a bejeweled chain when they weren't perched on her nose, and accompanied him on the piano and harmonized as she played.
To this day I could not and would not ever play a note in front of another human being and am slightly embarrassed to even play in front of the cats but I have to tell you that there is a joy in even the simplest chords, the most ill-timed measure, the fact that my fingers still remember where the notes on the piano are in regard to the notes written on the page.
Why do I deny myself this pleasure?
I do not know.