Overcoming Bloglessness

Up With The Chickens


Daily Prompt:Because the Night.
Are you a night owl or are you the early bird?

Early bird here. Up with the chickens.


I got my chicks today! I spent most of the day fussing over them, holding them and just watching them peck around their little brooder. One is a barred rock and one is an araucana which lays green eggs.
Wish me luck!

Chickens On The Brain


Daily Prompt:  Dust in the Wind.
Have you made your bucket list? Now’s the time — write about the things you want to do and see before you become dust in the wind.


Chickens On The Brain

I don’t have a bucket list. If I did, it would only have one item listed at a time. Right now it would say Chickens.  I have chickens on the brain.

I need a little critter to hold and care for, someone to keep me company in the garden. I need a chicken. I need two chickens because one would get lonely.

It’s a seasonal disorder that hits hard in spring when the local nursery has chicks and ducks and bunnies for sale. Yesterday I went to see them. The chicks looked like they’d been tie-dyed in deep shades of rose and blue and emerald green. When they outgrow the dye they’ll be white leghorns. They peeped and scurried in their galvanized steel tub, warmed by a heat lamp. The blue one looked me in the eye. I would’ve chosen the blue one, but I wasn’t ready to buy yet.

I’ve been doing my research, learning about little chick needs and coops and breeds and maintenance. I’ve been testing the waters with Mr. Raven, who isn’t adamantly opposed to the idea. He’s adamant about not having a dog, but he knows I want a pet and at least chickens don’t crap on your carpet or shed all over your sofa. At least chickens give eggs and eat bugs and make good compost.

He seems resigned. He offered a galvanized tub for the chicks and a light to keep them warm and a screen for the top. We talked about coop placement and design.

I’m so excited! It’s going to be fun.   I can’t wait to pick up some chicks!    I’ll go look at the ag store tomorrow.

I think I’m going to name one Betty.






Daily Prompt: Take a Chance on Me
What’s the biggest chance you ever took? Did it work out? Do tell!


I took a chance and went to Clips. I hadn’t been getting great haircuts at higher priced salons, so I figured I might as well try my luck with a thirteen dollar haircut.

I was pleased with the first cut I got there and proud of myself for being so brave and thrifty.  But, of course, you don’t necessarily get to pick your stylist at Clips; there are no appointments. It’s the luck of the draw.

The next time I needed a haircut I got there early, hoping to get the same excellent stylist. The only customer in the shop, I stood at the reception desk, waiting for one of the four ladies to notice me. “My” stylist wasn’t there.

The stylists were huddled up in the back of the shop, excited about a new spray-on color product. They giggled and oohed over a sparkly pink streak in one of the girls’ hair.

“That’s awesome! Do mine! Do it blue! No, purple!”

Eventually one of them noticed there was a customer, tore herself away from the group and checked me in. She settled me in, pumped-up her chair and snapped the plastic cape around my neck, conversing loudly all the while with the girls in the back.

Any minute now she’s going to start focusing on me, I thought.  I can understand having some silly girl fun at work in the morning, but when you have a customer you tend to business.

“So what are we doing today?” she asked, finally making eye contact.  I explained; shorter here, textured, not too short there.  The stylist grabbed her spray bottle (Shampoo is extra) and started dampening my hair.  She was yakking with the girls again, squirting and scrunching my hair, laughing and squirting and talking about Saturday and scrunching and squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt and not even looking! My hair was thoroughly soaked and dripping.

I was getting annoyed, starting to think about getting up and leaving so Stylie Stylus could spray paint her hair with her girlfriends. 

Grandma did that once: up and left the building; marched straight across the street, still wearing the plastic cape, to the other salon, “Where they don’t tease your hair when you tell ‘em not to!” Grandma would not have put up with this unprofessional behavior. Grandma had backbone.

But I’m patient. Or maybe just lacking backbone.

Eventually Stylie stopped squirting and scrunching my hair and got down to business.  She snipped away, still following the conversation in back, snipping and clipping and lol-ing.  I cringed under the scissors and hoped for the best.   It looked awfully short.  It looked pretty choppy, but blow-dry is extra so I can’t really tell until I get home and style it myself.

I paid and tipped Stylie.  Not a big tip, but something.

When I got into my car I checked my hair in the mirror.  It’ll grow out, is all you can say at that point. That’s when I noticed my shirt, soaked around the neck and halfway down the sleeve on both sides. Even with the plastic cape on, I was drenched.  No wonder I felt so cold!

I had planned to go to Target, but I changed my mind and went straight home to dry out.

I really should have complained, but I didn’t.

That was the last time I took a chance at Clips.






This roadside shrine is approaching monument level. It’s been lovingly maintained for the three years I’ve been here. I saw a woman there with a weed-whacker one day, tending the plot. I’m guessing it was her mother who died there. Her mother loved Jesus and Betty Boop. Her mother loved America and her mother fed the birds.  She was a good mother, much beloved.


It looks like litter to me when I’m driving by at 60 mph. Tchotchkes, dried up wreaths and faded plastic flowers don’t honor anybody. Crosses, to me are instruments of torture, representative of cruelty and superstition.


I don’t visit graves. There’s nothing there for me other than history.
It looks like litter to me. But it also looks like love.





“Have you ever become obsessed with something? Tell us about something that captivates your attention like nothing else.”


I’m crazy about ravens. I don’t know if I’d say obsessed; maybe a bit more interested then your average Joe. I drop what I’m doing and come running whenever Husband says “Here comes your bird”. If there’s no corn muffin on the lawn I run to the kitchen to get one, then I run to the front door and fling it out on the lawn. I call out, “Raven” so he’ll learn my voice. Does that sound like obsession?

One of the ravens I bake for is named Greyray because the underside of his wings looks greyish. I wonder if that’s a sign of old age? I hadn’t seen him for a couple of days, but yesterday was snowy and cold so he came by several times for muffins. His wife, who hasn’t told me her name, will sometimes fly by and even land near a muffin, but not pick it up. Instead, she flies away to tell her husband that she’d like a muffin and he comes to get it. Sometimes they eat it in the field where I can see them. Sometimes they take it away to their nest or maybe they cache it for later.

I often see a red-tail hawk shoot into the scene and give chase. The hawk hopes the raven has found something meaty and is trying to get him to drop his find, but a hawk would be disappointed with a corn muffin. Anyway, Greyray always gets away with his treat.
I wonder if they have babies in the nest or eggs, ready to hatch. I wonder if they’ll teach their young where to get the best corn muffins. I hope so!


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