I love these girls. When they get this big and pregnant, they start running into me with their bellies, like they don't realize how far they stick out anymore.
This morning as I looked out of the window with my cup of coffee, I saw a couple of squirrels scampering along the top of the fence and scurrying alongside of it, their big fluffy tails flying behind them.
A couple of evenings ago, I went outside to go check on the sheep.
A couple of days ago the hubs and I returned from what has become an annual trip to Mexico and a very beloved place. The people and the children there have captured our hearts, and because of it, we have not been the same.
The other evening we had company for dinner. I had never made crème brûlée. I was super excited to try this recipe. I went to Walmart, and bought a few ramekins for about $2 each.
Meet Alison: a young and talented children’s author and illustrator.
Alison draws and paints beautiful pictures that inspire the imagination to dream.
I got to know Audrey a few short weekends ago when a cherished mutual friend of ours got married.
So the reason my husband cited for wanting sheep: “Because they will eat the weeds in the field that the horses won’t eat, and then I can eat them!” Seriously? Why does it always have to be about you eating something?!
May I first say before proceeding with the story, that expectations in a marriage are something which one is wise to be very careful of. (Yeah don’t ask how we learned this.) Suffice it to say that from previous experience, I thought it best to make myself very clear this time. Therefore, before we had even gotten that first chicken, I had already explained to the hubs that if he wanted to eat home grown meat, he would have to: 1) Not ever eat anything I vetoed eating. 2) If he wanted help slaughtering a chicken he would have to find it elsewhere, because I was not going to help him kill, gut, de-feather, etc. which leads to 3) If he wanted me to cook it he would have to bring it to me like it came from the grocery store.
Grandpa is 89 years old. A couple of months ago he had a nasty bout with a case of double pneumonia. He was hospitalized for several days, and required having fluid drained off his lungs. He had made it home on oxygen and was reading the “funny papers” when I called to thank him for a package of grapefruit he and Grandma had sent me. Delicious grapefruit I might add. One of my favorites. “That’s the last part of the paper I read,” he explained to me in regards to the comics. I smiled as I remembered that my brother and I used to rifle through the Sunday newspaper hunting those comics and then sprawl out on the floor on the carpet and take turns reading sections of them, occasionally bursting into laughter as we went.
Grandpa asked me what was new, so I told him that at that time we were expecting several little lambs soon. “We used to have sheep. That was a long time ago,” Grandpa replied. My ears perked up. I had no idea that my grandfather’s family used to keep sheep. So, I asked him to tell me about it. What follows is indeed not at all what I was expecting. I liken it to a cross between a really sad Hallmark movie and an old western, one rife with strife, guns, and the law of the west. (Well, mid-west in this case) It is truly an unbelievable tale as well as a piece of history. My own family history to be exact.
A while back I did a rare thing for a woman to do: I entered my "Nothing Box." Some men may be able to immediately relate and know exactly what I'm talking about. Since at least half of my readership will be women though, I shall explain. A "Nothing Box" as my husband calls it, is where you purposely choose not to think about anything. This is preferably accomplished, according to him, in a serene physical location like out on a river fishing. However, at its most basic, it is a mental state of, you guessed it, absolutely nothing.
I'm Debbie. I love listening to chickens cackle and sing. I love Lindt chocolate truffles, a good cup of coffee, and a good book.