Mother Nature Celebrates Diversity

Last week I worked in the yard in a t-shirt.  I mean, I had other clothes on too, but the point is I didn't need a jacket.  Yesterday we had gale force winds.  Last night it blizzarded sideways.  This morning I'm trudging through the snowy back yard on my way to put a sprinkler on the dry front lawn and rake up some dead leaves from the driveway.

Take a lesson from Mother Nature.  If she can celebrate summer, winter, and autumn in the spring, then you can learn to appreciate diversity as well.  Take Jeremy Renner for example.  He apparently identifies as a white heterosexual areligious male, but he still seems a semi-decent fellow.  Nondeviant low melanin middle aged carnivore lives matter too.

Rest In Peace

Gobblin the turkey was unlawfully apprehended by the dog late Friday evening.  Unbeknownst to me, he was forcefully escorted into the doghouse, where the pooches frequently hide their toys and snacks.  When the puppers were closed into the kennel at night, Gobblin was inadvertently closed in there with them, as he made no movement or sound to alert anyone to his presence.

Gobblin was discovered missing from his home Saturday morning when I fed his flatmates.  Seeing masses of feathers all over the ground, I hurried to the kennel expecting to find a large bird carcass, but what I found was the turkey, standing majestically in the back of the doghouse.

In a strikingly Daniel in the Lion's Den/Jeremy Renner as Aaron Cross fashion, Gobblin had survived the night in the lair of his would-be attackers.

I crawled inside the doghouse to scoop up his forty-some pounds and carry him back to his own home where, unlike Daniel from the Lion's Den or Jeremy Renner in The Bourne Legacy, Gobblin passed away early Monday morning from injuries sustained in the initial assault.

Gobblin's incessant competition to out-gobble every loud noise, magnificent tailfeather display, and imperial pose atop the aviary at roosting time every evening will be sorely missed.

A private burial and memorial service will be held this afternoon.  The family asks that in lieu of flowers, mourners offer up a prayer of...thanksgiving for his life.

I Took the Day Off

I was cold today, so aside from feeding the animals, washing the dishes, doing the laundry, baking a load of bread, and cooking dinner, all I did was huddle with a blanket to read.

John Flanagan's The Battle of Hackham Heath,  Cron and Stabile's The Road Back to You, Cloud and Townsend's How People Grow, and Dee Henderson's The Protector have been the order of the day.  I was so wrapped up in my blankets and books that I haven't even looked at Jeremy Renner's social media accounts.

Maybe tomorrow I'll work in the yard.  Maybe tomorrow I'll write my own book.  But today, I read.

Pixie's Pet Mildred the Spider Plant

The problem with Pixie naming her pet spider plant Mildred, is that her brother the Treasure has a pet cat who's also named Mildred, and Mildred the Pet Cat was born and named before Mildred the Pet Spider Plant; therefore if dibs are to be had on a name for a pet, Treasure has dibs.

Pixie doesn't care.

Mildred the Spider Plant lives on the books by the window, and is the only reason Pixie ever remembers to open her curtains so she doesn't live in a cave.  Mildred the Pet Spider Plant is a terrible conversationalist, but Pixie can hold up a monologue so it works out all right, and she never forgets to water Mildred on Wednesdays so it's okay that Mildred can't ask.

Mark Sinclair Vincent St. Agnes von Lichtenschtein (the cat and Pixie's self-appointed bodyguard who considers himself to be a small plush god) believes Mildred the Spider Plant to be a sacrifice unto the joys that is himself, and regularly makes his nibbles upon her leaves.  Pixie finds this as annoying as the fact that he insists on being her bodyguard.  She prefers the term "creepy stalker".

Mark Sinclair Vincent St. Agnes von Lichtenschtein doesn't care.

I was worried that my Treasure would be offended that Pixie stole his cat's name for her plant and I suggested he rename his cat Jeremy Renner, but he doesn't care.

Angel Boy keeps a purple passion plant, but it's more of a roommate than a pet.

Uncommon Sense

I must confess to an unusual way of navigating life.  I feel alone about it, so holler back if you do this too.

For legal matters, I refer to an attorney.  When my back is out of alignment, I see a chiropractor.  If my muscles are tight, I make an appointment with a massage practitioner.  In matters of women's reproductive health I schedule with an ob-gyn.  (A lady one!)

As for parenting matters I've always deferred to well-rounded child psychologists, particularly those known to have successfully raised children to competent adulthood.

I seek financial advice from my financial advisor.  I speak with a knowledgeable, genuine, honest pastor for spiritual help.  I listen to news from trustworthy and unbiased reporters, and straight from the horse's mouth when possible.

I get entertainment, but not political direction, from entertainers.  Jeremy Renner, for instance.  And I'm not interested in health instruction from politicians.

Is it just me?