Tuesday, 1 November 2011
The Chicken or The Egg?
My story begins on the100 acre wood. It's not the one where Winny lived but the one where Whinny lived (but that's another story). My dad bless his heart dabbled in farming. My mom planted and did up a lot of our fruits and vegetables. I have some fond memories. One of them is about the 100 fuzzy baby chicks that we would get faithfully every spring. They were a mass of peeping wonderfulness. Dad, devised some sort of incubator where they would spend there days growing. I was in my glory. Each day I would get up and visit with my little brood. I gave them names and picked them up ever so gently, rubbing them on my face. I pretended to be their mamma. Then one day, they would be gone. I hated this time. They were old enough and strong enough to be banished to the barn. In time there names were forgotten and replaced with "Fried Chicken, Sunday Dinner, poached , scrambled and boiled." It reminded me of just how great of nurturers we women are. From baby dolls, to chicks then to our own little flock. Some of us took our role very seriously. WE worried about vitamin D intake and bowel movements. We recognized hungry faces or hurting ones. If someone were to ask us their sizes or weight , we were at the ready with an answer. I was reminded of the tragedy of the empty nest quite a few years ago. At this time my two eldest left for University. I cried for 2 weeks in my little rocking chair. But I learned to let go, slowly. I didn't forget their names , nor were they banished to the barn, but it was time to say goodbye. So this weekend my 20 year old, (whose been out on his own for 2 years now) was in crises. We told him that he could come back and live with us. This to him was more terrifying than the crises he was in. He would have to share a room and put up with a barking dog and noises never imagined. My little boy no longer needs me. I wonder sometimes if he even likes me. He's told me that I was eccentric, ecumenical, and did not dress nearly good enough at being a hippy and that's only recently. He's really a great guy, and very smart, but I'm no longer important in his life. Time has a way of healing. Oh sure, I'm hurt, but I'm also glad that I raised an independent son. I still have 2 more at home that I can coddle and make deserts for. I can see myself cutting up my husbands meat and fussing over him when all the children have left the nest. Once many years ago my youngest told me that she was to old for me to be brushing her hair. I crumbled. That's when I got Muffy. I now sing to her "How much is that doggy in the window" every morning. I give her a spoonful of olive oil before she goes to bed at night. I can brush her and carry her to the windows showing her the many sites that only doggies could love. Hopefully there's a divine law of reciprocation set in place. One day this old grey mare may need a little bit of caring for. Well, I'm off to make myself a fried egg , all this talk of chickens has got me quite hungry.. Adieu , and have a great day..
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I cried and laughed....
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