tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12265318882376648382012-02-11T13:06:39.125-05:00Other People's ChickenOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.comBlogger981100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-11311842958933751502012-02-11T11:13:00.000-05:002012-02-11T11:13:10.252-05:00Birthday Girl
Just wanted to let you all know I'll be spending my birthday weekend like I normally do, you know...eating an ice cream cone sundae in a monogrammed polyester cheerleading outfit while my Uncle Ron offers witty asides about the horrible service.
Then I think I'll put on my Cosby Show sweater and glare at you if you try to take my picture, because, *obviously*, I'm still mad about that home Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-82242046547683091892012-01-09T21:22:00.000-05:002012-01-09T21:22:20.982-05:00IcebreakerSometimes I forget this website isn't a novel I'm writing wherein each chapter has to connect to the last; that there can be pregnant pauses, awkward silences, and sentences that don't get finished. I get hung up on all the time that's passed since I last wrote and feel crummy, and then some of you remind me which I appreciate in an ungrateful sort of way. I feel loved and smothered all at once,Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-90646413513694001842011-09-27T21:00:00.000-04:002011-09-27T21:00:13.914-04:00Smashing---Pumpkins!Guess what I've been doing besides not blogging? Picking my body weight in ornamental gourds, that's what. I bet I'm the only person you know who can say that with a straight face.
Yes, spring flower season is over....but the Mr. and I decided, in our infinite wisdom the spirit of adventure (and bank accounts), that we'd open our doors again in the fall for a little harvest halloween to-do.
Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-89882450486693755662011-09-08T12:16:00.000-04:002011-09-08T12:16:45.978-04:00Life with Bob
First, thank you all for your lovely comments welcoming me back to the Internet. You all are like the USO, only you don't have to wait around the airport waving miniature flags looking for me to show up in camo. I am glad to be back, and it feels good to know you haven't written me off, deadbeat blogger that I am.
I am working hard to guard the solitude, which here on day two is proving Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-38568331040918234462011-09-07T14:13:00.000-04:002011-09-07T14:13:04.356-04:00HelloMany years ago, I had a job in a hospital-sponsored Alzheimer's day-program providing care and facilitating activities for patients with varying levels of dementia. It was funny and sad and beautiful and there was more than enough humanity to go around, which was one reason I don't do that kind of work any more. Imagine someone clutching their forehead and, with one fist thrust heavenward, Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-79767358267533308182011-04-12T07:37:00.000-04:002011-04-12T07:37:09.617-04:00To-Do List: Tuesday, April 12th
Move all perennials to correct benches and set up galvanized sign thingys
Talk Winnie out of wearing queen outfit to school
Clean up potting bench i.e., get rid of all the childrens' sweatshirts, shoes and silly bands that have inexplicably communed there
Catch up on...oh, around 17 loads of laundry
Finish ginormous custom order for which I have run out of inspiration (7 HUGE shade Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-88298169091526638522011-03-31T15:57:00.000-04:002011-03-31T15:57:59.018-04:00March 31st
We've arrived at the season of the year where we get crazy swamped with the actual tasks involved in running a greenhouse-meaning, despite what it may look like from the outside, it's not all romping through fields of flowers over here. There's also a hefty amount of stuff we have to do every day that can't be neglected. Because we hope to be selling live plant material instead of dead, we have Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-17648568984802831232011-03-28T22:05:00.000-04:002011-03-28T22:05:42.499-04:00Headless ChickenWell, obviously, I've been a little busy. And I'm sorry. But in between watering 10,000 tomato plants and contemplating my first haircut in eleven months, I've managed to conjure up some imaginary blog posts that, given the right audience, could wind up being downright genius. Or at least remotely interesting, if you're into things like goats, mothers-in-law, people snoring, and leprechauns. So Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-40015790595198712292011-03-12T23:16:00.000-05:002011-03-12T23:16:25.135-05:00To Market
If you read my last blog entry, it will probably come as no surprise that when my mother called a few weeks ago and asked if I wanted to attend an event known as "Crazy Charlie's Meat Sale", that my response went a little bit like this: hell to the yes. My apologies to my Christian brothers and sisters, some words cannot be confined by an asterisk.
This is how the story goes: I was in bed, Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-77435966909642920372011-03-03T23:22:00.001-05:002011-03-04T07:54:10.945-05:00Good Will Hunting (The last time we were all clean at one time)A few weeks back, before the spring growing season got underway, a friend (best) of mine commented on how she envied my stay-at-home mom lifestyle. I think I'd been waxing poetic about one recent Salvation Army find or another, perhaps mention of a trip to Whole Foods snuck its way into the conversation, and before you know it, to the average workingOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-78694902608840980332011-02-23T14:44:00.000-05:002011-02-23T14:44:24.135-05:00In case you thought I was kidding
I told you I had some work to do. The good news is, the first wave of hanging baskets is planted and growing along nicely. It would help if we had some more sunshine--apparently, though, the universe is intent on continuing this little experiment called: How Pasty Can Y'all Get?, keeping all its golden glow for the beautiful people on the coasts. This is Middle America, and we here are resigned Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-56546164315074126662011-02-16T22:35:00.000-05:002011-02-16T22:35:23.267-05:00About a bird
I've decided to start twittering. Or is it tweeting? Using twitter? Whatever. Mostly it's because I want to work on being more succinctly witty, but really so I can round out my calendar, which between me and my husband includes directing a middle-school production of Willy Wonka and creating 900 hanging baskets next week. Spotty, right? Like, maybe it's time to re-up your candystriping contractOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-70000086286465592722011-02-09T11:44:00.000-05:002011-02-09T11:44:14.132-05:00Don't Misunderestimate* me....When I say there was a mess up in here.
'Cause I was more than serious. Why, I ask you, did I think the days of sinus infection/Snowpocalypse would be perfect for doing some light "organizing"? Yeah, there wasn't a whole lot of follow-through on that project, hence the Rubbermaid bins strewn hither and yon. I call fever-induced over-confidence.
Thankfully, yesterday, I was able to get things Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-35710800462563492842011-02-08T13:54:00.000-05:002011-02-08T13:54:09.862-05:00
Today a madman came to my door. I wasn't sure what he wanted and was hesitant to open it-I do so loathe solicitors, but what could he be peddling, I thought? Sunglasses designed to wear over one's hat? Spray-on beard snow? Was he only pretending to sell fancy track suits in order to get a glimpse of my Goodwill nightgown? Only a certifiably insane person would dare to commit such heinous acts Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-26893556111914961302011-02-03T16:39:00.000-05:002011-02-03T16:39:15.449-05:00It's like Buttah
I'll begin with this: I know that for many of you out there, when I say "Justin", you say "Timberlake", which makes perfect sense, given the teen dream-turned-leading-man's chops. He's funny, he can sing, and--let's face it, he's a dish. But pretend for a moment that 'N Sync never happened. Imagine, if you dare, that Sexy never got brought back-could there be room for another Justin in your lifeOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-79435886498538330572011-02-02T13:22:00.000-05:002011-02-02T13:22:38.991-05:00Guess what? Chicken Butt. Sorry, it's just that I am really bored. Stuck in the middle of the Snowpocalypse/Ice Infestation and with some sort of horrific illness to boot. The kind of sick where nothing sounds appealing except the delivery of a Craftmatic Adjustable bed with a side of trashy magazines, which I'd only barely read in a semi-conscious stupor. The gossip, the fashion don'ts, the Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-86294839624201926282011-01-27T10:41:00.000-05:002011-01-27T10:41:33.639-05:00
I took this photo out the window of the car as we drove through Amish country over the holidays. I was a little nervous when we stopped for the shot; I suppose it felt strange to infiltrate their simplicity armed with a laptop and smartphone. I'm glad I did, though. It is so beautiful out there, with the bank barns and twisty roads and clotheslines taller than roofs. Seriously-what is up with Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-73308038795346334492011-01-25T13:13:00.000-05:002011-01-25T13:13:14.941-05:002010 Holiday Wrap-Up: Christmas Photo Post
A pink tree for a pink lady.
The countdown chalkboard featuring a garland of all the ornaments the children have made, ever, plus thirty pounds of glitter on the floor underneath.Christmas Eve: I lit all the candles and glitteredmy whole house. Good thing I don't own a bedazzler.
I don't know what the big deal is with fake snow. I think it's a holiday must, but some people, who will remain Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-64555446882377294632011-01-22T06:30:00.004-05:002011-01-22T08:39:28.643-05:002010 Holiday Wrap-Up: A Tale of Two Advent Calendars
I promise on a big stack of chocolate candy this evidence has not been tampered with.It's obvious, of course, that these holiday calendars belong to two very different animals children.We got started a little late--four, maybe five days into the month? No big deal, we thought. In these situations, a catch-up strategy is employed until one becomes "current". Then, each square is opened on its Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-18704303065867998672011-01-21T16:24:00.000-05:002011-01-21T16:24:26.442-05:002010 Holiday Wrap-Up: The Royal TannenbaumIt's funny--when I tell the story of how our Christmas Tree came to be, I almost always forget to mention the part about how I was involved in a minor auto collision en route to the tree lot. I'm not trying to cover it up, there were just so many other things that went wrong post-accident that make what happened seem irrelevant. Either that, or the PTSD I encountered as a result of getting my Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-58529412470753993142011-01-19T13:11:00.000-05:002011-01-19T13:11:06.578-05:002010 Holiday Wrap-Up: Christmas Part I
And so it was Christmas. With the smell of smoked pork shoulder all but gone from our humble abode, I decided we were ripe for a tree-a tree with its own perfume to fill up the corners where the aura of charred meat still lingered, an excuse to hang sparkly things and whatever mismatched strands of lights we could get our hands on.
There's something poetic about trees, right? And Christmas, Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-8255481205098933902011-01-07T14:24:00.000-05:002011-01-07T14:24:15.623-05:00Thanksgiving, Part II I didn't even know this animal was there until someone caught it on camera. See?
Since my last post, my husband has expressed some concern over the fact that I characterized his people as "knowing how to eat". He said something along the lines of: It makes us seem like bunch of fat a's. Except he, of course, would only say "a's", not the unedited version of the word. That's the difference Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-61726885876758637922011-01-04T05:30:00.001-05:002011-01-04T05:30:00.428-05:002010 Holiday Wrap-Up Part II: Thanksgiving, Part I the autumnal mayhem I thought would be thanksgiving
Have you read the book The Relatives Came? It is one of my kids' favorites, I think because it reminds them of their own extended family, of the once-a-year visits where everyone piles in the car and ventures either this way or that, of the hugging and feasting that ensues once the travelers arrive, but mostly...the sleeping. The way the Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-9061767713151523272011-01-03T12:32:00.000-05:002011-01-03T12:32:07.989-05:002010 Holiday Wrap-Up
In the interest of being thorough, and to prove just how much I've missed you, dear readers, during this Winter Blogging Sabbatical (I made that up myself) I'm going to start my 2010 Holiday Wrap-up with....drumroll, please: Halloween! Doesn't Winnie look super-cute in her Temple Grandin Jessie-From Toy-Story costume? I've said it before, but it bears repeating: give a girl a glue gun, and watchOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-40231873141496645522010-11-29T00:40:00.000-05:002010-11-29T00:40:55.888-05:00I couldn't afford a photoThe past several months have found us right smack in the middle of a downturn-and by us, I mean us, not US. I mean me. This is not a post about the economy at large, just the financial climate inside these walls, which, by the way, I've finally painted and am learning to live with. Still, things are pretty chilly; but it's nothing totally new. I've had practice. We have learned to live fairly Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-12945254008368072412010-10-26T23:24:00.000-04:002010-10-26T23:24:51.586-04:00Today my husband returned from a trip to the Garden State, returning with (in addition to his handsome mug ) some much-needed supplies we'd been after for a while. I'm not out to make you jealous or anything, but consider our hatches totally battened down in the wool socks, full-body Carhartts, and trail mix department.
I felt like Ma Ingalls, watching him unpack his wares from the wagon Nissan Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-42581749431062303542010-10-25T22:09:00.000-04:002010-10-25T22:09:36.774-04:00Pretty and Witty and Bright!The other day I had a little yard sale, and while the lovely couple not pictured in these photos debated whether to buy two antique nightstands and a coffee table for the low, low price of $75, I stole some great shots of my girl.
It was her second change of clothes that day-only my child spills pizza sauce on her white blouse on School Picture Day and requires a substitute outfit. Is it weird Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-68240998979402616652010-10-24T17:19:00.000-04:002010-10-24T17:19:26.037-04:00 If my house were my boyfriend, I would so be breaking up with it right now. DISCLAIMER: I am ever grateful for this house and I love it, it's just that...we've reached an impasse in the decorating department. I am riddled with creative urgings and salivate Pavlov-style at the mere sniff of a hot-off-the-presses home decor magazine, it's just that...I should have taken home economics. My Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-13118666555377601532010-10-13T23:58:00.000-04:002010-10-13T23:58:22.706-04:00
Well, I did I have some really big plans tonight to finish off a post I'd been letting marinate in the "drafts" section of this website for the last week or three, but by the time I got home and took emotional stock, I decided to just peel the frosting off some Zingers and call it a day. The children had their weekly Recreation/Sunday school time at church, an event during which I teach one Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-87374829422870293752010-09-04T09:54:00.001-04:002010-09-06T13:40:18.096-04:00
Yesterday I entertained the tax man. We'd had this thing going on, a misunderstanding. A clerical error, really. One of those situations that resulted from me entering some seemingly insignificant, yet erroneous, information on an online form which, according to the IRS is a stone tablet, so we're all going to hell. You get that this has happened before. It was basically a typo gone horribly Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-51642549927377844332010-09-02T00:13:00.000-04:002010-09-02T00:13:27.869-04:00FarmvilleA couple of months ago, before the big move (westward, ho! except it was north), I went through a little phase I like to call Wasting Time Playing Simulation Games on My iPhone. Yes, I know I could have done some more things with that name creatively, but in my new life, I'm not creative. I'm stodgy, to-the-point, and I wear sensible shoes. Anyway, as I was saying, for many weeks, this spring, Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-21587322728673397472010-08-04T11:52:00.001-04:002010-08-06T16:22:19.783-04:00Where was I....
I mean, I really shouldn’t have a blog. My life is just too full of sudden, Anne Frank-like relocations for me to be keeping a cyber diary. I mean, a CYBER-diary! I don’t even have TV anymore, let alone anything as fancy as a dependable computer. I'm obviously estranged from my internet service provider. And have I mentioned the mouse poop?
So, we've moved again. Again. I think the last timeOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-90495279220199173262010-07-12T23:24:00.000-04:002010-07-12T23:24:30.369-04:00Last night I was laying (lying?) in bed counting how many times we've moved in the last 10 years, and when I got to seven, remembered how I swore that time would be our last, except here we are at number nine, surrounded by boxes.
It really snuck up on me. There I was, just a few short weeks ago, lamenting my fate--pondering the probability that our current (rental) house would be owner-occupiedOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-45806235793456052552010-07-06T23:18:00.000-04:002010-07-06T23:18:25.513-04:00And then what happened: Knitting EditionOkay, so as I was saying yesterday, after about two hours with my yarn sensei Kyle, I was nearly knitting, albeit aerobically and, I'll add, with a certain sense of slapdash. It's not that my stitches were reckless, they just had a....largesse. They were generous, and loopy. They were benevolent, though at times, entrapment seemed more than a remote possibility. As long as I stayed knuckled-downOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-73847141465363514122010-07-06T00:49:00.000-04:002010-07-06T00:49:54.468-04:00Knitting, Part One
I guess you could say I'm a crafty person, though I have no formal training in the way of macrame owls, seashell tissue-box covers, or the always-popular Trio of Wisemen fashioned entirely from pantyhose, which my mother owns and proudly displays atop the piano each Christmas. I like duct tape, though, and glueguns, and I think I'm pretty good at, say, gift-wrapping a birthday present with Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-86071454498727408592010-07-01T21:31:00.000-04:002010-07-01T21:31:53.906-04:00A kind-of wedding post
I was going to try for a post-a-palooza in chronological order-like, where I've been and what I've been up to these last several days, but a couple things got in my way. First, my memories are completely disheveled, but even more of an issue is the fact that the kickoff post was going to be one in which I revealed to you just how much I love Kenny Loggins, how the song Footloose is like, Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-19756735735035069402010-06-29T15:11:00.000-04:002010-06-29T15:11:04.942-04:00Reentry
So I made it back to Atlanta with lots of stories to tell and REALLy dirty feet. And I as much as I'd love to post a picture as evidence, I really can't, because then I'd have to kill you, and I'm just so not in the mood for a prison relationship right now. My life is complicated enough without having to pretend I'm someone's girlfriend just so they don't strangle me with their dental floss. Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-87081458716155404892010-06-11T23:52:00.000-04:002010-06-11T23:52:10.051-04:00Status Update
Hi. Since someone called today to ask if I was still alive, I thought it'd be a good idea to post something informative. As in, sorry to leave you hanging folks, but I've been at the greenhouse this week helping out, pushing plants on unsuspecting strangers, etc. Thus, my blogging skills and hygiene have taken a dire turn, as evidenced in the photo above-- but I've been getting lots of work doneOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-30730191653273497442010-06-03T15:10:00.000-04:002010-06-03T15:10:21.999-04:00Where Is Everybody?
A couple of weeks ago I was looking through some old photos in order to rustle up some inspiration for a "Happy Birthday" post I'd planned on writing for my dear father, not that I need inspiration, really, but I figured browsing through snapshots of my childhood might help me recall a particular moment, something from which to launch my essay. Of course, the search that might have taken a Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-35670629461232134032010-05-29T21:23:00.000-04:002010-05-29T21:23:45.868-04:00Makin' CopiesI guess this week got away from me, huh? The only way I know to put it is: the final few days of school before summer are jam-packed: showy celebrations wherein the joy and recollection of the year's accomplishments are whipped into a frenzy, and when it's all over you feel, somehow, that it didn't last long enough. Yet, oddly, you're exhausted and can't really figure out why.
I am, invariably, Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-8371696623641596842010-05-25T10:51:00.000-04:002010-05-25T10:51:27.890-04:00If the spirit moves you:
My Saturday evening can be best described by the following exchange Joshua and I shared on the way home from the night's festivities.
Me: That woman you were dancing with who was really a man seemed kinda possessive. I mean, when I tried to cut in, he/she gave me a NASTY glare.
Him: Yeah. I don't think she was there for just, you know, "fun". She, I mean, he, was in it for the long haul, Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-17173286327054661442010-05-21T10:31:00.004-04:002010-05-21T11:09:21.337-04:00Joy and Daisies
Wednesday was a slow-cooker kind of day. Meaning, I put all my ingredients in the pot: coffee, shower, to-do list, desire, and deadline--but it took about four hours for things to heat up in there, so much so that it was about 1:00 pm before I really got anything done. It didn't feel good to fritter that many child-free hours away on so little, but I was feeling a teeny bit blue, and when thisOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-36088919154265687782010-05-18T14:43:00.002-04:002010-05-18T14:45:43.579-04:00I couldn't resist...The Swagger Wagon
Okay, so maybe it's lame to jump on the swagger band-wagon, but I love this video. Probably because I'm the proud owner of a Toyota Sienna...but let's just keep it real: everybody knows I have a thing for wannabe gangstas. I mean, just look at my husband. What?! I thought trucker caps were dope...Actually, we took these photos in the hat section of a general store last summer. And he happily Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-28296933694471352252010-05-17T15:09:00.000-04:002010-05-17T15:09:06.713-04:00Dialing it BackOn the way home from the grocery store today, my four-year-old piped up with a question from the backseat.
"Hey, Mama, have you ever played spin the bottle?"
Then what happened was: my eyes popped out of their sockets and an old-fashioned Ahooga horn materialized above my head and, well...ahooga-ed.
I mean, COME ON! I knew I shouldn't have canceled our subscription to Noggin. And for the Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-43293983806273936952010-05-16T20:46:00.001-04:002010-05-26T08:41:01.752-04:00Smitten
Gardenias are the kind of flower that can make a person think: well, maybe God really does love me after all! I didn't grow up with this variety of shrub, as Ohio winters are generally too jarring for the gardenia's delicate, southern constitution--and I really don't even think I smelled a gardenia, fresh, until a few years ago. It was the night we moved into the split-level we'd decided to Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-52562948102893092512010-05-16T00:19:00.001-04:002010-05-16T00:20:21.019-04:00To Whom It May Concern:
There are times when I wish my blog wasn't so personal; or at least that it didn't reveal so much about me, personally. I recently found, for the first time, the website of a close friend who has managed the writing and upkeep of a blog wherein the details of his life are kept very ambiguous, where names are changed, exact locations omitted--but the truth, the story, is told. With no Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-21725729900980566012010-05-14T14:38:00.000-04:002010-05-14T14:38:29.674-04:00Under The Wire
Well, I didn't get the memo about yesterday being "Hat Day" at Winnie's preschool, so I guess it was just a stroke of luck that she chose to make the much-adored, beaded, gold Cleopatra headdress part of her Thursday enemble- along with leg warmers, Sleeping Beauty Slippers, and the kind of hand-smocked sundress most little southern girls wear with spotless white tennis shoes and a coordinating Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-86397616940793356342010-05-12T21:06:00.000-04:002010-05-12T21:06:46.799-04:00Busy-ness
Hello, again. I am going to try for a quick update even though I'm so supremely caffeinated I can barely type. I don't know what it is, but even though I like to brag sometimes about being immune to the effects of coffee, there are days it really does a number on me. I guess it could have been the Dexadrine omelet I had this morning. Kidding! There I go, making inappropriate jokes again. I hope Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-27665395499142121502010-05-05T23:59:00.000-04:002010-05-05T23:59:03.840-04:00Well, if I had known you were coming over, I'd have baked a bundt cake.
That seemed like the right thing to say.
Yes, I knew there was a chance my story would get posted on Design Mom, I mean, after all-I submitted it myself. But- I thought there might be some sort of advance notice, or official invitation/letter of acceptance. Like maybe a little bird would show up on my windowsill with a teeny-tiny letter rolled up like a scroll in its beak. Or, you know, an Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-76197742988032731302010-05-04T13:30:00.001-04:002010-05-04T13:32:34.993-04:00Immediate Action Req'dApparently, my child does not know her letters and numbers yet. Which is not that big of a deal, of course, except that she's like, the ONLY one behind.
When we found out, last week, that there might be a problem, I didn't react defensively. I mean, the logical explanation for her lack of academic progress can be found in these photos:
We've spent an entire year playing waitress, which works Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-62065621198049268152010-05-03T14:41:00.001-04:002010-05-03T20:32:19.584-04:00This Is a Post About Happiness
I know I said a while back I'd spend more time writing about unicorns, but this collection of happy moments-though extremely random--will have to do. Before you think I've gotten off scott-free, however, I'll relay a little tale of what I thought was going to go down this week; i.e. more tears/bloodshed/overeating:
It was mostly things taking place in/pertaining to my car, starting with Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-22985653988448321412010-04-26T16:28:00.000-04:002010-04-26T16:28:48.018-04:00Militant Diapers for Social ChangeIt was a rainy Saturday morning: we all piled in the car to head for our school's annual Fun Run, a campus-wide effort consisting of hundreds of children, and some adults, running en mass for a good cause. This year's money goes right to The Leogane Relief Fund, which was formed to aid in rebuilding our sister schools in Haiti: St. Jean Baptist, St. Mathieu, and St. Margeurite. As we got close toOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-73032321752621767772010-04-25T21:04:00.000-04:002010-04-25T21:04:27.237-04:004/25
So it turns out, I don't handle persecution well. I know, right? Who knew? And by the way, I'm with y'all: enough with the negative posts, already. I promise, cross my heart: this is it. No more will I regale you with stories of uncertainty, heartbreak, or plagues; from now on it's nothing but cotton candy, blonde-haired babies, and rainbow-wielding unicorns!
But first-just this one more Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-59242480429420515802010-04-19T15:53:00.000-04:002010-04-19T15:53:43.758-04:00The Bright Side
Several days ago, we stopped at a drugstore and saw this sign outside, and with all that's going on in our lives, decided it would be a great way to commemorate this one thought:
It Could Be Worse.
So. We've been in limbo, and we've had better days, me and that dashing hunk of 100% man I like to call husband; the two of us just trying to anticipate the next round of natural and relational Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-35149834640479299832010-04-13T08:16:00.001-04:002010-04-13T14:06:30.853-04:00
About a year ago, my husband and I decided to spice up our fairly-uncomplicated lives a bit by buying some land in another state: seven acres, along with a house I'd call a fixer-upper, several greenhouses, a pond, Ford Tractor, and a fully functioning flower business. I know, right? That's not spice-that's Adam Richman chowing down a Four Horseman burger and getting his name on the wall to Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-35722230573837545112010-04-07T12:57:00.000-04:002010-04-07T12:57:57.994-04:00My People
I know you want to hear from me--all eighteen of my followers, who, one would think, by the way my dear husband is carrying on, are holding court on the front lawn like I'm freakin' Eva Perón. Yes, I've fallen behind once again, but this website is important to me-and you, my people, are also, and I count your praise, devotion, and readership among my fairest blessings. Take heart, however--for Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-11357056989893228372010-02-09T21:58:00.001-05:002010-02-10T12:10:13.112-05:00Love and Recycling
I attended my son's contraption fair this morning-first graders displaying proudly what they'd made from stuff bound for the trash pile, junk drawer, or recycling bin...inventions so clever and sweet, they got me thinking: is there anything more satisfying than duct tape? From a homework machine and makeshift movie theater with hand-drawn projections, to my personal favorite-- the pregnant Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-17750197313892087802010-02-05T21:23:00.000-05:002010-02-05T21:23:08.640-05:00Meow.Last Friday, my whirlwind week (the bangs!) culminated in the semi-annual art sale and fashion show benefiting my children's school. I love this event--held in the grand ballroom of the Atlanta Biltmore Hotel, it has the potential to be just another ladies-who-lunch situation, but the clever women who put it on make sure there's something for everyone: fresh spring fashions with the right amountOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-83658094388419541272010-02-03T10:17:00.000-05:002010-02-03T10:17:19.689-05:00All its treasuresA wild concept: Fifty or so pieces of unsigned art hanging in a separate gallery. Select the piece you like, and who knows? It might be the work of a middle-school student, an emerging painter from the community, or a nationally recognized artist or performer. Each one just five by seven inches, all priced the same. What matters is, you buy what moves you. Art for art's sake. Then, later, if you Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-49486990672249930512010-01-29T15:51:00.000-05:002010-01-29T15:51:40.399-05:00B to the A to the NGS
Today my little boy had a meltdown because we couldn't get a goldfish on the way home from school.The Post Office lost my package, and now I owe a woman in Brazil $231.00I'm about to be homelessand I just ate an almost-full bag of Sour Cream and Cheddar flavored Baked Ruffles, by myself.BUT:ever since my appearance on Extreme Makeover: Bangs Edition,I find that none of those things really Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-70864317706376138372010-01-27T14:23:00.000-05:002010-01-27T14:23:08.618-05:00To You, To You, To You, Olé!
Happy Birthday, sweet sister o' mine. Digging through old photos of us this morning....there were too many from which to choose. The both of us in fur and oxfords posing by the tree in the front yard; feeding pelicans on spring break in terry-cloth shortalls; and sitting in a covered wagon with our swimsuits on, fresh from the pool and hair plastered to our foreheads. I'd like to point out thatOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-77795294974826266352010-01-26T08:29:00.001-05:002010-01-27T09:59:33.979-05:00Don't you wish it were this simple?
Also of note, on the flip-side of this page are some words about "goals", which include, adorably:
"Work on my fencing", along with a drawing of a stick figure waving a sword in the direction of what appears to be his younger stick-sister.
If you don't think mailing an angel-food is your thing, here are some other ideas:
International Medical Corps.
American Jewish World Service
International Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-75616809286799783022010-01-25T10:08:00.001-05:002010-01-25T10:09:35.301-05:00Oh, shoot-my BLOG!
Isn't it strange how the new year discombobulates everything-how somewhere in the transition from gift-wrapping to going back to school, you lose your owner's manual? Important line items from the family calendar go unnoticed, apps disappear from your i-phone, you discontinue your flossing membership, and then...one night in late January, you wake up in a cold sweat, remembering...YOUR BLOG! IsOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-74718502161488165642010-01-23T18:50:00.002-05:002010-01-23T18:56:13.726-05:00Christmas Recap: the Finale
I think I may have mentioned that our holidays were indeed delightful-and it's been a few weeks since I looked at these shots-but I ask you-
did your Christmas morning include a Cleopatra headdress? If not, you'll have to try for better behavior next year. Santa's already started his list, you know.
On the giving front, my favorite present was this blogosphere-themed gift for my sister-one Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-2013794065131398822010-01-06T23:29:00.000-05:002010-01-06T23:29:14.644-05:00Just like the ones I used to know
There was a foretaste, as we drove up I-75 through the mountains of Tennessee, branches so laden with snow and ice and beauty that I had to wake up my snoozing husband to show him the Narnia all around us. Jubilation-if even for a dozen miles. Who would have known I'd be treated, days later, to more of what makes Christmas merry and bright? For years I've watched as the skies saved the best Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-60156428972982207552009-12-24T09:46:00.001-05:002009-12-24T09:48:23.173-05:00Jewish-ish
So it turns out the children think we're Jewish. Which isn't a problem, I guess, except that...we're not. I've been heading up the Hanukkah party at their school for a few years now, and somewhere between my standing latke order and leftover dreidels, they've claimed the holiday as their own. A few weeks ago in music class, Winnie raised her hand when the teacher asked if any of the Early Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-885327873159489042009-12-07T14:28:00.000-05:002009-12-07T14:28:48.091-05:00weekend walkOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-10587272420777711362009-12-01T15:20:00.001-05:002009-12-01T17:34:03.862-05:00Knock, knock.
There are coyotes in the yard. As if I didn't have enough to be afraid of: lice, brain-eating amoebas, strangers, swine flu, and now: wolves. Let's just call them what they are. Lying in bed last night, listening to their yips and howls, I felt suddenly exposed; wide-open and weak-that the only thing to keep the Wile E.'s from getting the children, should they try, would be my mother-love and a Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-32551484049574947402009-11-13T17:47:00.000-05:002009-11-13T17:47:06.087-05:00A Combo Platter
Last night, because he is awesome, my husband presented me with the hottest ticket in town: a seat for the local production of Grease, which has been sold-out for a while and is, incidentally, the first show of its kind in the last seven years that he has not directed. Which meant he was able to stay at home and assist with homework, complete the childrens' bedtime rituals, then spend the Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-34983893954488060972009-11-12T14:41:00.002-05:002010-02-04T19:52:17.914-05:00Oh, the controversy
A few weeks ago, as we made our way out of the school parking lot, my seven-year-old released a sigh beyond his years and chucked the enormous backpack he carries on the floor of the mini-van. That's right, I said mini-van. When I asked him what was the matter, he said he'd been called "stupid" by a classmate, a little girl who, in my estimation, has already assigned herself the role of Group Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-88294323896061245722009-11-02T08:41:00.000-05:002009-11-02T08:41:44.120-05:00Halloween Recap/Someone Please Take the Candy
I've been dipping into the goody stash, I admit. Not leftover candy we'd bought for door-to-door beggars, but the children's loot from last night. Our household was closed for business during the trick-or-treat hour, because for us, Halloween is a family affair. We head out in the dark together with one goal in mind: get as much candy as we can in the shortest amount of time that physical Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-3919503180727082082009-10-12T11:49:00.001-04:002009-10-12T11:50:21.971-04:00Keeping up with the JonesesAfternoon phone call:
Me: Is it wrong that while I lounge in bed with my shoes on, eating pistachio gelato and reading a novel, our children are next door in the care of someone else's nanny?
Him: There are several things wrong in that sentence.
Me: I mean, is it neglectful?
Him: Only if something bad happens to them over there.
Me: Like, say, they get crushed in a toy avalanche?
Him: That Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-56670610465609379582009-10-08T13:12:00.001-04:002009-10-09T07:58:40.336-04:00Lesson Learned
Well. Just when you think it's safe to send the kids to Sunday school, you-know-who shows up in a skirt. Yes, I know women (and some men) all over the world commit this act of bravery on an every-day basis, and I don't want to take anything away from those individuals. Go ahead and revel in all your long-legged glory! My issues are not with the garment itself, but the person zipped-up in fabricOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-51045014847072128882009-10-03T23:43:00.003-04:002009-10-09T07:58:16.436-04:00Song in my mouth
A while back, a woman I know approached me and said, "I bet life with your daughter is like living with a drunk person." Winnie was two at the time, and the four of us were attending a school-sanctioned movie night, an event that went well past her bedtime and involved such decadence as: THE PLAYGROUND! CHICK-FIL-A! FULL-STRENGTH LEMONADE! Because it was late, and on a Friday night, I didn't Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-9094750709647939172009-09-24T09:04:00.000-04:002009-09-24T09:04:18.944-04:00Taxonomists we're notTwenty Questions overheard in the back seat:
Lauren: Is it alive?
Winnie: Yes!
Lauren: Does it have wheels?
(I turn around to say-"things that are alive don't have wheels". I am, as usual, ignored.)
Winnie: Yes!
Lauren: Is it....something that grown-ups use?
Winnie: (exasperated) Laur-RUN!
Lauren: Okay, is it made of metal?
Winnie: I SAID it was something alive with WHEEEEEELS!
Lauren: WAIT! Is Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-10001393417975654042009-09-22T21:31:00.002-04:002009-09-23T12:28:29.115-04:00Later That Same Day
For part one of this mini-series, click here.
We pulled into the hospital's valet entrance, baby still planted firmly in utero. Our ride was uneventful, and quiet, except for the moment my sister casually mentioned the donuts she'd thrown in the garbage before leaving the house. My brother-in-law and I locked eyes in the rear-view mirror, exchanging silent disbelief as she recounted her Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-11179633537644453792009-09-19T11:29:00.000-04:002009-09-19T11:29:50.161-04:00*August Sixth
Today* my sister had a baby. A real, live, honest-to-goodness baby with perfection in every square inch of him, and I was there. At four am this morning, when the telephone rang, I woke with the words on my heart: I am going to be an aunt today, and please God let me deliver the baby. I think I actually said, out loud, I'm ready, as if instead of my parents' old four-poster, I'd been dozing in Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-69845787819674482392009-09-19T11:11:00.002-04:002009-09-19T11:16:00.851-04:00From the EditorIt's been nearly two months since I've written, and since I've done a lot of living in that space of time, I've decided to take the Billy Madison approach to blogging-which may involve retroactive posting combined with current musings and a sense from the outside that my blog is on hallucinogenic mushrooms. If you see a white rabbit, you know you're in the right place. Stay tuned. xoxoOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-35061234073659915962009-07-27T11:04:00.000-04:002009-07-27T11:06:55.351-04:00If you've run out of optionsOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-7657524377147908382009-07-26T17:34:00.001-04:002009-09-19T11:32:08.045-04:00Le BingeToday was a three-pastry day, not that anyone's counting. I should have seen the storm clouds looming, the forecasted wind and golf-ball-sized hail threatening the microclimate of my head-but I was too busy being sunny and 75. Yesterday. I'd scheduled a few salon services for the afternoon, namely to fix the feet I could no longer stand being attached to my body, but also to repair the sudden Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-37578968635573477602009-07-23T22:04:00.002-04:002009-07-23T22:10:55.720-04:00Conversation with my six-year-oldHim: Um, Mommy...do you think you should do something about your feet?Me: What do you mean?Him: Well, they look all dirty and stuff. You should go to that place and have the people fix them.Me: How will they do that?Him: They probably won't have to cut them off, but maybe. Or else just put them in a big bowl of water that smells good.Me: Like in the Bible?Him: Pretty much. Except don't forget Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-54306952904223848992009-07-22T19:27:00.002-04:002009-07-22T19:33:41.064-04:00Just one more way the Midwest has your backOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-13223650410407641372009-07-20T22:22:00.006-04:002009-09-19T11:32:42.337-04:00No, it's Iowa.And now we enter the portion of summer I like to call: Corn Fest 2000. And, yes, dear readers, I know we're midway through two-thousand and nine-but in Corn Fest-ese, "2000" signifies not the year of Fest, but of the said fest's awesomeness and power, as in, this Fest and the corn we're feting is two thousand times better than anyone else's corn on the block, county, perhaps the entire tristate Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-4735747875180730022009-07-10T15:51:00.005-04:002009-07-10T17:27:57.711-04:00I'm ALIVE!In the event I haven't lost my entire readership, I suppose I'll resume posting, for now, unless I get another bee in my bonnet and decide to purchase a business about which I know alarmingly little, move my family across (kind of) the country and in with my parents, and adopt a lifestyle similar to that of the Amish, but with more jewelry. Nutshell: VERY spotty internet, minimal options in the Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-21233149354816389922009-06-09T22:45:00.003-04:002009-06-09T23:50:59.076-04:00Scratching the surfaceI promise that if I had a keyboard surgically implanted in my thigh I would post more often-pausing whenever the whim struck to chronicle the goings-on of our new life, which pile up like loose-leaf paper and blow away every time I turn around to get started on another to-do...all these bits of delicious detail I find amusing and want to share but can't because right now I am in Greenhouse Grand Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-70616156588226492802009-05-31T19:09:00.001-04:002009-05-31T19:12:08.900-04:00Atlanta-Eight Years in PicturesOther People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-28953067350819566372009-05-24T18:52:00.004-04:002009-05-24T21:54:50.202-04:00Lover vs. FighterWinnie was visiting Lauren's school at recess-time, which, as you can imagine, is an every-man-for-himself free-for-all of tricycles, woodchips, and tag; kind of treacherous for a little girl who hasn't had much time to develop the cunning social dis so often utilized in playground politics-and by the way, those six-year-old ladies can freeze you out if they want to...one misinterpreted hairflip Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-52593721071568375372009-05-22T14:36:00.004-04:002009-05-22T15:36:22.381-04:00A few weeks back, the school sent out an all-call to the parents of kids with summer birthdays-reminding us if we wanted to celebrate our child's special day before classes let out for the year, we could bring in a snack before recess and observe their "unbirthday"-a VERY important occasion in a six-year-old's life. I'm usually pretty low-key about this sort of thing, believing that the main Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-54388161589451053552009-05-20T22:13:00.007-04:002009-05-21T15:49:20.527-04:00Love, Loss, and What We AteI arrived back in Atlanta a few days ago, just in time for a round of parties that have left us all strung out on love and refined sugar, my two drugs of choice. The decadence of the last 72 hours has been almost embarrassing, as we begin the long goodbye to a city we grew to love and the people who made it home for us. Sunday night was a big dinner with lots of friends, delicious grilled salmon,Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-75444542954122491112009-05-20T08:07:00.003-04:002009-05-20T08:52:36.904-04:00Like a Garth Brooks SongI am such the absentee blogger, I know, but I HAVE been working my arse off, literally and figuratively, with nary a moment to stop for meals, let alone some frivolous blog post. It’s make hay while the sun shines around here-weeding, watering, stocking, container designing-yesterday I finished the last custom planter from an order of thirteen, all ginormous, mostly Italian terra cotta and Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-55122478727070594522009-05-05T22:01:00.004-04:002009-05-07T22:25:15.353-04:00Another long day requiring a deep-clean steamy shower complete with Crabtree and Evelyn Gardener's Hand Treatment and yes I used it on my feet, along with a pumice stone, loofah, salt scrub and plenty of hot water to boot. So, squeaky clean and cozied up with my PowerBook, I offer you this delightful piece of Americana:Yeah, I know, for some of you this is just another day at the office. It Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-59595449249051379232009-05-04T23:08:00.000-04:002009-05-04T23:10:16.250-04:00Written LAST Monday but who's counting?My mother is hosting her bridge club tonight. The folding chairs are in place; the tables set with scorepads, sharpened pencils, and the playing cards used just for these evenings--secret decks forbidden for use in the card-house building and gin rummy marathons my sister and I were hooked on. Her prettiest bridge tallies adorn the sideboard-vintage, homemade, too special to ever use. I still Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-76191629950743743982009-05-03T08:51:00.005-04:002009-05-03T20:33:49.289-04:00Served with a smileYesterday marked my one-week anniversary of full-on country greenhouse ownership. I thought there might be a wittier way to say that, but apparently not--growing is labor-intensive, but at its root (ha!), a pretty simple endeavor. I mean, most of us know how to carry a plant along from infancy to flashy teenagerhood, past the awkward in-between stage and into the beauty of blossoming, when the Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-39293531580341396432009-04-26T20:04:00.004-04:002009-04-26T21:59:15.780-04:00Going OnceI rolled into town on Friday, after a long day in the car with my little girl and our friend, Mr. Pepperidge Farm. Gotta love the goldfish. My philosophy on traveling with children is: I don't have one. I'm sort of an anything-goes mama if the trip is longer than three hours. Bring on the salty snacks and bags o'Skittles, litter the van with spent juice boxes, I don't care. I will endorse Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-32074113755528123692009-04-22T12:39:00.000-04:002009-04-22T12:46:31.338-04:00What do you do on Earth Day?Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-44347197532981683362009-04-20T20:32:00.000-04:002009-04-20T20:43:53.213-04:00See?A favorite author of mine once described her morning coffee ritual as the only way she could level the playing field between herself and her mind, going on to say that while she’d been asleep for eight hours or so, her mind had been pounding Americanos and, apparently, was ready to talk.I don’t know what it is about this move that’s got me so scattered. Maybe it’s the act itself-the packing, Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-3299888531026807952009-04-19T08:05:00.000-04:002009-04-19T09:40:39.754-04:00Dear Internal Revenue Service:I haven't sent my check yet. I know, I know-penalties, perp walks, debtor's prison, baloney sandwiches. My future is bleak. But listen-I filed weeks ago, online, floating pages of gibberish across the cyberwaves into your loving e-hands. You were kind enough to accept my meticulously-prepared return (thanks be to Turbo Tax Deluxe), and for that I extend my sincere gratitude. Problem is, Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1226531888237664838.post-1198489317193588632009-04-08T09:20:00.000-04:002009-04-08T09:26:13.556-04:00 I'm taking great pains to word this carefully, in the hope it doesn't sound like a resignation letter--but I keep coming back to "After much deliberation, I regret to inform you..." which, now that I think of it, reminds me of a certain bit of correspondence I got in fifth grade from Stone Soup regretting to inform me that the poem I wrote about my grandmother's attic was NOT going to be Other People's Chickenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16793840754710349237noreply@blogger.com1