Priorities

“ Aaaaaaaaaand, and, and, and, and, Mama, actually, actually, um, um, um, and, aaaaaaand . . . . I would like a Batman car, and a Batman castle, and a Batman plane and . . . “ His list is long. It’s so long. Little Camble, who is so big now, is standing in front of the sliding glass door trying to communicate to all of us how important it is for him to have these things in his possession. It’s dinner time, but he can’t be bothered to concentrate on his plate and has pushed himself away from the table and is pacing in front of the sliding glass door, gesturing with his arms extended and hands held low, palm side out and splayed wide, to try to create the effect he needs. He’s so worked up that it’s triggered his stammering and so my heart is melting, which his interpretations have confused for an opportunity that means maybe I might melt and cave into the whole “these things are going to make me happy” notion. “Please, please, please, please, please?“, he presses. I have to admit, I’m tempted.

Ben leans over to start to whisper in my ear, which kind of catches me off guard, because I was sinking into the moment. I’m a little startled when he is close to my ear. I feel his breath and it sends a little shiver down my back but I try to be still, and listen. “How are we going to try to explain priorities to the kid?”

I take a deep breath and slide down off of my bar stool and put myself in front of Camble, on my knees. I wait until he’s to a stopping point and then interrupt when I realize the procession is going to start all over again. “Honey, . . . “ I reach for his hands and he stops and looks down at my hands that are reaching for his. I see recognition for the situation in his eyes. As I am opening my hands and holding them under his, he gives me permission by placing his hands in mine. He looks at me and smiles, which is a trust we have established and it means that he is willing to cooperate and listen for all of about 4 seconds. I can see his eyes have already gone clear and glassy. He knows I’m going to try to impress something important on him and he starts to squirm and drop his head down over to meet his right shoulder. I don’t want to break his confidence, but I realize I’ve already been carried away in the moment. He doesn’t know what I’m about to say to him, but I do. I know it. It’s been inside of me all along and I wouldn’t listen to it until know. It’s the truth. It is my truth. This is the opportunity it was waiting for. It’s been weighing on my mind and heart lately. Heavy. I just haven't taken the time to stop and listen to it. It’s the beginning of a path that Camble gets to shape for himself, but it’s the end of a road of struggle I’ve been dredging through.

I’m on my knees, as much for the sake of my own enlightenment as I am for the purpose of trying to begin to relate it all to Camble. It’s late and the sun is giving it’s last burst of energy before it fades away, which always reflects off the side of our barn and into the house. In this moment, all of that light is coming in and pouring onto Camble as if it is being absorbed into it‘s last intended destination, turning his hair all aglow and bringing to light every fiber standing on end of his blue t-shirt and exposing every hair on his neck and cheek, providing a perfectly lit silhouette of the child that is standing before me, waiting. I am still holding his hands, it’s been less than a breath’s time.

Have I not given him enough of what really matters? What really matters. What matters the most. You have to speak it out loud. Is he feeling deprived? Oooooh . . .his hands . . . . These hands . . . Amy Sue was right. She was right. It happened so fast. There is no more baby pudge. It’s gone from his hands. Gone from my world. I took it for granted. My thumbs are feeling the bones through the top of his hands as if they are just directly under his skin now, with the slightest touch. That protective layer is gone. It was a blink. I’m here on my knees in front of my little boy and I swear just yesterday this was all a dream. Speak the words . . . .

“You have to decide what matters the most, baby. What makes you the happiest?” I’m saying it out loud to him, but know it was a message intended as much for my own ears.

I got a chance to escape and walk around outside the other day after animal chores. I started in one place, after chores, and picked a weed here and there and meandered my way about until I ended up at the garden, in front of one of the sections of mint. I was happy to be there, in that moment, with the air full of the fragrance of mint. I had woken up that same morning with love towards all of mankind and a good nature, but slowly my troubles starting creeping in and by the time I went out to do chores I was cranky and irritated and I even shouted out a dare as I was putting on my boots, “Okay, Lord, let’s see what the heck you have for me today.” It’s funny how your expectations are so easily lived up to. My intentions of that statement were no secret, certainly not to God. Needless to say, I had a disaster of a time feeding the animals. By the time I was done with it all I had to accept that I had made a real mess out of the whole circumstance. I decided to go ahead and laugh at myself . . .my rotten, awful self. I’d asked for all of the trouble and been blessed with what I deserved. “Okay, okay . . . I get it. I’ll try again.” I quieted myself and opened my heart up to listen and standing there, breathing in the mint, I felt compelled to reach out and run my hand over the top of it. It’s already shot up almost two feet, the edges are tinged purple and how fuzzy it felt under my hand. I was breathing, deep. I realized I could breathe. Wow. A breath; a real, deep breath is such a blessing in my world these dayz. As I was breathing I gave gratitude for the air that filled my lungs. I gave gratitude for the blood that coursed through my veins. I admired the mint and gave my time over to consider it’s existence. And I realized the mint’s existence isn’t even dependant on my consideration. As much importance as I’d like to give myself. The mint is exactly as it is intended to be. It doesn’t ask anybody for permission. It’s indifferent to my plans for it. It disregards my criticism and methods of undermining it’s growth and won’t adhere to any intentions I have for it. Just like asking a bird to stop flying. It says, “No, I simply can not do that. I will do what was intended for me.” It is a bird. It is mint. Unless I make every effort to annihilate, destroy and completely eradicate it from existing entirely, it will live and propagate here or there or where ever and continue it’s intended purpose. And if I did that, what would that say about me? It’s the nature of the beast. I wish I could be as impermeable to people and their self serving intentions as mint is. I believe that’s what matters.

Some people can’t stand mint. You mention it and they balk, “MINT! Awful stuff. It takes over! It’s sooooo invasive. Horrible.” You can see the disgust and repulsion all about them as if you’ve just casually asked them to become friends with an axe murderer and they need to make sure and set you straight on the issue. At this point in my life, I’ve come to realize that I have a few things I find equally repulsive and struggle to tolerate. I don’t take the time to admire them so much, but I am learning to accept that just as I believe no garden would be complete without at least a little patch of mint, neither would our lives be complete without a few of those behaviors I don't care for. I have tried to have more empathy for these things because I understand they drive a force in me that clearly creates a model of something I don’t ever want to participate in. It’s the fear of becoming that which I despise. Which, is still despising, and I am working at getting beyond that. I think of all of the yuck these things have caused and then, I don’t want to think about it anymore. I want to think about who I want to be and focus on the good and ignore the bad. Sometimes the sour, nasty yuck is there to help us appreciate the sweetness of the good, the honey. I believe that’s what matters.

Like this particular morning, though, sometimes I find myself in some scrape or another, completely screwing things up in a terrible fashion and then having to work backwards to dig myself out of the spot I’ve managed to get myself into. Only then do I have a clear focus and perspective of what it is I need to work towards. Sometimes I can envision what that is. Sometimes I discover it’s just in me and has to get out. Sometimes I don’t even know exactly what my good could possibly be. Sometimes the only direction I have to start from is a point of exactly what I don’t want or where I don’t want to be and work my way going directly in the opposite direction of whatever that is. Sometimes, running . . .screaming. It makes me think of my Dad teaching me how to shoot his pistol. He’d be very serious, I would be holding a pistol gripped in both hands and pointed at the ground until he completed his instructions, “Don’t shoot towards Gramma and Grampas' trailer. Don’t shoot too high on the bank. Don’t shoot down the roads. Don’t shoot any of Grammas' flowers. Don‘t shoot your brother.” And, naturally, I would wonder . . . Geez, could you just tell me exactly what I can shoot at instead. I’m a little girl. Father, I am just a dumb sheep. I’m counting on you telling me what to do here. How am I going to be successful with those kinds of directions? It was my job to find my own direction though. Following the path that is intended for who I am. Some of us, religiously, go about that whole thing the hard way. Working from one direction or another, eventually finding and discovering the good. I believe that’s what matters.

What is it that I gauge my success on? I would say, primarily my loving relationships. Measured in kisses and hugs. I am blessed with people that I genuinely love, admire and respect and they see me for who I am, warts and all, and even love me on the dayz when I’m not such a picnic to be around. I’ve tried to do my best to reciprocate those blessings. Best gets a little better all of the time. Bear with me. My circle seems to get smaller and smaller through the years though. It’s been painful. It’s also been necessary. I get my heart set on the most positive outcome sometimes though. Sometimes friends aren’t forever. If you look past all of the excuses you’ve made for the cool, secretive behavior you’re left with not such a great candidate in the friend department. Everybody has their own motivations and ambitions, which might involve stepping on you. You’ve just served as their very own personal benchmark. I don’t see it until it’s way too late. Ben saw it coming and when I get uneasy and upset about it he just reminds me how mean women are to each other, how great it is to be a guy, and smiles with, “Jealousy is the ultimate form of flattery, right.“ It isn’t a game for me though. I end up feeling dooped and disappointed. I second guess myself and want to believe I'm being delusional, but I'm not. I don’t appreciate the underlying aggression or being made fun of. I discover what I have confided has been twisted and betrayed and just used as more material and it makes me want to dedicate to a life of practicing strict self preservation. But, that’s not the nature of this beast. I feel even more fortunate for the good relationships I have. I tell the kidz (as they are sitting, facing each other, holding hands and exchanging devotions) that it’s easy to be angry when you feel you’ve been wronged, especially by someone you’ve loved. It’s easy to do back what has been done to you. It’s so easy. I'm guilty, I know. Physically, I’ve asked the kidz to take five minutes and turn their hearts around for each other today, in hopes that later in life they will mentally ask it of themselves to practice devotion instead of participating in their hurt and anger when someone is taking advantage of their good nature or being hostile towards them. Consider we are all capable of the same behavior at times. I am trying to mind my own teachings. Love. Give love because it is in you to give. Just put it out there and remove all of the expectations. I have five of my primary relationships going on directly in front of me that need me to focus on them before anybody else in this world. I have to focus on what I have to offer them. That circle gets smaller, but stronger. I believe that’s what matters.

Life is a blessing. I am so thankful. So undeserving. I was given the blessing of life and everyday I wake up with gratitude for being. Then, my mind is racing through all of the burdens and obligations that may or may not be managed in order to determine whether or not I may or may not have the possibility of experiencing happiness and joy. I’ve gone to bed the night before weighing it all out, listing it, compartmentalizing it, reminding myself to be reminded of all of these circumstances that need my consideration. Whatever it all is, it's ridiculous. I don’t want circumstances to determine the quality of my life. I shouldn’t have to pay to be alive. Going completely off the grid isn’t a fair option for my family to have to accept either, even though it’s where I continually lean. It’s like taking your rifle scope and turning it from 9 to 3, 9 to 3, 9 to 3, blurry, magnified . . . What is it I am really trying to focus on here? Because all the while I’m inciting my truths and absolutes : It’s the moments, This too shall pass, You are loved, You love well, You need to serve, Silence your mind to the silliness, Don’t compromise, You can’t fix everything for everybody, Get your priorities straight, Life is more important than circumstances and bad friends. Do I forget that? How can I be pulled away from my absolutes and truths? I don’t think I am so much as they just get jumbled in with all of the other gobbled-e-gook and it gets hard to sort. I do best when I can walk away, calm down, find a place, stop, open my heart and let my body be still. Then I will hear my truth. I believe that’s what matters.

However, reality is, those are stolen moments in my life. Literally. Like my morning in the garden. I’ll be spinning circles, accomplishing nothing, and the longing is so huge I can’t shove it down or push it away. Then it occurs to me that I am the one not allowing myself to listen to that desire for solitude, and I am the one convincing myself how I can’t afford the time and I am the one saying everyone will suffer and I am also the one that I am robbing from. Well, if I’m the banker . . . . One morning I had finally given in and decided to steal that moment of solitude, and I snuck out the back door and walked around the patio to the deck to find a spot at the big table and sit in the sun. I scoot my chair back and put my feet up on the table and my hands behind my head and close my eyes and try to breathe. It was a spring morning that was warm and wonderful and it made all things seem eternally possible. Right before I reached the table I saw Ben spy me out of the corner of my eye. He was inside still and gathering up his breakfast plate to come and hang out with me. I tried to be understanding but I wasn’t interested in sharing my stolen time. He can’t sit still during the day. I used to be the funny one. Now, I’ve slowly evolved to the serious, calm one ~ a.k.a. very, very tired ~ and he’s turned into the fun, entertaining guy. I don’t get his sense of humor sometimes and I think that just encourages him even more. I’m sitting with my arms behind my head, soaking up the sun, trying to avoid the ploys for conversation. Then I hear a little “He, he” here and a satisfied chuckle there and finally I open my eyes to see that Ben has found the spray bottle on the table we had for the seedlings and is employing it to spray the cats. He’s also baiting them in with scraps of his breakfast. He had to make enough noise to make me pay attention and once I became aware, well . . . the game was on. He was on full attack mode. He was so tickled with himself and I just shook my head at him. He is who he is though. I can see now, after all of these years, how grateful I am that he never compromised who he was. He goes to the store and buys garbage syrup when he’s had enough of my “hippy crap”. He’s taught all of the kidz how to use “stinkin’ bastard” appropriately. He’s also shown me how to get over myself and my ridiculous ideals and expectations and appreciate what it really means to love somebody and respect who they are. We all deserve that consideration. I believe that’s what matters.

We still have some incredible differences though. If we can, we save our arguing for after the kidz have gone to bed. By that time, whatever the issue was, it has compounded exponentially for me and Ben generally wants to just ask a lot of off the topic questions, make a lot of jokes to try to get me to laugh (which he translates to he’s off the hook), and pretend it never happened. I interpret this as placing no importance on the issue. I place a lot of seriousness on getting things resolved. I lose a lot of sleep in these circumstances because Ben just hops into bed, settles down and falls asleep and won't wake up, no matter how upset I get. So, I’ve had to resort to charade style antics of “performing” my point with exaggerated gestures and elevated voice inflections and whatever works to express all I have to get out and keep him entertained enough he’s still engaged in the conversation. When this doesn’t work, I resort to all out warfare and attack his past girlfriends, point out moral discrepancies and insult his character. There is always that “do not cross” line and sometimes I deliberately SET IT ON FIRE. We were never going to do this in the beginning of our marriage. We started out together not knowing where we wanted to go, only knowing what we didn’t want to become and failure was not an option for either of us. Whew. Easy enough. Who knew what that actually meant about us or our relationship? We agreed to “for better or worse” with our sights set on a future full of whatever wonderful possibilities we would make up as we went along. One night, I was trying to take the high road in our discussion, and things were still getting heated. It was like I was holding that pistol again and trying to refrain myself from shooting at this, that, and all of the good stuff but still prove my point. I went on and on and finally Ben sat up and I could see the white flag in his eyes. He’d had enough. He looked at me with absolute sincerity and said, “Tammy, you’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. If I hurt you, I’m sorry. You are just a better person than I am. . . It’s just who you are naturally. You are a better person than I am. I’m trying. Give me a little credit, please. I’m trying.” I was silent. I was shocked. I was letting myself, for a split second, believe the parts I wanted to believe about what he’d just said. I’d played by the rules, I had guessed all of the numbers right, I was the big winner!!! I started to feel like maybe I’d won the million dollar lottery. Where is the value in this windfall? It's just a tragedy. Nobody benefits. Then, when the second folded, and I saw his eyes again and I heard the plea in his voice, I understood I didn’t deserve to win anything. The last thing he saw before he went to sleep were my eyes filling with the possibilities of what it might mean if he believed I was the “better person.” He didn’t get to witness my decline from the gloating big time winner to the shame of being sorry I hadn’t let the whole thing go entirely. I waited until he was really asleep and I came back, sat beside him on the floor, laid my hand on his back and choked and sobbed thru an uncomprehendable whisper to him that I wasn’t better. I had no right to try to define his life experiences. Especially if it came at the cost of him thinking he wasn’t good. I knew he was good. I knew we were both good. I believe that matters.

Neither one of us has brought that night up again. I don’t know if he ever heard me or could decipher my intentions. Some things just come into your life to drive the point home. We ended up having a stranger wreck in our ditch a few weeks ago. I had been waiting for Ben to get home so I could finally get in the shower and try to find peace. I was completely spent. There was nothing left in my being to give to anybody. The prospect of a shower was all I could hope for. I came out of the bathroom and kept hearing something that I couldn't place. It was an engine of some sort, but nothing I could place. I went to the window to look up and see if there was a helicopter and instead I saw a pickup spinning out, with the two driver side tires barely on the edge of the road and the passenger tires completely buried at the end of our ditch. “Ben, somebody’s stuck in our ditch. Do you need me to get your tow straps?” Very calmly, already assessing the situation, he said, “Huh. Hold on. Let me go see.” Our neighbor, Luis, was already parked down there with the truck. He’s handy to have around when you’re in a pinch, or not. He’s just a good guy. Ben started to walk down and check it out and I ran to the barn and got the straps. I ran them to the porch and left them, knowing he’d have to come back for them and the Excursion both if he needed to use them. I wanted to run down and make sure the guy wasn’t hurt. I arrived on the scene and could see the guy was shook up, but I could tell he wasn’t hurt and between the three of them I wasn’t going to be any help. Too much testosterone for this girl. I headed back to the house and I started to see where he had ridden in and almost out of the whole ditch and all of the damage he’d actually done to it. The fence was fine. The mailbox was still there. I’d already seen that he wasn’t hurt. So, basically everything that really mattered was fine. Everything that matters is fine! That should have been the end of it. But I started to get angry about all of the work we’d already done to repair the ditch and now all of the work we were going to have to do to clean it up and fix somebody else‘s mistake. I didn’t want to be angry. All of a sudden Ben was standing beside me and I was aware that my hands were on my hips. “Look at this mess!! He actually rode the whole ditch. See that there. He almost pulled out of it there but then sunk in deep and then came out of it and ended up sucked back in down there, making that whole mess. Look at all of that mess. He didn‘t even say he was sorry. Who‘s going to clean this up?” I must have been expecting an apology. It just soured everything. I soured everything. Ben just excluded my anger and didn’t let it influence or distract him from the task at hand. He said, “He needs a pull. I think I can get him alright. I need to use your Excursion.” and he walked away from me. I could tell he was disappointed in me. Everything about him humbled me. He left me there to sort it out and hopefully come to a better understanding and take a different position. Somebody needed help and Ben was going to do what he always does. When it really matters, he is the fairest person I’ve ever met. Without consideration to how anything will benefit him. I waited in the driveway and Ben got him out and then they both circled back and came back to the house. I calmed myself and just stayed quiet and followed Ben’s lead. The guy thanked us both and apologized and said he’d like to make it up to us somehow. The kidz were coming out of the house to see what was going on and he started taking things out of his truck and asking if he could give them to the kidz. They lit up at the exciting idea of presents. They had just walked out of the house and somebody was trying to hand them gifts. That’s like a movie scene or something, not their world. That doesn’t happen except for birthdays around here. Ben stepped in and let the guy know, “You don’t owe us anything. It could just as easily have been me. Just pass the favor along.” The things he was wanting to share were things he had intended for his own children anyways. Ben pulled the kidz aside and explained, “Hey guyz. He feels badly right now. If you take those things from him you would be taking advantage of him because he’s in a bad situation. It wouldn’t be fair. I want you to understand that. Helping people is important and you should do it because it’s the right thing to do. You shouldn’t expect them to try to pay you for it.” They handed everything back and came back to us and we held them all close to us and I truly felt like, standing there together, we were a part of something very special. Being present in that moment was a gift I will treasure always. I don’t know if I had ever thought more highly of Ben then at that moment. I believe that’s what matters.

I wanted to be stuck in that moment, connected to that energy that was almost humming around us. Sometimes everything just comes together beautifully. For a moment. Set aside my intentions, ideals, expectations, attitude and the ability to manage and facilitate and overcome the potential for disaster. Sometimes I can relax and absorb it all and rest easy, appreciating that there is nothing better to be had than that exact moment. Don’t let this slip away unnoticed. Be grateful. Soak it up, like the sunshine. Working backwards or forwards doesn’t matter and I can grasp that trying to orchestrate it all or force it’s wonderfulness to last would be wrong. It is what it is. It is as it is intended to be. It's probably all been said and done before. You just have to draw what you need and put it together in a way that works for you. I appreciate my blessings and my heart aches too, because they help me appreciate the sweetness of my blessings that much more. I am done making myself less to avoid masked aggression and appease other peoples' insecurities. Other peoples' insecurities are their problem, I have mine to own and worry about too. I believe we are all capable and talented and I wish for everyone to find their paths to their good and to be able to pursue them whole heartedly with all of their passion and the love and support of their own strong circle. However big or small that circle may be. Being grateful for the people in our lives who see us for who we are and who we are moving towards becoming is crucial. Sometimes you encounter people who won't appreciate who you are at all. Listen to your instincts and intuitions and do what you need to do to be healthy. Learn to let go. I hope you can take the time to walk away, go to the garden, hide in the garage, apply your whole body and soul to working as hard as you can, or find some place that works in order for you to find that space within where you can focus and experience communion and you’re heart is open and you can hear your truth and let it set you on your path. Even with trying to maintain that perspective, I get a little lost sometimes. Who are we kidding? Warts and all, remember, that’s me. I don't care about appearances. I'm not fashionable. I am not perfect. I try to be humble about my accomplishments and I shine my shoes with Ben’s dirty socks sometimes. I have given myself the liberty to not chase dirt and I completely ignore the laundry for weeks. So what? I make mistakes and get shaken up and off track and find myself in my own proverbial ditches every now and again. I appreciate the fortune I’ve found in being able to count on someone who is kind and considerate and offers of himself and won’t judge or be hostile when I don’t serve to benefit his ideals or expectations. He just offers me his hand and tries to pull me back to good. The good we’ve found. The who. That’s what matters the most. That’s what makes me the happiest.

Ben and I have been married for 15 years this summer. We’ve been together for almost 19 years. Longer than we haven’t. I’ve grown up with him. I married my best friend. We haven’t always been the best of friends to each other. We’ve had our own walks and our walk together and I believe we've had to experience all we’ve had to experience to get us to where we are today. Right now. We both have a lot to offer because of those experiences. Some things I wouldn’t want to re-live, but I know the importance of not wishing any of it away, nitty-gritty and all. I love his fun spirit. I love his integrity. I love that he finds his Jesus time when he's running his chain saw. I love him. I celebrate the life we’ve created and been blessed with and I am so lucky to get to know him and our children. I look forward to our families future. I hope my children grow up to be grateful for the love and safety of the environment we’ve tried to make possible for them to explore their own world from. I look forward to sharing and to the little moments where it all makes sense. I wish you a million of those too.

With Love -

Tammy

“ . . . Hunger only for a world of truth . . .” ~ Tracy Chapman

She's Somebody's Daughter

"What do you want to do?" Ben asked me. We were leaving the parking lot of Roaring Rapids, just the two of us. We found ourselves, suddenly and miraculously without children, having dolled them out to three separate families for the evening, before we left Sierra's 6th birthday party.



"No way! We're not doing this again. I'm not making all of the plans!!" I thought it was a challenge he would answer directly with, you know, a plan.


We are not successful at dating. We have been together for almost 19 years and we have never "dated" well. I suppose it's the pressure associated with dating. I'm not really sure as to why it doesn't work for us. We attempted a couple of dates in High School, but Ben hates sitting in a movie theater, or any theater, or anything involving going to town, and as soon as you slap the date label on something he's squirming and running the other way, or he just falls asleep. When he got his first house at 18 and I got my curfew extended to 10 0'clock I would drive over to visit and try to hatch a million plans of things to go out and do. He'd shine me on, find something to eat, go sit on the couch and fall asleep. Every time. He works hard. I get it. We've fished, we've hunted, we've built things, we've made lots of babies . . . we don't date.


Silence . . .


I hate this silence. Is this what happens after all of this time? You find yourselves alone together and all there is is silence. Not the comfortable "just being" silence. The "this is killing me" silence. I planned out a date a couple of weeks ago, against my better judgement. I arranged for cousin Wendy to come over, cleaned the house, went through seven stupid outfits. All I asked was that Ben try to come up with some plans, after omitting the first couple of things that generally come to his mind. We encouraged the kidz to use their good behavior, suggested some fun activities, gave the "Don't burn the house down" speech, kissed and hugged and tried not to frighten poor Wendy with the gravity of being responsible for four children who happen to be my life's blood . . . . Then we hop into the car and we're off. Woo Hoo. I'm so grown up! A real live date with my husband. I shouldn't ask. Don't ask. Maybe he has something fabulous planned. No expectations Tammy. No expectations.



"Sooooo, where we going?" I ask. I'm so predictable.



"Hell, I don't know. I thought we'd just find a place somewhere." he laughs, completely satisfied with himself. Uuuuhh!!



"I knew it!! You didn't come up with a plan!!! Heaven forbid you come up with a plan. The one thing . . . " I just stop, mid-sentence, he's already stopped listening to me and is looking out his window to see if any geese are circling to land in Billy's pond. Whatever!! I can do "find a place somewhere".



We ended up at McGrath's. The food was really good but I couldn't make conversation to save my life. I kept looking across the table, feeling a little desperate. I only have so many facial expressions and I was wearing out "this is me incredibly cute and all" pretty darn quickly. ... Don't talk about the kidz, Tammy. Don't talk about the kidz! Don't ask him about work. Crap!! ...Say something!! ...Forget it! Resort to facial expression #16 - raised eyebrows and dimples. There was just this painful, awful silence. I found myself happy to see the waiter approaching, hoping he might fuel some spontaneous conversation. If I waited tables, I would consider that part of my job requirement. The food was wonderful and the waiter was attentive, thankfully, and so we talked about that, in between the silence.


I shuddered a little when I realized we were going to just end up somewhere again. I guess I didn't do it so well. We're approaching the end of the parking lot. Home, where he'll fall asleep, or town, fun ..... "Fine." I relented. "Let's go watch a movie." Okay, I panicked. It was weak, but it was a start. He could modify "the plan" if he wanted, but at least we had the start of some direction.


"Alright." he agreed, the way he accepts it when I tell him we're having a pasta dish for dinner instead of meat. "If that's what you want to do, we can go sit in a movie theater. I guess we won't talk then." This ought ta be great. Who's steering this machine anyway? I didn't want to make the plans. I really wanted to do something he wanted to do, with exception to those previously mentioned conditions. I hate the "Tammy presents all the ideas and Ben just criticizes them and we come to no conclusion" game we play.


Silence . . .



We started to motate towards town. "Well, if you feel like being around people we could go to a bar or something." Good Job Ben!! Modify away.



"Sure!! I'm game. That sounds a little more fun. I don't know of any good place to go, though. I don't know the whole scene anymore. I'm so lame." I am. I really am totally lame these dayz.



"I don't know. All I have on is my work boots. I'm not going to be any good for dancing."



"Aw ~ you're good. I've just got my day clothes on, (which was true, except for the beautiful yellow lace blouse I bought a couple weeks ago when I was really, really upset at Ben) and . . . Hey, . . . ", looking down at myself in the dark car, "... chk chk (wink), I've got MY boots on." Which, Ben knows, translates to "I'm in my element. I'm sassy. I'm bringing the farm with me. If I go to a bar, I'm not looking for trouble, but if it comes my way, I'll hold my own."



One of the first stories Ben ever told me (realizing right away how talented he was at storytelling) was the one of he and Butch up at Cottage Grove Lake, which had a reputation of being a rough place when we were kidz. Ben and Butch were done swimming and were walking towards the truck when a car load of Grover guyz pulled up to them. The guyz tried stirring it up and started threatening this and that. Ben told me how he counted and simultaneously accepted that there were six of them against just him and Butch, who were both miserable and standing there with their shorts soaked and no shoes. He waited until they finished their insults and just quietly said, "Alright boyz. Why don't you give me a minute to get my pants on and we can go ahead and make something of this." He told me he just wanted to get his boots on. He turned and walked over to his truck, just like that. He wasn't asking permission. By the time he got his pants, boots and hat on the guyz had decided differently. I've always loved how he can be so completely in the moment. Shifting and adapting to whatever happens, as it is happening, but he always stays the same.



He's grinning, "Ooooooorrrrr . . . . ya know . . . we ARE in Springfield. There's about a zillion strip joints we could go check out."



"Oh, sure, I bet they're real swanky. " I decided to let it go. I'm going to let it go. Let that go. Oh Blah Dee, Oh Blah Da . . . Do Dee Do . . . Jogging thru my chronicles of life experiences here . . . Nope. No "went to the nudie bar with my husband." I'm pretty sure it's a bucket list item for everyone though. Hmmmmm . . . . There is THAT ONE NIGHT . . . . That one night that is still haunting me . . . . The bachelor party. It made perfect sense that Ben would be the designated driver. He has never drank. He's the responsible one. It was all a matter of practicality. It was all fun and games until I laid there in bed that night, with my 5 week old baby girl, and reality, or the reality I was imagining (which is one of those times when a beautiful imagination isn't such a blessing) was washing over me. I made it an issue and I've made sure it's haunted Ben too. I wouldn't let him tell me any details. I didn't want to know a single one. I was going to go ahead and make them all up on my own, of course. Him pawing at the girls. Smiling his little grin . . . That's supposed to me MY grin!! Seriously??? He thinks he's going to take ME into one of THOSE places??? I'm a 35 year old wife and mother of four small children. I am a Christian woman!!



"Yup, I'm all in. Take me to a nudie bar."


"WHAT!! I'm not gonna take YOU to a nudie bar."

"Oh, really?" I was offended. Ooooooooo ~ It's on, buddy! Like I'm your Grandma or something? I can go to a nudie bar. I'm a big girl. I'm bad. I'm, I'm, I'm . . . .naughty. Ooooooo ~ You asked for it.

"Seriously? You'll go to one? You won't freak out or anything? Ah ha ha ha!!! We'd better get you drunk." Thus begins the tee hee hee of the evening.

"Well, we're not going to anything in Springfield though." I psha.

"Only you, Tammy, could be a snob about going to see naked chicks."

"What?? I can be a snob about seeing naked chicks. You have to be a snob about seeing naked chicks." That's completely legitimate. Right?? There you go with the conditions again Tammy. You're no fun. You're thinking about this too much. You always ruin everything. Pretend you're a newspaper reporter. It's an experiment. It's just a live anatomical comparison. The female form. You need to not think so much about it. "Aaaaand, yeah, take me to Alan's and get me good and drunk."

Two whiskey sours, three shots of Tequila and one plate of super secret smoked spicy hot wings later (Thank you Alan), and we're on our way. . . "Giggle, giggle, giggle . . . Alright, alright. I'll stop texting people and be done with the 'I'm such a dumb drunk girl' talk." I'm so stinking fun. I'm enunciating perfectly, I'm sure.

"Thanks, because I have to go get some 20's changed into ones and I don't know if I can trust to leave you in the car alone, Tammy. Come on."

"Fine. Tee hee hee . . ." Oh, that reminds me . . .I need to get money changed for the kidz' allowances. Hmmmm. . . . Can I really do this? This is so questionable. Maybe I should wear a little mask or something to cover my eyes. Look around, maybe there's something you can use. Oh, lovely, a 3 ft X 4 ft scrap of leather. That's all you've got!! You suck!! I should be able to procure supplies to outfit a spur of the moment overnight camping trip with things I pull out of the console alone. What if Camble would have thrown up today? You can't come up with anything better than a ginormous hunk of leather??? Great. That'll be suttle. Besides, I bought that to finish off the diaper bag I am making. Wouldn't that be classy . . . "I prayed for the health of you and your baby while I knitted this bag and the leather helped to shield my eyes from the perversion of the nudie bar I agreed to go to with Ben. Here ya go." Uuuummm, how 'bout NO. Why did he leave me alone??? Where am I?? What are we doing again??

Ben hops back into the car with a pile of dollar bills. We chat a little. I think we've talked the whole night away. Wow! "Welp, here we go!!" Right across the road and we're there. The Silver Dollar Club. Perfect. That's where Ben went. I can conduct my little experiment. I can see what he saw. I can . . . .

"GOOD LORD!! I CAN'T HAVE MY CAR PARKED HERE!!!! No, No, No . . . . . What were we thinking??? What if somebody sees me??? No way!! I'm not doing this!!"

"Relax. Don't freak out!! I know, I know . . . The bumper sticker. I'll back in over here. I got your back." See, he's the responsible one.

We're walking in and I feel his hand squeezing . . . and I remember the other times it's squeezed like that he was praying, "Please let the baby be healthy. Please let the baby be healthy." This time he was praying, "Please don't let her change her mind. Please don't let her change her mind."

We're a little confused on how to get into the joint. After some debate, we see the smoking section outside and so I cough, on purpose, all fakey like, thinking we'd have to fend off the cloudy crowd, "Oh, I can't do smoke, Ben. It makes me sick." Forget the poison I've just willingly consumed. That was practically medicinal though.

"No smoking inside public places in Oregon, Tammy. Nice try. You're good." He skirts me around to the left, where the real entry door is. Oh that's right. He's been here before. That dirtbag. That bastard.

I'm holding my I.D. in my hand, because the last time I believe I've been to a bar that was the appropriate thing to do. The door guy kinda laughed and just asked for the cover charge. I used to not have to pay those. I used to not have to pay those!!!! Ben's making small talk as to cover for the "My wife is lame. I can't believe she's 35 and just furnished her I.D." blunder. I check my humanity at the desk and we're off to find a table. "I hope they're not hotter than me!!" Did I really just say that out loud? Kinda, sorta, maybe with my outside voice ??? Woops.

"Geez, Tammy, that was loud! Let's just find a table."

I'm doing the nervous penguin shuffle around the room, trying to navigate thru the group of tables and get oriented. I didn't really want to be oriented. We settle on a table and I set my eyes somewhere over there, way up high to the left, directly opposite of the featured attraction. Ben is laughing hysterically. I finally realize he's laughing at me. "You're so cute!! You're staring at the ceiling!! You can't handle this, can you? You can't watch people kiss is movies and now you can't even look!! Hey look, your braces are glowing!! That's awesome. Here comes a waitress. You'd better get something."

My braces are glowing. I can't see my own braces dim wit. I'm so nervous, I can't stop smiling. The biggest, cheesiest smile this side of the Mississippi. That kind of smile. Ugh. How humiliating. Ben, just take your pocket knife out (smile) of (smile) your (smile) pocket (smile) and (smile) cut (smile) my (smile) lips (smile) off. (Still smiling.) At least I'm not wearing any white. Well, would you look at that . . . with all that talk of boots we didn't even notice your white shirt Ben. I'm going to have to remember to burn that. "Ben, you're wearing a white shirt. You're whole body is glowing. Glaring. tee hee hee."

The waitress is standing beside me, to my right. I can't hear what she asks me. I resort to my crowded room manners. Nod, smile "Could I please have a shot of Tequila?" Appropriate pause . . . "Thanks." Oh no, she's asking me something else. Doesn't she know I'm floundering here? I've already had to turn my attention to what's going on over my right shoulder. Is that supposed to be a school girl theme going on there? She's kinda chunky. I think she's bigger than me. Yay!! This is what guyz do in locker rooms, isn't it. "Ummm, sure. Thank you." I have no idea what I've just agreed to. She must have realized what a pitiful mess I was because I barely had time to get my eyes fixed back on my happy wall spot and there was a drink in front of me. "Salt and Lime, you are my friends. Oh my goodness, she's naked!!"

My nickname at home is "Damn it." I think this was the third time I'd earned that special name for the evening. "You are so loud, Tammy." Bad dog.

"I'm sorry. It doesn't seem real. It's all very much like a movie."

The school girl was going around scooping up her earnings, not so much with her hands, when the next girl was starting her show. Oh, how sanitary. They wipe the pole down with a clean towel. How do they figure on incorporating that in their dance? I was surprised by how thin the next girl was, in contrast. If I was going to judge the overall shape of the first girl, versus the second, I would put the first girl over the second. Bigger hips, more feminine features . . . Oh, lovely, I've resorted to judging conformation and breeding characteristics. Let's not. Oh, no, lets . . . "Good Gravy!! She's quite the acrobat. No way! That's kind of amazing." Now, Ben is laughing at me again. I'm not sure if he's going to be more entertained by them or me. Oh, I don't want to think that. I notice there is a stage in the back right corner.

"Yeah, but she's too thin. I like my girls with a lot more meat on their bones." Whew!!

Speaking of thin . . . . "She is scary thin. I think that is what will happen to Sammy when she grows up if I don't remember to bring her groceries." I think out loud.

"Okay, hold on!! You can NOT bring up my daughters name in a place like this! That's just wrong."

"Why not? SHE'S somebody's daughter." I nudge my head to the skinny little acrobat.

"Do you want to just get out of here?"

"Yup." I'm already getting out of my chair.

"Hold on, hold on. You can't leave in the middle of the song. That's just rude."

I sit back down. Oh, that's nice to know. There is nudie bar etiquette. What was I thinking?? I wouldn't want to hurt the poor girl's feelings.

"You don't want to hurt the poor girl's feelings. She might think we don't like her." He shoots me his grin and we're both laughing again.

The song ends and we stand up. I'm leading the way to the door. Ben puts his hand on my shoulder, turns me and starts to direct me to the stage in the back right corner. "Where are we going? Where are we going?"

"Be quiet. We're going to sit up close and personal back here. tee hee hee"

"Oh my goodness. What does that mean?"

"Come on, I'll show ya."

The woman dancing had long, bleached blond, perfect curling iron shaped (with the help of lots of hairspray) crispy curls. She was wearing a white, strapless negligee with black fishnet nylons. Obviously, I was paying more attention to the details now. There was nowhere to hide. When I started to shimmy myself up to the bar she looked right at me and spoke something to me. At least, I thought she had. Who knows. Again, I couldn't hear. "Was she talking to me? Can she do that?"

"Yeah, I think she likes you. Put some bucks up there."

That must be part of the nudie bar etiquette. If they talk to you, you give them bucks. Man, bringing this guy along was just the ticket. Hey, wait a minute . . . Ben was laying his bills out nice and flat beside me, then folding them in half lengthwise. He starts stacking them on the rim of the stage. One, two, three for the foundation ~ now for the second story. Hey wait a minute . . . "What are you doing? Are you baiting her in? How did you know how to do that?"

"It's a brotherhood, sista." Big grin. She danced her way here and there and then, of course, back over to the bucks. She started talking to me again, but so was the waitress. I didn't want to be rude, back to basic manners, but the waitress took precedence in my book.

I can't hear well under good circumstances. I had a doctor that tried to approach me about it once and I waited until he was done talking and then politely asked if he could go ahead and fax my prescription into Bi-Mart, since I was only there for a bladder infection. I haven't done anything about my ear, but I don't complain about it either. That buys me the "leave me alone about it already" liberty. Talking on the phone or entering a crowded room closes the lid on my tin can world though. I can't hear a thing. It's physically uncomfortable at first until I remember to rely on body language and instincts.

I had ordered another shot of Tequila, I think. By now I could sense that this woman was really having a good time up there. She wasn't grose. She was actually kinda fun and I was catching on. She wanted to play. Being a woman means you are fierce when you are protecting your children and downright viscious when you are feeling threatened about your man. But messing with him . . . Alright, let's play. It's a sisterhood, brotha. With a wink, it was on.
"Holy cow!! She's coming back over here for you!!" tee hee hee "I think she really likes you."
"I know." The waitress set the shot of Tequila in front of me and turned to Ben, obviously the responsible one, who had to give up a stack of his precious bucks. "It's the boots." I gave my Elvis sneer. I reserve that for these special moments when I know it'll have a lasting impact. Gulp, salt, lime. "What??"
"She wants you to touch her!!" Ben said all happily surprised. I'd missed something. Thru a series of expertly executed moves that I will not describe in detail, she had managed to twist and turn and gracefully place herself in front of me, with her back facing me. My timing was out of sinque and I had lost my place when I tipped my head back for the shot. Wow!! All THAT in the time it took for me to take a shot? I would have fallen on my ass if I would've tried half of those moves. I bet she practices. Maybe I should practice those? I better give her a little rub here on the back of the arms to let her know I admire how she managed to orchestrate all of that without falling on her ass. Okay, I'm back in the game.
"Tammy . . . . TAMMY . . . she wants you to undo her bra!!!"
So much for the sisterhood. I wasn't keeping up with the pace. I was way out of my league here. "Oh, oh, okay. Under her bra. What is under her bra?"
"NO!! UNDO HER BRA!!!"
Obviously. She had her shoulders pulled in to her chest to arch her back, which she was pushing directly into my face. She pulled her crispy locks over one shoulder, to make it easier to see my working area, I assumed. That was thoughtful. I started with my hands on the outside of her ribs and kind of walked and rubbed my way the center of her back and felt around for the hook and eye. Then it occured to me, "I've never taken another woman's bra off before!!" This is exactly opposite of how I take my bra off. Everything is backwards here. Well, naturally, she hasn't turned it top down, inside out and spun it around so the back is in the front so I can see exactly what I'm supposed to do. It's all covered up. I can't get it undone. This must be what it's like for men to have to fumble with these things. This is awful. She's being really patient. Ah ha!!! Finally!!! Yay!! The bra was undone and I gave her a quick little slap on the shoulder to let her know the job was done. Kind of a "There ya go." Apparently, that gave her some ideas.
I was getting lots of "Good Girl"s from Ben. We were all "Woo Hoo." You can be all "Woo Hoo."
Then she was up and dancing and the negligee was falling to the floor and all of her moves accounted for it. I felt a little sense of accomplishment, like I had helped to maintain the progress of the situation. But the slap was coming back to haunt me. Pretty soon she was back over to me and I hadn't put any bucks on the edge of the stage. Is she talking to me again? Dang it!! I can't hear anything!! "Is she talking to me?" I turned to Ben.
"Woo Hoo Hoo . . .Woo Hoo . .. " He was no help at all.
Okay - there can be a little bit too much Woo Hoo. Oooh . . . She doesn't want me to touch her there . . . . Oh . . . OOOOhhh. . . . Spank . . . She wants me to spank her there . . . and . . . . Oooooohhhh . . . she wants me to spank her therrrrrrrrrrrrrre . . . . I'm not spanking her . . . "Oh my goodness! Does she want me to spank her there?"
"Well, I'm guessing so, since she's asking and pointing . . "
Spank!!! And spanking. She was spanking herself here and there and I had completely jumped ship. So much for the boat she and I were in. You're on your own, Sista!! Thankfully, the song came to an end. We exchanged lots of "Thank you's" as she was exiting the stage and then Ben and I picked back up with our "tee hee hee"s. That was funny stuff. I was scared half out of my mind. I really, really had to pee. Oh, in between songs . . . good nudie bar manners . . .
The next girl was getting up on stage, wearing a long skirt, which I considered completely pointless, since I knew it was coming off. That skirt is coming off. That woman is going to be taking that long skirt off and I really have to go pee. That means, I have to leave Ben alone . . . with a woman who is taking her skirt off in front of him . . . Peeing your pants isn't going to make you altogether too attractive Tammy. Gravity won. I've had four children. I can't hold it, even in that situation. It was just the towel-the-pole-down part of the act, so I got up to find a bathroom. I looked up and she made direct eye contact with me. Oh no! She see's me leaving. I don't want to hurt the poor girls feelings. I'll leave her my husband in exchange for my rude behavior. "I HAVE to go to the bathroom."
I came back from the bathroom about halfway thru her song. The skirt was nowhere to be found. When I sat down, I had to ask, "How's it going? What did I miss?"
"Not much."
She was dancing her way back over to us . . . to me. Here we go again. This must be the angle. Suck up to the wives. Of course, all I can think about is "What if she has a family at home?" I put some bucks on the edge of the stage.
"There you go. Help feed her family honey."
"Do we have anything bigger than one dollar bills?"
"We did, but I used them to pay for your shots. Man, when you were gone, she wouldn't have a thing to do with me. I even had money up there and she wouldn't even look at it. I think they just like you."
Maybe it was the lighting, but everything looked yellow. I remembered my lacy blouse and started to wonder if I should offer it to her. Here ya go. What a wonderful ensemble, what with your teensy weensy little yellow thong and my lacy western button down blouse and all . . . Well, never mind that. There went the thong. I'm keeping the shirt. Oh no, . . . The little yellow thong had gotten caught up and around her right platform shoe. The heighth must have been needed to make up for the length of the skirt. It broke her rythym and drew attention to the culprit, and to those shoes.
"Check out those shoes!"
"Yeah, I'm on it."
I was fiddling with the necklace I was wearing. I had just finished remaking a neckalace for my mom a couple of days ago. The beads had slid all over and out of place the first time she wore it. When I was re-making it I realized I had forgotten her birthday. It was too late to call and I'm great at accepting the idea of being a heel. I had put it on that night to wear in spirit of her and to make sure that I really did a bang up job on making it super duper sturdy. I like to generally over build everything, but I had made this necklace too flimsy the first time around. I made sure to get it right this time. Looking down at the necklace between my fingers made me think of my mom. It made me think . . . I am somebody's daughter . . . That was it. I was softened. The anticdotal applications of alchohol weren't working anymore.
"You want to go, huh."
"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just not fun anymore. I'm feeling like I should give her the money I have set aside to pay the mortgage for what she just showed me. All of that for a dollar???"
"No problem. Soon as the song's over. Look at that girl over on the other stage though."
The song was ending and I made sure to say a few "thank-you"s, but I was excited to have Ben take my hand and start leading me towards the door. He paused when the girl from the middle stage starting coming down the steps and he let her walk in front of him and pass to the left. Geez, are ya trying to squeeze in one last look? What the heck? Get me the heck out of here. He took a step over to her and set a stack of folded money down in front of her and said, "Thank you."
Because I'm so talented at stating the obvious, "Oh my gosh, Ben. Did you just give her a stack of money?"
"Yeah, I did."
"What the heck. Did you like her or something?"
"Yeah, I did. She was shaped just like you."

Dear Mother Nature, Are You Just Mad At Me?

I love it when Brazen climbs in bed to snuggle with me and as soon as he’s settled in he asks me, “Mom, can I tell you a story?” I smile, melt a little, and prepare myself to take a journey into his world. He always begins, “Once upon a time, There was a little boy named Brazen . . . . “ I’ve been threatening to write this story, afraid at the same time that I might not be able to do it justice. When I heard Brazen tell me his story this morning I decided to take his lead and share a little bit of my world. It’s not edited or polished. It’s heartfelt and personal, which is what I always love best.

Once upon a time, there was a simple country girl named Tammy . . . .

I walked away from the chicken coop the other day asking myself, “What am I going to do?? “ Why is it that conversations with yourself seem to flow so perfectly? The Question. The Answer to immediately follow. It must be the magic of silence. “Alright, I’m going to do it. I’m going to write it down. Then, we‘ll see.” And so here I am. Yes, I’m writing a chicken story. But, not just ANY chicken story . . . It’s the story of Rocky Rock, Big Rock ~ The Barred Rock Rooster . . . And a few other pertinent details.

I need eggs. So, I have chickens. My life is simple like that. At least, provisions, that facet of my life, is simple. Clean eggs are much more pleasant to gather. The cleaner I keep the ladies feeties, the cleaner the eggs. I’ve learned this thru limited observation. As in, sitting it the corner of the pen, shifting from one leg to the next, and watching the girlz go about their day. That works better than books for me. I see what they are doing and figure out what they need me to do to help them along. I’m not going to shirk my part of the deal. We’re both depending on each other. It’s not rocket science, but it’s my method of grasping the same element of understanding. “Watching the chickens peck the ground . . . What makes the world go round.” is what I say to the kidz. As with anything in life though, once you start paying attention, REALLY paying attention, and choose to be become involved, you start noticing all that you’ve been missing and all that you’d like to see made possible.

Our old codger of the group, Rocky Rock, Big Rock ~ The Barred Rock Rooster (furthermore referred to as Rocky, whew) has recently become the prime target for the natural system so aptly named “the pecking order.” It’s cruel to witness. Personally, it’s an internal struggle to have to battle my primal acceptance of the situation and my compassionate need to protect the little bugger. I am quite fond of the guy. And there I go, telling you I admire a chicken.

Lately, I’ve had to worry . . .well, . . . honestly, about a lot of things. We lost our Gracie puppy when she got hit by a car on the road in front of our house. It shook me to the core. It was my fault. However I look at it. I wrote to my friend, Michele, about farm life and the relative simple truths I‘ve experienced with animals. But, really I spilled my guts about how ignorance is bliss . . .how I longed for ignorance. I don’t remember all together that much about being a child. When I think back on what it felt like though, it’s the innocence and the carelessness that strike me as having shaped the majority of my memories. Being a kid meant I had a little invisible card that gave me a pass to be completely and wholly committed to being in the moment and not caring about yesterday or tomorrow or anybody‘s expectations or the impact of my existence. Free. Free of concern. Aaaahhh . . . . Bliss. I’ve come to appreciate the minute differences between carefree and careless. Now, carelessness has such a high price. I don’t have that little card anymore.

Gracie used to love feeding the chickens with us. It was probably her favorite part of the day. We made a special spot for her in the new flower bed next to the chicken coop to let her rest forever. The kidz say she’s keeping a close eye on those chickens for us. I’m not a kid anymore though, remember. I know she’s harassing them. Either way, it’s her that has drawn me out to spend more time with the chicky bock bocks. I kind of assumed the job as my obvious duty. You’d do the same thing I’m sure. It was a small gesture, the least I could do, in dedication to her spirit . . .aaand . . . . selfishly . . . It gave me a little time to sort and think of Miss Gracie in peace.

When Gracie died I was so crushed and sad inside. The sad that takes everything out of your heart for a little while and then slowly, like dusting off and examining your cherished family photos, picks up the tiny broken parts and sets them carefully back down as close to where they were before you disturbed them and the dust. But you know things will never be put back exactly where or how they were “before.” I was searching for why it had stuck me so hard. I was beating myself up every chance I could along the way.

I watched Ben worry when I would cry. But, oh, my heart would just get so heavy and I would just burst. I would see Gracie’s eyes. I would try to put them out of my mind. I would force myself to see them again and hear all that they were saying to me. It was literally all I could do. He gets frustrated when I cry. I asked him to please let me be sad and he got desperate and said, “I don’t want you to be sad. I need you to be okay.” I saw his body get tense and uncomfortable. He was unsure and scared. He was looking at me like I was some unpredictable animal. I finally realized he was seeing in me the same frame you would see if you sat and watched a train wreck. It might be the last moment he saw me, the small part of me that was left, as he had known it before. Animals were my innocence. It was the last part of me that hadn’t been consumed by the motherly paranoid “what if’s” and now he was watching that die.

For the last week, Ben has been getting journal grade updates on the happenings of the chicken coop and my sympathies, ever expanding, on Rocky. Today it ended with me in tears, again. It seems I’ve deemed the animal world unfair and unjust. I don’t believe in conspiracy theories, although I’ll shout it out and readily make jokes about them at every opportunity. Line up a few unfortunate circumstances and it’s easy to pin it all on a sick joke called destiny. I keep wondering, “Mother Nature, Are You Just Mad At Me? Seriously??? You can obviously see what’s been going on here. Don’t you think a little intervention is called for??? Take it out on me, personally, if you’ve got a grudge. Please. Surely, Gracie deserved more. Rocky deserves more. He’s the “goodie,“ as Camble would say. “

We’ve had four roosters get put in the pot in the last couple of years. It’s risky business to keep a rooster, especially around kidz. If you have one, you’re shaking your head because I’m speaking your language. You start noticing how pretty their feathers are and how getting up at 4 seems to kinda make sense. It’s okay. It’s worth it. How does that work? One day they’re figuring out how to strut and doodle doo to look cool for the ladies, the next they’re flying at your baby boys face and you’re getting the gun.

Rocky was old when we got him. He took a couple weeks to lay low and figure out the scene, very unassuming like. Then he made quick work of taking on the pip squeak of a rooster we had at the time and took over the coop. He wasn’t obnoxious about it. He was actually rather discreet. Isn’t that something? He did all his rooster business like it was just a matter of fact. He woke up his girlz right on time each morning, called them quietly over to feed, called them in at night and kept everyone safe without making any of us the least bit nervous. He was practically professional about the whole thing. To be completely accurate, he has been a complete gentleman. The kind of rooster you’d be happy to send your hens out with. Good, on all accounts. But, just like anybody that does a good job just because it’s all they have in them, we took it for granted.

We ended up “winning” three chickens at the Cottage Grove Rodeo last summer. It was all very exciting. There is an animal scramble put on for the kidz as an intermission program. It’s intended to provide a resource of free animals for kidz. For farm families, this is an incredible blessing. That is, if you have the good fortune of scooping up just what it is you’re missing in the barnyard. I’ll be honest, our family had a stealthy plan of going after the Hampshire piglet. That was all we had a need for. We even brought friends. We had six kidz. It was practically a sure thing. Right? However, it’s an event that is intended for the kidz and that means I didn’t reach out and grab the pig when it came shooting straight at me. Nor did I scoop it up when it was cornered right beside me and I had to shout out to direct the kidz , any kidz, over to where it was. And, when the boy pulled it out of Morgan’s hands, as his mother was sitting on top of another pig half way across the riding arena, I did my best to explain to Miss Morgan that we would accept the loss and try to find some understanding in the hope that maybe their family needed those pigs more than we did. She was ticked. She was robbed. So, I was going to fix it all and console her with, “Hey, there’s still some bunnies and chickens out there.“ she looked at me, and very disgustedly pointed out the simple fact ,“I’m not going after a bunny or chicken. All we needed was a pig!!“ When it was all said and done, we still went home with three chickens. We were winners ???? She was right. We didn’t need three chickens. We were just greedy. But we chalked it up to the game of chance. Chance, being what it was with chickens, we still didn’t know if we ended up with hens or roosters . . . . Roosters, The boobie prize of the barnyard. We were hopeful though. We were holding our breaths.

Yeah, three more roosters. First came the nubs, eventually turning into spurs. A few high feathers, turning into waves and cascading into tails. You get the picture. And, as all of those things were becoming apparently obvious, so was the old saying “You only need one “rooster” in a henhouse . . . “. They’re beautiful. I’d like to justify keeping them. But my hens are getting abused and the whole scene just isn’t too altogether happy anymore. Egg production is down. Rocky has been alienated and because it isn’t in his nature to be the bruiser, he’s taken to hanging out in the coop by himself or pacing the east fence line, trying to be as inconspicuous as chickenly possible. It’s awful to watch his reign fall into such a state. I’ve spent the last few weeks determined to make my presence be the deciding factor in the dynamics of the chicken yard. I’ve been determined to get him seated back at his throne. But Mother Nature is bigger than me. I know it really isn’t my place to interfere on that level. I also know I’m the one who did the damage here by shaking up the chicken world with high hopes of a few more layers. It isn’t their fault, they are roosters. The fact is, these little guyz came into existence perfectly formed and hard wired for their being. They’re doing what they all know how to do best.

I’m left with a quandary. Like Ben hopes for me, I want Rocky to be okay. Really, I need him to be okay. I can’t watch the train wreck. I want things to go back to how they were for him before I messed them all up. I don’t get to blame this all on chance because I know better. There’s always that final moment of discovery, once you’ve chewed on something long enough, when you realize the only person you can be frustrated with is yourself. Once you know . . . . There is no undoing that. I don’t get to plead ignorance or carelessness.

I started to walk out of the chicken coop, considering all of my possibilities, feeling the weight of all the choices I had discussed with the kidz and what was actually practical. Because, that's me ~ practical. I had just spent 45 minutes with a hoe and a feed can (which I could throw 30 yards at any suspicious rooster ~ not too shabby) trying to impose my will. This is the length it took for me to be drawn to. Then came the reality that, the major leagues wouldn’t be pulling into my driveway any minute with a contract, my mean spirited and unemployed neighbor was probably uploading the humiliating footage to YouTube, and I hadn’t, in fact, changed the natural course of events for Rocky. I was just delaying them. It was survival of the fittest and he wasn’t playing the game. I wasn’t the greater good that had witnessed his endearing qualities and was here to reward his positive attributes. Rocky was off in the corner of the east fence line of the chicken yard when I had decided to give up the ghost and come in to find my camera and prepare the next “Free Roosters” posting you’ll be seeing at the feed store. Ugh. “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” ya'all!!

Rocky came running up to the fence with me and I thought maybe he had done his chicken intuition thing and had read my little pea brain. “Do you wanna just go out of the chicken coop, buddy? I’ll let you have the whole run of the yard okay. I won’t even get mad if you scratch up my strawberries.” He cluck, cluck, clucked his head to the side and just stood at the open gate. Then he started taking a few steps backward and turned his head to the side and starred at me. Those eyes. Again with the eyes!!!!! I decided he was trying to tell me “Thanks. I’ve gotta play my hand here. There might be hope for me yet. You’ve done what you can do.” I winced and pulled the gate shut behind me, because the offer was only good for him. When I was halfway across the backyard I realized my shoulders were still hunched up around my ears because I was still informing myself of the bad news. His bad news. I turned around and saw Rocky doing his best to hide along the east fence line. Bad news is always awful. Even worse is when you know somebody’s bad news before they do. Ignorance really is bliss. I had created this. I needed to do something, quick.

And I have to wonder how it would be that my focus would toggle so quickly from this almost mechanical perspective of feeding the chickens whilst building a relationship with our puppy to shifting to the “goings on” of the chicken coop as if it was a Broadway show. I guess the point to make there, or for me to have discovered, is that it is all a matter of perspective. For me, the farm girl, this is my Broadway show. My daily drama. The world, according to Tammy, via the chicken coop. Or, is it the universe conspiring to send me a message of some sort?