tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174735352024-03-19T04:38:24.080-04:00Sarah Down South"The Southerner never uses one word when ten or twenty will do." - Charles KuraltSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13044223737833333480noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17473535.post-57617644154984480602023-10-31T20:42:00.005-04:002023-10-31T20:53:49.455-04:00Grieving someone you've never met <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3g1LeL6I5UV-VFcyURtw2hl2U0W4roR8sSLRJUR8Jh5dSINmIrskjh5G7h7TMc6daVqJAQ1EjoRxDJgn2f8jnUgbKJTSlYc7ZauJFGnO4VL1DRRkucgM17wgxQNpOzlp8jikZP1m_8LJySw8UPv_doGe_7e-lztWSMOLHGQUk3-ez0SnH2NQ/s1024/mp.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3g1LeL6I5UV-VFcyURtw2hl2U0W4roR8sSLRJUR8Jh5dSINmIrskjh5G7h7TMc6daVqJAQ1EjoRxDJgn2f8jnUgbKJTSlYc7ZauJFGnO4VL1DRRkucgM17wgxQNpOzlp8jikZP1m_8LJySw8UPv_doGe_7e-lztWSMOLHGQUk3-ez0SnH2NQ/s320/mp.jpg"/></a></div>
If my math is correct, it's been about 68 hours since I found out that Matthew Perry died. Which means I've spent about 68 hours feeling all sorts of feelings that I didn't know you could feel when someone whom you've never met is no longer of this earth. According to a quick Google search and a top psychology site, this is normal, and one great way to deal with it is to write about it, so here we go.
<p>
There have been a few "celebrity deaths" that have affected me deeply. Tom Petty was probably the biggest. When the guy who seemingly writes the soundtrack to your life dies and you realize there will be no more music and no more concerts, it's hard. The deaths of Kobe Bryant and Paul Walker both affected me pretty strongly, mostly for the same reasons — I grew up admiring their work, and they held a big place in the pop culture from my coming of age years. Losing them felt like losing a bit of my youth.
<p>
But Matthew Perry hits differently. Way differently. <a href="https://www.sarahdownsouth.com/2022/12/i-read-matthew-perrys-memoir-and-heres.html" target="_blank">As I wrote in my review of his book last year</a>, I'm not one to obsess over celebrities. I'm not above getting hung up on someone from time to time. Good lord, I spent a large part of my summer watching almost everything Chris Rock has ever done, and you should see my Vivien Leigh memorabilia collection, but otherwise, I just don't care, and I just don't have time for it. Matthew Perry has been the exception for two decades or a little longer.
<p>
I've spent the last few days trying to pinpoint exactly why he was the exception. I didn't really watch <i>Friends</i> until its later seasons. I had a massive crush on him for a while (still do, I suppose), and how could you not? He is beautiful. But I've had a thousand crushes on a thousand guys, famous or not, so that's nothing special. Of course, he's also amazingly talented and gifted, though I felt his best work was sometimes overlooked. Don't get me started on <i>Studio 60</i>, and if you didn't like his movies, I'm sure you never saw <i>Birds of America</i>, <i>Numb</i>, or even <i>The Ron Clark Story</i>. I would have loved to see him do more dark and dramatic stuff.
<p>
I always wished he would write more. I know he wrote a play, <i>The End of Longing</i>, and I fully intended to go see it, but that was around the time my mom got sick and ended up on dialysis, which took over my life, so that never panned out. I know he wrote some TV shows, but I also know that the process is often muddled with too many people having a hand in it. When I found out he was writing a book last year, I was so freaking excited. I really hoped it would be the first of many. Memoirs. Fiction. Whatever. When it came out, I devoured it.
<p>
Actually, I was driving around yesterday, deep in thought, and it occurred to me that 90% of the male characters I've written over the last two decades have largely been inspired by MP. No one else has ever influenced my writing like that. I didn't even realize it until yesterday, but I guess he was my muse in a way. Is my muse. I think that's something that will stick with me forever. I hope it does.
<p>
There was just always something intriguing about him. Few people can master that type of humor, and when they do, I'm drawn to it. And I always felt there was a loneliness about him that I found all too relatable. Maybe that was part of the draw — seeing someone seemingly on top of the world experiencing some of the same stuff you often went through in life.
<p>
I actually enjoyed seeing him on talk shows and making random appearances that popped up on YouTube as much as I did his acting, which is why years and years and years ago, I even signed up for "Matthew Perry" Google Alerts (way back when that was a thing and he was promoting something or another) to make sure I didn't miss any of those appearances. And for whatever reason, I never stopped them, even as they became fewer and further between for a while. Every day, I'd check my email and see a million notifications from work clients and colleagues and the random junk I get from every store from which I've ever bought something, but those MP Google Alerts were peppered in there for nearly two decades. Admittedly, sometimes I deleted them without even reading them. Sometimes they were about the famous naval officer of the same name. (I'm not a big history person, but I know a lot about that dude now.) It was like my own little private thing, I guess, and it brought me a little moment of comfort every day.
<p>
Until it didn't.
<p>
68 hours ago, I sat down in my living room to finish an article. I'm going back to Costa Rica next week, so I wanted to get as caught up on work as possible before I left. I'd spent the first part of the day cleaning out some of my mom's stuff—mostly because my body needed a physical break from my laptop—and had just watched Georgia beat Florida, so I was in a good mood. Before I got started on work, I checked my email. There wasn't much. It was Saturday evening after all. A few ads from stores. A couple of those MP alerts. I almost just deleted them, but I didn't.
<p>
I opened one and mindlessly glanced at it. Then I deleted it and moved on to the Google Doc where my half-written article sat waiting for me. But then I got goosebumps, my body reacting before my mind made sense of it. Did that say "dead?" I went back to my email and clicked on my trash so I could read it again.
<p>
Sure enough, the alert was from a TMZ article. "Dead at 54." This was obviously a mistake. Some weird glitch in the Google Alert system that mixed up some headlines. Some other actor must have died. Rather than click on the link, I went to TMZ.com and saw the same headline there at the top of the page. And then I went to Twitter. If you ever want breaking news on any topic ever, go to Twitter. I saw his name listed in the trending topics, and my heart sank.
<p>
I just sat there numbly for a while, unable to comprehend this. There are maybe 2-3 people in my life who know about my little fascination with him. I texted them. They didn't respond. My dad was in the kitchen fixing himself something to eat. "Matthew Perry died," I yelled into the next room. The words didn't feel right coming out of my mouth.
<p>
"Who?" My dad asked. I repeated it. "He seemed to have a lot of problems," he said. I didn't like that response. Eventually my friends responded. I didn't like their responses. The whole word responded. None of it made any sense. Why didn't anyone understand that this didn't make sense? I didn't get that article finished that night. I couldn't even sleep. I cried the next day. I made dark jokes about it because that's what I do. I prayed. I told God that if this was his doing, I did not think it was his best decision. Pretty ballsy move on my part, I guess. And an awful lot of grieving for someone whom I've never even met…
<p>
Over the last 68 hours, I've gotten dozens of those Google Alerts. At first, I clicked on them, forgetting what kind of morbid little reminders they'd have inside, and I'd go into shock all over again. I eventually started deleting them again because it went from announcing that a beloved actor had died to horrible invasions of privacy and stories about him that are obviously not true.
<p>
Yesterday, I even debated stopping the Google Alerts completely, but I just can't bring myself to do that. One day maybe. There may even come a time when they just stop showing up daily, when the world moves on. But I'm not ready to move on yet. As I said, they became a little source of comfort for me. My security blanket. All of it was. The TV shows, the movies, the interviews, the appearances, the YouTube videos, the book — that's where I often turned when I was riddled with anxiety. When my mom was dying and I didn't think I could face another day. When a pandemic ruined some major life plans. When my dad was very sick in the hospital. When a boy I liked very much didn't like me back. When I lost a job. When I felt alone in the world. When my dog died. When my grandfather died. When my mind wouldn't settle at night and I couldn't sleep. 90% of the time, this guy who I never met got me through it.
<p>
There's a quote going around from an interview he did last year. "The best thing about me, bar none, is that if somebody comes to me and says, ‘I can’t stop drinking, can you help me?’ I can say ‘yes’ and follow up and do it. When I die, I don’t want Friends to be the first thing that’s mentioned. I want that to be the first thing that’s mentioned. And I’m gonna live the rest of my life proving that."
<p>
Obviously, for many people, Friends is what first comes to mind when they hear the name Matthew perry. That's where they know him from. That's how they'll remember him. That's how they'll mourn. That annoyed me a little bit initially, but the more I think about it, the more I think that it was a show that was more than just entertainment. I know for many of my friends and people of my generation, it was a source of comfort as we grew up and learned how to be adults. I know for many people it's a go-to when they're anxious or depressed, an escape. And I don't think it would be that without him.
<p>
But if you dig a little deeper, you'll see that he did have a much bigger impact on many people's lives beyond just starring on their favorite TV show. Google drug courts or the Lili Claire Foundation. Dig around on a site like Reddit for a minute, and you'll see people talk about how he inspired them to get sober and face their addictions. Look at some of the social media pages of the people who did know him well, like actors Hank Azaria and David Pressman, and you'll see lovely words for a guy who seemingly treated those around him with lots of love and respect.
<p>
It may not be exactly the legacy he wanted, but it seems that Matthew Perry left a huge impression on thousands, if not millions, of people in various ways. And there will forever be an MP-shaped hole in this world that no one else can fill.
<p>
As for me, well, I think I'll be sad about this for a long time. I felt like he had so much more to give the world, but in a way, I guess that's selfish because he already gave us so much. And I can't speak for anyone else, but I'm so, so grateful for that. From the years of entertainment to the writing inspiration, my life isn't the same because he was in this world. And if I'm feeling that way, I can only imagine how so many others do. With any luck, wherever he is now, Matthew Perry can see what he gave every single one of us and be proud that despite any battles he faced, his life was so important and the positive outweighs the negative a million times over.
<p>
And that's why I find myself sitting here grieving a guy I've never even met.
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UGA released our grades today. I already had a good idea of what I would receive in each class, but they're official now.
<p>
When I set out on this journey, I kind of jokingly said I was trying to make the Dean's List, but that was before I realized what I was getting myself into with precalculus.
<p>
So, I made two As, a B+, and, well, let's just say I passed precalculus and never have to worry about trig functions again. The B+ really should have been an A, but I missed a project deadline in one class when I had COVID, so there wasn't much I could do about that.
<p>
But I'm proud of what I did accomplish — and not just my grades, but the many life lessons I've learned over the last few months. I also received some great compliments, encouragement, and advice from two of my professors at the end of the semester (one of whom was actually my math teacher, belive it or not). Both of them encouraged me to go in totally opposite directions with my life, but that's okay. It's nice to know I've got options.
<p>
I'm still signed up for a couple of classes this summer, and if you asked me a few weeks ago, I would have told you I was going to drop them, but now I'm not so sure. One really interests me, so I may keep it at least. I have a few weeks to decide. I do enjoy school. I just don't want it to take over my entire life.
<p>
Anyway, this concludes my journey through attempting to be a full-time student again. Thanks for hanging in there with me. May we never do it again. <div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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Shortly after I arrived in Costa Rica, a friend suggested I try some gallo pinto. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I knew I was suppose to have some "authentic Costa Rican food" later in the week, so I assumed that would be part of the meal. But after a day or two, I realized that the hotel where I was staying served it as part of the breakfast buffet. So I tried it.
<p>
First, I'd like to say I've been a picky eater all of my life. If my poor mother appeared on the planet again right then and saw me purposely eating rice and beans, she'd probably die all over again. But when I travel these days, I try to push myself to eat new things. And thank God I did because it was delicious. It became my go-to breakfast along with the little empanadas they served. I'm drooling just thinking about it again.
<p>
If you're not familiar with this dish, it is a Central American staple, and it's usually eaten at breakfast. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gallo_pinto" target="_blank">Wikipedia says</a> that gallo pinto means "spotted rooster" in Spanish, though I've yet to get that far with my Spanish lessons, so I'll have to take their word for it.
<p>
Anyway, I did go on to eat several other foods I never would have eaten at home while I was in Costa Rica. I'm really picky about the fruit I'll eat, but I sat on a beach and ate mango and pineapple for probably the first time in my life. I tried guava pastries and margaritas and passionfruit this and that, and when that authentic Costa Rican lunch did roll around, I tried it all without hesitation, even the bit that I realized later probably had mayo in it. I don't eat mayo. I didn't die though. And I still ate my fair share of hamburguesas (I have gotten that far in my Spanish lessons) from the hotel's 24/7 cafe, so I wasn't a total daredevil.
<p>
But ever since I've been home, I've been craving that gallo pinto. I wanted to make it, but I lost my taste with COVID, and then I got busy with school and work, and then I realized you have to have Lizano sauce — a popular Costa Rican condiment that our driver, Roy, introduced me to — to make it, which I ordered from Amazon, but then I had to wait a couple of weeks for it to arrive.
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<p>
Well, today was finally the day. I was finally going to cook my first authentic Costa Rican dish. I'm not exactly eating carbs at the moment, but I figured I could make this one exception. Plus, I try to cook for my dad once or twice a week, and he used to love rice and beans when my mom cooked them, so I thought he'd love this. I decided to fry some chicken to go with it, and I was going to make another side dish.
<p>
Let's just say it didn't go exactly as planned.
<p>
First, I realized I had to actually cook the beans and rice before I could combine them to make this dish. I've never actually cooked beans before. When I had my dad try the ones I cooked today, he said, "Are these beans raw?"
<p>
Second, when I went to add the cilantro, I realized that my grocery delivery person brought me parsley instead. I added a little anyway. Why not?
<p>
Third, I couldn't decide between two recipes. There was one that seemed really popular when I googled, but I'm also a fan of <a href="https://www.recipesfromcostarica.com/" target="_blank">Costa Rican chef Melissa Guzman</a> (I'm actually hoping to take a cooking class with her when I go back), and I wanted to use her recipe too. So, for some reason, I decicded to combine them.
<p>
Fourth, I put the rice in the freezer to cool it down after I cooked it, and I totally forgot about it and had to thaw it out to add it to the mixture.
<p>
<p>
Fifth, I can't cook to save my life. I mean, I can make some things. And by "some things" I mean tacos and chicken nuggets. I also make a pretty mean lasagna, but beyond that, when I cook, there's a 50/50 chance the results will be edible. The older I get, the more I like the idea of one day having a husband who comes from a long day of work, and I've made him some amazing meal that he devours, but unless this guy I marry also has the diet of an American six-year-old, that is most likely going to remain a fantasy.
<p>
So, how did my first attempt at gallo pinto come out? Well, given everything I said, it wasn't awful. It did not taste like anything I ate in Costa Rica, but it's edible. If you like hard crunchy beans and thawed rice. Though, my dad took a look at it and said, "I've had heartburn all day. I better not eat it." Where's the eyeroll emoji when I need it?
<p>
It's probably a good idea that he opted out of the meal. The fried chicken I made turned out pretty bad as well, and that's something I actually know how to make pretty well. I blame that on the brand of chicken I had though. I'm pretty picky about that, but again, my grocery delivery person got something else before I could object. And I never even got around to making another side dish.
<p>
So, my first attempt at Costa Rican wasn't a total disaster, but I wouldn't call it a success either. Honestly, I have about as much patience with cooking as I do with precalculus, but it doesn't stop me from trying when the random inspiration hits. I guess I'll just have to wait until I go back later this summer to have some good gallo pinto.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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Today was the last day of school.
<p>
Remember back in January, when I was counting down the days until it started? Well, I've spent the last few weeks counting down the days until was over. And now, except for a final I have on Thursday (on my birthday of all days, go figure), I'm done.
<p>
I'm ready to get my life back. I'm burned out. I don't think I'll ever take a full load again. I actually talked to my advisor about this, and she was not really surprised, so maybe I did try to take on a little too much.
<p>
First, I had no idea what I was getting myself into with precalculus.
<p>
UGA has one of the most intense, difficult precalculus programs in the country. I've read that on multiple occasions. I had to have the class for my degree, but I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I signed up. Looking back, I should have taken it on its own, not with three other courses. I also had no idea that I would actually have to attend class three days a week. I thought it was all independent work. Having a class smack dab in the middle of the day three days a week puts a damper on my schedule… or lack thereof.
<p>
Second, I'm not a math person. Ironically, I made a perfect score on the math portion of the Georgia High School Graduation Test back in the day, and I've done pretty well in algebra, but beyond that, I'm a lost cause. I'm too lazy, impatient, and self-involved for any of it. I just don't care enough to try. And now, my brain is either too old, too bored, or too anxiety-filled (maybe all three) to memorize the identities of trig functions and rules of exponents and all those geometry formulas.
<p>
That got even worse during the two or so weeks I had COVID. My attention level waned, and I fell far behind pretty quickly, and I never really caught back up.
<p>
Thank God for YouTube. There are a few channels over there that do nothing but teach math, and they're the only way I managed to even get through this class. I highly recommend <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQv3dpUXUWvDFQarHrS5P9A" target="_blank">Brian McLogan</a> and the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCEWpbFLzoYGPfuWUMFPSaoA" target="_blank">Organic Chemistry Tutor</a> if you need them. I got to the point where my professor's lectures didn't make sense, so I quit paying attention to them and just went to YouTube to learn how to do certain types or problems.
<p>
Admittedly, I've only done well on one of the three big tests we've had, and I don't expect to do well on the final later this week. My hope is that I just pass the class so that if I continue this little journey towards that degree, I don't have to take it again.
<p>
As for my other classes, well… one was not great. The professor didn't really know what she was doing. I don't want to go into details, but there was a language barrier and some other issues. Add to it that the subject matter was far less appealing than it seemed initially, and I honestly felt like I was just phoning it in for that class.
<p>
My third class was actually a science course on a topic I really like, but it didn't focus on the aspects of the topic that I'm most interested in (basically, there was more physical science than biology), plus every week, at least 50% of the class would go on some tirade about climate change. Like one week, I proposed an idea that could actually help end world hunger in a fairly short amount of time, and I got berated because I didn't consider climate change when coming up with the idea. I don't know, I figure people would rather have access to food before they start thinking about all of that. It seemed a bit elitist. I got to the point where I just wanted to power through that class too.
<p>
My last class was actually my favorite. I hit it off with the professor early on, and all of our assignments involved a lot of reading and writing, which is right up my alley. But even that lost its luster. First, I didn't get to finish a project we had (that I'd actually been looking forward to) because of the whole COVID thing, and for some reason, I could never bring myself to ask the professor for an extension. There was another incident that soured me, and while I continued to work hard in that class, it left a bad taste in my mouth.
<p>
If I had to go back and do it all again, my initial reaction is to say no. It almost causes me to panic to even think about it. But I don't regret any of it because I think I learned more about myself and life over the last four months than I have in quite a while.
<p>
I also learned more during my <a href="https://www.sarahdownsouth.com/2023/03/i-didnt-want-to-go-to-costa-rica.html" target="_blank">spring break in Costa Rica</a> than I did in any of my classes, but it was the juxtaposition of the trip with school that really taught me something. I'm still trying to get out of the mode where I have to pack every single thing I want to do in my life into a short period of time. I think a lot of that comes from having to take care of my mom for so long and giving up so much of my time. I learned how to juggle during that period of my life, but I'm tired of juggling. Yes, there are still many things I want to do, but I don't actually have to do them all at the same time, and there is really no deadline on 90% of them.
<p>
I just want to simplify things a little bit. There is so much that I've been holding onto that was part of my old life — my life with my mom — that I'm ready to let go of now. Going to Costa Rica and doing things way outside of my comfort zone taught me that. While my interests haven't necessarily changed, my mindset has. When I try to do too much at once, I get distracted from my real goals. Somehow, in the eight short days I was in Costa Rica, I figured this out, and I came home with three very basic specific goals that I was ready to conquer. School wasn't one of them, so it felt like a burden after that — yet another reason to slow down and take a class or two at a time. I have a decent job. I don't need that degree for my professional goals. If I get it when I'm 45 or 65 or 85 or never at all, it's not going to change anything. UGA will always be a special place to me and an important part of my life regardless, and I'll always have some good memories from my first time there and this time too.
<p>
And the final issue that played into my burnout is that I barely worked for the first couple of months of this semester. That made it a little easier to spend seven hours on math homework. Once I returned from Costa Rica, a project started up that I just didn't want to ignore. So, I became a little resentful that all the school work was taking away from my bottom line.
Anyway, I'm supposed to take a class this summer, but I haven't decided if I will or not. It's actually one of the classes I was really looking forward to, so I may stick it out. And after that, who knows? My real plan for the next few months is to focus on those three basic goals that I came up with in March, now that I have my time back. Oh, and I'm also learning Spanish.
<p>
Because later in the summer, I'm going back to Costa Rica with a different mindset. I fell in love with that country and the people there and the way of living. All my life, I feel like I've been searching for a place to belong, and every city I've tried hasn't quite lived up to what I was looking for. Charleston, Savannah, and the whole Lowcountry area are the only places that come close. So, I want to go back and make sure I'm not making it all up. And after that, who knows? It's time to start taking one day at a time rather than trying to plan everything all at once.
<p>
What I do know is that today is the last day of school, and while it really wasn't as bad as I'm probably making it out to be, I'm excited to move on. I'm worn out. My professors and fellow students are too. We've even talked about it in class. There's a reason students get summers off.
<p>
And I can't say I didn't learn anything at all this semester. For example, I'm not so great at most of the precalculus, no, but I can compound interest with the best of them. I'd like to think the class that I enjoyed helped improve my writing a little bit. And I learned that no matter what the subject matter is, college students in 2023 can equate anything, ANYTHING, with either climate change or Taylor Swift.
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Next week is my last week of school, and it couldn't come sooner, but I don't want to dwell on that. Instead, I want to talk about a book I had to read for one of my classes. We got to pick from a specific list of nonfiction books, and I intially planned to read something else entirely, but I'd also purchased <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/GOING-GROUND-Amy-Blackmarr/dp/0865549052" target="_blank">Going to Ground: Simple Life On a Georgia Pond</a></i> by <a href="https://georgiacenterforthebook.org/authors/amy-blackmarr" target="_blank">Amy Blackmarr</a>, and when I read the prologue, I knew this was the one for me.
<p>
It's about a woman in her 30s who gives up her life and career in Kansas and moves back home to South Georgia to, well, live a simple life. She moves into her grandparents' old fishing cabin with plans to write, and each chapter is about her experiences, which range from dealing with poisonous snakes to not having hot water. But in between, there are beautiful discriptions of the land and so much heart. I didn't expect that when I first started reading.
<p>
On a personal note, I related to so much of this book. It could have been written by me at this similar stage of life. Since my mom died, I've been trying to figure out what's next for me, and it felt like Blackmarr was speaking directly to me. From her desire to simplify her life to her attachment to the land where she spent so much time growing up, there were passages I felt like I could have written myself. And I don't want to spoil the ending, but I may have shed a tear or 2,000. Part of that was due to an incident, and part of that was due to a situation in which Blackmarr found herself that I feel like I'll find myself in one day. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but it's a heavy thing.
<p>
So, yeah, this book was published back in the mid-1990s — I'm a little late to the game — but I highly recommend it if you find yourself in a similar place in life. And even if you don't, there may be something for you. It's a beautiful snapshot of what life is like in rural South Georgia with a little humor mixed in too. As a matter of fact, it made the Georgia Center for the Book's 2005 list of "25 Books All Georgians Should Read."
<p>
As for me, I plan to explore more of Blackmarr's writing. And as I continue my journey towards whatever is next to me, I think I'll find myself reflecting on this book often.
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I ran across this quote the other day. It's from the late Southern author Harry Crews.
<p>
<blockquote><i>"You can’t wait to write until you’re in the mood. My God, if you waited until you were in the mood, it would take forever. You have to sit down. The name of the game is to put it in the chair."
</i>
</blockquote>
<p>
It's not the first time I've heard some version of it. In fact, it's probably the most common advice you'll ever receive if you want to be a writer. When people ask me how to get started writing, it's usually the first piece of advice I give them. Because I know it's true, and it's the only way I've ever gotten anywhere in my own writing career.
<p>
But the truth is that I don't necessarily always practice what I preach, and that's why many of my personal projects never see the light of the day. I'm the world's worst at saying, "I'm too sad to work on this story I'm writing today" or "I'm so tired and just not in the mood to come up with something funny to write for this," so I'll make a few notes on my phone or "do some research" and promise myself I'll do the actual writing tomorrow. Then days and weeks pass before I touch it again, I lose interest and inspiration, and the whole thing becomes another sad, abandoned file on my computer.
<p>
Throw in the fact that I write for a living — for other people — and it can be hard to switch mindsets from creating content for someone else's website to working on that new novel I've been dreaming up for the last few weeks. It's also easy to lose your voice a little bit while doing that.
<p>
I was actually just talking about this topic with my friend and colleague, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Neon-Crosses-Chris-Queen/dp/1957586052">Chris Queen</a>, and he agreed with me, but he also said, "It's easy to make excuses to procrastinate, especially when you write other things for a living."
<p>
And he's right. Most of it is just that: excuses. Yes, having a writing career that is not your ideal and writing what you want to write are two different situations that can make the other a bit more difficult, but they don't have to cancel each other out.
<p>
When I was in Costa Rica, I started thinking about what I truly want out of life. What are my real goals? Which parts of my life are distractions from those? In the eight days I was there, it felt like all the gunk that had been building up in my mind over the last seven or eight years was slowly disappearing. I finally felt some clarity. I came up with three specific goals that I need to focus on to get myself to that place I want to be. One of them was that I need to start making my personal writing projects a priority again.
<p>
I didn't take my laptop on this trip. I didn't even take a notebook or anything to write in, which I regretted immediately, but I promised myself that when I got home, I would start writing. Daily. It didn't matter how much work I had, how much schoolwork I had, which animal needed what, or how tired I was or what mood I was in — I would work on something just for me every day. Even if I just sat down at my computer and typed out a paragraph of nonsense, I would follow my own advice and the advice that many others have given over the years.
<p>
It didn't quite work out that way. As we all know by now, I came down with COVID the week after I got back. I got behind on everything. I'm still behind on some things. And my goal kind of slipped through my fingers for a little while. But one night last week, I was kind of in a weird mood, and I had these ideas running through my head. It was late, but I was inspired, so I sat down and started to write. What came out was pretty good, I thought, and I actually had some big ideas about where it could go.
<p>
The next day, I had a ton of stuff to do. Between school and work, I was on my computer for about 11 to 12 hours that day, and that night, when I was at a stopping point, I shut my laptop down and got in bed. It was midnight. I was exhausted. I wasn't in the mood to look at the computer screen anymore. But then I remembered my goal, so I got up, grabbed the laptop and brought it to bed with me. I figured I'd just aim for that paragraph of nonsense, but two hours later, I'd written several pages and came up with several new ideas for this new project.
<p>
Will it ever see the light of day? I have no idea. But I feel like I'm in the groove now. And even if it doesn't, I know it will lead to other projects that might actually become something. As it turns out, just making a daily effort really is the best thing you can do. Which I knew. I'm just really good at coming up with excuses. I hate to compare it to a sport, but that's kind of what it is. You have to condition yourself and practice. There may be some rare weirdos who can wait for the mood to strike, but for most of the rest of us, putting yourself in that chair and forcing words out of your head is the only place to start.
<p>
So, if this is a hobby or career you want to investigate, don't go asking people for advice. At least, not at first. Sit down every day and write something. Anything. A chapter. A paragraph, A blog post. Keep doing it every day. That's where you can see if you have what it takes.
<p>
And if you're waiting for the mood to strike, you're doing it wrong. I once wrote an entire book while I was in the process of moving back in with my parents because the house I was renting had suddenly become unavailable. On the other hand, I once spent a week at the beach (see the picture above) by myself with plans to do nothing but write, and I came home emptyhanded. There is no right mood, and there is no perfect time or place to get started.
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<p>
As I said in my last post, I came home from my trip, and a few days later, I had COVID. It hasn't been that bad overall, but it just seems to linger. I think some of that is actually pollen allergies because that's awful right now too, but I came home with these big plans and have yet to be able to implement them. Not only that, but I got behind on everything else. Then my dad got it. He's fine, but he was convinced he was going to die for about the first week, and that was fun to listen to. And on top of all that, I decided to do something way outside my norm, and while the results weren't necessarily bad, they weren't exactly what I was hoping for, and that left me kind of sad and confused for a while. And that's a lot for one short period of time that can rob your energy and optimism, especially when I came home on the highest of highs.
<p>
But I'm happy to report that I'm finally feeling almost back to normal, both mentally and physically, and there was no doctor or therapist involved or anything. I simply have Chris Rock to thank.
<p>
It all started when I was in Costa Rica. A friend of mine texted me and told me she'd watched his new Netflix special, <i>Selective Outrage</i>. She told me I should watch it when I got home. I tabled that idea and didn't think much more about it until a week or two later when I was in my bed looking for something that would take my mind off my troubles, something that I wouldn't have to think about too much. Something funny.
<p>
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<p>
I love a good stand-up special, but I've watched most of the good ones on Netflix already — Dave Chappelle, Bill Burr, etc., so I decided I'd try the Chris Rock one. The thing is I'm not sure I've ever actually seen any of his stand-up. As a matter of fact, I was looking at his filmography, and I've only seen a few of his movies. I have no idea why this is. He is a couple of decades older than me, and I was not allowed to watch <i>SNL</i> and stuff like that back in the day, but that doesn't seem like reason enough to have never crossed paths with much of his work.
<p>
So, I watched <i>Selective Outrage</i>, and I laughed so much that I had to take more cough medicine. I totally forgot about everything that was plaguing me for that hour or so. And the next night, I watched it again. And over the next few nights, I found myself trying to find something else that would put me back in that mindset, but I couldn't. So I searched and decided to try another Chris Rock special from years ago. And then another. And another. And within a few days, I'd watched every single bit of stand-up I could find that he's ever done. I even went on to download his comedy albums on iTunes, and I started watching some of his TV shows and movies.
<p>
So, is Chris Rock like some magic kind of medicine that cures everything that ails you, from COVID to heartbreak? Well, I'm no scientist, but I can only share my experiences. The man is a freaking beautiful genius. And I guess a lot of people already knew that. I'm just not sure why it's taken me so long to figure it out, but now I know what to turn to next time I find myself in such a situation.
<p>
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Up until last week, I'd never heard of <a href="https://travelnoire.com/post-travel-depression-is-real-here-are-8-ways-to-bounce-back">post-travel depression (PTD)</a>. I'd certainly never experienced it. As I stated in my last post, I'm usually all in on a trip for the first three or four days and then I'm ready to get home, but this one went a little differently. I flew down to Costa Rica kicking and screaming and flew back to Atlanta the same way.
<p>
When I first got home, I had no desire to do anything that didn't involve me hopping on a plane and going back. School, work, my garden, my animals — I had no interest in any of it. I spent the first day in bed watching TV and recovering from a long day of travel. I spent the second day doing pretty much the same thing. I truly fell in love with that country and its people and the way of life. Being home just left me feeling unsettled. But then it got worse.
<p>
On Tuesday, I went out to feed everyone, and when I came back inside, I decided to make some ramen, which I never eat, but warm brothy food sounded good, and then I went to bed and slept until Wednesday. By Thursday, I thought I had a cold, but a friend told me to take a COVID test, so I did, and it was positive. By Saturday, my dad had it too, and he can be a tad dramatic when he's sick, and I knew I probably wasn't going to die from it, but his complaining might kill me.
<p>
I'd planned to hit the ground running when I got home to start working on a few things, but it's kind of hard to do that when you're sick. And really, it hasn't been that bad — more of an annoyance. I get tired easily, and the cough/runny nose is relentless. I also injured myself coughing, which I'm pretty sure takes a special kind of talent. Anyway, I know a lot of people have had it much worse, and I do have friends who have died or lost loved ones to it, so I'm grateful it hasn't been too bad. But man, the timing mixed with this so-called PTD sucks.
<p>
Throw in the fact that we seemed to be on a permanent freeze warning for the whole last week and a half when I'd just spent eight glorious days in the most beautiful warm, humid weather, and then there was the time change. And because I try to be somewhat responsible (unlike the sick lady who sat next to me on the plane and most likely got me sick), I couldn't really go anywhere because of the COVID. I can't smell or taste anything. I'm way behind on school, particularly math. I totally missed a big project for one of my classes in which I basically had a perfect grade. And a few nights ago, I decided to go out on a limb and do something I never ever do, and it did not really pay off, at least not the way I'd hoped — just made me feel like the world's biggest loser.
<p>
So, can I go back to Costa Rica yet?
<p>
Well, as it turns out, I can. This morning I was in bed, moping over the crazy thing that I did that didn't really have the results I'd hoped for, and I was texting a friend of mine. "Get up! Go do something fun!" she said.
<p>
"What's fun?" I asked.
<p>
"What's fun to you?" she said.
<p>
"Going to Costa Rica," I responded.
<p>
"So go," she said. "You can work from anywhere. Why not?"
<p>
She's right. The truth is that I really have been mentally planning a trip to go back since before I even got home. There's not much stopping me. I do have responsibilities here, though my dad and I have actually talked about this since I've been back. He's mostly willing to help me out with that for as long as he can, though we had this talk before he tested positive for COVID too, so I am not sure we're still on the same page. And I've decided to pause on adding any more responsibility to my life for a while until I figure this out. My biggest dilemma is leaving my dog, but she actually did pretty well while I was gone.
<p>
So, I'm planning to go back before the year is over. I could easily see myself spending a lot of time there in the future. It's hard to describe, but I just felt like I belonged there. Or maybe I just changed there, and it's not Costa Rica but me. After all, I stepped way outside of my comfort zone in many ways during those eight days. And even a little bit after I got home. Costa Rica me seems to have a lot less anxiety than Atlanta me, and I don't hate that. The only way to figure that out, I think, is to go back and dig in deeper. I'd also like to go back in better shape and having done more research on what I'd like to do while I'm there. I didn't take this first trip seriously enough.
<p>
Back when I was a little younger and traveled more frequently, my mom would joke that I liked to go on trips because it wasn't real life. I didn't have to cook, clean, work, etc. And admittedly, we stayed in a swanky resort and didn't have to do a lot of real life stuff during this particular trip, but as the week went on, I found myself wanting to. I really just wanted to go to a grocery store (says the girl who has been in a grocery store exactly once since March 2020). I wanted to see what it would be like to stay in a house that I had to keep up there. I wanted to have to learn some Spanish to communicate and pay for things in colones. That's why this felt different. I wasn't craving the vacation experience, I was craving the Costa Rican experience.
<p>
And I'm not sure where any of this will take me, but I'm gonna try to sit back and enjoy the ride. If I ever stop coughing... <div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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I didn't want to go to Costa Rica.
<p>
Just ask my poor cousin who drove me to the airport. She told me the other night that she was afraid I was not even going to get on the plane. But I've wanted to go to Costa Rica for well over a decade. And after my mom died, I wanted to go…somewhere. Anywhere. I was itching to get away from here, be it permanently or temporarily, so one of my friends and I booked a trip.
<p>
But in the weeks and even months leading up to it, I was so anxious about it. Looking back, I think I was just afraid to get outside of my comfort zone in many ways, but I'd invested too much money, and I couldn't let my friend down, so I went.
<p>
At some point after that ride to the airport, something changed.
<p>
I got up early that Saturday morning, and the first thing I did was bust my lip. It wouldn't stop bleeding. Two hours after I did it, I was standing in line at the airport holding a bloody paper towel to my face and wondering why I thought traveling during spring break would be a good idea. There were college kids everywhere. The security line was a nightmare because most of them had no idea what they were doing. Once I finally made it to my gate, we were informed that a flight attendant didn't show up, and we had to wait for one to come in from Nashville. My plane left two hours after it was supposed to, and the moment it lifted off, I got sick. I haven't gotten motion sickness since I was a kid and have never had it on a plane, but I spent the next few hours trying not to puke all over the mouthy old lady sitting next to me.
<p>
By the time I landed in San Jose, I just wanted to go home and maybe take a nap first. But somehow I managed to pull the wrong suitcase off the carousel and had to take it back and find mine, which took forever. And then, as I finally met my friend outside the airport, some guy came and tried to take my suitcase, and I nearly belted him, but she informed me that he was our driver.
<p>
Thankfully, my friend had some nausea medication with her, and the driver who I nearly took out had some cold water waiting for us. And thankfully, the two-hour drive to our hotel was rather pretty and distracting from the fact that I felt like death.
<p>
The hotel itself was gorgeous, and every single person who worked there was beyond nice. That was one of the first things that struck me about the country in general — the people are so nice. I realize 90% of everyone I dealt with works in the hospitality industry, but they go above and beyond what is expected. Even the immigration and security people at the airport were so kind.
<p>
A guy showed us to our room, and it was just breathtaking. We stayed at the <a href="https://www.marriott.com/en-us/hotels/sjols-los-suenos-marriott-ocean-and-golf-resort/overview/" target="_blank">Los Suenos Marriott Resort</a>, and we splurged a little for a "swim-up" room, which basically means you step off your little patio, and you have your own little pool there that you share with about 10 other rooms. It was well worth the extra money so you could, for example, come home from a harrowing ATV experience in the jungle and jump in and cool off before heading out to eat.
<p>
I'm really not a resort kind of person — my friend who came along won't travel otherwise — but I will say it's one of the nicest places I've ever stayed. (When I go back, I'd like to rent a house and kind of immerse myself in the culture a bit more.) The only problem I really had was with some of the other guests. There was a group of young men (maybe college freshmen?) and their parents, and they were extremely rude, loud, and entitled. I was embarrassed as an American at the way they treated the place.
<p>
That night we swam and ordered room service, and I was starting to feel a little better, but I remember texting my cousin who had driven me to the airport and telling her I still didn't want to be there. I told her I was just going to have to count down the days until I came home. And I really felt that way for the next day or two.
<p>
On Tuesday, things changed. I've told this story 8,000 times in many formats, so I am going to try to keep it short, but my friend and I each picked an activity that we really wanted to do no matter what. Hers was an ATV jungle tour. I have never been on an ATV. I've never had a desire to. I've watched too many friends get hurt on them. When it comes to activities like this, put me in the water or on a boat. But she agreed to do my thing, so I went along with hers. I couldn't sleep the night before. I couldn't eat breakfast that morning. I was so nervous when I first got on the thing that one of the guides asked me if I knew how to drive a car.
<p>
I managed to make it up the mountain, but when those guys told me that I would have to let one of them drive me to the waterfall where we were supposed to swim, I just lost it. I've jokingly compared it to being a little girl when my mom signed me up for gymnastics. I was all for all of the activities except for doing a flip over the uneven bars. I specifically remember a night during which Miss Paige and Miss Ivy stood on either side of me and begged, bargained, and bribed. They offered me stickers, a milkshake, $20, and a trip to my favorite store. They promised they would hold on to me and not let me fall. I refused. I cried. And here I was 30 years later in the same position, only Miss Paige and Miss Ivy were replaced by Juan and Jesse, these hot Costa Rican dudes.
<p>
I've reflected on this a lot, and I realize it wasn't so much that I was afraid of the drive down as I was just afraid of giving up that much control among other things that had nothing to do with the actual steep, rocky terrain on which we were about to embark. But those guys were patient and professional and knowledgeable and honest, and when Juan said, "I've made up your mind for you," I ran out of excuses. And believe me, I had a lot of excuses.
<p>
So, I rode to the waterfall with Juan, and it wasn't so bad. I regret not enjoying the waterfall more, but I was just terrified at that point, so terrified I could barely even walk to it. My legs were shaking. The other ladies in our group swam and took pictures. I sat on a rock. My friend wasn't feeling well, so she decided to head back up the path early, and I followed. When I got to the top, I just kind of sat down in the middle of the dirt and wondered how in the world my life had come to a point where I was sitting in the dirt in the middle of a jungle in Central America trying to regulate my breathing the way Mel Gibson did with his asthmatic son in the movie <i>Signs</i>.
<p>
A few minutes later, Juan came up behind me, made some jokes, and asked if I was good. I think I responded by asking if he'd drive me back. He said, "of course. I'll have to." I said, "No, back all the way." He laughed and said, "To the office? We can do that." Thank God. Not only did I not want to drive, but I had zero confidence in my ability to do anything for myself at this point, and plus, I'm not gonna lie, if I have to ride on one of those things, it's a lot more fun riding along with a cute Costa Rican dude than it is going solo.
<p>
When we got back to the office, that's when I realized something had changed. I was no longer counting down the minutes until I could go home. I kind of wanted to stick around and see what else this place had to offer. I mean, I'd survived the thing I was dreading the most and actually ended up having a little teeny tiny bit of fun with it. And it really opened my eyes to some things about myself that I needed or wanted to change, but that's a story for another day.
<p>
The rest of the day I was kind of on a cloud. I remember Juan joking that he and I had to go back up the mountain to get the vehicle I'd made them leave behind. I remember getting back to our hotel and jumping in the pool. We went to the hotel bar for supper, and I had the best nachos I've had in my life and a couple of gin and tonics that probably kept me on that cloud a little longer. I also remember being super sore the next day.
<p>
On Thursday, we got to do my activity of choice, and that was a little less demanding. It was actually one of my favorite parts of the whole trip, though when I excitedly posted my videos and pictures on social media, I was met with lots of disgust. Apparently, most people don't find it exciting to let monkeys climb all over you. Well, I'm not most people. I'm the person who would think I could go pet a lion and it'd be cool.
<p>
So, we had to get up early that morning to go hang with the monkeys, but it was pouring, and there was a chance it might get postponed. Unsure, we headed to the resort's breakfast buffet, which was actually always really good. I took a picture of my plate each day, and I went from eating bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns to empanadas, gallo pinto, and fresh fruit really quickly. I tend to be a picky eater, but I wanted to embrace the culture. I just had no idea I'd wind up eating beans and rice for breakfast every day and craving it like crazy when I came home.
<p>
The rain eventually stopped, and we sat outside and waited for someone to come pick us up for the monkey thing, and that is when we met Roy. I know I joke about leaving with a crush on Juan, but if I'm honest with myself, I think I really left with a little crush on Roy. He was just the kindest person I've ever met. He's a taxi driver, but our guide had some sort of emergency we were told, so he led the tour for us, and it was just the three of us, and it was just such a fun, pleasant day.
<p>
We drove out to this place where monkeys live in the wild, but they're human-friendly, and will come climb on you, especially if you have fruit. Or in my case, they will climb on you and smash bananas into your shirt and play with your hair. I loved every minute of it and have no less than 60 videos of monkeys on my phone now. He explained to us that it was birthing season, so the alpha male and the females were a bit territorial, but he walked us up the road and showed us where the moms and babies were hanging out in the trees.
<p>
After that, we went to a nearby beach and ate fresh local fruit and talked for a while. I really enjoyed getting to know more about Roy's life, and he talked about how the pandemic had impacted the country. I really could have just listened to him talk all day. I wanted to know everything about him. He was a cool guy, and I got the feeling he had an interesting past. I regret not asking him more, but I was also trying not to be too nosy. Next, we went to Tarcoles Bridge to check out the crocodiles who live there — they did not climb on me — and after that, we went to this little restaurant to enjoy an authentic Costa Rican meal. It was so good. My only regret is that I was too full to finish it all after breakfast and the fruit at the beach.
<p>
My friend wanted to go into town and pick up some souvenirs for her family, so I suggested we ask Roy if he could take us rather than using the hotel transportation. I just felt really safe and comfortable with him, and I wish we had met him earlier in the week, so he could have driven us everywhere. We jumped in the pool to cool down for a bit, and then he came back and took us into Jaco and showed us where the good places to shop were located. I just can't express enough how much I enjoyed his company. I did not want to say goodbye when he finally took us back to the hotel.
<p>
By Saturday, I didn't want to say goodbye to any of it. The girl who started the week hoping to "just get through it" had fallen in love with this beautiful country. And it is beautiful. The people are so kind. I had a friend say, "There are kind people in the United States too," and I know that, but it's a different type of kindness. It's more authentic. The way of life is just so refreshing. It's more laid-back and casual. It felt like time passed a little more slowly. And the weather — it was warm and humid and while I did my fair share of sweating, most of the time I felt like I was being embraced by a warm sunshine hug. Really, that's the best way I can think to describe it. I wanted to be outside all the time, and thankfully, that's almost possible there. Everything there just felt right.
<p>
Well, everything except for the lack of Diet Coke, but I can learn to live with that, I suppose.
<p>
Maybe it's cliche for an American to go to some foreign country and find themselves or whatever, but I just really felt like I belonged there in a way that I've never felt anywhere else. I get homesick easily, especially when I have to leave my dog. Three or four days into a trip, and I'm beyond ready to come home. This sort of had the opposite effect on me. I went in kicking and screaming, and I did not want to leave when it was over. Since I've been home, I've been questioning everything I thought I knew about myself and what I want out of life. Maybe it's just some kind of weird post-vacation hangover, but it doesn't feel like that.
<p>
Right now, I'm just trying to get over the COVID the lady on the plane ride home gave me. She coughed like a smoker and blew her nose the entire time, so I figured it was inevitable. But after that (and after I finish this precalculus class), I'm gonna take some time and slow things down a bit and see if this amounts to anything or if it was just a fluke. Either way, I know that right now, I'd be more than happy to go back to Costa Rica for another visit. There is so much more I want to do and see. As the guy who drove us to the airport said, "You've only seen the tip of the iceberg."
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This past Tuesday night — Valentine's Day — marked the first night I've slept in an actual bed since September 7. It was also the first night that I've ever slept on a brand new mattress, at least in my adult life. As far as I can remember, I've always just slept on hand-me-downs from my parents or grandparents. I have to say it's pretty nice.
<p>
That first night, I slept like a baby. On the second, my mind was racing. But I wasn't stressed about work or school or anything like that. I was thinking about the room in which I slept.
<p>
Up until September, Sadie, my dog, and I slept in one of the bedrooms upstairs, but in September, she tore her ACL, and stairs are now out of the question. We started sleeping in the den — me on the sofa and her in a dog bed — but I knew that wasn't a long-term solution. After much debate, I ended up buying a king-size bed earlier this year with plans to turn the little spare bedroom downstairs into a place where we could sleep.
<p>
It's taken me a while to clean that little room up, but I finally got it done over the weekend. Or mostly done. Done enough to roll out a king-size mattress on the floor. And that room may be the smallest, most insignificant room in the house, but now that I'm spending so much time in there, I can't help but think about how much time I've spent in there in the past.
<p>
This house has been a part of my life from day one and probably always will be in some capacity. My grandparents built it when my dad was in high school, and I grew up in the house next door. When my grandfather died a few years ago, my parents bought this one and moved in, and I've been living here with them as my mom's health got worse over the years. Now, it's just my dad and me, and one day, it will be mine alone.
<p>
As a kid, when I'd spend the night with my grandparents, that's where I slept. My toys were kept in that closet in a yellow laundry basket. I vaguely remember a blue and peach? maybe bedspread, and I remember hearing my grandfather snoring in the room next door and telling my grandmother I'd heard a bear. Thinking about that kind of took me by surprise as I remembered I'd actually slept in there many times before this week.
<p>
When my grandfather retired, they turned that room into his office with his big executive desk and all of his Georgia Bulldogs memorabilia. When that happened, maybe around the time I was in middle school, I'd come spend hours in there using his computer for school (or, at least, pretending I had to do schoolwork on it) because I didn't yet have one of my own. As the years passed and we all got older, I'd spend time in there with him, talking sports and politics, asking for advice, looking at pictures, and getting to know him as more than just the guy who fell asleep in his recliner watching the Braves games when I was a kid. When he died, most of his stuff was cleaned out, but his college diploma still hangs on the wall.
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<p>
When my parents moved in several months later, my mom deemed it her office/craft room. She had a little home business at the time, plus more craft supplies than you could possibly imagine, and I helped her move them all over here from the house next door. The room became her space to get away from it all for several years until her health began to decline further.
<p>
Eventually, after being on dialysis for a couple of years, she decided to give home dialysis a try. She'd need a clean room where she could close the door and keep traffic, both human and animal, at bay. That room was really the only option, so I helped her pack up all the craft supplies again and haul them back to my parents' old house. I think it took 11 trips in my Jeep. Or maybe 13? Something like that. And that's not counting what we stored in the basement.
<p>
If you know anyone who has ever done home dialysis, you know that it comes with many supplies. Pallets piled with heavy boxes full of bags filled with liquid arrive every other week. After packing up all the craft stuff, my dad and I hauled all of those heavy boxes in and set up the space so she could sleep in there and do her treatments at night. It was exhausting, but she was so excited for the change. She had a nice nurse who came out and taught us how to do it and checked in from time-to-time, and for those two months or so, that room was a clinic.
<p>
Looking back, it felt like forever. My mom had broken her pelvis shortly before it happened, so that prevented her from being able to move the way she needed to. The machine was not working correctly, and I didn't actually figure that out until we were near the end of this trial process.
<p>
It was also one of the most stressful times of my life. After I'd go to sleep (if I did go to sleep - it got to the point where I'd just sit there in bed, anxious for the call), she'd inevitably call me and tell me it wasn't working. I had to go troubleshoot. This meant sitting up for hours and waiting to see what would happen when I did. I was so tired during the days that I'd fall asleep sitting in a chair. In the meantime, I was in the process of trying to find a house to buy because I was in the process of working towards adopting a baby, which I couldn't do without a home. On top of that, someone at my job had thrown me under the bus to save themselves in a particular situation, and I pretty much didn't work for a few months until it was rectified.
<p>
Even though that period was dark, I still remember those nights when my mom and I sat up in that room, waiting to see if the dialysis would work. We watched TV. She enjoyed Impractical Jokers. It's how I came to find the podcast that probably saved me, but that's a story for another day. We listened to music. Lots of Tom Petty, the one thing we could agree on. We sang. We made jokes. As awful as that period was, it really turned into a bonding experience. I'd promised her that as long as she was on dialysis, we'd be a team, and I felt like those nights really reinforced our dedication to that. Every trial she faced was mine too.
<p>
When my mom finally gave up on the home dialysis, we spent hours dismantling, donating, and tossing the supplies, and then we lef the room alone. No one really wanted to go in there after that, plus things got kind of crazy. That next year, she'd get severely injured in an accident that required many surgeries, and just as she recovered from that, my dad ended up with sepsis and needed open-heart-surgery. Her issues took up the first half of the year. His took up the second. I think I spent more time in a hospital in 2019 than I did any room in the house.
<p>
And suddenly, it was 2020. COVID hit my mom hard. She's a social person. She needs to get out and see people and go to the store and shop and interact. But given her health issues, that didn't seem like such a great idea at the time. Dialysis was her only outing. She needed something to do here to keep her busy . So, she asked me if I'd turn that room back into her craft room. I just wanted to see her happy at that point, so I did.
<p>
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I spent the better part of a month that summer removing the rest of the dialysis supplies, cleaning the room as best I could, hauling all of her craft supplies back to this house yet again, and organziing them into labeled containers so that she could access them easily. It was definitely a labor of love — I'm telling you, this woman had enough craft supplies to fill that room 10 times. She loved the result, but I'm not sure she even used it until about two months before she died. That summer, she got really into it and started making all sorts of things with plans to take them to the shop to sell for fall and the holidays. It breaks my heart to think she had no idea that she would not live to see that time of year.
<p>
She painted and sewed and had a hot-glue gun running daily. The room became her happy place again in those final days, which was nice, because she wasn't very happy about much of anything else that summer.
<p>
And on the day she died, my dad and I rushed home to try to clean up a bit so we could get her home. And that's when the room became storage. Everything that was out of place in the rest of the house just got tossed in there in a fit of desperation. Her walker. Her clothes. My gardening supplies that were in the kitchen. The dog's old bed. The vacuum cleaner. A coffee table we no longer used. Amazon boxes. Anything that would be in the way, that would prevent her from getting inside or prevent relatives from visiting got tossed into that room, and that's where it sat until this past month when I started cleaning it up for its next role.
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<p>
Going through it all, I felt like some sort of archeologist. I'd been taking out bits of the craft stuff here and there to sell at the shop, but I'd barely scratched the surface. There were still medical supplies tucked here and there, and even some of my grandfather's office items were still sitting in drawers, plus that diploma I mentioned is still on the wall. I even found my grandmother's death certificate from 1997 and pictures of my cousins and me when we were all little. It was like with each item I moved, I was peeling back another layer of my life. Another layer of family members long gone and the memories they left behind…
<p>
And this is what kept me up a few nights ago. I was thinking about all the time I've spent in that room and all of the purposes it's served over the years. I'm sure it also served several purposes before I was born, and it will serve several more in the future. It's even served hypothetical purposes that never materialized. When my mom started the home dialysis, I always assumed she'd die in that room as morbid as it is to utter out loud. One of my favorite songs is "Cleopatra" by the Lumineers, and there are lyrics:
<p>
<blockquote><i>Now a nurse in white shoes
<br>
Leads me back to my guestroom
<br>
It's a bed and a bathroom
<br>
And a place for the end</i></blockquote>
<p>
I couldn't get those lines out of my head at that time, but of course, it didn't happen that way. And when every house I tried to buy fell through for one reason another, my parents finally offered to give me this house if I fixed their old one up to their liking, so that I could get back to that adoption thing. I always pictured that room as a nursery in that scenario, but COVID hit, my mom got really really sick, and the world had other plans.
<p>
Who knows? Maybe prayers will be answered, and it will still become a nursery one day. Maybe my hard work will pay off, and I'll hang my UGA diploma next to my grandfather's. Maybe I'll move away one day and never step foot in there again.
<p>
What I do know is that it's a nice, cozy spot to do my homework, watch TV at night, or sleep on a mattress on the floor with my elderly disbaled dog, and that's good enough for right now.
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</script></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13044223737833333480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17473535.post-50890442870763099072023-02-10T14:56:00.001-05:002023-02-15T21:19:26.021-05:00Hell Week and a Gypsy Last week, I saw that a girl in my math class had a real paper planner that she was using to keep up with her classes. First, I wasn't aware that college students still used such things (isn't there an app for that?), and second, I wondered why she needed an entire book to keep up with four classes. I mean, that day alone, I'd doctored a chicken, gone to class, did hours of homework, cooked, wrote two articles for work, and took care of all of my animals' other needs. And I am also taking four classes. I've yet to write down any kind of notes about due dates or anything like that. Oh, to be 20 again, when that's all I had to worry about. But it's nice being a mature adult who has it all together, right?
<p>
<p>
<br>
Well, at least I thought I had it all together.
<p>
<br>
I woke up the next day, which was Thursday, and realized I had a project due on Friday at noon that required me to have some supplies on hand that I didn't necessarily have and wasn't really sure where to buy. Oops. Thankfully, there's an Amazon warehouse near me, and both the items I needed were apparently in stock there because they were delivered about three hours after I ordered them. And even though I'd planned to chill that night, watch a little Netflix, and take a bubble bath, I ended up spending several hours working on said project to meet the Friday noon deadline. I managed to get an A on it, so there's that.
<p>
But then I started looking at my schedule for each class for this week, and, well, the first phrase that came to mind was "hell week." I had a test or quiz in every single class, and in some cases, both. This included my first big proctored, no notes precalculus exam (on which I didn't do too well, ugh). Taking four classes hasn't been that hard in itself, but taking four classes and one of them is an extremely demanding math class is kicking my butt, I'll admit. On top of that, I would be trying out a new role at one of my jobs starting this week. Throw in the fact that I'm leaving the country in a few weeks, and I have so much to do before I go, and well, you're starting to understand why I declared this "hell week."
<p>
My mom always used to say that you put energy out into the world when you speak, and maybe I should have thought about that before I came up with such a label, because on top of all that, it seemed like 100 things went wrong. I'll spare you the list, but it's just been one of those weeks when every aspect of life tries to act up at once. Thankfully, it's almost over. And I'm declaring the rest of this year "not hell week." I mean, it's worth a shot, right?
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-x9vyPRAgUY-yCNU5ue7qf4Viz9fX9W-qrKg5I0GtlDF1ICd4-OuDaeMUQmLomrGuMK0oKY-5dudRZ-0Tvit6LTINtsp-Gxeaqe5fPAl58yemd7UVwE8AbQ-BK_4kO4wKW8C2AzJ12HmvLK0KAVKN24kFE3E7xvAvHzP9iLCgeo4KoHhYA/s4032/IMG_2501.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-x9vyPRAgUY-yCNU5ue7qf4Viz9fX9W-qrKg5I0GtlDF1ICd4-OuDaeMUQmLomrGuMK0oKY-5dudRZ-0Tvit6LTINtsp-Gxeaqe5fPAl58yemd7UVwE8AbQ-BK_4kO4wKW8C2AzJ12HmvLK0KAVKN24kFE3E7xvAvHzP9iLCgeo4KoHhYA/s320/IMG_2501.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
The only bright spot has been my new tiny kitten, Hattie. I've been planning to get a kitten since August. After losing Lily, I felt like my remaining cat, Annie, needed a friend. She'd never been an only cat, and she just seemed really lonely. In December, I decided it was finally time, and I bought some supplies, but I could never bring myself to execute. And then, a couple of weeks ago, the rescue where I got Lily and Annie posted on Facebook that they were having trouble adopting out black kittens, so I decided that Annie and I needed a black kitten. I didn't tell anyone but my dad and one of my cousins that this was happening, and last Tuesday, I spotted one on their website that caught my eye. I contacted them about her, and they told me to come see her on Saturday, so that is what I did.
<p>
When I got out on Saturday, I decided to go by Tractor Supply first and then I'd backtrack to meet the kitten at our local PetSmart. And when I arrived, a lady and her two kids were filling out the paperwork to adopt the kitten I had my eye on. I was so upset, and I almost walked out and decided I'd try again after my trip next month, but that's not what happened.
<p>
You can roll your eyes at this one, but the night before, I'd been trying to come up with names for a potential kitten. Lily was named for one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs, "Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts," and Annie's full name is Annabel Lee (courtsey of Mr. Poe). So, I was thinking about musical names, and Fleetwood Mac kept popping into my head. Rhiannon? Stevie? Christine? Anyway, as I'm leaving the store, kitten-less, I notice most of the kittens have buddies in their cages, but there is one cage with the tiniest black kitten in it, and she was all alone.
<p>
<br>
Her name? Gypsy. Lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice...
<p>
<br>
Was this a sign from the heavens? I'll probably never know for sure, but I took it as one. I read the little "intro" on her cage, and it said she'd been found in the woods by a hunter when she was only a few weeks old. Not only was she adorable, not only did she have a Fleetwood Mac name, but she had like a little gothic fairytale background story, and if you know me, you know I'm a sucker for such things. So, I told the volunteer that's who I wanted, and she had me look at a few others to be sure, but I was sold.
<p>
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<p>
And then I got her home. First of all, I ended up naming her Hattie. Gypsy got my attention, but I decided not to keep it. Second of all, I initially thought she was defective. The minute you touched her, she attacked, biting and kicking and scratching — not in a mean way, just in a "I have no siblings or cat mama to teach me how to play, so I don't know any better" way. Over the years, my mom and I have hand-raised a few baby kittens, and I know they can be on the wild side because they never learn how to play properly.</p>
<p>
We're working on that, but otherwise, Hattie fits in quite nicely here. For now, she lives in this little tent thing I bought on Wayfair. It's a decent size for a little kitten, and she's got her food, water, a blanket, toys, and litter box in there. Plus, it's right next to Sadie's bed, and she has fallen in love with Sadie, though Sadie merely tolerates her. I thought it would be a great way to introduce her to Annie without incident, and so far, so good. Plus, it'll be helpful for my dad to have while he animal sits for me in a few weeks. Annie sits and watches her, but if she gets too close, she hisses at her. She's not mean to her though. I think she wants to like her, but Annie is not the most social of animals. She'll come around. And I think they'll become great friends. Hattie wants to be friends with everyone.
<p>
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<p>
And even though I'm only six days in and already love that tiny little black kitten, I could have killed her a few nights ago when she somehow got upstairs and jumped from the second floor balcony onto the first floor. I just knew she'd broken all her bones, and I'd be buying my vet a European vacation or something, but she's fine. She was super sleepy the next day — I told my dad we needed concussion protocol — but she's back to her wild and crazy self. And she's only allowed time outside of her little tent when she can be supervised by a human because my nerves can't take another incident like that right now. But, like I said, it's hell week, so I expect nothing less.
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<p>
Y'all, I might be a little crazy.
<p>
For some reason, I decided that I needed to attempt a full load of classes at UGA this spring. Up until now, I've only taken one or two classes at a time, all online, all asynchronous, but I guess I decided that I needed a challenge...because life hasn't been challenging enough over the last few years?
<p>
Never mind the fact that I work multiple writing jobs (though I haven't actually worked in a glorious month and as I get back to it this week, I am being choosy about what I take on). Never mind the fact that I have 20+ animals to care for and two houses and a good bit of land that I'm slowly but surely cleaning out and working on updating/repairing/fixing up. Never mind the fact that I've got two booths in a shop to keep stocked, and I've been on this crazy health kick of cooking more and working out daily. Never mind a million other projects I'm working on...
<p>
Let's just add four classes to the mix.
<p>
School started last Monday — I'm nearing the end of my second week — and I have to be honest, I kind of love it. I just wish there was a little bit more time during the day.
<p>
I'm taking a class about the history of landscape, as well as a marine science course. The third one I'm taking is the one that I was the most excited for — it's about the role landscapes play in literature, films, and art. Thankfully, those three courses are pretty laid back so far.
<p>
Because my fourth class, precalculus, is not.
<p>
Up until now, the classes I've taken during my Great Return to School have been fairly easy for me. This one isn't going to be like that. It's not so much that I'm bad at math. It's just that I hate doing math. But silly me chose a slightly difficult science major at a school known for its rigorous math and science programs, and precalc is a prerequisite for some of the upper level science courses I have to take. And while I knew it would be difficult, I didn't know it would be so demanding. I have to attend three classes a week. No excuses. Homework is due three times a week. I got a bit behind at first because when the professor said "you can skip the first chapter in the book; it's just algebra review," I realized I needed to not skip that first chapter because it's been a little while since I took algebra. Though I did well in it, so there's that.
<p>
Anyway, I think I'm slowly but surely getting the hang of it. Last Friday, I spent seven whole hours on it. Tuesday, I spent about four on it, and last night, I spent about three and a half hours working on a homework set that was due at midnight. So, that's progress, right? And it may not have taken that long last night except there was one problem that I just did not know what to do with it. I almost just submitted it incomplete, but I wasn't ready to give up just yet, even though I was exhausted. I'd been going for about 14 hours straight yesterday, and it was 11 p.m., and I just wanted to take a bubble bath and go to bed.
<p>
Thankfully, unlike my previous college experiences, we live in a world of Google and YouTube, and after realizing I was not going to find the answer in my head or my textbook or my class notes, I searched the Internet. Eventually, I found this amazing high school teacher who makes YouTube videos about math problems. In one, he did sort of a smaller, easier version of the problem I had, but I was able to take his advice and plug it into my situation.
<p>
And after about 45 minutes, I had the right answer. I couldn't believe it. I double-checked my work. I liked the video and gave the dude an appreciative comment. I ran around my living room squealing like a maniac.
<p>
What I did not do is look at the clock. I sat back down to fill in my answers and digitally submit the homework. I was so darn proud of myself. But I was met with a message that essentially said "This can't be submitted." What? Oh yeah, it's midnight. The homework deadline is 11:59 p.m. I guess it's sort of like the football player who is penalized for excessive celebrations. I got so cocky that even though I had the right answer, I still missed it and ended up with a B on my homework and an incomplete for that problem. One minute. Go figure. But whatever, I got the right answer.
<p>
I hate hate hate when people tell me I have too much on my plate, but realistically, I probably should have stuck to two classes this semester while I took precalculus. It is fast-paced and demanding of my time, energy, and brain cells. But I'm not going to back down now. I'm just gonna have to work a little harder and a little smarter and sleep a little less maybe.
<p>
Throughout my previous kindergarten through some college school career, taking the lazy way out was my thing. It worked for me. I didn't have to try too hard to get myself into the colleges I wanted or to pass my classes or to do well on the SAT. Hell, not to brag, but I got into Duke without even trying. They literally came to me. School was boring. I had better things to do.
<p>
When I went to my freshman orientation at the University of Georgia many years ago, I absolutely fell in love with the school, the campus, the people, and the city of Athens. I knew I'd found my place. But I know now I just wasn't meant to be there at that time for a variety of reasons. From the day I packed up my Jeep and moved to Atlanta to screw around at Georgia State and study acting, I've felt UGA calling me back as I worked through those other reasons, but the timing was just never right. I guess it is now. At least, it feels that way.
<p>
It's just a whole new ballgame. I crave knowledge. I want to read textbooks and write essays and take tests and do projects (well, not group projects — some things never change). I want to do well. I want to make As in my classes. I want to get a degree that I have absolutely no use for. Maybe it's maturity. Maybe everyone should take 20 gap years? I don't know what's changed, but I'm excited to see how long it lasts and where it might take me.
<p>
I just have to get through precalculus first.
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<p>
And literally, during the first seconds of 2023, I experienced what was easily one of the most exciting moments in my life as a football fan. My beloved Georgia Bulldogs played Ohio State in the Peach Bowl on New Year's Eve, and it was not the smooth sailing we've grown accustomed to this season in Georgia. The game was oh so close, and by the last minute of the fourth quarter, I figured we'd blown it. Ohio State just needed a field goal, and CJ Stroud is damn good. There was no doubt he would get the Buckeyes there, and that would be the end of the ballgame.
<p>
I resigned myself to the fact that we just wouldn't make it to the championship game this year. I couldn't even bring myself to watch the last few plays. No sense in rubbing salt in the wound. With my hands over my eyes, the clock struck midnight, and Ohio State's kicker, Noah Ruggles, lined up to make those three game-winning points. Only he didn't.
<p>
My dad was sitting across the room, and he began yelling, and my dog danced around, and I was screaming, "What happened? What happened?" with my hands still over my eyes. Of course, we all know now that he missed by a mile, and Georgia got the win. As a fan, it was exciting. I was happy for Stetson Bennett. I was thrilled for the whole team, the coaches, the school, and the state of Georgia. It was the highest of highs for some of us football fans.
<p>
And just a couple of days later, the sport would experience one of the lowest of lows. Buffalo vs. Cincinnati. One of the biggest match-ups of the week. Of the year maybe. Two great teams going head-to-head. Two of the hottest quarterbacks in the NFL right now. Playoff implications. It was a game that it would be hard not to get excited about if you're a football fan.
<p>
I was pretty busy yesterday, and by the time last night's Monday Night Football game started, I decided to spend the rest of the evening chilling on the sofa, watching the game and reading. I was cleaning up a few things I'd been working on during the first quarter when I saw that someone was hurt. I didn't think much of it at first, and I wasn't really watching what was going on in those moments, but I could hear it in Troy Aikman and Joe Buck's voices, and by the second or third commercial break, I realized something was terribly wrong. And then I saw how upset those men on both teams were, and I realized this wasn't your typical sports injury.
<p>
By now, you've probably heard that Damar Hamlin, a safety for Buffalo, went into cardiac arrest during the game, and medical staff had to perform CPR for several minutes to bring him back. As I write this, he's in critical condition in a hospital in Cincinnati. I can't speak to the situation beyond that, but I can tell you what I witnessed last night.
<p>
Like everyone else, I wanted more info on what was going on than ESPN was able to provide (though I will say, I thought the analysts and announcers handled it all really well), so I went to Twitter. People like to knock social media, but Twitter is and always has been a great tool for news if you know how to do it right. Aside from a statement put out by someone on Hamlin's PR team, there really wasn't much of an update, but what I did see made me feel a little better about people in general.
<p>
With the exception of a few assholes, everyone was praying and hoping for the best for this guy. I saw it on Twitter. I saw it on other social media. I saw it in my texts and messages as friends started contacting me to talk about it. I saw it on TV as the coaches consoled their players, the players didn't hold back their emotions, and the reporters and analysts' voices cracked as they attempted to talk about something that no one ever thought we'd see on a football field.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_VuaYlWzNDB7n4pdvGYlS00LLe-5yB0ry8OVezp7G6UsKcuIqmk5g04_X5EIFHlvc0iRzUcmDv7R59FGPk39cl5w_0ITn18Uk9h6Oc-mM1KoBA45b6LpLOS-59NGI2KfN7y81mgjh8YPkgxOpynFGdabDy4eeJyeWUuYVPKhVJcrJB-kgiQ/s1262/IMG_2011.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1262" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_VuaYlWzNDB7n4pdvGYlS00LLe-5yB0ry8OVezp7G6UsKcuIqmk5g04_X5EIFHlvc0iRzUcmDv7R59FGPk39cl5w_0ITn18Uk9h6Oc-mM1KoBA45b6LpLOS-59NGI2KfN7y81mgjh8YPkgxOpynFGdabDy4eeJyeWUuYVPKhVJcrJB-kgiQ/s320/IMG_2011.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
Hamlin, who is just 24, also had a <a href="https://www.gofundme.com/f/mxksc-the-chasing-ms-foundation-community-toy-drive" target="_blank">fundraiser set up to raise money for a toy drive</a> he was doing for kids in his hometown. His goal had been $2,500. As I type this, it's at around $5 million.
<p>
My point to all of this is that, in an instant, we all went from football fans to humans. It didn't matter what team you liked or didn't like. It didn't matter that this was a critical time for figuring out the playoffs. It didn't matter if you'd never heard of Hamlin or you were his biggest fan. Your fantasy team didn't matter. Stats and records and numbers didn't matter. Nothing else in this world mattered than whether or not that guy would be okay.
<p>
I've been a football fan for as long as I can remember. It's not lost on me that these guys choose to play a brutal game for my entertainment. And one of my biggest pet peeves is the negativity that surrounds the sport. Some of the media and non-fans especially like to focus on the bad things that happen. I won't get into that right now, but there is also so much good involved in football, in the football community, and in sports in general. Much of the time, the bad drowns it out. I don't foresee that changing, but I always try to do what I can to focus on the good stuff, and I hope others do too. It doesn't hurt to be a decent person.
<p>
Anyway, I've got some more ideas about that, but right now, the most important thing is Hamlin's life, and praying for him to pull through and praying for comfort for his loved ones, teammates, and coaches. I know I couldn't sleep last night after witnessing the incident from my living room, so I can only imagine how they feel.
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About a week or two ago, I ran across a quote from the book <i>Their Eyes Were Watching God</i> by Zora Neale Hurston:
<p>
<blockquote><i>"There are years that ask questions and years that answer."</i> </blockquote>
<p>
It resonated almost immediately.
<p>
When 2022 began, I thought this would be a year that asked questions. After all, my life had just changed dramatically a few months before the year began. But as it draws to an end and I look back over it as most people do in December, I realize that I already had the questions. This year gave me the answers. Or some of them. I'm still learning. We all are if we're lucky.
<p>
While I wouldn't necessarily call it a bad year (I've had much worse), I can honestly say that I spent a good portion of 2022 in a dark, dark place. I think that started around last Christmas because when I compare where I was last year around this time to where I am now, I feel like two totally different people. I spent last fall working almost nonstop. I was tired. I was mad. I was intimidated by some new responsibilities. The shock of my mom's death was wearing off and reality setting in. And to be honest, Christmas hasn't been my favorite time of year in a while lately anyway. It reminds me that I don't have the kids I long for, and I miss the Christmases of my own childhood. And this may sound petty, but I didn't hear from many people last Christmas, even some whom I reached out to first, and that was kinda hurtful.
<p>
Over the next seven or eight months, things seemed to get worse. July was the climax. The month started with me sitting in some strange veterinarian's office in Atlanta on a Sunday evening, wailing and sobbing as if the world was coming to an end (something I just don't do), and it ended with me trying to decide if I was going to have to take legal action over a huge work issue that was the source of many of my issues from the past year. I remember spending July 4th sitting in my house, mindlessly eating tater tots and wishing the world <i>was</i> coming to an end.
<p>
Thankfully, that's when the answers started coming — slowly at first, but they came.
<p>
First of all, I realized this couldn't work much longer. I couldn't control all the circumstances, but I was going to have to change my mindset. Shit is going to happen. People who you thought would be there for you aren't going to show up. You'll have to work with terrible human beings if you want to be successful. There will be death and sickness. Pipes will burst. Refrigerators will stop working. You'll have to cancel plans. You just have to find a way to prevent it from defeating you.
<p>
And when I had that realization, the answers began coming faster. I had my Scarlett O'Hara "as God as my witness" moment. I was not going to spend another minute in misery. And it's taking some time and there have been setbacks, but I'm getting there.
<p>
The other realization I had was that I spent way too much time letting other people make or break my happiness, especially people who don't really value me. Those people don't deserve any power over what I do, and it's time to stop allowing it. After all, there are about 8 billion people in the world, so once you sort it all out, maybe you can go find some more. It might be uncomfortable, but discomfort is necessary for moving forward sometimes.
<p>
And what a difference a year makes. I didn't spend Christmas sulking or dealing with anxiety and panic attacks. I didn't feel guilty for taking time off work at the end of the year and saying no when I was asked to reconsider. I didn't feel guilty for spending the majority of a day last week on the sofa reading, watching football, and ordering takeout instead of trying to cook after working my ass off for the last few months. I spent more time with Aaron Rodgers and Baker Mayfield and my dog than anyone else on Christmas Day, and I was fine with that. Instead of wasting time and money on gifts and cards and decorations that no one would think twice about, I made donations to people who I knew could use them. Basically, I created my own happiness, and anything else was just icing on the cake.
<p>
And I suspect there will be more of that in 2023 — just embracing life and moving forward. I start school at UGA again in about 10 days, and I've loaded up my schedule with all sorts of classes. Yesterday, I said out loud, "I can't wait for school to start," and the person I was with said, "I don't think I've ever heard anyone say that." But I can't wait. I've got all sorts of other plans. I'm working on some new career goals. And really, I'm not even waiting for 2023 to get started on any of it. I already have. That's how excited I am to finally get back to living my life to the fullest after this transition year that has been bizarre but oh so enlightening.
<p>
A year that answers.
<p>
But first, I have a football game to watch. Go Dawgs!
<p>
P.S. I really am grateful for most of the people in my life, and my hope for you is that you embrace life in 2023 as well. <div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<p>
So, I'm terrible at book reviews, but I knew I'd want to write something about this one. And this may be the first "celebrity memoir" I've ever read. Unless your best work in TV and film was completed before 1990, I just don't really care enough to read your life story. Give me Clark Gable. Give me Robert Duvall. Give me Bill Murray. Matthew Perry is one of few exceptions to that rule, but I'll get to that in a minute.
<p>
Also, I don't like the idea of labeling this a "celebrity memoir."
<p>
It's much more than that.
<p>
It's a human story written by someone who just happens to have experienced celebrity.
<p>
You don't have to be a <i>Friends</i> fan to appreciate <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Friends-Lovers-Big-Terrible-Thing/dp/1250866448/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1DN3IAMOR2ELR&keywords=friends+lovers+and+the+big+terrible+thing&qid=1670275031&sprefix=friends+lovers+and+the+big+terrible+thin%2Caps%2C126&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing</a>. You don't even have to be a Matthew Perry fan. (But if you are both or either of those things, you'll probably enjoy it.) You don't have to be someone with an addiction to relate to it. There's a lot of other life stuff too. (I mean, I felt the passages about loneliness could have been written by me recently — see: <a href="https://www.sarahdownsouth.com/2022/10/experiences-over-everything.html" target="_blank">Experiences Over Everything</a>). But if you do struggle with addiction, there's a great deal in this book that you might relate to too. It may even encourage or help you. He is quite knowledgeable on the topic.
<p>
There was a lot of press that came out before the book did, and if you just glanced at those headlines, you might think that this would be the print version of Joe Walsh's "Life's Been Good."
<p>
It's not.
<p>
Yes, there are stories about people whose names you see in magazines that might delight you if you're into that kind of thing, but there are also great stories about people who aren't. My personal favorites were about actor David Pressman. As a matter of fact, the first line I read when I initially received the book and was skimming through is "I once made out with David Pressman…" I've been following Pressman on Twitter for years and just think he's the funniest person on the planet, and every time I see him on TV, I scream, sometimes to no one, "Oh my God, there's David Pressman" because I'm a bit of a dork like that.
<p>
The book is pretty raw and intense at times. At times, it's Perry's opportunity to tell his side of a story that the media created about him over the last couple of decades. You learn which bits are true and which aren't and which were actually way worse than what you thought you knew. But I don't get the feeling that this was written as some kind of defensive play against the media.
<p>
Brave. I read most of this book while sitting through a few bubble baths, and even so, I found myself reaching for my phone and taking notes as I read, and I typed the word "brave" about six or seven times. It had to be tough to write about some of these topics. There were times when I wanted to crawl into the book and give the author a hug. But I don't get the feeling that he wrote this hoping to get everyone to feel bad for him. It's not a pity party at all.
<p>
It's just so many things rolled into one, but I guess in a way, it's an introduction to Matthew Perry the person. I suppose that's what a memoir is, but you get to know him on a human level here. You learn that he's not just an actor, not just someone who deals with addiction, and not just that famous funny guy on TV. He's a real person who seems like a loyal and loving friend (lowercase F) and son and brother. He comes across as someone who is clever, thoughtful, and intelligent, but as someone who has fears and anxiety like the rest of us. To me, that was the best part of the book — getting to know this guy who was such a huge part of pop culture while I was growing up.
<p>
The content aside, there are some beautifully-written passages peppered throughout the book that made me envious as a professional writer. And there are some that just literally had me giggling out loud right there in my bubble bath. This guy can tell an engaging story and make you laugh and cry, sometimes on the same page, and I hope this is just the beginning. More memoirs, fiction…acrostic poetry? Whatever it is, with any luck, a decade from now, I'll have several books written by Matthew Perry in my library and you will too.
<p>
And that's exactly why I read this book. It's why I pre-ordered it over the summer. I've just always gotten that vibe that this guy could write a story that you'd want to read. And I was correct. And that's why Matthew Perry is probably one of the few actors who has found success in my lifetime whose memoir I'm willing to bring into my sacred bubble bath world. (There is no sacred bubble bath world. I just made that up.)
<p>
So, about that… Let me start by saying I may be the only person on the planet who didn't become a Perry fan because of <i>Friends</i> necessarily. I really didn't even watch the show when it initially aired. I was in...middle school? at the time, and some girls who weren't so nice to me were obsessed with it, and they thought Chandler was the cute one. So, I decided that A) I was not ever going to watch it and B) Ross was the cute one. And that was that.
<p>
But a few years later, sometime in the early 2000s, I was in Los Angeles for professional reasons, and though I was still a teenager at the time, the person I was working for asked me to chaperone this 28-year-old Australian lady to the La Brea Tar Pits. All I remember about that outing was that the Aussie had never seen a squirrel before, she had just broken up with her boyfriend and talked at length about it, and for some weird reason, she wanted to see the spot where Matthew Perry had been in a headline-making car accident.
<p>
I was going to have to look the no-squirrels-in-Australia thing up, and I was way too young to offer relationship advice to a woman who was nearly 30, so when we rode along some random road in the Hollywood Hills, I was all, "I don't know where it was exactly, but I think the accident was on this street."
<p>
I had no idea what I was talking about. I was only even vaguely aware that it had happened. I just didn't want this cool international lady to think I was dork. (Yes, I know. We've already established that I am.) And now, I feel really bad about that.
<p>
Sometime after that, I saw Perry on a talk show. And then in a movie. And then I guess I started watching the last couple of seasons of <i>Friends</i> with my mom when I was around to do so because I remember us watching the finale in her bedroom. And I can't pinpoint the exact moment or even the reason why I started paying attention to him — of course, he's handsome and charming and all the things that come with being a famous TV guy — but it just seemed like there was something interesting about him. Something more than what you saw on TV.
<p>
I followed his career for a while as best I could, but there are still several movies and shows I haven't seen. I am still in love with <i>Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip</i> and watch it like once a year, and there are a few independent movies he's in that I think are some of his best performances. I actually tend to really like his darker or more dramatic work. And, of course, I've now seen all episodes of <i>Friends</i>.
<p>
I'm rambling at this point, and if you made it this far, thank you. I didn't even get to all the notes I made on my phone or the passages I marked, but I don't think I need to. It's a good read that covers a multitude of topics — something for everyone. Go out and get it. It would definitely make a great Christmas gift.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8oVJ17iVorHbandNuc2LxninLGFka2_sRH2YDKaA4UOFKnfW60qACkF9zZO12pL3dztEzu3IAv81sS1WgH0A1hEPk_LTfxPHVDePanjNB6yJwGMRLeuzBUFsrAou0aD22nRTnOGZIMyTmiV_6T-xATI64x1bV11_tCLHhf3W-xAKn1F-iPg/s3340/IMG_1329.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="3340" data-original-width="3004" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8oVJ17iVorHbandNuc2LxninLGFka2_sRH2YDKaA4UOFKnfW60qACkF9zZO12pL3dztEzu3IAv81sS1WgH0A1hEPk_LTfxPHVDePanjNB6yJwGMRLeuzBUFsrAou0aD22nRTnOGZIMyTmiV_6T-xATI64x1bV11_tCLHhf3W-xAKn1F-iPg/s320/IMG_1329.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
And if you didn't read my rambling, to sum it all up: I do think you should read this book. And I think Matthew Perry should write more of them.
<p>
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Friends-Lovers-Big-Terrible-Thing/dp/1250866448/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1DN3IAMOR2ELR&keywords=friends+lovers+and+the+big+terrible+thing&qid=1670275031&sprefix=friends+lovers+and+the+big+terrible+thin%2Caps%2C126&sr=8-1">Buy Friends, Lovers and the Big Terrible Thing by Matthew Perry here</a>.
<p>
Now, I have an SEC Championship to get to. Go Dawgs!
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During her last few years, my mom used to come home from dialysis and watch the Food Network most days. On one particular occasion, I remember her telling me that she had recorded a show for me to watch. I don't like to cook like she does, so my interest in cooking shows wasn't very strong, but she insisted I'd just love this show. "The lady is from Charleston! You would love her! You'd love the scenery! And the food she cooks — it's the kind of food we actually eat," my mom insisted.
<p>
If you know me, you know that Charleston is like a second home to me. I love the lowcountry of South Carolina and Georgia, and I have always been fascinated with the Gullah Geechee culture, particularly when it comes to food and the origins of their dishes. I've even got a writing project in the works related to it if I can ever get around to finishing it.
<p>
So, on that day, I sat and watched <i>Delicious Miss Brown</i> with my mom, and I've been hooked ever since. As a matter of fact, we'd watch the show together almost every weekend after that, and sometimes, we'd even watch reruns when there were no new episodes. That became our thing. We both fell in love with the host Kardea Brown and her food.
<p>
Her food.
<p>
There are many Food Network shows that cook foods I wouldn't eat. This is not those shows. Kardea Brown cooks like I cook, or, at least, how I wish I could cook. She cooks like my mom cooked. She cooks real Southern food, the stuff I grew up eating, which is not surprising considering she learned to cook from ther own Southern mother and grandmother. I love that she's keeping these traditions alive.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3D6a62oQdWIAAktCXaW-I5mQ4bRs1-S1Y1X0WMpGXKjGOm-FG0qflMw03h82DQc1FFnKmRlWffO7owvBss4JTcrB261Qt-SBN_eyn47CdkyDc47DDsDffFDye8VXl7QfVKkjWrl_7MIEKd9Q3aEGFk4UOxmBh0M5CRNcqbiXC3bnltSPWw/s3180/IMG_1212.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="3180" data-original-width="2629" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3D6a62oQdWIAAktCXaW-I5mQ4bRs1-S1Y1X0WMpGXKjGOm-FG0qflMw03h82DQc1FFnKmRlWffO7owvBss4JTcrB261Qt-SBN_eyn47CdkyDc47DDsDffFDye8VXl7QfVKkjWrl_7MIEKd9Q3aEGFk4UOxmBh0M5CRNcqbiXC3bnltSPWw/s320/IMG_1212.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
Of course, my mom died last year, but keeping up with <i>Delicious Miss Brown</i> and Kardea Brown's career was a huge source of comfort for me after that. And I was absoltely thrilled when her new cookbook <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Way-Home-Celebration-Islands-Recipes/dp/0063085607" target="_blank">The Way Home: A Celebration of Sea Islands Food and Family</a></i> came out last month. When it arrived, I devoured every recipe, every picture, every story. Unfortunately, I was also on a specific diet, so I couldn't really test any of the recipes out just yet. Go figure.
<p>
So, fast forward a month to Thanksgiving. Actually, fast forward to a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving. I was sitting around feeling sorry for myself because I didn't really have any plans for the holiday, but suddenly, I decided I'd just create my own plans. I decided I'd make a big elaborate meal with turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes, green beans, corn, mac and cheese — the whole nine. My own version of my childhood family Thanksgiving meals.
<p>
While last year was technically my first Thanksgiving without my mom, this year has been a little tougher. I think I was still in shock last year. And as I got closer to today, my menu and my determination dwindled. This seemed like a lot of trouble, and that seemed like it was too time-consuming, and my dad won't eat that and I don't need a whole casserole dish of it, and I'll just save the dessert for Christmas, and my oven is messed up again, and the kitchen is a mess becuase I've been cleaning stuff out, and Sadie had to go to the vet, and I had the flu last week, and then a lucrative yet time-consuming project crossed my desk at work, and well, long story slightly shorter, I decided I would just make a turkey breast, mac and cheese, and dressing, and I was really only doing that because I know my dad wanted a little something Thanksgiving-y.
<p>
I need to start by saying my mom made the best dressing most people who tasted it had ever had. It was pretty legendary. Nothing else compares. I even joked while she was on her deathbed about how we'd miss it. Her last Thanksgiving on this earth she was too weak to cook it herself, so we made it together. Boy, I wish I'd written that down. Not that you can write it down exactly. A little of this here and a little of that there and let's add some more of that and who needs a measuring cup? You kind of just have to feel it out. I had most of it floating around in my head. Last year, I tried to replicate it and did an okay job. This year, I was determined to do the same. There was only one problem.
<p>
I couldn't remember how to make the kind of cornbread she made to put into the dressing. And once I got to thinking about it, I'd only helped her make mac and cheese once, and I couldn't for the life of me tell you how she did it. None of the recipes I found online seemed comparable.
<p>
And that's where Kardea Brown came in and saved my Thanksgiving.
<p>
I wanted to start writing book reviews here, and I figured her cookbook was a great one to start with. A few nights ago, I was skimming through it again, taking notes for my review, when I realized she had a cornbread recipe that sounded just like the one my mom made. And not only that, but her mac and cheese sounded a lot like what my mom made too.
<p>
As I said before, we fell in love with Miss Brown and her show for a multitude of reasons, but the fact that she cooked like we cooked/ate was the biggest one.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcjlMHI6iO5Qia6qnLlnukX1h6nsxYRoHesLySs5CPrIw_M0utsqA978zq651NrvMw3wxqlk2CW_Dykv9XTZSWi29j1UcIVrG9CZ8Ube9FhJFTSvwCFkXvS2p1RxaKnGF5UWKFCGd-iQR_JCbbMw8icCR56JT3tTaYrU0GZpNgcvx7xwmTQ/s3024/IMG_1555.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="2862" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcjlMHI6iO5Qia6qnLlnukX1h6nsxYRoHesLySs5CPrIw_M0utsqA978zq651NrvMw3wxqlk2CW_Dykv9XTZSWi29j1UcIVrG9CZ8Ube9FhJFTSvwCFkXvS2p1RxaKnGF5UWKFCGd-iQR_JCbbMw8icCR56JT3tTaYrU0GZpNgcvx7xwmTQ/s320/IMG_1555.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
So, I got up this morning, and I put my turkey breast in the slow cooker. And then I went to work making Kardea Brown's cornbread, which I then turned into a version of my mom's dressing. And then I whipped up a batch of her macaroni and cheese. There were a few mishaps because when I cook, there are always mishaps, but dare I say, the meal was pretty darn good, especially considering I had to cook it all in the toaster oven in the same dish because it's the only one that fit. And I didn't have enough pasta for the mac and cheese. And I didn't have the right corn meal for the cornbread. Even my dad said "that macaroni and cheese isn't half bad." That's a high compliment coming from the man who told me some chicken I made a few months ago "smelled like heartburn."
<p>
Anyway, I can't wait to dive in and try more of Miss Brown's recipes. I'm especially hoping to give that butter pecan pie cheesekcake with brown butter sauce a try around Christmastime. Or better yet, if someone wants to make it for me, I'll pay you. Really, I will. I've cooked enough today to satisfy that urge for a while. But I managed to pull off a semi-decent Thanksgiving with the help of Kardea Brown.
<p>
I felt like she and my mom were both in that kitchen with me today. And while I'll never make a recipe exactly like my mom did, I think these cornbread and mac and cheese recipes will be my new go-tos. And who knows? Maybe one day, I'll be cooking them for my own family.
<p>
If you're reading this, Happy Thanksgiving, and go buy <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Way-Home-Celebration-Islands-Recipes/dp/0063085607">Kardea Brown's cookbook</a>! And now, I'm gonna have seconds of this mac and cheese while I'm allowed carbs...it's that good, y'all!
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Last Friday was a busy day. I got up early to register for classes at UGA and then I loaded the car up with Christmas decor to take to the shop for our annual holiday extravganza. I spent most of the rest of the day cleaning, organizing, and decorating for that. I also spent most of the day ignoring emails that were remnants from a super stressful work week. Apparently, I also caught the flu, but I wouldn't figure that out just yet.
<p>
I was so tired and sore when I got home, and the next day, I was still tired, so I decided to make it a rest day. No work. No projects. Nothing. I fed the animals and spent most of the day finishing a book I'd been reading and watching the Georgia game. On Sunday, I was planning to start working on some cleaning projects, but I was still just too tired. Maybe I just needed to make it a whole rest weekend and start again on Monday? Plus, I was cold. We went from temps in the 80s last week to temps in the 40s this weekend, so that made sense. Maybe I just needed to spend another day on the sofa with a book and a blanket. Make that three blankets. Oh, and let's turn on the central heat that I rarely ever use because it dries out my skin. And let's turn it up about four degrees.
<p>
"I think you're sick," my dad finally said to me on Sunday evening, around 6:30.
<p>
"Me? Sick? Nah. I'm just exhausted from last week. And cold. Very cold."
<p>
I said this through chattering teeth. He finally convinced me to check my temperature. It was like 93 or something. The battery in the thermometer was low. But it didn't matter because I was fine.
<p>
Okay, maybe not fine. But I was just dehydrated and needed some protein. The only thing I'd had all day was a doughnut and half a Diet Dr. Pepper, and so, I ordered a burger and drank some water. Then I decided I needed a bath because to be honest, I hadn't showered in a few days, but mostly because sitting in scalding hot water sounded like a perfectly fine idea. And it was. For about an hour. I was feeling much better. Definitely warmer.
<p>
I dried off, got dressed, and made my way back to the sofa. And then a wave of something came over me. I decided that I probably shouldn't move anymore. I remember saying to my dad, "There are two really important things I need from you. Bring me two bottles of water and take Sadie out one last time." I remember there being a football game on TV. And after that, all I remember is that a scientist was explaining to me that my skin cells were turning into plastic blocks because there was some kind of slight variation in some kind of genetic matter, and that I needed to explain this to my dead mother and grandmother so they wouldn't worry.
<p>
Yes, I was a tad delirious. I guess I passed out because around 3 am, I woke up drenched in sweat. I was turning on fans and pulling off blankets. And then I woke up Monday morning with a sore throat, a headache, a cough, and body aches. Probably just allergies or a little virus or something, right? I got up and did my normal things. Fed the animals. Checked my email. Got started on some work. But after doing all of that, I was exhausted. So exhausted that I just kind of had to lay down ASAP or I might die.
<p>
And this is when it finally hit me — maybe I am sick. I found a better thermometer in my mom's medical supply stash and took my temp. It was well over 100 and over the next hour, it just kept going up and up and up. I haven't had a fever that high in a long time, and I really haven't been sick since February 2020 when I most likely had Covid and didn't know it.
<p>
Covid. That was my first assumption because that's what we've been trained to think over the last few years. But I really didn't see any point in taking a test because aside from my fever and body aches, the other symptoms were fairly mild, and it wasn't in my chest at all. Plus, my dad is super paranoid about getting sick himself after his ordeal with sepsis and open-heart surgery a few years ago, so why confirm that's what I have and make him even more paranoid? He agreed with my theory at first. About 10 minutes later, he said, "Well, it's up to you." About 10 minutes after that, he called me from out in the yard and said, "I think you need to take a Covid test. Right now."
<p>
So, I did, and it was negative, but my cousin who brought me the test told me that the flu was going around, and that my symptoms sounded just like her son who had it a couple of weeks ago. And then I found out that some people I was around last week currently have the flu, and then I found out several local businesses have had to shut down due to flu-related staff shortages, so I decided to go out on a limb and diagnose myself with the flu. I mean, I've had it before. I know how it goes.
<p>
Looking back to Sunday night, I was definitely very sick, but I can't figure out why I was in such extreme denial. I do have a few theories:
<p>
First, as I said, I haven't been sick in nearly three years. When the pandemic began, I was just getting over an illness that was probably Covid. After that, I was careful. I was taking care of two parents with major medical issues at the time, and I had no idea how it would impact them, so I adjusted my life accordingly...which wasn't a huge deal because I generally already avoid crowds, have my groceries delivered, and prefer to be at home most of the time anyway. Now that my caregiving days are over, I really don't think much about it.
<p>
Second, I really haven't been allowed to be sick since my mom's started dialysis back in 2016. I've written about how grueling the schedule was. Throw in all the other health issues both my parents had on top of it, and anytime I got sick, I usually had less than 24 hours to get over it if that. As a matter of fact, the last time I actually had the flu (March 2019 - your doctor's medical record software has nothing on my brain), I had about one night to sleep it off because my mother who was high on pain medication she wasn't supposed to have was trying to bust out of the hospital, so I had to go up there in a mask and pretend I was fine so she wouldn't kill herself. I also broke out in hives that weekend, but this is a fun little story for another day.
<p>
Finally, aside from that incident, I've never been sick without my mom around before. Sure, I'm on the wrong side of, um, 20, but even as an adult, who is the first person I call when I'm sick? Who brings me orange juice and homemade soup and tells me work will still be there when I'm better and if it's not we'll figure it out? Who comes up with these wild home remedies that actually work, like forcing me eat an onion sandwich once when I couldn't breathe? Who comes over and makes sure I have clean pajamas and blankets and adjusts the fans and heat to my liking without complaint? Who runs out to the store when I have even the slighest craving? Who tells me to stop looking up symptoms because I am not dying and do not have cancer or multiple major organ failure. I could go on.
<p>
And maybe it's a bit of all three.
<p>
But good grief, I am sick. And I have to do this on my own now.
<p>
(Okay, full disclosure, I'm not doing it on my own. My dad lives with me. He's been taking care of my animals. As I type this, he's cleaning Sadie's bed. DoorDash and Instacart have been bringing me soup and orange juice and such. My cousin was nice enough to bring me a Covid test, and I've had a few other friends and relatives ask if they can do anything.)
<p>
But it's just not the same. I guess deep down, we all want someone to take care of us on occasion — even those of us who are usually stubbornly independent and think we can do it all ourselves. I certainly never turned down an opportunity for my mother to baby me or take care of me. And according to a Google search I just did, I'm not alone. No matter how old you are, most people still want their moms when theyre sick. And my dad really is great, but he has that stereotypical "walk it off" dad attitude about everything that ails you. (Unless he gets like a minor cold or something, but we won't talk about that.)
<p>
When my mom died, I knew there would be firsts without her — first birthdays, first Christmases, etc. But I never really prepared myself for the firsts like this, the minor every-day stuff like getting the flu. They pop up often, and I am learning to live with that. In some ways, it's even liberating. In the past, I've read interviews with Clint Eastwood and Stevie Nicks, and both said something simiar after their own mothers died, and that's always stuck with me. That's the silver lining of going through such a terrible thing, I guess. For every moment that you feel the most soul-crushing grief, you eventually find a little more freedom within yourself. But even so, there are moments when I'd give anything to have her come through with a tray of soup and crackers and ginger ale. Somehow, walking to door to pick up a bag of chicken noodle soup that some stranger dropped in the garage doesn't have quite the same effect.
<p>
I was sort of explaining this to my friend, Chris, last night. Or probably whining about it is more like it... His response? "It's tough being an adult, ain't it?"
<p>
Yeah, I guess it is. But thankfully, God made us resilient enough to make it through.
<p>
------
<p>
I hadn't intended to write a whole blog post about being sick, though doing that years ago is actually what helped launch my writing career, so who knows... Hmm. Anyway, I'm bored from my sick bed and too dizzy and tired to do anything important, so this is what I've got. Soon, I want to start reviewing a pile of great books I have sitting here next to me and modernizing this website and editing old posts and adding them back, but for now, you'll have to settle for this. <div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</script></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13044223737833333480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17473535.post-38117158249011858552022-11-04T17:08:00.000-04:002022-11-04T17:09:45.861-04:00Garden Hits and Misses <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiva07bAaGeZg0q4I5gSYfINuDgAzKLIQSt894dS5wZsFDKPBkBhxYUsy3m0Y4sVlOCu07VVivj4UVVeEkJtGmUoo1ABmDXrDyI3MtMAZrV6kn6bCGew34hfMsxCuEsB9yWEqtMcNecXHfmUNa_wmZRwc0ZjqQ0xETEKI9OngGtDEECQAqKVQ/s1792/IMG_9733.PNG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiva07bAaGeZg0q4I5gSYfINuDgAzKLIQSt894dS5wZsFDKPBkBhxYUsy3m0Y4sVlOCu07VVivj4UVVeEkJtGmUoo1ABmDXrDyI3MtMAZrV6kn6bCGew34hfMsxCuEsB9yWEqtMcNecXHfmUNa_wmZRwc0ZjqQ0xETEKI9OngGtDEECQAqKVQ/s320/IMG_9733.PNG"/></a></div>
I've planted many small gardens over the last decade or so, but this is the first year that I've had the majority of 8.5 acres to do exactly what I wanted (and implement some of my newly-learned UGA ag student knowledge), which means I got the opportunity to plant a much bigger variety of vegetables and flowers than I ever have before. Unfortunately, I didnt' get to do quite what I set out to, but I did get to conduct some experiments I've always wanted to try, and I learned some things along the way. Some of them were hits. Some of them were misses. And since my last few posts have been pretty deep or death-related, I figured I'd lighten the mood and write about those hits and misses.
<p>
<b>The Hits:</b>
<p>
Let's start with the good stuff. These are the items that were quite successful.
<p>
1. Fireball Marigolds
<p>
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<p>
I love a deep red flower, and I've never seen a deep red marigold, so when I spotted these <a href="https://parkseed.com/fireball-marigold-seeds/p/51377-PK-P1/">Fireball marigold</a> seeds on the Park Seed website, I knew I had to have them. They sprouted quickly with a 100% germination rate after I planted them in May, and it's the first week of November, and they're still blooming just as much as they were two or three months ago, despite the fact that my ducks like to trample them. <p>
I've really never had success with marigolds even though they're supposedly easy to grow, and now, I know why. I've always planted starts from a nursery rather than starting my own seeds. Starting seeds is the way to go. What's cool about these is that they start out red before turning various shades of orange, so as they bloom, you have a variety of shades going at once. Pictures don't even do them justice. Because of the 100% germination rate and my inability to get rid of unwanted seedlings, I actually ended up transplanting some of them, and even those thrived.
<p>
2. Macarenia Zinnias
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkU9V8c7brX-6M6-jMy1LC7IA7UEd5mGkMwrHEkLv2h7RbQ5MIF_MQwy9nKZAVbxabAKSJOrVaAVJJmOG24vL6aXgm7Fm57eoLlP163WrOhWRGdOJ53gzdLpScxblvC64g1USxSWrsySkKhoQfloJJTO9irOUFcW9w-nuxNIyrEw8OtUk5Q/s1800/9CB6482B-295D-4EBD-B0D6-353286639097.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkU9V8c7brX-6M6-jMy1LC7IA7UEd5mGkMwrHEkLv2h7RbQ5MIF_MQwy9nKZAVbxabAKSJOrVaAVJJmOG24vL6aXgm7Fm57eoLlP163WrOhWRGdOJ53gzdLpScxblvC64g1USxSWrsySkKhoQfloJJTO9irOUFcW9w-nuxNIyrEw8OtUk5Q/s320/9CB6482B-295D-4EBD-B0D6-353286639097.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>
Zinnias are also supposed to be super easy to grow, but I've never really had much luck with them. They were one of my mom's favorite flowers, and I have fond memories of her growing them when I was little, but I hadn't really experienced them as an adult. And I actually have maybe 20 to 30 packets of zinnia seeds that sit untouched. Orange flowers aren't my favorite, but for some reason, I grabbed this pack of <a href="https://www.rareseeds.com/macarenia-zinnia">Macareina zinnias</a> that I had ordered from Baker Creek last year and scattered them next to my tomatoes. I didn't expect much from them, but they were definitely the superstars of my garden this year. Even my dad who says he "doesn't really pay attention to flowers" has commented on them. The pollinators loved them too.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA9djgwqsiRa0P7pyTTz0lkb_gDc27YGYb_nnmewi44EkQUmQwq9jCz09INjaJsZXT8z2WI9jdICSooxZRgALP5VbkatiXRDRrcctlmPchh919vt_9xBv5XELNVSCSphL9SN7PSAgRRu31wglxwHEQfiqrwsq1ZjFToMczNgd5WZMq_M6-Iw/s1033/IMG_1309.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1033" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA9djgwqsiRa0P7pyTTz0lkb_gDc27YGYb_nnmewi44EkQUmQwq9jCz09INjaJsZXT8z2WI9jdICSooxZRgALP5VbkatiXRDRrcctlmPchh919vt_9xBv5XELNVSCSphL9SN7PSAgRRu31wglxwHEQfiqrwsq1ZjFToMczNgd5WZMq_M6-Iw/s320/IMG_1309.jpg"/></a></div>
I'll definitely plant more of these next year. Like the marigolds, I planted them in May, and they're still blooming as much as they were all summer. As a matter of fact, once they got going, they bloomed quickly. Bees, butterflies, and hummingbirds love them. They grew to be much taller than I expected (three to five-foot plants), and they put out quite a variety of colors and shapes.
<p>
3. Anaheim Chili Peppers
<p>
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<p>
<a href="https://www.rareseeds.com/anaheim-pepper">Anaheim chili peppers</a> are, without a doubt, my favorite peppers. I add them to many things when I cook, but I usually use canned ones. A few years ago, I found a plant at a local nursery and brought it home and learned that fresh ones are much better than canned ones. Since then, I've tried every year to start some seeds myself. And every year, I've failed. Either they didn't come up, or I didn't have the time and attention to give them. This year, I started dozens of seeds, and almost every single one of them sprouted in time. I actually ended up with more plants than I had time to put into the ground, and more peppers than I knew what to do with. It's November, and the plants I did plant are still loaded. Next year, I'd like to experiment with more types of peppers, but I'll definitely plant more of these.
<p>
4. Wood's Famous Brimmer Tomatoes
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv76tEBJlTbvUlxTd3Cos8BR3pJDqGwWcWirwSECIJX-x-K-Bz3oc3wxnjXUngBBB6C6apIDPGIVsEJwYCJrbLhRaM0Xl4Igyn3PXgotSLcIvdZBRTQ4Lo5fKpoeZUMJg5XGvcisNVNVwJiSRxcOOP_RATz58vAs2XxuGU5BkvJysF6zyjYg/s2782/C752F16C-0462-40E5-9052-3ADA714EB0EF.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="1957" data-original-width="2782" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv76tEBJlTbvUlxTd3Cos8BR3pJDqGwWcWirwSECIJX-x-K-Bz3oc3wxnjXUngBBB6C6apIDPGIVsEJwYCJrbLhRaM0Xl4Igyn3PXgotSLcIvdZBRTQ4Lo5fKpoeZUMJg5XGvcisNVNVwJiSRxcOOP_RATz58vAs2XxuGU5BkvJysF6zyjYg/s320/C752F16C-0462-40E5-9052-3ADA714EB0EF.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>
My biggest garden accomplishment this year was that it was the first time I successfully grew tomatoes from seed and saw them all the way through to production. I grew up in a gardening family, but my parents and grandfather always bought nursery starts when it came to tomatoes. We have a long growing season, and I wanted to experiment with some different types that you can't necessarily find here. One I've been toying with for a few years was the <a href="https://www.rareseeds.com/wood-s-famous-brimmer-tomato" target="_blank">Wood's Famous Brimmer Tomatoes</a> from Baker Creek. They're supposed to be the quintessential BLT tomato, and while I don't eat raw tomatoes myself, I still wanted to see just how impressive they were.
<p>
So, first, they're a Mid-Atlantic variety, and I didn't really think that through when I planted them. We had some ridiculously hot and humid days in late spring and early summer, and several of my newly-transferred tomato plants kicked the bucket due to the heat. But the ones I transferred before the sweltering heat kicked in thrived, and like everything else on this list, they're still producing in November. My dad has eaten plenty of them, and the rest go to the chickens. He says they're pretty tasty. I will say they are late producers. I didn't start getting red tomatoes until August or so, but if you want a tomato that will carrying you through the fall, this is it. Next year, I'll plant more of avariety, but I'll definitely have a few of these in the mix.
<p>
5. Dwarf Velour French Bush Beans
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZCFo7r8GwMs-nqpai_qTz8qTBA-8vUfhGWct3eODyieT4G9OURQTbE9uLHeSf2gqGW2unWjUeqAOVQkW6DhRohZFei1P8omIf3bpk9L-HpIXWSu0bpU1zvL7FITV6pxVDrm_kwa7CwvI7z9DtTRk5Icrc7i-QUfUWoz5YgIlvG6aSnIO-xQ/s3017/F557B4D0-DDEE-43CF-B07E-8A0AF2212572.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="3017" data-original-width="2414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZCFo7r8GwMs-nqpai_qTz8qTBA-8vUfhGWct3eODyieT4G9OURQTbE9uLHeSf2gqGW2unWjUeqAOVQkW6DhRohZFei1P8omIf3bpk9L-HpIXWSu0bpU1zvL7FITV6pxVDrm_kwa7CwvI7z9DtTRk5Icrc7i-QUfUWoz5YgIlvG6aSnIO-xQ/s320/F557B4D0-DDEE-43CF-B07E-8A0AF2212572.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>
Last but not least are these <a href="https://parkseed.com/dwarf-velour-french-bean-seeds/p/05018/" target="_blank">Dwarf Velour French bush beans</a> that I ordered from Park Seed on a whim. I had plans to plant a lot of green beans this summer. They're one of the few veggies both my dad and I like, and I had several varieties to try. Unfortunately, the chickens proved to be little garden destroyers, and planting something that would need as much space as pole beans was out of the question until I prepared a better spot. But in August, I went ahead and planted some of these bush beans in the garden space I could use, and they sprouted immediately and grew and flourished and were absolutely beautiful with their deep purple pods. I absolutely plan to plant more next year.
<p>
<b>The Misses:</b>
<p>So, onto the stuff that didn't do too well. I've already talked about how my zucchini failed, so I won't rehash that, but here are a few others that I'm gonna have to do over next year.<p>
1. Damaun KS Super Sweet Corn
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozlaU9MUjXGqK_QXiEpicoaYhUHvqLDA0Mi5DHqF9Be-dJ9aN_0c9sm4v5E2NnpPRqqLKV-u1YjLmPaPQA7GE4ShSrQ7BYkAyZy4VAMWpGu2SZ0B5NZ2nC-JK0gKDUh8nDYfDDQidvCkc32HvGkaqxscbv3_U3fXOOQX8goGOul8mIppySw/s3445/IMG_0177%20%281%29.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="3445" data-original-width="2925" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozlaU9MUjXGqK_QXiEpicoaYhUHvqLDA0Mi5DHqF9Be-dJ9aN_0c9sm4v5E2NnpPRqqLKV-u1YjLmPaPQA7GE4ShSrQ7BYkAyZy4VAMWpGu2SZ0B5NZ2nC-JK0gKDUh8nDYfDDQidvCkc32HvGkaqxscbv3_U3fXOOQX8goGOul8mIppySw/s320/IMG_0177%20%281%29.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
Let me start by saying I've never planted corn before, but I was excited to give it a try. I ended up trying this German corn from Baker Creek called <a href="https://www.rareseeds.com/damaun-ks-super-sweet" target="_blank">Damaun KS Super Sweet Corn</a>. The corn sprouted quickly. In a few weeks, it was a foot tall and as healthy can be. My dad fancies himself something of an expert at growing corn, and he kept it hilled up and aerated for me. The problem is that when this corn got to be about three feet tall, it went ahead and began tassling. And what ears I did get from it were super small and mostly underdeveloped.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo58_-HsCO117pjdbJt9Z5aElp3On3x1FaPEr95MyBsY9V2k3w0cYMOWEpg4QIFE7ZkIt2_EMe6Jays1fnE6Y3vCcO7eU2Q7HT8v2WLLIML_u5vYsXkBLzVqMMYVnvfMA5FuHyYOesitzjuvFUohypGFkD55LbRdahDcZqRpUfTLFRsdIPHw/s2404/IMG_0502.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="1730" data-original-width="2404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo58_-HsCO117pjdbJt9Z5aElp3On3x1FaPEr95MyBsY9V2k3w0cYMOWEpg4QIFE7ZkIt2_EMe6Jays1fnE6Y3vCcO7eU2Q7HT8v2WLLIML_u5vYsXkBLzVqMMYVnvfMA5FuHyYOesitzjuvFUohypGFkD55LbRdahDcZqRpUfTLFRsdIPHw/s320/IMG_0502.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
I don't necessarily blame the corn itself for this. First, I didn't prep the area where I planted it really well because, well, chickens. Also, I'm in a Atlanta gardening group on Facebook, and it sounds like many people didn't have much luck with corn this year. We had a summer of extremely hot weather and long stretches of drought followed by long stretches of rain. There was no in between. So, I'm thinking the corn was a bit stressed from the weather extremes, and I just didn't have the time to pay it the attention it needed. I'll try again next year, but there was no big corn harvest in 2022.
<p>
2. Cucamelons
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxuQg1_UAGsWqIwFaIHDD-2DC2LzEvq6uf2sRbOOHfZedkQ-VIrLwZ_rPz2Xl8rnbxMpX_r-KJK3WQljz1AfZG4xFSvqlQx34vQKML_ouR129mgawbb3M9osg_0dzi8dQJ8bndanw5W45zP0Xa79f-Nxtk88XMZaemesp3SkCp2EFDF4LeMg/s1792/IMG_9979.PNG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxuQg1_UAGsWqIwFaIHDD-2DC2LzEvq6uf2sRbOOHfZedkQ-VIrLwZ_rPz2Xl8rnbxMpX_r-KJK3WQljz1AfZG4xFSvqlQx34vQKML_ouR129mgawbb3M9osg_0dzi8dQJ8bndanw5W45zP0Xa79f-Nxtk88XMZaemesp3SkCp2EFDF4LeMg/s320/IMG_9979.PNG"/></a></div>
<P>
Cucamelons. Mouse melons. <a href="https://www.rareseeds.com/mexican-sour-gherkin-cucumber" target="_blank">Mexican gherkins</a>. Whatever you want to call them, these little fruits look like watermelons, supposedly taste like citrusy cucumbers, and they've become quite trendy. My mom and I both wanted to try them last year, and we never got around to that, but I was determined to try them this year if I got nothing else planted.
<p>
I really don't know what went wrong with these. They took forever to sprout. They started to grow, and then they just quit. And then a few months later, they started to grow again at random, and then they just quit. I have a theory. These things originate in Central and South America, so I assumed they just liked super hot conditions with full sun, and I planted them in such a space. My research shows that they may actually thrive with a little shade. I fully intend to replant them next year, but I'll probably put them somewhere else and give them a little more TLC than I did this year.
<p>
3. Sunflowers
<P>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwvGo40OEuK26Uemw3JcYmpWKGU0gufcf_iCnrOwkuV9aBHSWwaigC_TY4bPthe5uUDI0vRi0E80BTNTvm3iXAKb0RLdb8MWHYzjdwoGIxxGU5b8-aMbOLMT-HUIjGKjk3TbUygJ2eAF5ogAvxDfJorD8uARHAlCKz0O8q9A9XFD5zGNITw/s4032/IMG_1103.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwvGo40OEuK26Uemw3JcYmpWKGU0gufcf_iCnrOwkuV9aBHSWwaigC_TY4bPthe5uUDI0vRi0E80BTNTvm3iXAKb0RLdb8MWHYzjdwoGIxxGU5b8-aMbOLMT-HUIjGKjk3TbUygJ2eAF5ogAvxDfJorD8uARHAlCKz0O8q9A9XFD5zGNITw/s320/IMG_1103.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>This is pretty generic, but I can't grow sunflowers to save my life. I tried planting several types. I'm pretty sure I replanted my sunflowers eight times throughout the course of the summer. Some of that was due to crafty little chickens digging up the seeds and eating them, but most of it was just due to the fact that they just would not grow. I planted old seeds and new. Different varieties. Nothing worked. Sometime around late July or August, I finally had exactly three of these <a href="https://www.rareseeds.com/arikara-sunflower">Arikara sunflowers</a> sprout and bloom. The problem is they're supposed to be 10 feet fall. Mine came up to about my waist. And I'm not 20 feet tall. The blooms were about the size of my palm.
<p>
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<p>
Thankfully, I had more hits than misses, and there was plenty of in between, like my cucumbers, roma tomatoes, dahlias, and banana peppers. And even the misses have been a great education in what not to do. Three things I know I need to do next year are:<P>1. Focus on my soil. My dad and grandfather abused the soil on this land, and I'm working on bringing it back to life through permaculture.<p>2. Fence off my garden spaces so the chickens can't get into them until they're established.<p>3. Prepare more during the winter. I spent last winter shut up in the house with my laptop working. I don't intend to do that this year.
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I was searching for something online the other day, and I accidentally ran across an article I'd written for an auction company about why it was good to get rid of stuff. I barely remember writing it a few years ago, but I also remember thinking it was kinda silly. If you want to keep your stuff, keep it; don't let society tell you what to do. But looking back at it now, I kinda relate.
<p>
When I first wrote the article, I'd just moved in with my parents, my grandfather had died shortly after, and I'd helped them move into his house with plans to stick around for a few months until I could find a place of my own. But that wasn't in the cards. Plans fell through. We had a lot of issues with pets getting sick/injured. My mom was getting sicker. Eventually, she ended up on dialysis three days a week, and minus a few days when I was out of town or in a car accident, I took her every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday at 5 a.m. for five years. I didn't complain, but it does put a strain on things. The schedule makes you tired because it's not your schedule the other days of the week. It cost me sleep. It cost me work. It cost me relationships. I canceled any number of travel plans. I canceled plans I had to start my own family. Saturday activities were hit or miss, usually miss. We missed out on parties and social outings and showers and farmers markets and day trips. I remember sitting in the Target parking lot one Saturday afternoon while my mom cried her eyes out because she just didn't have the energy to go to a relative's baby shower.
<p>
And I'm not complaining now. I would have done anything for my mom and pretty much did. And, on the flipside, I got to spend time with her that I probably wouldn't have otherwise. She hated going, but sometimes, we'd go for drives afterwards or go out for lunch or shopping when she felt up for it. We had our own inside jokes about other patients or the staff. We made friends with some of them. We tried to make the most of those days off. I spent every single day trying to find ways to boost her mood and improve her confidence, to remind her that the world needed her, that she couldn't give up. We bonded over it, even though she hated it with a passion, and I hated it for her.
<p>
Over the next few years, a series of unfortunate events would see her mental and physical health decline, which meant I had to let go of more of my life in order to take on more of hers. She tried to start a home dialysis program, which felt like an answer to her prayers, but a broken pelvis prevented that from happening, and after a month of two of long nights and multiple hospital trips and all sorts of issues related to that, we were grateful to be back on the three days a week schedule at the clinic. Just as she'd recovered from that, we were out shopping one day when a door malfunctioned and slammed into her, breaking her shoulder and nearly costing her her leg. That led to months of added medical issues and surgeries and bandage changes and special diets. I was counting grams of protein in my sleep during that period. By the time she recoverd from that, my dad had a heart valve malfunction, and while he was waiting on surgery for that, he developed sepsis, and we were basically told he wouldn't survive. Fortunately, he did, but he had to have open-heart surgery and spent nearly a month in a hospital in another county, and I spent a great deal of time shuffling back and forth between that hospital, dialysis, and home. And then it took him a few months to recover, which included physical therapy, countless follow-up appointments, 40 days of me giving him daily infusions, and then, as soon as we were done with that, COVID hit. A few months into that, my mom began having some health issues that led to a complete loss of mobilty, which led to a whole host of other issues over the next 10 months before she finally went into the hospital and, after nearly a month in the ICU, she died.
<p>
If I could describe my experience during that last year of her life in one word, it would be "lonely." The truth is that I'd felt pretty lonely and isolated for a few years but in the beginning, it was okay because we had each other. Plus, I focused so much on ensuring that she was as healthy and happy as she could be that I didn't have time to think much about anything else. But that last year was tough. My mom wasn't herself. Every single day was hard on all three of us. Deep down, I knew I was losing my best friend. Even though she was physically there in front of me, all of the problems of the last few years had taken their toll. We were all miserable. And on top of it, I felt like I barely existed. Caregiving is a lonely art.
<p>
In the first few months after her death, some of that went away. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was relief for not having to worry anymore. Maybe it's because I drowned myself in work and trying to cater to stupid roosters. By this spring, the loneliness had returned, and in the last couple of months, it's been almost overwhelming. I don't say this to complain — I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat, and I'm not looking for pity or advice or a pat on the back, please. And when I use the word "lonely," I don't even mean that I'm alone. You can be in a room full of people and be lonely, and I have been there many times. And I don't want to discount my dad or the handful of close friends whom I talk to almost daily. Thank God for them. It's just hit me that I've spent so many years chipping away at my own life so I could give it to her, and it's gonna take some time to rebuild it.
<p>
I wasn't really sure how to do that at first, but a few things have kind of pushed me in the right direction recently. It might sound silly, but the first was my cat, Lily's, death. It came on so suddenly and unexpectedly and for seemingly no reason. It sent me and even my dad into a really scary dark place, but I came out of it realizing that life can go away in an instant, and as cliche as that it is, it's true. You don't get another chance at it.
<p>
Second, I managed to sneak out of town for a few days in August. I have a friend whom I've known since college, and her family has a place in Hilton Head. They come down from Pennsylvania every summer, and I try to meet up with them. I haven't been able to since 2019, and I almost didn't get to this year because of some work issues that plagued me all summer, but I made it. And I had fun. And I think it's the first time I've just gone and had fun and didn't feel guilty about it in a long, long time. It was a reminder that I'm allowed to do that. And on top of that, it was a reminder that there are people out there who are selfless and supportive and thoughtful and not judgmental and actually enjoy my company. I just don't have much of that in my life anymore.
<p>
And third, I had to postpone school until January (see: the work problems that plagued me all summer). That hurt more than I thought it would. I started back at UGA last June, and initially, it was a fluke. I needed something in my life that was mine and had nothing to do with taking care of anyone else, and I just woke up one morning and that seemed like a good idea. It was hard to finish the end of that initial summer semester and start the fall semester with my mom dying in the hospital, but my professors were accomodating, and I kept it up, plus I was only going part-time. By this past spring semester, and after I'd dropped nearly $10,000 on tuition, I began questioning why I was doing it at all and if it was even worth the time and money. An awkward meeting with a staff member also had me questioning what I was doing, but somehow, by the end of that spring semester, I realized it wasn't a fluke at all. I needed to be there. Not only was I learning about topics that interest me, but I was enjoying myself. I was making connections with people with common interests. It opened me up to something. Suddenly, I wanted to finish what I'd started. I even added a minor and started thinking about going for two degrees. And I was really excited about my fall classes. It would be the last semester I could do most everything online, but I was going to attempt to go full-time. The day I had to cancel that schedule was a dark one, and I swore then and there, I'd never get myself back into this situation, even though it wasn't 100% my fault.
<p>
I know it seems like I'm off on a tangent, but I do have a point, and it all goes back to my first statement about getting rid of your stuff. I've been dabbling in cleaning out my mom's stuff over the last year. She had a lot of it. She liked it. She enjoyed it. I'm glad she was able to find some pleasure in it. But those three experiences I just listed have sort of made me realize that I don't value items that much or as much as I once did. I'd much rather go on an exciting trip or take a great class or spend time with good friends or fuss over my animals or grow the most beautiful flowers. Don't get me wrong. I'm not advocating selling everything you have and moving into a tiny house. I've got many items I'll never part with. But I do feel like having too much stuff can overwhelm you and hold you back in some weird way. It's definitely not a great substitute for living your life. At least, it's not for me.
<p>
Oddly, that's one of the points I made in that article I wrote about decluttering, and at the time, I thought it was a bunch of psychobabble. But I've realized that as I work on rebuilding my life, getting organized and cleaning out a lot of this stuff that was mine from another life or the many things that were once my mom's and have now become mine is going to be a huge part of that. And as time passes, the "get rid of" piles become bigger. And that's okay. At the end of my life, I won't be thinking about whether I kept that picture my mom used to have hanging on her bedroom wall. I'll be thinking about that freaky trip we took to Edisto Island or the silly card game we used to play or the time we drove to up to Lake Allatoona on a whim and bought flowers and chicken or the night we sat up singing "25 Miles" and watching <i>Impractical Jokers</i> while the dialysis machine malfunctioned or the good yard sales we went to or the time we drove across multiple counties to get Sadie or the time we went out and splurged on food for needy school kids... You get the idea. My only regret about all of those experiences is that we didn't get to have more of them.
<p>
And as for the loneliness, well, I think I'll always be a tad lonely in life. After all, I'm an introvert with a touch of social anxiety who just lost the one person I could always turn to no matter what. The very best person. As an only child, I probably have better coping skills for loneliness than most people, but it doesn't mean I have to succumb to it. There's a world out there waiting for me, and I'm gonna work really hard to see what it has to offer.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7Eacsiu-TDFkL5rZRGS3OXk0IojB5JGRavgaxj2MSRX-1i2o-GwMnzobDt3h3fbQ5VhWnLfIP23ne3mahvRegLBYzgdXTAtqhd0oLq0ca21vxU-l0rP1Vrgx1oqBb1gVTDWtsL61zUipWeGK54zP1EzswzfF0dzfjvBrXkPR7trXeevjuQ/s4032/IMG_3577.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7Eacsiu-TDFkL5rZRGS3OXk0IojB5JGRavgaxj2MSRX-1i2o-GwMnzobDt3h3fbQ5VhWnLfIP23ne3mahvRegLBYzgdXTAtqhd0oLq0ca21vxU-l0rP1Vrgx1oqBb1gVTDWtsL61zUipWeGK54zP1EzswzfF0dzfjvBrXkPR7trXeevjuQ/s320/IMG_3577.jpg"/></a></div>
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On September 8, I woke up to a text from my friend, Chris, that asked me if I'd heard the news about Queen Elizabeth's health. I had not, but I didn't think much of it. She was in her 90s, and there has been talk of her health for a few years now. But once I got rolling and saw headlines with phrases like "keeping her comfortable" and "family has been called," I knew the end was near. I was glued to the BBC for a while, but eventually, I had to go outside and get the animals fed, plus I had errands to run, so I asked Chris to text me if there were any further developments. Not 20 minutes later, he let me know that she had died.
<p>
Honestly, I wanted to spend the rest of the day glued to my TV, but my poor sweet dog, Sadie, had been dealing with some health issues, and I needed to go pick up some things for her. I tried to do it as quickly as possible, and when I got home, I was ready to throw Sadie into the bathtub and then settle myself back in front of the BBC for more coverage of the queen's death, but that didn't go as planned.
<p>
First, Sadie didn't get up to greet me when I got home. She was on her bed in the living room, and she cried like she wanted to but couldn't. I didn't think much of it. At almost 13 years old, she's no spring chicken herself and can be a bit lazy these days. But it was getting kind of late, and I wanted to get the bath done, so I ended up making her get up and watching her hobble pitifully to the bathroom. Something was definitely wrong. We went ahead with the bath, and afterwards, I inspected her back leg that was causing her problems. I trimmed her nails. Checked for something stuck in her foot. Did all the things you do when your dog is suddenly limping. My dad had taken her out just before I got home and said she was fine when she came inside, so something didn't add up.
<p>
That night, I was a wreck. In the last month or so, she'd already had about 1,000 other issues pop up. Most were not serious and easily treated at home, but Anxiety Sarah kicked in, and I decided that because all of these issues had happened at once, she was on her death bed. I was determined she couldn't walk because she was eaten up with cancer or something. What you have to understand, though, is that I'm 0 for 2 on this stuff lately. The last two members of my little family who I carted off to the hospital — my mom and my cat, Lily — never made it back home even though they went in for what I thought was something routine. I wasn't ready for a third, especially not this one. I'd already planned a vet appointment for Sadie for October, but I was going to have to move that up a few weeks, and I was terrified of what he would tell me when we got there.
<p>
So, what does this have to do with Queen Elizabeth's death? And why does an American girl who grew up on the idea that we have no need for kings and queens even care? First, I guess I should confess that I'm a little obsessed with the Royal Family, and I have been since I was a kid. From the pagentry to the lineage, I am here for every single second of it. I don't know how or why I started. My dad said my grandmother was really into Queen Elizabeth, which I don't really remember, but they're about the same age, so that would make sense, and she did remind me of my grandmother a bit. There's also the fact that Elizabeth is my middle name, and I remember finding that I shared a name with a queen and the Duchess of York pretty cool when I was a kid. Eventually, I developed a major crush on Prince William and at one point, I'm pretty sure my single goal in life was to grow up and marry him. Even in seventh or eighth grade, I remember doing this huge research project on the line between Henry VIII and Queen Elizbaeth II, and I spent so much time on it and stayed up so late working that I was forced to put an end to it. In more recent years, I sat up and watched with envy and geunine excitement as Meghan married Harry and disdain as she appeared to take many of our little girl dreams and throw them out the window. I watched <i>The Crown</i> on Netflix with the intensity of Peyton Manning watching football film, and I think I've seen almost every show, movie, and documentary on the queen and her family that exists. When my grandmother died, my grandfather gifted me with her copy of <i>My Story</i> by Sarah Ferguson, and it's now one in a collection of royal-related books and magazines I own.
<p>
But above all of that, I found Queen Elizabeth to be a remarkable woman, and I realize this isn't a unqiue thought. I mean, name one other person in this world whose death could bring so many people together to find common ground as it has over the last week. My aforementioned friend, Chris, referred to her as the "world's grandmother," and it does sort of feel like that, like the world lost its grandmother. When I think back over the trying times we've had over the last few years, her words were always the ones that brought me comfort, not my own president or some other world leader. To lose that calming, stable voice in what feels like a chaotic time to be alive is a major blow.
<p>
So many people have said so much about Queen Elizabeth this week that I'm at a loss as to what I can add. On a personal level, she's someone I'll always want to emulate. Like my late grandmother and her sisters and many other women of that generation, I often find myself wondering what she would do in a situation. And how can you not look up to someone who was so dedicated. She was dedicated to service, her faith, her country, her job, her family, her heritage, to doing the right thing, to her horses, and to her dogs. Her dogs. Truth be told, her love for her dogs is another reason I've always felt a little bond with the queen.
<p>
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<p>
And that brings me back to Sadie. I was able to get an appointment with my vet for the next Friday, and I hated to wait that long, but I also wanted to see a vet I know and trust as I've had some not so great experiences. And in the meantime, I was a wreck. My dad and I had to work together to get her outside to the bathroom, and I spent every night sleeping on the sofa with her in the floor next to me because I knew she couldn't go upstairs where we normally sleep. And I was just practically paralyzed with fear for eight days. Thankfully, I have a big work project going on that I really enjoy and can work on it 24/7 if I want, so I tried to focus on that, plus football season started, which is always a great distraction. But when I wasn't watching football, I was tuned into the BBC or this documentary about Queen Elizabeth or that one. Or reading about her online. It was the comfort and distraction I needed to make it through that week.
<p>
On Friday afternoon, I managed to get Sadie in and out of the car and to her appointment. I was literally shaking. My dad was a mess too. I think I'd convinced him she wouldn't be coming back home with me. Even the vet's assistant had to talk me down from that idea. I told her about my mom and Lily, and she said, "I hope you don't think she's in that kind of shape right now?" I felt a little better. Anyway, long story short, Sadie came back home. She came back home with a torn ACL, which wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, but it was a far cry from what I had conjured up in my head. We do face that problem that it may need surgery to heal, and she's really a little old for the surgery, but we're going to see if we can get her healed without it before we make any crazy decisions. It may be a long road. And it may be that our days of taking walks and sleeping upstairs are over, but I'll adjust to that as needed. In her lifetime, she's looked after my other dogs as they've gotten older. Saved my other animals from predators. Looked after my mom. Kept me company on my worst days. She's given me so much over the last 13 years. She's the most selfless dog I've ever had, and I wouldn't dream of not doing my best for her in return.
<p>
I'd like to think Queen Elizabeth did the same for her dogs in her own way. But either way, I'll alawys look back on this week, and it will serve as a reminder to dedicate my life to the things that are important, to try to live a life like the Queen did. That might mean serving the world. That might mean serving my dog when she's down, but we all have a role to play, no matter how big or small.
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Back in May or June, I planted 16 zucchini seeds. It's one of my favorite vegetables, and I had great dreams of making zucchini bread and all sorts of delicious zucchini dishes through July, August, and Septemeber. Eight of those seeds sprouted, and seven of them thrived. For a bit. They each had dozens of blossoms, and I saw pollinators on them, and I even tried some hand pollinating. But eventually, the color began to fade, and I found squash bugs on them. My dad kept saying, "These plants just dont' look right," but I chose to ignore him. Although, it was hard to ignore him when they weren't actually producting anything.
<p>
I went from hoping for a sizable harvest to hoping for any harvest at all. And last Friday, I stepped outside to check on things when I got back into town after a few days away, and I couldn't believe my eyes: one beautiful green zucchini. The perfect shape and size and color. I waited a couple of days to pick it, and yes, that was a lot of work for one single squash, but I was pretty proud of it. And today, I was in the kitchen cooking some eggs and sausage for lunch when I spotted that zucchini in the fridge and decided I'd slice it up with my last Vidalia onion and cook that to go with my lunch. Fresh eggs and zucchini straight from the backyard. You can't beat that.
<p>
So, I got a knife, and I was slicing away, feeling like I had finally accomplished something, and big things were on the horizon. And I got about five slices in when I realized the dang thing was full of worms.
<p>
Anyway, yesterday was the first anniversary of my mom's death. I thought the day would be more of a downer, but it really seemed more like the opportunity to close the door on what has been a trying period of my life and start fresh. That moment with the zucchini felt pretty symbolic of the last few years. We went through a lot with my mom's health, and it seemed like every time we'd get to a positive place, something bad and totally out of the ordinary would happen. Even so, I continued making big plans to do this and that with my life, and the world made even bigger plans to stomp them out. My dad has always told me I should write a book on it, and I told him it's not a period I'd like to relive, but now that I have some distance, I do think it's pretty incredible that we made it through what we did.
<p>
While this hasn't been an easy year, even without my mom's health problems standing front and center, it has been an educational one. I've written a great deal about lessons I've learned. Finding out who in my life is and isn't reliable. Learning the hard way that putting work above everything else is a bad idea. Rediscovering my own interests when I'm not having to put someone else first 100% of the time. Learning that even the smallest things can seem difficult when so much of your support system is suddenly gone from your life.
<p>
But the most important thing I've learned is that I can handle it. Heck, just the last month alone was enough to nearly send anyone on a downward spiral. Last week, I spent some time in Savannah and Hilton Head, and by the time I got there, I was an absolute anxiety-filled mess. Thankfully, I have good friends who understood. But being away for a few days, spending time with people I'm not related to, and breathing in the salty air was healing. And coming home and saying goodbye to the last year was healing in a way too. As I said, yesterday felt like a fresh start. I have no idea what the future holds, but I think I'm a little better prepared to handle it than I was last year, and that feels really great.
<p>
I'll always miss my mom. I'll always wish she was here to do life with me, through the highs and lows. I hate that if I ever get married or have a kid she won't meet them. I hate that she's not here to see these beautiful flowers I've grown in my garden or that I did (what seems to be a successful) surgery on a chicken foot. I hate that she's not here to commiserate when I have to euthanize my cat or deal with someone who's being a jerk or postpone school a semester. There are days when I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't share some bit of information with someone, and I have to run through my list of people, and none of them seems like the right one to tell because my mom was the person I would have told. That's such a lonely, lonely feeling. And there are nights when things slow down and I get upstairs to my bedroom and just feel like someone punched me in the stomach when the reality hits that she's not here anymore. And I'm told that will always be the case. She'll always be a part of me. Just last week, something happened that made me realize she and I were a lot more alike than I ever thought. But there is so much more life for me to live, I hope, so I just have to pick up and keep going and start living more for myself now, and that's what I'm going to do. With any luck, she's watching and cheering me on.
<p> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</script></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13044223737833333480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17473535.post-5337394533479866332022-08-05T18:18:00.000-04:002022-08-24T18:18:57.963-04:00Bumblefoot, BabyI've had chickens on and off since 2015, and in that timeframe, I've done tons of research, learned so much through trial and error, and have even taken some poultry classes at UGA, but up until this last year when I got my current flock, I'd never heard of bumblefoot.
<p>
It's pretty common in chickens, so I'm not sure how it's slipped past me. And the from the moment I learned about it, I thought it sounded pretty gruesome and hoped it was something I would never encounter. So, naturally, that meant that I would have a chicken develop it ASAP.
<p>
What is bumblefoot you ask? It's basically a staph infection. A chicken gets a cut or scrape on its foot, and bacteria gets inside and creates an infection. The only real cure for it is to remove the infection, which can present like a stringy cheesy material or a hard kernal of corn. I know, I know. That sounds as disgusting to me as it does to you. But you can <a href="http://www.poultrydvm.com/condition/bumblefoot">read more details about bumblefoot at PoultryDVM.com</a> if you like.
<p>
So, about a month or so ago, I noticed one of my Jersey Giants, Venus, limping a bit. She'd gotten into a litle squirmish with one of my Cochins, who can be a bit of a jerk, and I just assumed she'd sprained something. It happens. I don't intervene with a chicken who is limping unless they're unable to move around much or it's obviously causing severe pain or there is something visibly wrong, like a wound or something stuck in the foot. This seemed minor, so I figured it'd heal up within a few days. And within a week or so, she was walking normally, so I thoght nothing else about it.
<p>
But a couple of weekends ago, I noticed Venus limping again. I kept an eye on her for a day or two, but it seemed to get worse, and after a couple of days, she was hovering near the coop during free time, standing on foot when she could, and wincing anytime she had to jump or climb up on something. She's normally quite active and loves to explore, so I knew something was up. I caught her, looked at her foot, and I knew right away from everything I'd read and the pictures I'd seen that she had a textbook case of bumblefoot.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNTOKV4fdiKPsJzjNNSq7eMJN9U42lf-FY4mGrCAc5PKbPecSKBX62H4X0ZlXfx69xXkuDmM40638QSBD4n1HxeFEx3xV6vP0Z00YGoLOYlW4x_rVPgJOR_j6c2xkS-KREFviPQwClfq288WIJI_4IyATj3sISYgBTcbPBRbSFjv-96GGedg/s4032/IMG_0294.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNTOKV4fdiKPsJzjNNSq7eMJN9U42lf-FY4mGrCAc5PKbPecSKBX62H4X0ZlXfx69xXkuDmM40638QSBD4n1HxeFEx3xV6vP0Z00YGoLOYlW4x_rVPgJOR_j6c2xkS-KREFviPQwClfq288WIJI_4IyATj3sISYgBTcbPBRbSFjv-96GGedg/s320/IMG_0294.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
Treatment for bumblefoot can vary from case to case, but most people start with Epsom salt soaks. Some use drawing salve. Some try to remove the scab and dig out the infection, and others just slice right into the foot with a scalpel and take it out. We fell somewhere in the middle. The goal is to remove the scab and get the gunk out. Sometimes it's attached to the scab, and sometimes it's not.
<p>
On day one, I soaked the foot in Epsom salt for about 20 minutes, and then, while my dad held her for me, I used tweezers to try to remove the scab. No luck. So, I slathered on some drawing salve, bandaged it up, and she slept inside in a dog crate for the night.
<p>
If you're not familiar with Jersey Giant chickens, they're large, one of the largest chicken breeds avaialble actually. A standard female averages about 10 pounds, and they're strong. I've held many a chicken and duck in an Epsom salt bath throughout the last year, but this was an entirely different experience. I had to wrap a beach towel around her to get her to stay still, and she practically took up the entire large dog crate, so I didn't want to leave her in there any longer than I had to.
<p>
The next day, my dad suggested I use a tool he had instead of the tweezers. I'm not even sure what it was, but it was sharper and pointy, and he claimed he's used it to "cut things that look like that" off of his own body. I didn't want to know anymore of those details, but I decided to give the tool a try. Luckily, I have a ton of medical supplies from all my mom's various health adventures from the last few years, including hospital grade disinfectant for random tools.
<p>
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<p>
I removed her bandage, soaked her foot again, and I noticed it seemed a lot less swollen. I think the drawing salve definitely helped. My dad held her, and I used the new tool to attempt to cut out the scab. It took me about 10 to 15 minutes, but I managed to get the scab off and remove what looked like a small kernal of corn. Thankfully, it was still attached to the scab, which made life a lot easier. I explored the hole a bit to make sure there was nothing else left inside, and when it began bleeding, I figured she was good to go. Signs of life and healthy skin and all that. I cleaned and disinfected the wound, smothered it in in antibotic cream, packed it with gauze, wrapped it with vet wrap, added extra sports tape for security, and put her back out with the flock. She picked at the bandage a bit, but you could tell she already felt better.
<p>
Over the next week, we'd catch her, and my dad would hold her while we checked her foot, cleaned it, and changed the bandage. I must say, I became a pro at bandaging because chickens are nasty little creatures, and that wound stayed so so clean. She regained her confidence almost instantly. Once she got used to the bandage, she was running, jumping, scratching, and doing normal chicken things. It made my heart happy to see her exploring again instead of hovering around the coop on one foot.
<p>
A textbook case of bumblefoot takes about a week to 10 days to heal, and yesterday was day eight. I went into the bandage change thinking I would leave it off unless there was still a gaping wound, and sure enough, it felt like it was closed up. Most of the swelling was gone, and her foot no longer felt warm to the touch, so I disinfected it really well and left the bandage off. So far, she's doing okay. She still has a slight limp, but I'm not sure anyone would notice it besides me, and she pecks at the bottom of her foot occasionally, though I'm sure it's sore. But she's putting her full weight on it and still has her confidence about her, and that's what we want.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_x6g7D6r6GhmQa4JwTtE_D3Q8-CIjl7_-zanwzVmjNNVJ7x5EOnYRhD_afurgYFVgJENETN7Jq_eDcgCQxhy_sWH7xsw-gNdrOgHVB0jd0WgGWaZ8nUpWtScrCZYVXxwEepBBzYkn1n0MoIRRgKtuI0JV6OW7luRxi2IgZYK4INr8-aahg/s4032/IMG_0323.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_x6g7D6r6GhmQa4JwTtE_D3Q8-CIjl7_-zanwzVmjNNVJ7x5EOnYRhD_afurgYFVgJENETN7Jq_eDcgCQxhy_sWH7xsw-gNdrOgHVB0jd0WgGWaZ8nUpWtScrCZYVXxwEepBBzYkn1n0MoIRRgKtuI0JV6OW7luRxi2IgZYK4INr8-aahg/s320/IMG_0323.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
I'm hesitant to say my home bumblefoot treatment was a success just yet. There are times when it's not one and done. As a matter of fact, someone in my Atlanta chicken group just reported that they've been dealing with it for over a year now. It can return. She could just have a permanent limp. It's possible I didn't get it all out — exploratory surgery is not my specialty after all. And, as it turns out, Jersey Giants are actually prone to it because they're so stinkin' big and heavy. There are many variables, but for the moment, I'm feeling good about it and will just monitor her for the next few weeks and intervene if I notice major changes. If she does get worse , we'll start all over. I also have antibiotics should we end up needing them, and if I feel like I've exhausted all I can do, I'll take her to a vet, though that's not necessarily the cure-all some may think it is either.
<p>
I guess the lesson here is that I was absolutely terrified of bumblefoot from the moment I first read about it, and up until the moment I was actually treating her, I was literally shaking just thinking about it. But I tackled it, and it wasn't as scary as I thought it'd be. That said, if the rest of my chickens (and ducks) could not get it, at least for a long time, I'd appreciate it. <div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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I'm not usually a "let's rush through summer and get to fall" kind of person like so many are. I want to revel in long days filled with swimming and gardening and trips to the beach and and all that good stuff. But this year, I'm pretty much over it.
<p>
My garden is not anything close to what I had planned, I've spent thousands of dollars and hours on the pool and have barely swam, and I'm supposed to go to the beach soon, but now that is up in the air due to what was an ongoing work problem. I thought I'd spend July planting a late late summer garden, but at some point in the last week, I just decided to move on. I'll aim for next year. Maybe I'll plant something of a fall garden. Any greens I could grow would save me a fortune on duck and chicken food, and I want to try some carrots, but other than that, I'm reluctantly wrapping up this gardening season.
<p>
All of that said, I don't consider this year a total loss, especially when it comes to the garden. Believe it or not, this is actually the first year in my life that I had all the space I wanted to do whatever I wanted with it, and got to plant as many different veggies and flowers as I did. And with that came many lessons that I will keep with me for the rest of my life and that will help do better next year and the next. Here are some of them:
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Ae9LT4rkVSAWnaSaS29bJY7pnO4vZmhmd45E0DwH1URp-8ogS6FEuaBO0UpZO6NCQrcVfKYUYpwEo0AnLLvl7SGeFFA94sr99ai0BKQG94nEAQd-YjxmBdOcnStDWgJOvCQYPq5seWPtEApnP0R5pvjfD3cvpanIvlmNKkjSDlUMQkxVlg/s4032/IMG_9781.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Ae9LT4rkVSAWnaSaS29bJY7pnO4vZmhmd45E0DwH1URp-8ogS6FEuaBO0UpZO6NCQrcVfKYUYpwEo0AnLLvl7SGeFFA94sr99ai0BKQG94nEAQd-YjxmBdOcnStDWgJOvCQYPq5seWPtEApnP0R5pvjfD3cvpanIvlmNKkjSDlUMQkxVlg/s320/IMG_9781.jpg"/></a></div>
<b>Chickens and gardens don't mix</b>
<p>
In the past, when I've had chickens, they've stayed out of the garden. I'm not sure how I got so lucky because this current flock I have is the most destructive crew around. I can't tell you how many times I've replanted sunflowers or had to pull up a broken stalk of corn or tomato plants because they destroyed the roots. That's actually probably the second-biggest reason why my garden is much smaller than anticipated. I did manage to get a fence made with some netting around my main garden area, but they still get into it, and it's next to impossible to mow around it. So, I plan to spend the winter putting up some fencing and creating chicken-proof beds so they'll just be ready for planting next spring.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvgWk-6xRYwkG8Ldak91oc4FdQgXXPwLlWlsWXUdqzEAvF6APUlcGW4LEUHGIZq_SJW2WnFEv5rlD-BJfCokorLuNE_xP_p6bgpwcgjcLNERcVyZd5JU40IOcmNnySm-DrDmn9n0ZImnjtW-2q7Hu1E-ZllwoJiK0lZeyhtxTKAJee77JtQ/s2414/IMG_0180.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="2359" data-original-width="2414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvgWk-6xRYwkG8Ldak91oc4FdQgXXPwLlWlsWXUdqzEAvF6APUlcGW4LEUHGIZq_SJW2WnFEv5rlD-BJfCokorLuNE_xP_p6bgpwcgjcLNERcVyZd5JU40IOcmNnySm-DrDmn9n0ZImnjtW-2q7Hu1E-ZllwoJiK0lZeyhtxTKAJee77JtQ/s320/IMG_0180.jpg"/></a></div>
<b>Advanced planning is important</b>
<p>
Aside from putting up fencing, I'm going to plan what I want to plant a little better instead of just ordering hundreds of dollars worth of seeds every time I see an advertisement for something that looks interesting. For example, I eat way more zucchini than I do tomatoes, and yet, I have a three gardens full of tomatoes this year and only two mounds of zucchini. I also want to plan where everything will go a little better, have trellies prepared, etc. I like to make trellises out of found items here, like bamboo and small tree trunks, and that takes some time. And I'd like to invest in a greenhouse or more grow lights, so I can start more seeds early.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2BB-zBMy5426IKWGfxrm1dgYy1Ez0Z3mu5ANrQqD07Kp79LtUSmDbz7NkVSXxZNaslQGxJCkqbGo9jvAtpl5ADR-rqJyNPfwO1rqhRN63IK-mvTLV3JWCGEFgkQANsUhuiNxSh7jR3lxnNIxkxzZdrtJrrLO1ufhklz0mxa9wCVaz5fDfcw/s4032/IMG_0174.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2BB-zBMy5426IKWGfxrm1dgYy1Ez0Z3mu5ANrQqD07Kp79LtUSmDbz7NkVSXxZNaslQGxJCkqbGo9jvAtpl5ADR-rqJyNPfwO1rqhRN63IK-mvTLV3JWCGEFgkQANsUhuiNxSh7jR3lxnNIxkxzZdrtJrrLO1ufhklz0mxa9wCVaz5fDfcw/s320/IMG_0174.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
<b>Telling my dad where I planted things is also extremely important</b>
<p>
Don't get me wrong — my dad is a HUGE help with my gardening and farming endeavors. He takes care of the chickens. He cuts the grass. He hills up my corn. He plants the extra tomatoes when I'm too busy, and they're overgrowing their pots. But if I don't specifically tell him I planted some seeds in a location multiple times and then put some sort of sign up, he'll stomp right through it, pile tools on top of it, or let the chickens dive right into it. In some cases, he'll chop fully grown plants right down for no reason. Just ask him what happened to my grandfather's rosemary and my mother's oregano. Then if you say something to him about it, he mumbles about how it's my fault for just planting random things in random places and how my mother and grandfather used to do that too, and I'm like but that's how this works. Sigh.
<p>
<b>Growing from seed > buying starts at the nurseries</b>
<p>
This is one area that I really consider a win for this year. We've always bought nursery tomato and peppers starts in my family. Over the last few years, I've experimented with starting them from seed, but with all my parents' health issues, I never got to see them through. This year was different. Almost all of my tomatoes and peppers were started from seed here by me and babied and coddled, and they're some of the healthiest plants I've ever seen. Well, the tomatoes are. The peppers have contracted some kind of bacterial issue, but that's beyond my control. Anyway, every single day I marvel at the idea that I was able to take a tiny seed and turn it into a huge plant that's as tall as I am and producing actual food. I do have a few pepper and tomato plants that I picked up at Lowe's, but they just aren't as good-looking as my little darlings. Oh, and marigolds! I have never in my entire life been able to keep marigolds alive, but this year I started them from seed rather than buying nursery starts, and they are the most vibrant and hardy flowers I've ever grown. I've got one that's over three feet tall.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUikndAGs7aq9RG9byf_ITzdX689ZnM00Tzx-JUAseze4AaYX5S4iK6DfplB5nGl2KbpJ17NR10hO0u-Cqttke9NIUWGCGesGRGKjZ_txyUu5VDeWq_21CIxA53O6rXT0t3NkQv544QAIR8qeHpMJgLBp_5I5klimUFH2G1Kuv4mOg6Bstg/s983/0DFC8B10-1CCC-48B2-B59F-D038E50B9AFB.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="983" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUikndAGs7aq9RG9byf_ITzdX689ZnM00Tzx-JUAseze4AaYX5S4iK6DfplB5nGl2KbpJ17NR10hO0u-Cqttke9NIUWGCGesGRGKjZ_txyUu5VDeWq_21CIxA53O6rXT0t3NkQv544QAIR8qeHpMJgLBp_5I5klimUFH2G1Kuv4mOg6Bstg/s320/0DFC8B10-1CCC-48B2-B59F-D038E50B9AFB.JPG"/></a></div>
<b>Flowers are just as important as vegetables in the vegetable garden</b>
<p>
And speaking of marigolds, I'm a huge believer in companion planting and peppering flowers in with your vegetables. I've felt strongly about that for a long time, but this year made me even more of a believer. I planted some marigolds and zinnias next to some of my tomatoes, and those plants are thriving. I truly believe the flowers have helped deter pest and attract pollinators. As a matter of fact, I was just sitting out giving the ducks a few minutes of free time when a hummingbird landed on my zinnias. They also really brighten up the place. Next year, I really want to create a cutting garden for flowers, but I'll also be sure to plant them among my veggies.
<p>
<b>Regenerating soil is important </b>
<p>
I won't get too deep into this one, but permacutlure and regenerative agriculture have become very important to me, and I think if others took these two topics more seriously, we wouldn't be worried as much about some of the environmental topics that we seem to be worried abuot, but I digress. I can only speak for my little slice of the world, and I can tell you that my parents and grandfather didn't take great care of their soil. We've all taken a bit of a break from gardening over the last few years, so some of it is coming back to life on its own, but I've been also been using compost and chicken and duck manure and trace minerals to help make that happen. Next year, I want to focus on some no-till areas to improve it even further. My major at UGA is agriscience, and I'm learning a lot about crop and soil health and sustainability, but I'd been studying the topic on my own for years. If you want to learn more or see a good example of how you can do agriculture right, check out <a href="https://whiteoakpastures.com/">White Oak Pastures in Bluffton, Georgia</a>. I've been getting the majority of my beef from them for years and have become a big fan of their regenerative and humane farming practices. Plus, their food is soooo much better for you than regular old grocery store meat.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkOvo6W5e-UPJSeE9pmOglrhLbRRqRTdWJXrg05gdutlLX1GI6irAcTCtxjA-rBYgVreJj3Z2CNP4uQb0B7QXsXYewbFbEg6q0ijM0As4jbnFGhptKNvTFyLjxq-wgCi4t-fH3BojVYcCcZqxx-cuu0u45-qUjNbrwrYUnh54PXNtQgVFryw/s3139/IMG_0181.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="3139" data-original-width="2549" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkOvo6W5e-UPJSeE9pmOglrhLbRRqRTdWJXrg05gdutlLX1GI6irAcTCtxjA-rBYgVreJj3Z2CNP4uQb0B7QXsXYewbFbEg6q0ijM0As4jbnFGhptKNvTFyLjxq-wgCi4t-fH3BojVYcCcZqxx-cuu0u45-qUjNbrwrYUnh54PXNtQgVFryw/s320/IMG_0181.jpg"/></a></div>
<b>Don't be afraid to try something new</b>
<p>
You can plant the same old stuff every year — and I grew up with a gardening family who did, at least in my lifetime — but I personally like to try new things. This year, it was cucamelons. They're trendly little fruits that look like tiny watermelons and supposedly taste like limes (I haven't had any to harvest just yet), and I really wanted to grow some last year for my mom and I to try. I never got to, but I did get some planted this year. I thought they'd grow a bit more like cucumbers, so next year, if I grow them, I won't dedicate such a large space to the plants. They also seem a bit slow to grow, so I will try to plant them earlier next year, but I just love the wow fact of trying new seeds and plants and being able to introduce those items to friends and family.
<p>
<b>Take in everything you learn but do what works for you</b>
<p>
I'm definitely a student when it comes to gardening. I read as much as I can. I have so many gardening books. I have learned so much at UGA over the last year. And I've learned so much from my parents and grandfather throughout my lifetime. I'm still learning from my dad. But I also bring some of my own ideas to the table, and my own gardening practices have becomea mix of all of those things combined. I guess what I'm saying is feel free to stick with tried and true methods, but don't be afraid to experiment as well. Even when you screw up, you learn something.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEV-LyBP9VIt4J1E0gR--7pHuQb4uUWQZLUZ7uRCJ26gJgNy3YFbOwnkW7mMLKM78BlyBXW1L5wwobIWoSKUd_un14MA44-iqjiEQSke2KlNHgxLoLt8brqMULQFOeyQlsoq7QuccioMh5Ca1VlhHxyy-Bo_KVSU-rUTme4ADdtVqyoLxv5g/s3445/IMG_0177.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="3445" data-original-width="2925" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEV-LyBP9VIt4J1E0gR--7pHuQb4uUWQZLUZ7uRCJ26gJgNy3YFbOwnkW7mMLKM78BlyBXW1L5wwobIWoSKUd_un14MA44-iqjiEQSke2KlNHgxLoLt8brqMULQFOeyQlsoq7QuccioMh5Ca1VlhHxyy-Bo_KVSU-rUTme4ADdtVqyoLxv5g/s320/IMG_0177.jpg"/></a></div>
<b>I can coexist with frogs </b>
<p>
If you know me, you know I'm not a fan of frogs, but I've cultivated quite a little ecosystem within my little garden that I'm quite proud of. And yes, that means I've got a big lumpy toad and several tiny little frogs hanging out in there. I may scream when I encounter one (sorry, neighbors), but I let them be. I imagine they're partially responsible for the lack of pest problems I've had this year. I just have to be very careful when I pick up a rock.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbdZlB2g5GFl_BmDcOJE7cX8rhhKa2KKEPPDjhmMhkDXpSrMx1lz6bfbmb1XgrptIKl-Ye5rZboXByUIyRGl8YMfkv8Y1ffCyDXhYum9P1LwNb0c_EbkvjJrtzEGcTU5a4rYsaGzeEPv9z_kg-_q2KHowObOlUs7oYXRNeSNlhqaZ7cWyAQ/s4032/IMG_0173.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbdZlB2g5GFl_BmDcOJE7cX8rhhKa2KKEPPDjhmMhkDXpSrMx1lz6bfbmb1XgrptIKl-Ye5rZboXByUIyRGl8YMfkv8Y1ffCyDXhYum9P1LwNb0c_EbkvjJrtzEGcTU5a4rYsaGzeEPv9z_kg-_q2KHowObOlUs7oYXRNeSNlhqaZ7cWyAQ/s320/IMG_0173.jpg"/></a></div>
<b>When in doubt, go to the garden</b>
<p>
Back in March or April, a difficult work situation came up, and unfortunately, it's been the number one reason why I didn't have my dream garden this year. It seems to have finally come to an end (with a bang, might I add), but by last week, I felt like someone had just repeatedly beaten me. I was in actual physical pain. I think Friday night, I crawled into bed and slept for 11 hours straight, and I woke up wondering if I could ever trust anyone again. In general, it's been a crappy month. I'm still dealing with the fact that I had to euthanize my little cat kind of unexpectedly a couple of weeks ago and missing her daily. Plus, this time last year, I was sending my mom off to the hospital, and I had no idea at the time she'd be there for weeks and never return, so that memory is kind of lingering in the air with these hot late July days. My point is that it's been a lot. And I've had to navigate it all without my number one supporter. I'm still learning to do that. I'm still learning how to plan my life around what I want and not what's best for my mom's health. All of that can be overwhelming.
<p>
But I have found that the best cure is going out to my little garden. It may be smaller than I expected, but there is life there. You can feel something there, whether it's the heat of the sun beating down on your back while you pull weeds or the pride in finding a new tomato that's popped up on your plants or the joy in watching the playground you've created for all of the butterflies, bees, hummingbirds, and even frogs. It's a reminder that there's a world out there beyond your problems, and it's best to enjoy it rather than get caught up in nonsense. Nature is healing. It can be difficult too, but learning to take it all in as it comes can help you handle the other stuff life throws at you. It's been the cure for almost every bad day I've had lately.
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</script></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13044223737833333480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17473535.post-5630157190463036992022-07-14T17:27:00.000-04:002022-07-14T17:27:39.595-04:00On Lily <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0k3h6LFRYuZWwVMdW_e0eKcxBG93UVEZFDw02jcQP0hCDgDg4_5KOD0fdDAfAfSLoNvSA917fIM2iLhvUa-Ee113M3SsduhIJsySWFAFHPv9ZGnUIWJ0PmUToJci-nl5AyYcnHGh9TVe9qxQveysKvMK2PGsDkvO2gTB6X9t2VKroVmzBg/s3780/D0927618-689C-4D68-87CB-011E76328D7E.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="3780" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0k3h6LFRYuZWwVMdW_e0eKcxBG93UVEZFDw02jcQP0hCDgDg4_5KOD0fdDAfAfSLoNvSA917fIM2iLhvUa-Ee113M3SsduhIJsySWFAFHPv9ZGnUIWJ0PmUToJci-nl5AyYcnHGh9TVe9qxQveysKvMK2PGsDkvO2gTB6X9t2VKroVmzBg/s320/D0927618-689C-4D68-87CB-011E76328D7E.JPG"/></a></div>
I'm not really sure where to start. The last week has kicked my ass. I mean, I could say the last year or two or four have kicked my ass, but I think it's all finally caught up with me. Let me start from the beginning.
<p>
I've never really been a cat person. I mean, I like them okay, but I don't want pets who require me to clean their toilets and refuse to have much to do with me. But about five and a half years ago, I'd just lost my beloved dog, Gabby. My mom had just started dialysis for kidney failure. My grandfather and uncle and my parents' dog had died in the year or two leading up to it. I'd moved back in with my parents. We all moved into my grandfather's house. It was a lot, and I just wanted something young and fun around the house, so I ended up adopting two kittens.
<p>
It took me a while to adopt these kittens. Every Saturday for a month or so, I'd go hang out at PetSmart and see what the rescue groups bought, but none of them ever really jumped out at me, and I wasn't even 100% committed to this task anyway. A couple of days before Christmas, I was actually out shopping with my mom when a rescue group posted a list of the kittens they'd have in the store that day. I was sitting in the car, waiting for my mom to finish up whatever she was doing, and that's when I saw the cat I wanted on the list. I ran back into the store and told her to hurry up because we were going to PetSmart. We had groceries that would ruin, but I didn't care. I had to have that cat.
<p>
We got to PetSmart, and the kitten I wanted wasn't there yet. So, we waited. And waited. And the lady who was running the adoptions kept calling the person who was supposed to bring her. I was determined that I would have this cat and no one else would. Finally, she showed up, and they took her out of her little carrier and handed her to me, and I was ready to take her home.
<p>
"You can't take her by herself," my mom said as I held onto this little kitten for dear life. And she was right. Because inside that little carrier from which they had pulled my cat was another, smaller, more fragile-looking kitten who was quite obviously scared to death and sad without her sister. And that's how I ended up with two cats: My Annie Cat that I just had to have from the moment I saw her on Facebook and the other one.
<p>
Little did I know that "the other one" would turn my world upside down.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIJy6AyiyJTsDgiwG9C52sZQNSpyW1c7WV6ondd3jklzyRSX0saB1wTiFdAWivRYnhQbCznkMpTz77Pe88EumL7AL2g4aRCa7-Jy8qry6k279ccIp5n2nrCaTviDfk7Q20bO8UpEyPO1Sw3hhFDFJqh6WYEm2SudMKGBRDOn0uGpqdkyTkA/s2048/IMG_0589.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIJy6AyiyJTsDgiwG9C52sZQNSpyW1c7WV6ondd3jklzyRSX0saB1wTiFdAWivRYnhQbCznkMpTz77Pe88EumL7AL2g4aRCa7-Jy8qry6k279ccIp5n2nrCaTviDfk7Q20bO8UpEyPO1Sw3hhFDFJqh6WYEm2SudMKGBRDOn0uGpqdkyTkA/s320/IMG_0589.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>
I named them Annie and Lily. Annie for the Edgar Allan Poe poem "Annabel Lee" and Lily for one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs "Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts." Annie was going to be my baby, and I told my mom she could have Lily.
<p>
When I got the kittens home, they did some kind of personality reversal. Annie, who was so sweet and playful and outgoing in PetSmart, wouldn't let anyone come near her. She hid. She totally disappeared for days at a time. You'd think she was feral if you came to visit. Her only motivation is food. I don't call her Little Fat Annie Cat for nothing. And socks. Annie steals socks any chance she gets. It's some kind of weird fetish she has. I literally have to hide my good Nike socks from her or she will find them, and I'll wake up and find socks all over the house. On the other hand, Lily, who had tricked us into thinking she was so pitiful and lonely so that we'd take her home, was the life of the party.
<p>
Lily was the more dominant of the two, which I think had a lot to do with Annie's personality. She groomed her and took care of her and made sure she ate. She also ran up and attacked her from behind, leaving marks all over her, but that was Lily.
<p>
Lily loved everyone here: dog, cat, human. Duck. She wanted more attention than my dog does. She fetched. She sat when you told her. She seemed to understand every word you said. She greeted me every time I left and returned, whether it was to go grab something to eat or leave the country for a week. She was especially clingy when I would go out of town. She wanted to be with me 24/7, and when I was home, she was. Cleaning? Lily will help and then get into the empty box afterwards. Working? Lily was on my desk, chair, or shoulder watching me type. Cooking? She sat at the stove and begged for food that she would almost never eat. One time I left the kitchen for a few minutes and came back to find her on the counter throwing raw bacon down for Annie. Every time I laid in bed to read or watch TV, she joined me. When I woke up in the mornings, she'd come join me again if she hadn't slept with me that night, and we'd play. I got some nasty bite marks and scratches because it got pretty rough, but we both loved every single minute of it. If I so much as sneezed or sniffled, she'd run to me and start patting me with her paws or rubbing her head on my arm.
<p>
My point is that if I was home and in the house, Lily was right there with me 90% of the time. I can't lie and say it didn't annoy me at times, but she could read my moods and would back off when I asked her to. Most of the time. We just had that kind bond that I've really only ever had with one other pet, my late dog Gabby who I mentioned above.
<p>
It's been about 10 months since my mom died, and times have been tough since then. It seems like a lot of weird, unusual things have happened that have made my life a little more difficult, but even worse, I've had to navigate them without my main support system. My mom was my bestie. I consulted with her on everything, even if we were mad at each other and even when I didn't necessarily agree with her advice. Just having her around to talk through life's difficult moments is something that is hard to learn to live without.
<p>
That's not to say I don't have a support system now. My dad would do anything I asked him to. I have a few assorted friends and family members who have been great. But I have sought a lot of comfort in my animals over these past few months, particularly the ones in the house: Annie, Lily, and Sadie, my dog. Those three are my little dream team, even silly shy little Annie.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwx7mS3Ahm1E-PK64gu9LqgcSuPecpPEIHiotiHHBSXmkJ3krjSpHHay19Y2EEw2x2EUwx1ZIvCK1GJXqalCUGhIzzBbigZYD2wWaM5Wj-2K2ezC1HUyRbYZ265IQtHrfI9WVsxmhqGrEOjA5bMcaeJkNZ3rR6eJY4tTUseLWZ-BK9EEmog/s4032/IMG_0336.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwx7mS3Ahm1E-PK64gu9LqgcSuPecpPEIHiotiHHBSXmkJ3krjSpHHay19Y2EEw2x2EUwx1ZIvCK1GJXqalCUGhIzzBbigZYD2wWaM5Wj-2K2ezC1HUyRbYZ265IQtHrfI9WVsxmhqGrEOjA5bMcaeJkNZ3rR6eJY4tTUseLWZ-BK9EEmog/s320/IMG_0336.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>
Last week, I was pretty stressed out for a number of reasons, so I probably didn't give any of them the attention they deserved. If I could go back in time…
<p>
On Thursday morning, I woke up, and Annie and Sadie were in my bedroom, but Lilly was missing. I called and called and called her, and she finally came up and drank some water and laid down by the water bowl I keep in there. This wasn't really like her, but I didn't think much of it at first. Lily has always been a little sickly. While Annie is robust and a little chunky, Lily has always been smaller. She gets cold easily. She has allergy issues. She had a little neurological thing. I've had to take her to the vet for issues with her eyes that she's had since birth and treat that on and off since I've had her. As a matter of fact, her eye looked pretty rough that day, so I just assumed her allergies had her down and treated it as such. I fed Annie some treats, and Lily ate a few, so I figure as long as she's eating and drinking, there isn't much to worry about. And later that day, she perked up. She was chasing some kind of flying bug that got into the house.
<p>
On Friday, she seemed a bit down again, so I went out and got her some meds and some brothy food, which I figured would help if she had a sore throat. I called my vet to make an appointment for her, but they couldn't see me until Tuesday. I called several other vets in every county north, south, and west of Atlanta. They couldn't see me until Tuesday. I asked Lily why she couldn't do this on a Monday rather than a holiday weekend. She did not respond.
<p>
On Saturday, she didn't seem any better or worse. I called a local emergency vet, and they seemed overwhelmed. They told me that as long as she was drinking water, not having trouble breathing, and not having seizures that she should be okay until Tuesday, but that didn't sit right with me. A friend of mine suggested another vet that is open 365 days a year, and I called and was thankfully able to get an appointment for Sunday afternoon.
<p>
By Saturday evening, I was a wreck. She seemed weaker, and she wasn't really eating. She was still drinking water, though, which felt like a good sign, but by now, I knew something was up. I got her into my bed that night and wrapped her in my soft robe, and we snuggled and watched TV for a few hours. I'm so grateful for that time.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpim205di97U597b0tbZyKnLWo_vo5BVZB3UGZgClOkZ69in_gZeHC1PsfKOTsFzx0aK1iFjnd-0o2ffTjokDIESlWtKLFj9_2fOOX3INtJkePganDxzjJqLpcuItXbPxa98vnZsLK40pFf7Bo1PtzKOWSWSYFsHuq0-nttu1nnDVqYEkmtg/s4032/IMG_0409.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpim205di97U597b0tbZyKnLWo_vo5BVZB3UGZgClOkZ69in_gZeHC1PsfKOTsFzx0aK1iFjnd-0o2ffTjokDIESlWtKLFj9_2fOOX3INtJkePganDxzjJqLpcuItXbPxa98vnZsLK40pFf7Bo1PtzKOWSWSYFsHuq0-nttu1nnDVqYEkmtg/s320/IMG_0409.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>
At some point in the night, she got down from my bed. I slept terribly, but I had this intense dream that my mom appeared to me, and we were in this beautiful place that was lush with plants and flowers. I can't even describe it. My mom poured some cat food in a bowl, and Lily and this other cat I'd neer seen went to eat it, and they were so happy and healthy. I told her to let Annie get some too, but she told me it was not time for Annie.
<p>
I woke up in a panic. I just knew I'd find Lily dead somewhere. I looked all over the house and finally found her under my bed, alive and looking at me like I was disturbing her. She came out and drank some water and laid down outside my bedroom door. I tried to feed her again, but she wasn't having it, so we got ready and headed out to the vet.
<p>
The trip to the office was actually quite a drive because I didn't want to get on the expressway and for some reason, my GPS took me through a gazillion backroads. I prayed and prayed the entire way there. Lily meowed and tried to figure a way out of her carrier. She doesn't like car rides. I tried to pet her and talk to her and navigate the way, all while shaking with nerves that were absolutely shot. We got to the stripmall where the vet's office was supposed to be. I unloaded Lily who was in a heavy awkward large dog crate because my cat carrier is broken. It was 92 degrees. Parking was a mess because Atlanta. I finally got her up to the door, and it was locked. I asked someone next door where the vet's office was now, and they told me it had moved across the street. So, I loaded her back up, and it took about 15 minutes to get across the street because Atlanta, and I unloaded her again and took her into the new building.
<p>
She seemed okay, and I was still praying. She hissed at a dog who came and sniffed through her little windows, and she was still meowing. I got a tickle in my throat, which led to a five-minute coughing fit which probably led to everyone in the building thinking I had COVID. When they took us to a room, a tech came right in, and he looked just like Ben Folds with darker hair, and I felt like this had to be a good sign. It wasn't, but he was nice.
<p>
The vet came in, and she was also nice. They asked many questions. Went over their plans for testing her. Gave me some ideas of what could be wrong with her. They did an exam, drew some blood, etc. I kept praying and shaking and petting Lily and talking to her. In the back of my mind, I knew how this would end.
<p>
When the vet came back into the room, the look on her face was enough to confirm it. Lily was severely anemic. Like severely. She knew that before the test results even came back because she said she'd never seen blood so thin. We went over a million potential causes, but none of the testing revealed any of that. Her organs were working. No parasites. Negative for common cat diseases. I won't go into all the details, but we went around and around trying to come up with a solution, and as we did, Lily was fading. I kept scratching her under chin and behind her ears like she likes, and I do believe she enjoyed it. She purred and moved closer to me, but she also kept doing other things that weren't great signs, and her fear of being away from home had gone out the window. She didn't care who handled her or what they did to her. Honestly, the last couple of times I've seen that sort of behavior, I was watching my mother and a chicken die.
<p>
I had to make the decision as to whether or not I wanted to put her through emergency care. There was a big chance that she wouldn't even survive long enough to receive it. There was also a pretty big chance that the emergency care (blood transfusions, etc.) was more of a bandage than an actual solution. There was a small chance she'd get it and be fine, some sort of freak thing, but there was no way to know. And I'd like to say money didn't play a role, but I was already racking up quite a bill with all the testing, and we were talking thousands of dollars more just for the first night. Not that she's not worth it. There was just so much more to it than I can even type here.
<p>
A few friends and relatives checked in on me while the vet and tech were going back and forth delivering test results. She kept asking me if I wanted them to do this test and that and telling me how much each one cost. The vet never mentioned euthanizing, but I could tell it was on the tip of her tongue. She kept telling me that she was "very sick" and needed "lots of care." Now that I think about it, it reminded me a lot of my mom's last hospital stay, but this lady had a much better bedside manner than much of the ICU staff. Go figure.
<p>
I really didn't know what to do. I've never had to put an animal down before. As an adult, my pets have all died from old age. I did take a cat for my mom once, but I didn't even live with it and had no real attachment to it, so it wasn't the same. Anyway, my point is that it's just not a decision I've ever had to make. And it's not an easy decision to make. You have to weigh the vet's advice with your gut instinct and the probability of good and bad outcomes if you opt for the treatment and what the quality of life will be for that animal if they do survive the treatment and so on. I used to see death as a very black and white issue, but after all I went through with my mom and some of the issues I've had raising livestock, you start to learn there's a good bit of grey area.
<p>
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<p>
And no matter what decision I came to, I felt like a failure. Lily was only 5 years old. She was supposed to be with me forever. I just assumed, took it for granted that she'd be one of those cats that lived to be 25 or something. I know in my heart that I did the right things for her in the end, but that "what if" game can mess with your head.
<p>
And this is where I realized that in the past, I could have called my mom. I could have asked her what to do. She'd tell me. I may not have followed her advice, but she'd help me see the situation more clearly. Even if I didn't make the right decision, she'd support me afterwards. We'd talk it through. We'd talk about Lily for days to come. We'd repeat ourselves, but it would bring comfort. She'd be just as emotionally involved with the situation as I was no matter what else was going on in her life. She knew me the way I knew Lily and knew what I would need to get through this difficult little period of life. My God, that's hard to live without.
<p>
So, at this point, I've been at the office for a couple of hours, and the vet came in and sat with me for a bit. She let me know they were closing soon and we needed to figure things out, but she wasn't pushy. She talked to me on a human level. I told her that I just didn't think I could go through with the emergency services for a number of reasons, and I laid them out and she didn't agree or disagree, just supported me. It wasn't anything close to what my mom would have done, but it was what I needed. I could have hugged that woman if I were a person who likes to hug people and we weren't post-pandemic and it had been a more appropriate situation.
<p>
"So, are you saying definitely that you want to euthanize her?" she asked finally using the word we'd both danced around for a bit. I told her I guess I did, and she alluded to the fact that she thought I was making the right decision given her expeirence with these types of situations. My dad also texted me and told me I was making the right decision.
<p>
And here is where I just lost it. I don't think I've cried in public since I was a toddler. I remember sitting at my grandmother's funeral and pinching my leg and threatening myself when I was on the verge. I barely cry in private, but I sat in that little room and just started bawling. Tears were flowing. Snot was flying. I was apologizing to poor Lily who had no idea what was going on. I kept telling the vet I don't even cry and my mom had just died and she was anemic too and I didn't know what's wrong with me. She probably thought I was crazy as she tried to discuss postmortem options — burial, cremation, etc. — and the Ben Folds-looking guy brought me a box of tissues. I guess I was crying for Lily, but I was crying for my mom and myself too. I was crying because I had to make that decision alone. I was crying because of every bad thing that has happened over the last year. I was crying over work, which has been awful lately. I was crying because I've been so overwhelmed over the last few months. I cried for all of it.
<p>
Ben Folds told me I could stay with her as long as I needed before they did the deed, but I told him to go ahead and do it. I'd been sitting there petting her and saying "Oh, Lily," for a few hours now and I didn't see the point of prolonging anything. I know they wanted to get home. It was well past closing time, and nothing was going to change if I sat there for 20 or 30 more minutes. The vet asked me if I wanted to be with her when it happened, and I really wasn't sure about that. I've watched animals die. It wasn't that.
<p>
If she had been visibly upset, I would have gone with her. But she was barely awake. And if she became more animated right before they did it, I probably would have second-guessed myself. And I was so tired. I didn't even want to get up off the little bench to go home. Part of me wanted to curl up and sleep there, and part of me wanted to get the hell out and never look back. And then the vet told me a very good story about something that happened to her as a teenager that made me decide not to watch. So, they explained what they would do, step by step, and took her back, and she was so sleepy and out of it anyway that she didn't even care. Ben Folds kept her wrapped in her little blanket I'd brought, and I sat and waited and texted with my dad and a few other people to let them know what was going on.
<p>
After it was all over, I loaded up my car with the carrier and Lily, who they were kind enough to put into a box for me, still wrapped in her blanket that she loved. She looked so peaceful. I decided to take the expressway home, and traffic was minimal. I brought her inside, and let Annie and Sadie sniff her to know she was gone. Annie even climbed in the box with her. Afterwards, she went from room to room, looking for her, and then she came back and sniffed the box again as if she had decided that it was true and she was saying goodbye. I also cut a few locks of Lily's hair, which sounds creepy to type out. About that time, my dad texted me and told me he had the grave ready. Looking back, I kind of wish I'd had her cremated as I usually do with my dogs, but it's too late now. We buried her in our pet graveyard where all my childhood dogs and a few other assorted animals are buried. That night and the next day, I really didn't know what to do with myself. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I was exhausted and starving though. It was the 4th of July but I could have cared less about any of it. I'm pretty sure I spent most of that day sitting on the sofa, watching King of the Hill and going through some of my mom's craft supplies.
<p>
It's been a week now since Lily first began showing signs of something being wrong. I'm not ashamed to rank it as one of the worst weeks of my life. I still feel like I've been hit by a truck. I'm devastated. I miss her. I still can't process how quickly it all happened. I still can't process the decision I had to make. I know people make it every day, but it was a first for me. In many ways. And it will probably take me a while to get over it.
<p>
But at the same time, it might have been the kick in the pants I needed to make some changes. To quit putting things off. Live in the moment. I can't go into much detail here because some of it is work-related, but I really feel like there are some big changes ahead. They might not be easy, but they should be worth it. And Lily taught me that you can't take life for granted. If I could go back to last Tuesday and let her climb all over me while I watched Jeopardy that evening instead of telling her I wasn't feeling it, I would.
<p>
I know what you're thinking. All of this over a cat. And a few years ago, I'd be right there with you. But Lily wasn't just a cat. She was my little buddy. We were in sync in a way that's rare. I bond with all my animals, but this was just different. I can't explain it. I had it with my dog Gabby, and I had it with Lily, and if I'm lucky enough, I'll have it again one day. Someone told me recently that they don't have pets because they couldn't deal with losing them. I told her she was right; it will shatter your world and make you question your existence and whether life is worth living. But it's worth it and you just pick up and do it all over again.
<p>
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<p>
I will probably adopt another kitten soon. Most likely after some traveling I'm doing in a few weeks. Honestly, I'm getting it more for Annie to have a companion than I am for myself, but it will be nice to have something young and fun around the house again.
<p>
*Note: I wrote this last week on July 7, 2022.
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</script></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13044223737833333480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17473535.post-5641364727031430782022-06-01T16:05:00.000-04:002022-07-23T16:12:46.693-04:00A Tale of Two Roosters The last year has been a bit of a learning curve for me for multiple reasons, and one thing I learned a lot about is roosters. And one thing I learned about roosters is that they can be quite stressful, but you can also love them anyway. <p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlLgZ1SCNCcODmX2TwlMsOmllUppssand3QcEXWHGve_TiHQSMj3j0MUyIGdogJzVWr_tbnMu92YvpvQuHORtlyjrPG8IRR52TI4f1dKKxVDgVnGp-TVVrFCxPBe50cx3fL4GSoZZ7U68D28TM5Tsod-mG3XyVx5jqXncNS-L2llKPTtafqQ/s4032/IMG_9287.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlLgZ1SCNCcODmX2TwlMsOmllUppssand3QcEXWHGve_TiHQSMj3j0MUyIGdogJzVWr_tbnMu92YvpvQuHORtlyjrPG8IRR52TI4f1dKKxVDgVnGp-TVVrFCxPBe50cx3fL4GSoZZ7U68D28TM5Tsod-mG3XyVx5jqXncNS-L2llKPTtafqQ/s320/IMG_9287.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>
So, last July, I ordered 20 female chicks from a hatchery. I opted in for a "bonus exotic breed," not knowing that they were almost always roosters. But I figured it woudln't be so bad to have one rooster. What I ended up with was a box of 22 chicks, four of whom ended up being males. Two of them I knew were boys from the moment I got them, so how the hatchery made this mistake, I don't know. I don't know how any of that works. Anyway, a couple of weeks after I got the chicks, my mom went into the hospital where she spent nearly a month and never came home, so I was trying to take care of these chicks while dealing with all of that. I do remember telling my mom that I thought I had three roosters — it was one of the last conversations she and I had — and she said "uh-oh, you better hope not." Oh, how right she was.
<p>
My initial plan was to keep them all in the flock, but after a couple of months, it became abundantly clear that four boys with 18 girls wasn't going to work. So, I decided I would build a "bachelor pad" for my two more assertive roosters. Well, that didn't work either because the last thing I had time to do was build something. It took me forever to get those chickens outside in the first place. And one of the two boys I planed to separate actually tried to fight with my dog one day. She's 12 years old. She would never hurt a fly. I'll put up with a lot of things from animals but not that. Luckily, I was able to re-home those guys.
<p>
That left me with Rudy and Leppo. Rudy was a giant Cochin who was supposed to be a hen, and the only reason I knew he was a rooster was his size and markings. He didn't crow for a long time and was actually like a big teddy bear. Leppo was a little Hamburg who was super nervous and anxious and a little weird, but he and I bonded early on because he was the first one to figure out how to get out of the brooder.
<p>
After I rehomed the other two boys, things were pretty peaceful for about a month. But one day my dad was out with the chickens while I was working, and I heard a horrible noise. He later told me that Leppo had attacked Rudy. Over the next few weeks, it happened a couple of more times. Rudy was five times Leppo's size, but he didn't really fight back. One day, I intervened by removing Leppo from the flock for a short period of time, and when I let him back in, Rudy started attacking him. And when I say "attack," I don't mean anything terrible, just some pushing and shoving and hurt feelings. I would have intervened otherwise.
<p>
But it got to the point that I wasn't comfortable having them both with the flock. I actually think they injured one of my hens earlier this year, which led to her death. They also seemed to be in competition for mating — I watched Leppo hop on the same girl nine times in half an hour. So, right after that, I ordered one of those awful little prefab chicken coops, and that became Leppo's new home. He hated it initially, but I didn't know what else to do.
<p>
And then Rudy became a bit on the aggressive side with my dad. I've heard terrible stories about mean roosters, and he was nothing like that at all, but my dad walks around with a bamboo walking stick sometimes outside, and Rudy would attack it. I researched how to stop this behavior, and my dad "felt bad for him" and wouldn't do it. That really made me uncomfortale. The last thing I wanted was to have to watch my back every time I'm outside. He was also pretty rough with the girls. He wasn't as wild as Leppo, but he'd stand on their backs for a long time after mating, was ripping their feathers out, and grabbing them by the necks and swinging them around. Rudy made me realize that I am not a rooster person.
<p>
After talking it over with some friends and some kind people with more experience, I decided Rudy had to go. I couldn't have him attacking my dad or mistreating my hens. I didn't want him attacking anyone else who visited either. I placed ads online. Spread the word among people I know. Contacted farms and rescues. In the end, I actually found some great options for him. One would have been a better life for him than I ever could have given him for sure. But I couldn't do it. I could not get rid of him. All I could think about was how terrible it would be drive him up to the mountains and abandon him (at this really great place). Would they buy his him favorite sunflower seeds? Would they call him by his name that he knew really well? Would he miss us?
<p>
I made a donation to the place that was willing to take him, and thanked them and told them I had decided to keep him. Plus, I know roosters are treated so horribly and abandonded, and these people are so kind to take them in that I didn't want to use up their resouces. If all of these animal rescues and charities can keep unwanted roosters on hand, I could too.
<p>
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<p>
First, that meant that I had to stop being afraid of him. I'll admit it. He scared me a little bit. I don't like animals that make sudden movements (see: frogs). So, while he never really tried to attack me, I decided I was going to show him I was dominant. I started chasing him every day. If he even looked at me funny or crowed in my driection, I'd run after him for 20 minutes with a shovel in hand until we both got tired. I also started squirting him lightly with a water hose when he'd do things I didn't like, like get too close to me, try to fight with Leppo through his cage, or mistreat one of the hens. Some people do terrible things to assert their dominance over a jerk of a rooster, so don't come at me saying any of this sounds cruel. It actually worked. I became less scared of him, and he learened to respect me when I was in his space. I learned a great deal about roosters through all of this.
<p>
But even though we'd learend to live with each other, Rudy was still super rough on the girls. Some of it was just his immaturity, and some of it was his size. My cousin came over one day and saw him and said, "That's the biggest chicken I've ever seen." He'd never fit in a pre-fab coop like Leppo, so I bought a larger dog kennel for him. It took me a while to get it set up, and then my dad was nice enough to cover it in hardware cloth to keep predators and Leppo out. Once we were done, I moved him to it. He actually seemed to like it. I think Rudy was never meant to be the head of a flock. He seemed overwhelmed all the time, and when we had issues with hawks earlier this year, he would run and hide, but Leppo would try to fight them. Long story a little shorter, Rudy actually seemed to enjoy his bachelorhood. Some roosters are fine being on their own, and some aren't.
<p>
We got Rudy moved on a weekend, and by the end of that week, I was prepared to start letting him out for free time. As a matter of fact, that Thursday night, I told my dad I'd let him out the next day for a few hours. Later that night, around midnight, I was watching TV, and I thought I heard something, but between the TV and the air conditioning and all my fans, I coudln't be sure and didn't think anything of it. The next morning, my dad called and told me he'd gone to let the hens out of their house, and Rudy was dead.
<p>
I felt awful. Guilty. I immediately figured out how a predactor got into the dog kennel, a place with some give that I had missed. I failed that poor boy. Based on the way we found his body, I was fairly certain it was a raccoon. Later in the week, a neighbor had spotted a raccoon on her porch, and another night, I'd taken my dog out around 1 a.m. and heard one in the woods, which adds to the idea that this is what it was. My dad and I both mourned that poor boy. My dad buried him and cleaned up the mess in the scorching heat since I had to work and was also treating a duck injury. It was a dark day around here.
<p>
We decided to let Leppo out with the girls that evening to see how he did. If he was okay, we'd move him back into the big house with them. I feel like they're pretty safe in there unless raccoons know how to use keys. But Leppo was a litle overzealous with the girls, and he actually wanted to go back into his little coop at the end of the day. So, we let him. And we spent a good hour or so trying to make sure nothing could get into it. I drilled doors shut. We stacked cement blocks in front of the doors we couldn't drill. I felt condident he was safe.
<p>
After I got over the sadness of losing Rudy, I felt a little better about the situation. Leppo is very sweet. He has never tried to attack any humans. As a matter of fact, if he was out of his pen and I came outside, he'd run across the yard to greet me. He was great at alerting the girls to predators. I often let him out with the ducks, and my drakes would go run him off, but he never tried to fight back. He was good with my dog. If he didn't literally fly and land on a hen or try to mate with them backwards, he would have been perfect. My plan was to slowly reintegrate him with the girls. I was hoping after he got to be a year old and we made it through mating season and chicken puberty, he might calm down a little bit.
<p>
But I would never get that chance. A few days ago, about a week and a half after Rudy, I was sound asleep, and my phone rang. It was my dad. Nothing good comes from my dad calling me and waking me up early in the morning. The last time he did it was when Rudy died, and the time before that was when the hospital had called him and told him we needed to get up there with my mom. Well, there was another time when he thought someone had stolen my car, but I'd just parked it in a different place. Anyway, he told me something had gotten Leppo.
<p>
We went over every inch of his coop and couldn't figure out how or what did it. We finally decided it had to be a human because whatever else it was would have had to move cement blocks and then move them back. And we're still not 100% sure, but I've decided it must have been a raccoon. The same raccoon probably. You see, they can reach their arms in and do bad things. Leppo hadn't been eaten at like Rudy, but he was decapitated. Raccoons are known to snap a chicken's head off. And since he hadn't been eaten at, it leads me to believe the creature couldn't get into the pen with him. On the back of the coop, there's a built-in nesting box, and Leppo actually slept in it rather than on the roost. I'd drilled the top down with four screws, but it's entirely possible that it was pried up enough for a little raccoon arm to reach in and grab him. That wood is cheap.
<p>
I hate it. If I'm being honest, I miss those boys, especially Leppo. I stil don't think I'm a rooster person, and taking care of my girls on their own is so much less stressful. Those boys cost me so much time, money, and anxiety over the last seven or eight months. But I have no regrets. They taught me so much about roosters and nature and farm life and even life in general. If I do ever end up with another one... or two or four, I feel more confident handling the situation. For now, I'm good with just my girls and my ducks though.
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