How Embarassing!

This fine fellow, in a photo taken last summer, is one of my horses, Dusty. He's a Tennessee Walking Horse, and like a lot of them he's big on personality. Mostly he's nosy. He usually always has this bug-eyed look, with his ears up. Can't you just see a question mark over his head?

It rained a little last night, the ground was damp. This morning a couple of nice ladies had just driven in. I went out to see what they needed, and as I was talking to them I threw some hay into the manger and whistled for the horses.

Blue Top came ambling along with his head down. BT is 25, and he's pretty wise. Dusty is "only" 15. He threw up his head and made a banner of his tail as he raced across the pasture, passing BT in an all-out effort to get to the feed first. And to show off, of course, because Dusty likes to show off.

When he had to swerve around the gate, though, he hit some hard, damp, slick ground and went ass over teakettle. Didn't slow down, didn't see it coming, just totally crashed and burned.

The poor ladies screamed and covered their faces as small chunks of mud went flying everywhere. For a while poor Dusty just laid there in a little ball, with the question mark and some stars wavering over his blonde head. Then BT stepped over him and got to the feeder first. The sound of munching must have reminded Dusty where he'd been headed, because he jumped up, bucked and snorted (or farted, horses can do them simultaneously) a couple of times as if to say, "Wasn't that a stupendous trick I did?" and pushed his nose into the food.

One lady said, "I bet he learned a lesson." Probably not. Which is why no one has ever been really keen on riding him much.

No Black Friday at the Feed Store

Not at the grocery store, either.

I'm not going to go trolling around superstores just to buy crap I don't need, even if it's cheaper. People are so stupid, we're well-trained to spend on command. Sit. Stay. Pull out that credit card. Good boy.

First we were taught to spend a wad at Christmas. Then a bunch of other spending holidays were added...Easter, Back to School, Presidents' Day, Halloween, etc. But that wasn't good enough. Now we have Black Friday and Cyber Monday. Yuck, sounds like zombies and robots. That's what we are, shopping zombies, economic robots.

Thanksgiving

This year I gave thanks because I didn't have to do anything on Thanksgiving Day. Chef Bob and Nick from the Neighborhood did it all. Bob even did the shopping.

Nick showed up with his specialty dish, candied yams, already started. He made them from scratch.

The marshmallows were added just before serving.

Like all good chefs, these guys started with a glass of fine wine. This was a cabernet sauvignon that was made by my cousin Ken.

By the time they finished, there were 4 empty bottles of various wines, ending with a nice Toscano Port for dessert.

We were joined for dinner by Jon and his dad David, and Carlotta.

Bob, Nick, Jan
Jon, David

Carlotta

We couldn't all get in the same picture because someone had to hold the camera.

This was absolutely the best Thanksgiving turkey I've ever eaten. It was tender, moist, and perfectly cooked. The lucky girls who marry these guys are going to be quite spoiled.

The chickens outside had heaping bowls of feed with a few mealworms for dessert. The horses got an extra flake of hay. The cats had tasty bits of turkey plucked from the carcass especially for them. We even found a fly for the Venus FlyTrap.

It was a nice day at our house. I hope yours was good, too.

Heading Home

I stayed in Reno after the show on Saturday night because I planned to avoid a frozen road. Sunday was predicted to be clear and sunny, so I would wait until 11 or so to get started.

I've said this before. As soon as I make a plan, things start falling apart. I suppose one of my life lessons is to accept the fact that I don't get to control things. I haven't come that far that yet. I don't try to control other people, I totally respect their autonomy. But in my little pea brain, if I go to the trouble of studying a situation and investigating the alternatives, it should be my plan that nature and fate will follow.

At 7:30 a.m. on Sunday, it was snowing in Reno. Not just up on the mountains around the city, but right down in the city itself. That did not bode well. I used my laptop to check chain controls, there were little red marks all over it.

If I don't have your cell phone number, be smart...don't give it to me. I texted everyone I knew to ask their advice. Only Carlotta was up that early, but I was in luck. She had lived in Reno for a while and knew the procedure. "Go to Boomtown," she said. "Talk to the truck drivers. They'll know when it's okay for you to go, and you can talk them into putting the chains on for you."

Boomtown, for those of you across the ocean or on the other side of the U.S., is a huge casino complex just west of Reno. It has restaurants and a hotel, and a huge parking lot. The truckers hang out at the far end of it.

I can see how this worked for Carlotta. If you saw her somewhere you'd think, "A celebrity! She must be a celebrity, I wonder where I've seen her?" If you saw me standing with a bunch of truck drivers, you'd think I was one of them.

I went into the casino and sat around just long enough for my hair to pick up the stench of cigarette smoke and to ask a few people arriving from the west what the traffic was like. Big guys in ski jackets did not inspire me to hit the road. Finally a family of tiny little Chinese people came through. I had seen them all get out of a small car. They said there was snow on the road but they didn't have to put on chains.

So I sucked it up and drove on.

It was snowing on the east side of the Sierras. At one point west-bound traffic was stopped for an hour, and then it progressed very slowly through a couple of inches of snow, and past a couple of fender benders. I may have been the only driver who thought slow was a good thing and that 5 mph was a great speed. The snow stopped before we got to Truckee, and the road was clear all the way over the summit and down the other side. It was snowing again at Baxter, but there was none on the road. I didn't have to use the chains, we weren't even stopped. Some people stopped on their own and put on chains, they probably thought as I did, that if the snow was fairly bad at a lower elevation it would be terrible at the top of the pass.

So all my aunties are probably wondering the most important thing. How much money did I win at Boomtown? None. I don't gamble. It's not a moral restriction, it's mostly because I know I have no control over Fate, so why waste the money. I'm not against cleaning the change out of the bottom of my purse, though, and dropping it into a machine or two on my way out the door. I couldn't even do that. All the machines are digital now. There were no slots to drop coins into. So I took my 5 quarters and dropped them here and there, where they could be found by optimistic gamblers who'll think they're sent by God.

For Uncle B

The following information is primarily for Uncle Bernard, over there in England, who inquired about all the chicken breed names that sounded like places in England.

In the U.S., chickens are categorized like this:

Either Large Fowl or Bantams

If Large Fowl, they are in categories according to where the breed originated. The Large Fowl classes are American, Asiatic, English, Mediterranean, Continental, and All Other Standard Breeds (AOSB).

In the English class for example, the breeds are: Dorkings, Red Caps, Cornish, Orpingtons, Sussex and Australorps. Another breed that originated in England is actually in AOSB. That is the Old English.

Bantams are categorized according to their combs and whether or not they have feathered legs. The Bantam classes are:

Game Bantams - Old English and Moderns
SCCL (Single Comb Clean Legged other than Game Bantams)
RCCL (Rose Comb Clean Legged)
AOCCL (All Other Comb Clean Legged)
Feather Legged

Waterfowl are in categories according to their size. Ducks are Heavy Weight, Medium Weight, Light Weight or Bantams. Geese are Heavy, Medium or Light.

All Turkeys are in the same class.

Pictures of ideal birds in each breed and most varieties are shown in a large book called the American Standard of Perfection. Breed standards have been maintained by the American Poultry Association since 1873.

4-H poultry kids need to know all the classes and breeds within them by the time they're 12 years old. We used to practice the classes and breeds in the car on the way to poultry shows. I will never let Bob's friend Jonathan live down the time I asked him to name the breeds in the Asiatic Class. (The correct answer is Brahmas, Cochins, and Langshans.) His first answer attempt was "Llamas, Cushions, and Longjohns."

One more small piece of information. My friend Katherine, the artist extraordinaire, was commissioned to draw many of the most recent illustrations in the newest edition of the Standard of Perfection.

Entertainment and Education

I miss being at a chicken show without a bunch of kids in tow.

Bob didn't do soccer or baseball or gymnastics, he did 4-H, in which his primary project was poultry. Almost every weekend in the fall and winter was spent at a chicken show, and we usually had a few other kids with us.

Poultry shows were a great place for kids in those days. Dr. Francine Bradley from UC Davis was in charge of youth activities at many of the shows. She set high standards for kids in showmanship and Avian Bowl contests. Bob would seldom do his homework for school, but he studied long and hard so he could answer Dr. B's questions.

Showmanship and Avian Bowl are two activities for kids that go beyond just putting the birds in a cage to have them judged. They require knowledge of the subject, speaking ability, quick thinking, tidiness and good manners, and those are all things the kids do for themselves. Tell me that isn't worth its weight in gold.

Other adults at the shows were also very helpful. They were always available to answer questions about how to discern the best birds, how to feed and condition them, and were generous in selling birds to kids at prices they could afford. In return, the kids provided monetary support with their entry fees, bought lots of raffle tickets and junk food, and bought birds. They brought their parents to do helpful things like set up and tear down cages. It was a win-win situation.

In my estimation the youth program has suffered in the past few years. Dr. Bradley has retired and no one of her caliber has replaced her in Northern California. 4-H is being run by "educators" instead of animal people. Many of them were not 4-Hers themselves, and they have no children. Blinded by stories of obtuse behavior in youth sports activities – and perhaps things like beauty contests for kiddies – they are ignorantly averse to competitive events for all kids.

I once had a 4-H advisor tell me that I shouldn't be teaching members under 10 years old how to compete in showmanship, I should be having them do crafts projects like making chickens out of paper plates, or coloring pictures. This is why I'm no longer a 4-H leader. They talk about "hands-on" learning, but they are completely ignorant of reality.

If any of the 4-H advisors had ever gone to a chicken show, they would have seen little kids who were eager to put on their white clothes and their hats with all the ribbons and pins. They would have seen little kids whose birds were perfectly trained because they loved them and worked and played with them a lot. (When we had a TV, Bob used to sit with a small hen on each shoulder and they all watched Star Wars.) And they would have seen showmanship classes where the judges - either adults or older, experienced teenagers - took the time to make it a fun, educational experience for all the kids.

One thing the "educators" never saw was what a life-changing experience it was for a ratty little kid like mine, who stumbled through elementary school, to win a showmanship class and take home his cheap little trophy. In the minds of people in the edbiz, the only success is academic success. A self-affirming conclusion for someone who has never found success anywhere but in the academic world.

Okay, end of lecture.

I'm glad there are still 4-Hers and other kids at the poultry shows. I saw some still doing showmanship, asking questions of the older exhibitors, and gazing longingly at everything on the raffle table. Here are a couple of kids I especially enjoyed, who let me take their pictures.

This young lady was eating lunch while wearing her show whites. Only a girl can do that.

This little girl is holding her Dark Cornish bantam hen. It had just been declared Best of the Junior Show and was best in its class in the open show as well. The first thing she had to do was give it a kiss.

Sometimes it's hard to get kids to leave their birds in the cage to be judged. They want to carry them around. You see kids as young as 2 walking around with an Old English tucked under one arm.

There are not many hobbies that are good for young and old alike, I hope poultry shows continue to provide good opportunities.

At most shows, the adults who have no children competing keep themselves entertained by sitting and talking to each other. That's mostly what I got to do.

First I decided to ask a couple of the guys some questions about driving in snow. I talked to Walt. He explained to me how an AWD transmission works and some other things I needed to know. He said, "You won't have any trouble." Well, okay, but Walt is a race car driver. I'm an old lady and I drive like one.

Then I talked to John. He gave me a pep talk about not needing chains with 4-wheel drive. I was good with that until I saw him driving his own vehicle later in the day. It's a huge, bright yellow Humvee. It takes as much road space as a semi, and if it did happen to roll off the road in a bad snowstorm, it would be easy to spot. For that matter, a family of four could probably survive in it for a week before they were rescued. It was also fun to share stories with John about being a parent. Our kids grew up together at poultry shows.

I saw something at this show that I've never seen before, live entertainment. These 3 ladies kept us entertained with their music, a combination of Celtic, country western and Christmas carols.

Later there was a different musical group with some guys. The birds also enjoyed the music. Someone said the noisy little call ducks were singing along.

Because of the bad weather, or the threat of bad weather, a lot of exhibitors did not make it to the show. Dan, here are your Sebright cages.

They are totally empty. I don't recall seeing any Sebrights.

At the end of the day the class winners were placed on Championship Row and judged against each other for Best of Show. Then people hurriedly packed up, most of the Californians drove home that night, hoping to get over the summits before the roads got icy.

I put my birds and Chris's in their carriers, fed and watered them well, and left them in the car overnight while I spent another night at the hotel, planning to tackle the road at a more auspicious time.

Chris's birds each got a blue ribbon. The white Cornish was also Reserve of Class. My #18 got Best of Breed, #12 got Reserve of Breed. That sounds more prestigious than it actually is, they were the only members of their breed present. That's fine. You don't really go to shows for ribbons or trophies, and there is rarely any prize money. It's all about having a good time and having a reason for raising good chickens.

Tomorrow: the trip home. Hint, it wasn't very bad and I obviously made it.

At the Poultry Show

If you've never been to a poultry show, this is what the show room looks like.

Each bird is placed in a small cage, according to its class, breed, and variety. There is a white paper tag on the coop that has the bird's number, the exhibitor's number, and the other information. At this show there might have been 400 birds entered. At the largest show on the west coast there are usually about 3,500. At the largest show in the USA there are over 10,000. Chicken showing is a well-kept secret.

Here is #18 in his show pen.

Sorta looks like jail, doesn't it? This is not a big enough pen to keep a bird for long periods of time, but it's fine for a couple of days at a show. Both of my birds enjoyed being there. It was warm and comfy, there were lots of girls around them to flirt with, and every time I walked by I gave them a mealworm or two. How many ladies carry a container of live mealworms in their purse?

Here are Chris's birds.

Fawn Silver Duckwing Old English Bantam Hen

Wheaten Old English Bantam Cockerel

White Cornish Bantam Hen

White Laced Red Cornish Bantam Hen

Here are some other birds I thought were interesting.

Asil cock

White Call Duck

Delaware cock

Each showman has his or her own secrets for spiffing up their birds. This lady had the same equipment you'd see in a beauty parlor.

Believe it or not, some birds really enjoy the pampering.

Not a Perfect Day

At my age, life's getting too short to wait for a perfect day.

So when Friday came, and with it lots of clouds, I was determined to make it to the poultry show in Reno anyway.

I bought chains for the RAV4, but didn't have a clue how to put them on. Or how to drive with them. Katherine and I were going to leave at 9 and try to beat the snowstorm that threatened over the Sierras.

Conditions in the Sierras fluctuate wildly because there are quick rises and drops in elevation. You can be heading up the road on a clear highway, it will start to snow, and just around the next turn the road might be covered with snow and ice, and traffic is at a standstill. At that point drivers are required to put chains on their tires. Sometimes the road is just slushy and cars with 4-wheel drive can go through without chains. Other times the Highway Patrol takes caravans of cars and trucks through, driving very slowly. At its worst, the road is entirely closed and people wait in their cars on the side of the road for it to open.

Early Friday morning I caught the two young roosters I was showing and brought them in to wash their feet and shine them up for the show. Here is #18 getting some oil on his comb.

#18, Dominique Bantam cockerel

And here is his brother, #12.

#12, Dominique Bantam cockerel

He wasn't quite as enthusiastic about having his feet stuck under the faucet. Yes, folks, I wash birds in my kitchen sink. Some people have special rooms where they do this. Not in my little house. When Bob used to show, sometimes we'd have 24 birds in cages in the dining room, drying in front of the woodstoves and small space heaters the night before a show. As chaotic as it was, I miss those days. My Doms don't need a full bath. Bob showed white birds.

I was also taking some birds for a friend. Chris brought his carrier and we loaded everything in the car.

My carrier is the plain green one. Look how cozy Chris's birds are in his custom carrier.

White Cornish Bantam hen

Bantams are especially easy to take to a show. Large chickens, turkeys, and waterfowl are a different story, they poop big stuff.

I was at Katherine's at 9:02. Katherine had a problem. Her horse was sick. I waited until 10:30 for the horse to get better, which of course it didn't, a sick horse never gets better that quick. So Katherine stayed home to wait for the vet and I headed on up the hill on my own. Not very enthusiastically, because after all that wasn't the plan. And also I was afraid to drive through the snow by myself.

When you get older, you cannot afford to wait for a perfect day. You also cannot afford to be afraid of everything. So when the snow came and the road got bad, I just kept going. It was white knuckle driving for me.

The traffic was stopped here. An SUV was upside down off the edge of the road. Erk! See that truck in front of me? I stayed in his tracks and we went no faster than 15 mph all the long way to the top of the summit. I got through an hour before they started requiring chains, though, and made it to the show in good time.

Ain't Got No Culture

Remember this, from a few days ago at the podiatrists office?

As he was typing all his notes on the computer, he said, "Oh yeah, I need to take a sample for the lab." So after he'd cut off anything that could have been infected and swabbed the whole foot with iodine, he rubbed a swab on the open wound and plopped it into a test tube. Shall we guess what that'll show?

The results came back. It showed absolutely no bacteria. Surprise, surprise. What do you suppose made the top of the toe explode, then, and junk come out of it? Must be because I'm diabetic. Or maybe that's my stress release point, like the thermometer on a turkey.

Dilemma Brewing

I have sat here on my rear a lot since June, trying to save money and not really having any place to go. Now I want to go somewhere...to a poultry show in Reno on Saturday. Would that really be so difficult?

Evidently so. First my toe explodes. Then the antibiotic I was given made my blood pressure insanely low for two days, until I stopped taking it. I know, that makes no sense whatsoever, but nothing ever does when I make a plan and the universe - or some party pooper who is charge of my little part of the it - decides to mess it up.

Well, I've got the toe stuff under control and now the weather is being nasty. Or so it appears. One can never tell because the weather people are all struck by the same insanity that rules at Fox News. I think they take classes from Chicken Little. "Oh my, there's a cloud! The world is ending!" And in the case of Fox News, "It must be the rampant liberalism."

My car doesn't have snow shoes, nor chains. But it does have all wheel drive and it's a dandy little buggy.

Katherine and I are hoping to be able to slip through on I 80 tomorrow a.m., before the storm. Maybe slip is not a good choice of words. California is a strange place. The weather here is mostly pretty tame compared to the rest of the country, but to get out of the state you have to go over the mountains. There are several roads, each with its own challenges. And there's always the memory of the Donner Party lurking in the back of your mind.

But hey, we'll be taking chickens. That should be better than shoe leather soup in a pinch. If either Katherine or I could actually kill a chicken.

Maybe I'll throw in a can opener and a can or two of chicken noodle soup.

Think sun.

Just Toastin'

It was chilly this morning. Rather than chop wood to start a fire as soon as I got up, I just grabbed a cup of coffee and turned on the space heater. Between the coffee and the heater, I was feeling pretty toasty.

When I turned to get a second cup of coffee, I saw something on the floor near the heater. See photo below.

That's not exactly what I saw, it's what the camera saw a few minutes later. This is closer to what I saw.

That's because I had my reading glasses on. But I could tell by the general shape that it was a lizard. "Dang," I thought, "one of the cats killed a lizard." Or worse yet, maybe it was maimed and I'd have to try to fix it. Velcro, in her heated bed nearby, didn't even bother to raise her head and get involved.

When I actually got down and took a good look, the lizard raised its head and looked back at me.

It wasn't cat-squished or mangled. There wasn't a thing wrong with it. It had just wandered into the house somehow, and plastered itself onto the warm floor right in front of the heater. I left it there for an hour or so, then I woke Bob up and asked him to take it outside somewhere in the sun. He did.

Doesn't it look like a miniature crocodile? Hmmm. I should have had it pose for a picture with Cap'n Picard.

Got the Boot

I actually took 3 black orthopedic boots with me to the podiatrist today. They're all different and they're all equipment he has prescribed in the past. When the podiatrist wrapped my foot and told me to go to ortho to get a boot, I pulled them out of the paper bag, lined them up, and suggested he could choose one.

"Oh, no" he said. "You can have a new one."

"What will a new boot do that none of these can?" I asked.

"It's new," he said. "And bigger."

And then he had me walk down the hall with only the bandage on my foot. Halfway there a nurse saw me and made me sit down. "You can't be walking around here like that," she huffed. "It's dirty, you need something on your foot. Who's your doctor?" I told her. He was standing in his doorway watching all this. She glared at him, then went and got me yet another black boot. Indeed, it is bigger. We all know, bigger is better.

But this was after all the rest of the fun.

First I stopped for x-rays. Kaiser is very efficient, I've never waited very long for x-rays. I sat on the table and took off my shoe and sock. It was very evident that the 3rd toe, the one in the middle, had the problem. The girl in the x-ray room took one view from above, one from the right sideways, and one from the left sideways. Hello? How are those sideways shots supposed to do any good with the other toes in the way, and what the doc needs to see is the bone of the middle toe?

The doctor had looked at the toe and hacked on it a while before I asked him what the x-rays looked like. He had forgotten to look at them, so he reluctantly put down the hacking tools and called them up on the computer. He flipped through the 3 shots very quickly, said only one of them was any good, and dismissed the single acceptable one as okay.

I told him I didn't understand why the two sideways shots were taken, and asked if I was supposed to make suggestions to the x-ray people. "Because," I said, "I've made suggestions to them before and they got almost as grumpy as you get."

You have to admit I'm either really brave or really foolish for saying things like that to a man who is holding a knife and making my foot bleed. But that's just the way I am. He didn't cut anything off today, that takes a special appointment in the "procedure room."

As he was typing all his notes on the computer, he said, "Oh yeah, I need to take a sample for the lab." So after he'd cut off anything that could have been infected and swabbed the whole foot with iodine, he took rubbed a swab on the open wound and plopped it into a test tube. Shall we guess what that'll show?

A lot of what doctors and dentists do makes no sense to me. Why is it when you get your teeth cleaned, they poke and slash and beat your gums to death, slice and dice them with a piece of floss, grind them with their brush, and THEN when your gums are swollen and sore, they measure the "pockets."

Anyway, I got nowhere. I came home and emailed my new primary care doctor, a bright young lady from India. I told her what the problem was and asked for some help dealing with it. If the help involves needles, I'll regret it and I'll be whining about it. But I'm determined not to have my whole foot die and rot like a salmon that swam upstream.

Eeeny, meeny, miny...

...off with another toe?

I have gone to 20 - count 'em, 20 - podiatric appointments this year. None in the past two months, because my feet were behaving pretty well. The middle toe on my left foot has been problematic, though. The foot doctor insists that's because it's a hammer toe and it rubs on my shoe. I, who know that I don't actually wear shoes that rub on toes because they're toeless, well-padded, expensive sandals (see below), have thought that the problem was inside the toe trying to work its way out.



And besides, this has happened twice before in the same way. The toe starts to mutate, it's unhappy. The toenail gets thick and ugly, calluses start to grow, soon the toe looks like a small sausage. There is a small red spot (an ulcer) in the middle of the callus. All those trips to the podiatrist consisted of having either a doctor or a nurse trim my friggin' toenails and hack on the callus until it bled. Then they'd spray something on the toe and try to stick a cheap, generic bandaid on it. It usually didn't stick because of whatever they just sprayed on it and I'd have to drag out my own king-size super bandaid and use that.

All during the 3 minutes of my allotted appointment I'd be asking questions. Or, I admit, sometimes I would write messages on the bottom of my foot to see if I could wake the podiatrist. I never got answers that actually matched the questions.

I have concluded from reading on the internet that this is the 3rd time I've had osteomyelitis. It is not coming from an external source, therefore, there must be an internal problem. I have read online that osteomyelitis often recurs, which is why I keep a close eye on my toes.

This is how the doctor has helped me do that:

1. Takes x-rays when I point out there is a problem.
2. Inspects the x-rays and tells me he sees no problem (no matter what the toe looks like in real life).
3. Tells me you really can't see anything on an x-ray until the problem is quite advanced.

Does anyone else see a lack of logic in this "wait and see" method? It's probably cheaper and easier for them to wait until the problem is quite obvious, then cut it off. I've lost 1-1/3 toes that way already. I'm not in any mood to donate any more material to the used toe pile, let alone lose a whole foot.

So, after two months of relative peace in footland, Saturday the top of my troubled toe gave way and lots of junk and blood came out. Something has obviously been rotten in Denmark.

So it's off to the podiatrist again today, after stopping by first for yet another useless x-ray. This one will undoubtedly show the problem is quite advanced and the only thing that can be done is remove another toe, or part of it.

Well, shit.

I'm going now. I need to rehearse the script for my 3-minute speech and try to substitute some of the foul words with scientific ones. I'm going to take with me one of the many black boots I have. Wanna bet they'll give me another one anyway? Because if there's anything that helps a foot problem, it's throwing another black boot at it.

Movie Review

Tonight I drove to Placerville to see the premiere of Good Times, a snowboarding and trick skiing movie produced and filmed by Spencer Davies. I think I've told you about Spencer and his company, Trespasser Productions, before.

This is Spencer Davies.

He's the next Stephen Spielberg. You can take my word on that. It might take a year or two for this information to become well-known in the movie world. Spencer's 19 and is still splitting his time between college and his work.

Spencer did a great job filming the antics of other young guys on their snowboards. The snowboarders seem to have no fear as they jump obstacles, ride down stairways, steep roofs, and corrugated pipes, do somersaulting leaps while squeezing between 2 trees, and do as many flips as they can manage between jumping off a cliff and finally hitting the ground a half mile or so below it (or maybe it just seems that far).

I stuck my foot in my mouth when a lady asked me how I liked the movie and I said, "It made me really grateful that my kid doesn't do that stuff." She turned out to be the mother of one of the kids in the movie.

Aside from being daredevils, the guys seem to all be good kids. They work hard at their sport, and are cheerful and polite. They move with the ease and grace that young people don't even know they have. And, as evidenced by shots of some of the spills they take, they don't break easily when they hit the snow.

This is Zach Bragdon.

He is one of the stars of the film. He spends a lot of time doing stuff like this.

I grabbed this still from another of Spencer's productions, A Day with Zach Bragdon. You can find it on YouTube. Just for reference, the tree tops are way below him.

It was fun to be in an outdoor theatre, where it was about 40°F. It made the snow scenes seem very real as we were warming our bottoms at the wood fires. The mostly young audience of enthusiastic snowboard fans cheered when their favorites soared through the air and successfully completed their jumps. I could personally have benefitted with more narration because I don't know a thing about the sport. These movies are not made for people in my demographic, though.

Another note, when I watched a DVD of Spencer's work last December on my computer at home, I could really appreciate the quality of his camera work. The snow-covered trees in the background were so sharp and beautiful, I almost wanted to be there. Almost. I love to look at snow scenery, I just don't like actually being out there in the nasty stuff. The screen in the theatre tonight didn't show the photographic quality of the work.

In case you've forgotten, or don't know, Spencer is the son of my friend Carlotta. She pulled her 1980s ski suit out of mothballs to wear it to the premiere tonight.

I'm the tall one, wearing a huge down jacket that I could also use as a sleeping bag.

I know the snowboard kids are all wishing for snow soon. I'd like to request another 10 days of good weather, though. I'd like to be able to drive to Reno for a poultry show next weekend.

Book Reviews

I finished Deep Truth yesterday and read No Limit today.

Deep Truth is one more in a series of books I've read about science and religion and 2012. It's not a bad book, but it's one that could be written in 24 pages. The rest is embellishment. You know, like those TV programs that show a teaser, then maybe 60 seconds of relevant material, then spend the rest of the time repeating the sensational teaser and interviewing irrelevant folks about how they "feel" about the subject?

It negates the supposed "science" of an argument, I think, when it's written like a cheap thrills TV show about chupacabra.

Deep Truth argues that intelligent design is a more logical explanation for humankind's existence than either creationism or evolution. It also talks about earth's cycles that come every 5125 years, when one civilization collapses and a new one arises. There were just enough facts, or maybe they were mostly similarities to other things I've read, to make me think about possibilities. This is the sort of book you might read if someone loaned it to you, but I don't go out and buy it.

The other book, No Limit, was great. I only put it down for a couple of hours to run out and do my chores. The story is one of those action-filled adventures that grabs you and won't let go. Compared to a book like Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, this one could use more character development. But it's well-written. I could easily see it as a popular car-crash movie.

My favorite thing about both these books is I heard about them a few days ago online, downloaded them immediately on my Kindle through Amazon, and had them both read before I could have driven my car to a bookstore. In fact, I'm not sure either book is even AT a bookstore.

No Limit was written by Fred Anderson. I read his wife's blog about their life in Alabama with 13 resident cats and a bunch more foster kittens, looking for hints on how to keep my own two cats happy. Fred evidently used to blog also, but has since moved on to "real" writing. I love that new writers don't need to subject their work to the whims of a publishing house, they can just write what they know and love. I'm in awe of anyone who has the imagination and fortitude to actually sit and write a book. My Kindle gives me the opportunity to support those people.

Still Some Color

You people in Australia may have stolen our summer, but we do still have a few flowers left up here. The chrysanthemums are blooming, and I saw the first camellia this morning.

See the pesky little fly on the second bloom above? It's gotten pretty cold and the flies are desperate. They're hanging onto the windows and around the doors. The ones who do sneak in are met with my trusty fly swatter. I bought 4 this year, so I never have to hunt for one. A few flies are welcome, to feed my Venus Flytrap and my two growing Silkie chicks. Okay, so that sounds a little like the Addams Family.

I brought in the timers for the automatic sprinklers, took out the batteries, cleaned them and stored them. I'm putting them on the shelf next to my computer, just like last year. And I'm telling you all so next spring when I can't find them, you can remind me.

I rolled up all the hoses, especially the two heavy-duty hoses that are totally useless when they get cold. Sergio was here this afternoon and cleaned up all the leaves that have fallen so far. The yard will look nice for a day, maybe two, before we get more wind.

I have a nice fire in the stove (yay for eucalyptus!), a cup of Good Earth spicy original tea in my Star Trek cup, a book on my Kindle (Deep Truth by Gregg Braden), and an old afghan my mom knitted. I'll be in my chair for the rest of the evening, sideways with my feet hanging over the edge, two cats on my lap. Velcro and Gollie aren't first class lapcats like George and Charley were. Velcro weighs 13 pounds. She makes my lap go numb. Gollie is ADHD and constantly gets her claws stuck in the afghan. But they try, and I appreciate that.

Helpful Hint

Sent to me by Aunt Shirley.

HOW TO CLEAN THE HOUSE IN 2011 1. Open a new file in your PC.. 2. Name it 'Housework.' 3. Send it to the RECYCLE BIN. 4. Empty the RECYCLE BIN. 5. Your PC will ask you, 'Are you sure you want to     delete Housework permanently?' 6. Calmly click, 'Yes' and press mouse button firmly. 7. Feel better? Works for me!

More Than 1 House to Clean

I am also responsible for cleaning the chicken houses and the pigeon house.

Today it was chicken houses. When Bob built the grand new pens, I demanded wooden floors so I could use a short broom and clean them myself. We argued about that; he wanted dirt floors. I won.

Today I cleaned all the pens in less than 2 hours, all by myself. It felt really good. I trimmed beaks and toenails, wormed the birds and dusted them all. My clothes smell like Vet Rx, a combination of eucalyptus and menthol. I love that smell. A couple of wild little hens got loose and I caught them by myself! Two years ago I would have been forced to hobble to the house and ask Bob to do it. Things are looking up.

It's always interesting to handle your chickens and inspect them carefully. I found two Ancona pullets that would be show quality except they have crooked toes. That's okay, I'd rather deal with a small rhinoceros than get Anconas ready for a show. I put these 4 pullets out with the older laying hens today. There will be lots of excellent eggs in the spring.

Ancona pullets

I found two Dominique bantam hens, the ones from the new batch I bought last year, that have spurs. What? That's okay in a couple of game-ish breeds, but I'm sure it's not for DBs. The one on the right has spurs. She has another problem, too. She is in extreme molt. I might have to knit her a sweater.

Dominique Bantam hens

I'm expecting a couple of new Dom bantams from the Crossroads show in Indianapolis this week. It will be interesting to compare them to what I have. I like the breed, but it's a difficult one to raise good show birds. Here are some of mine.

Dominique Bantam pullet

Dominique Bantam cockerel

Dominique Bantam cock

The bird above is a good example of the problems. He has great color. He's my favorite bird. He's also either blind as a bat or has a screw loose in his brain that affects equilibrium, and is therefore useless as a breeding bird. He was born that way.

These are some of the white Old English.

White Old English

The ratty looking little hen on the left is one of Bob's old show birds. (She's molting.) The other two are her babies. They're very nice chickens to have around, but they are not show type. For one thing, they're way too big.

It's supposed to rain this week, so it's nice to have the birds all taken care of and tucked in. Tomorrow I'll build a fire in the stove, stay inside, and paint.

Cutie Pie Great Niece

Because some of my readers are my relatives, here is a photo I just stole from Maureen's facebook page. This is Sarah and Cort's baby Tessa (Maureen and Jerry's granddaughter). Photo by Jennie Dalgas.