If Words Were Dollars, I’d Only Be Middle-Class October 13, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Books and Writing, Life, Musings.Tags: GRE, Life, school, Thoughts, vocabulary, woe
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I thought I’d take a moment to update this all-but-forsaken blog so that my readers- those faithful few who haven’t abandoned me for my infrequent posting- might be enlightened as to the reason for my delinquency: I’m trying to get into grad school. And that means I have to have an awe-inspiring, lyrical, genius and thrilling-on-the-molecular-level 30-page writing sample. Naturally, all my creative energy is being funneled into it.
On top of that, I’m taking the GRE next week.
And I didn’t start studying until today.
This dictionary is big enough to kill somebody: Me
I know, I know. That’s what I get for being arrogant and self-assured. Hubris, I think they call it. Anyway, I’m not even bothering with the math part because I’m trying to get in for creative writing and they are only going to look at my essays and verbal scores. Words, schmords, I thought. Words are my thing. Rapacious. Salacious. Dearth. I got it covered. Up until today I thought I was a human dictionary. Or a thesaurus at least. I was even going to include something about it in the “Personal Statement” portion of my application materials. Some people collect Beanie Babies, it was going to say. I collect words.
But this afternoon when I slid the GRE prep disc into the computer, I learned that my prized collection is woefully incomplete. The most troubling thing is that the words I lack are words I’ve heard before: Divestiture (which the dictionary helpfully defined for me as “the act of divesting”). Sedulous. Craven. Words I should know, but don’t. Words I’ve read before but was too lazy to look up in the dictionary. (I have one of those enormous pedestal dictionaries, but no pedestal. I balance it on top of a speaker.) And now, that laziness is costing me.
On top of forgetting to eat- which happens when I’m stressed- (In fact, right before I wrote this post I realized all I had eaten for the entire day was a doughnut. So then I had two bowls of soup. And another doughnut.) I may have developed a new compulsion (or obsession) of looking up every single word I come across whose definition I don’t know. I’m either punishing myself or hoarding. Only time will tell.
So, dear readers, if you don’t hear from me for a while, know that I have only divested myself of blogging duties for a brief time while I sedulously forge ahead with my preparations, however bad they make me feel about my penurious vocabulary. To do otherwise would be craven as well as unwise.
This Just In! (Or Out, Rather) August 23, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life, chickens.Tags: animals, chickens, Food, Life, news, Pets, Thoughts
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The girls' first efforts....
Yesterday morning I woke after having the same dream three times in a row. In the dream, I went out to the chicken house to discover the nest boxes filled with eggs. I exclaimed with wonder and delight as I gathered the eggs into my hands. They were warm and heavy in my palms- different from the hollow “decoy” eggs we placed in the boxes to suggest where such feats of chickenhood might be performed. I arose from my my bed upon waking and ran to the coop still tying my bathrobe, certain that the clarity and portentous number of the dreams was a sign. But alas- there were no eggs and my omelet fantasy evaporated into the early morning heat. “No eggs,” I reported sadly to my husband, who nodded patiently over his breakfast cereal.
But this afternoon- only moments ago- I was alarmed when I couldn’t find one of my hens. It was Petunia, the one my husband says is a bit dim. Sweating in the blinding heat, I circled the house, searching for her. Finally, I went to the chicken coop, wondering maybe…maybe…
Petunia was laying in one of the nest boxes, dusky breast feathers heaving in the heat. I ran inside to tell my husband the news and fill the chickens’ drinking fountain with fresh icewater. By the time I returned with refreshment for the poor, piqued bird, Jim was standing by the coop, grinning from ear to ear.
I knew his smile meant we had our first egg, and I smiled extra-wide, thinking I had won the bet. After all, Petunia is an Aracauna, a breed of hen prized for their charming blue-shelled eggs.
“I don’t know who gets the foot massage,” Jim said, laughing.
I looked in the coop, and to my surprise there was a speckled brown egg already in the nest box where Petunia had deposited her dainty blue one! The eggs in my hands felt just like they had in the dream: Small and perfect as pearls; painted-porcelain shells encapsulating the viscous miracle of egg and the warmth of the bodies that had made them.
It seems obvious that the brown egg was laid first, making Jim the clear winner of the Egg Bet, with the prize of one foot massage. But since the events were accomplished so close together we declared a tie, and both of us the winners.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an ommelet to make….
Six Hens A-Leaping August 18, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life, chickens.Tags: animals, chickens, circus, dogs, Life, Pets, Thoughts
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Fat Eunice gets a snuggle
Poor readers! I haven’t been keeping y’all supplied with my riveting chicken updates, mostly because the hens haven’t been doing anything noteworthy except getting fatter and fluffier. But look at their lovely combs and wattles!
Recently, they’ve started jumping into the trees, which I didn’t think they’d ever learn to do. I’m glad, because our *%$#@! down-the-street neighbors refuse to fence or chain their bad, bad, chicken-chasin’ doggie (even though we asked them in a nice, neighborly way). (Also: Neighbor-man, you done got warned. Animal Control has now installed a doggie-trap in our yard.) Someone told me that chickens start acting crazy and jumping up into trees and onto rooftops when they’re about to begin laying, but so far no eggs. My husband and I have a bet about what color the first egg will be: blue or brown? The odds favor brown because we have more brown-egg layers, but I prefer the high stakes of a long shot and bet two foot massages against one that the first egg will be blue.
In the meantime, I’ve been considering joining the circus with my hens. Check out this video and just try to remain unimpressed by their gravity-defying leaps.
Feeling the Heat June 29, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life, Things Environmental.Tags: animals, chickens, drought, Environment, heat, Life, Thoughts
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Eunice, Eugenia and Goldie wait their turns while Rocki enjoys the wading pool.
It’s hot outside, and it’s all anyone can talk about. It’s like some kind of minor apocalypse, this grueling Texas heatwave, combined with a choking drought that has lasted since 2007. Each morning the sun roars over the horizon, snorting and throwing its great, angry weight about the sky like a bull in a ring. Before noon, temperatures have reached triple-digit proportions, and the chickens are panting in the shade, their tongues bobbing in the bottoms of their beaks, jabbing like little pink knives at the barbarous heat. The edges of the plants curl inward, the water in the birdbath is greedily devoured by the hot air, and the basin is left to sizzle in the sun. My kitchen is invaded by mad hordes of thirsty ants; they drink the cats’ water, and skitter dementedly in my sink.
The area’s creeks and rivers have shriveled into scummy, stagnant pools. In town, the sidewalks are empty, blasted clean and white in the scouring sun.
Fans whirl. Air conditioners hiss and moan. Libraries and other public buildings crowd with fugitives from the heat. It’s too hot to cook, it’s too hot to eat. It’s too hot to swim, even, too hot to run the vacuum, too hot to sleep. It’s too hot to think, or even breathe. The greedy air steals into my nostrils and snakes into my lungs, pulling the moisture from the inside of my body and away from me.
Night is no cooler, just darker. Even after sunset solar heat burns all the way through from the other side of the earth, radiating up through the soil in hot gasps that only remind us of the day’s suffering, and the throat-sticking, skin-peeling agony of tomorrow.
In order to maintain my sanity, I’m compiling a list of GOOD things about this hellish, hateful, harrowing heat:
- Sun tea.
- Standing in line at the grocery (or anywhere else with AC) is a pleasant respite instead of an annoying waste of time.
Well, that’s all I got so far.
Suggestions are welcome. This is my sanity we’re talking about, folks.
Chickens Are Très Chic! May 16, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Food, Life, Social Commentary, Things Environmental.Tags: animals, chickens, Culture, Food, Life, Love, Pets, Thoughts, trends
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Miss Edna. Her cheeks are fluffier than yours are.
Just before I got my chickens, I remarked to a friend (who was also about to embark on her own chicken experience) that I anticipated a profound learning experience. I had no idea how right that statement was, how much I would learn, and how much simply having some chickens in my yard would change me.
Chickens are amazing little creatures. Before I had chickens and was therefore able to observe them up-close-and-personal, there were, in my mind, a lot of myths about chickens. For instance, I’d heard that chickens were moronically stupid, and would drown themselves by throwing their heads back and opening their beaks to a rainstorm. Nevermind that this makes no sense if you think about it for longer than two seconds. I never questioned it. I also assumed they were indiscriminate omnivores, and would eat anything you put in front of them. This is also not true. Chickens have very specific preferences. Or mine do, anyway. They love mushrooms and grapes and tomatoes. Especially tomatoes. Tomatoes send them into a fluttering, jumping, squawking, trilling, pecking ecstasy of excitement. They like to be fed the plump caterpillars from my flower garden, which I pluck from the lantana bushes with a pair of chopsticks. They also like to eat my ferns, which is considerably less charming, and seems to be something of a thrill simply because it causes me to squawk and flutter as I shoo them back into the yard. Surprisingly, they don’t care for mango or blackberries, red bell pepper or carrot. And all of them but one are teetotalers. Only Goldie, one of my reds, has a taste for wine. I serve it to her in an acorn cap, like a tiny chalice. No, I am not kidding about that. I have happy hour with my chickens nearly every afternoon. (more…)
On Loving That Which You Will Outlive May 8, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life.Tags: animals, chickens, Death, Life, Love, Thoughts
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Jubilee (RIP), Rocki, and Edna
Yesterday afternoon I returned home from the first of my final exams- my last round of final exams as an undergraduate. I was ready for a glass of wine, I was thinking of the soup I would make for a friend who is ill.
My front yard was still, smoldering under a suffocating layer of humidity and late-afternoon Texas sunshine. I noticed the yellowish leaves of my magnolia tree and made a mental note to give it some iron. And then I saw my chickens. Five of them were grouped together beside the front porch. They weren’t perching, or scratching or rolling in the dirt. They were merely standing, looking around them in bewilderment, as though lost. How odd, I thought. I had never seen them in the front yard before.
“Hullo, girls,” I greeted them merrily as I slung my backpack down by the front door. My approach usually elicits great excitement, and I’ve grown accustomed to seeing their chunky little bodies trotting towards me in eager anticipation of a diced tomato or a handful of scratch. But the hens didn’t move. When I got close, they scattered, clucking apprehensively. Something is wrong, I thought. I scanned the yard for the other five, but the yard was eerily quiet. (more…)
The Honeymoon is O-V-E-R April 22, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life, Things Environmental.Tags: animals, chickens, Thoughts
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Notice how my eye patch is kinda in the shape of the contiguous United States.
So I’ve been doing this thing with the chickens for the past few days, where they flap around inside their enclosure for a few seconds before lighting on my arm or my shoulder or, once, my head. It makes me giggle like a maniac, because,well, it’s hard not to giggle when you’re wearing a chicken. As a hat.
Until one of them pecks you in the eyeball.
This puts a whole new spin on those one-eyed pirates and their shoulder-parrots of yore.
My left eye feels like half a pound of ground glass has been poured into it. Like I’ve been slapped across the face by the scabrous hand of the devil himself. Which, for some reason has caused my left sinus cavities to declare an emergency and seal themselves shut. So I’m functioning on one eye and one nostril. Plus, I need to write a twelve-page paper about volcanoes.
The upside? I feel justified in consuming more wine than I normally would on a weeknight. And my husband keeps feeding me cheese.
Because, you know. Cheese makes everything better.
And also: I may now be officially qualified to sell pencils on the street corner.
Fricken Chickens!!! March 19, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Food, Life.Tags: chickens, Culture, Easter, eggs, Food, Holidays, Life, Thoughts
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For the past three nights I have fallen asleep composing a list of names. Girls’ names. Names that are reliable and lovely, feminine and a little countrified. Old-timey names, reminescent of balmy, sun-soaked Southern afternoons and tall glasses of iced tea beaded with heavy drops of condensation. Names that call to mind the cheerful snap of laundry flying from a breezy clothesline. Names like Eunice or Petunia. Names like Henrietta, Edith, Muriel.
Why? Because I was about to enter motherhood. Well, surrogate mother-HEN-hood, that is.
This morning, the man from the feed store called at a quarter to nine. My husband answered the phone. “It’s Robbie from the feed store,” he said, handing me the receiver. I snatched at the phone. “CHICKENS???” I cried, without even saying good morning to Robbie.
“Chickens.” Robbie said.
Here’s a movie about my chickens, in all their melodiously-peeping-baby-chickeny wonderfulness.
These chickens are part of an Increased Self-Sufficiency Initiative for 2009. They are laying hens, which means that in a few months they will be popping out delicious, free-range organic eggs for me and my husband to eat. Brown eggs! And blue eggs! It’s going to be like Easter, all the fricken time!
New Orleans, Part III: The Red Door February 24, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life, Travel.Tags: cocktails, Life, Love, Mardi Gras, neighborhood bar, New Orleans, screwdrivers, the Red Door, Thoughts
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In celebration of Mardi Gras, I though I’d write a series of posts about New Orleans, the only city I ever married.
In New Orleans, many things are optional. Shoes, for instance. After finally moving to New Orleans, I went barefoot much of the time, my feet merrily slapping against the gritty concrete of her sun-warmed sidewalks. I eschewed any barrier between myself and New Orleans, I balked at sliding even the flimsiest rubber flip flop between us. I wanted to touch her with my skin, to paint the bottoms of my feet with her soot, like the hennaed soles of a Hindu bride. And no one raised an eyebrow at the black smudges curling up over the tops of my feet and crawling up my ankles like wisps of smoke. The city is a woman with lavish charms, but she is not a lady; she has loosened her corset for life, she sits in a doorway with her skirts pulled up around her knees, fanning at her great, dewy bosoms, taking heavy drags from a cigarette. When you walk by with a sack of groceries, she smiles, and like the front porch denizens in my Mid-City neighborhood, she boldly asks you for the first beer from the sweating six-pack in your hand. She never demands, but she laughs at you if you say no. The city makes allowances for many things, but stinginess, taking yourself too seriously- these are traits she cannot abide. It’s a small but liberating price to pay for the many things she allows her allegiants to forego: Outerwear, adulthood, self control, regular hours, bus fare. The were, of course, places that required shoes.
But not the Red Door. The Red Door Lounge on Carrollton was a perfect microcosm, a New Orleans petri dish in which everything wonderfully dank and dark and indulgent about the city was cultivated. (more…)
Awards, Political Statements, and TMI November 10, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life, Rants/Diatribes, Social Commentary, health.Tags: awards, health, Life, Musings, Thoughts
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Yippee! I am the proud recipient of a blogging award, my first. The award was given to me by my muse of French-ness: Mo, of Me, Mo and Myself.
1. I do not have health insurance.
2. This is because good health insurance is too expensive. And even paying for the so-called “good” health insurance doesn’t guarantee that the insurance company will actually pay for the procedures recommended by your physician, as my mother has recently discovered.
3. Since I don’t have health insurance, I seldom visit the doctor, and have a general, vague distrust of the entire medical system. Fortunately, I am a very healthy person.
4. Unfortunately, it also means that I am occasionally compelled to perform my own feats of dermatology, e.g. removing suspicious-looking moles with nail scissors.
5. Sometimes I try to diagnose my occasional health concerns by google-ing my symptoms. This is a very, very bad idea that usually results in hypochondriacal fantasies of cancer, renal failure, or early-onset Ebola.
6. I don’t really like to take medicine. My cures for most problems are:
7. I do believe that our government should do something about the current health-care situation in our country, because unless you’re either a gozillionaire or on Medicare/Medicaid, it sucks. I DO NOT, however, like the current plan being bandied about in Congress. I am particularly displeased with the idea that I will be REQUIRED to BUY insurance from the government or other provider, lest I face a fine or some other punitive action when and if I have to go to the doctor. Please, Congressmen. That is SO not what we were asking for.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sit in a hot bath with a bowl of chocolate ice cream and a book. For my health, yo?