Hate to Exercise, Love to Train

That's what I've learned about myself in the past several months.  Really, I don't HATE exercise, but it is just so different to be working toward a goal.  Or, at least a goal that is not, "I hope I stay on this machine long enough to not be such a gross slob one day."  Somehow, that doesn't really count as motivation.

 

Also, for someone like me, who thinks nothing but ugly and demeaning thoughts about myself all day (and has done so for the past 30ish years), something about the phrase, "I did it!"  just melts away some of that yuckiness and makes me feel--what is that feeling?--happy?  Wow, so that's what it feels like.

 

So, Tour de Cure was on Saturday and it was my first real sporting event ever.  I felt that happy, "I did it!" feeling when I first rode to work (turned out to be 18.2 miles in my attempt to avoid traffic), and the next time when I just took the main road and did it in 15 (took 1 hr, 40 min, though).  I felt it this morning when I rode to work in only an hour and fifteen minutes (thanks in great part to the new slick tires my coworker Jesse lent me for TdC through Spudman).  But, I got to feel that "I did it!" feeling at a real sporting event, crossing a real finish line, and I had a smile on my face I couldn't take off.  I looked at the sky that miraculously had blue in it (despite days of threatening clouds and showers) and listened to the live music and wandered over to the free massage tables exploring this strange new feeling of spontaneous happiness.  I hate to admit it, but most of my happiness is cerebral, wherein my brain explains to me, "Good things are happening, you are to feel happy now."  But this was very, very different.

 

It was a beautiful day, with a ride through rural Northern Utah, cloudy skies with occassional drizzle, and occassional sunny blue.  As always, the saddlesoreness was worst the first 5 miles, but then I guess it goes numb or something and gets better.  I biked the first half on my own out to the halfway rest station, and there met up with a few of my team.  There were a couple of people from the company there only to take pictures and film us, so I'll hopefully post pictures soon. 

 

Cris, another writer who works right here in my dept., rode with me on the way back, and the chatting made such a difference I'm sure, because I never really once thought, "Are we there yet?"  Cris and I got back to the park, crossed the finish line and I honestly felt like I could keep going.  Still, thanks to that saddle issue, I really never want to do more than a 25, even though the guys insist I should do the 60 next year.  It just doesn't even appeal to me, let alone the century (100 miles).  Maybe next year I would consider the Little Red Riding Hood ride for breast cancer, that's 40 miles, but there is a chocolate fountain, virgin mai tais and more massage tables at the end of that one. 

 

Anyway, as Cris and I waited for our massages I asked him, "Where is everyone?" And he said, "They're not here yet--we're first."  I was just shocked.  Not only did I do it, feel fine, felt like I could keep going, I got there before the rest of my team!   Needless to say, my inner child basked in an onslaught of rare friendly words from my typically abusive brain.

 

At church yesterday one of the youth speakers talked about physical fitness, and how essential it is to our spiritual and emotional health.  He talked about how important oxygen is to our mind, and how physical exertion oxygenates our mind to give us the strength to be spiritually and emotionally strong.  I gave him a big AMEN.  I have noticed that almost like clockwork, I start feeling down on about the fourth day after not exercising (training)--as apparently mild depression is my natural state.

 

This same boy read a quote from a psychiatrist that said that he had never once treated in his practice a patient who regularly participated in exercise that worked major muscle groups.  When I'm out from under that mental cloud, I feel like I really could accomplish the things I always meant to do in my life, from being a nice mom to pursuing my creative interests.  I've found my panacea--my magic pill--it's just that, unlike every promise out there for things like this, it's not easy.  Instead, it's the hardness that makes it work. 

 

It's the same as that happiness study I mentioned--somehow it really is the hardness that makes us ultimately happy--or at least the most fulfilled.

 

I have pictures from Lucy's birthday and other things to share, but it will have to wait.  Here's to training!  And, now that my runner has had to drop out of the Spudman, here's to training to do a 10K in 6 weeks (along with my mile swim and 25 mile ride)!  And, here's to Wade who did a sprint tri at the Utah games in his best time ever, 1:34!  You the man!

 

 

 

 

 

Arrived!

Just checking in to let you know I made it to work today in one piece—just in case you were worried.  It was probably more than 15 miles, because I chose to avoid traffic over finding the shortest route (and did so very successfully!)  It was fun, a bit of an adventure, and my legs feel a little funny now, so I beat on them periodically.  I left at 6:40 and got here at 8:20, and I generally average 12 MPH, so I was a bit slow apparently, although I still think all the windy bike trails added to my total mileage.  No gym for me today—I got here too late.  At 3ish I’ll bike the 5 miles over into downtown and pickup the van to go home to the kids. 

 

I think of it this way—why buy fuel to get myself to work when I have plenty already stored on my body that I can use for free?  ;)

 

Chicken Death 09

Yesterday, with the help of Paw-in-law and David's brother Danny and his wife Jessica and a wonderful chicken plucker loaned by a sweet chicken farmer in Sandy, we harvested 21 fryers/roasters, all weighing in at about 5-7 pounds dressed weight (after cleaning). It started out rather poorly, with a lot of "is this worth it?" thoughts.

David was being too careful IMO about the killing part and I kept reiterating how the lady I got the plucker from just took a large serrated bread knife and had them upside down (by rope, we used a killing cone made from a bucket), and sawed 1-2-3, plop, head in the trash can catcher, and it was over. I actually did the second one myself to illustrate this point, (it took four saws, I found my place, held the head down firmly, then shut my eyes for the 1-2-3---4).

I was amazed at the difference in myself since last year. City slicker has definitely been countrified. Remember I was weepy and couldn't eat meat after that first round? The second round a while back I was just ok, but this time I didn't have one tender feeling about it. I felt grateful, and today's dinner (shown above) for me had a stronger sense of thanksgiving and recognizing the reality of the bounty we enjoy (plus it was super yummy), but I didn't feel much sentimental about it--after all, I've been complicit in chicken death my whole life, and at least I know these chickens were well taken care of.

About by chicken 9 I finally figured out the plucker really did work amazingly and required very little after plucking if the operator (me) actually used it right, so after that I was fast. Dave bled out and beheaded, popped them in a holding pot, I scalded them (15 seconds just under boiling water) and pulled out large wing and tail feathers, then went to the plucker which is just a wheel covered in rubbery "fingers" spinning to the left out of a grate. I finally figured out to hold the bird so the rubber things went against the grain--feet on the right, and rotated the bird top to bottom, left to right, under wings and between legs, and all of a sudden it looked like a lovely roaster from the store--except with big yellow feet and a too-long, gory looking neck. I cut off the feet with chicken scissors and tossed it into the icewater in the cooler. By the end, this whole process was well under 5 minutes.

Meanwhile, Dennis was running errands to get more coolers, get more ice, get bags, etc. and Danny and Jess where making sure my water stayed hot enough--makes a HUGE difference in how well you pluck (and too long in the hot water makes the skin come off with the feathers--in the end I had to skin 2).

Last year I wanted to spare my kids the trauma and make sure I had them far away for this, but not so much this year. Ben and Sophie knew what was going on and chose to stay inside, Ben ate his chicken tonight just fine, Sophie hasn't feeling well for a few days and didn't eat much of anything. Noah was outside some, and not visibly traumatized, but not really happy about it, seemed puzzled and trying to figure it all out. He wouldn't eat it today, but in general he doesn't eat much meat, so it's hard to know. Lucy was outside the most and it was all we could do to keep her from the feather/blood hazmat area.

At one point when Noah first got out he came over to me while I was working a chicken over on the plucker, and said, "Mom, are you making lunch?"

Lucy came over and saw the first chicken alone in the cooler water and said, "Mom, is the chicken taking a bath?" "Yes, Lucy." I said. She said, "Is the chicken hurt in the bath?" To which I replied, "Not anymore." David called over from his killing station, "The hurting happens over here."

I feel like my dead pioneer ancestors are not so much derisively laughing at me this time as I'm sure they were the last time I was all weepy and traumatized over killing chickens while being perfectly willing to munch down the supermarket/Del Taco version. I didn't think I would come to this point, but I can perfectly see myself going out back on Saturday and wringing a neck for Sunday dinner.

Once we were all done, the cleaning was a pain. Danny did 5 or 6, which I was impressed by. Although I had done it before, I had forgotten some, and I was at 15 or more minutes a bird at first, but I worked myself down to 5-7 (still terribly slow). Today I found one I'd forgotten in the cooler and was done super fast. The trick is to carefully cut around the top and bottom ends in a way where you don't nick any of the guts, but you are able to put your hand in there like you're stuffing the bird and pull out everything inside at once, then you need to scrape out the lungs and kidneys, which are stuck to the back ribs, with your fingernails. My fingers were sore today, which made piano in primary a little tricky.

I'm just saying, like Victor Frankl says in "Man's Search for Meaning" where he writes about his life in Auschvitz, people can adapt to anything. We really have no idea what we're capable of, and the things we say we could "never" do today we may find one day we don't give a second thought.

Dinner tonight was yummy, the best part was the strawberries Ma-in-law dipped in sour cream and brown sugar. Holy cow, life is good.

Speaking of life is good, our bunnies now live under the rabbit cages in the shed rather than in them, because I wanted them to be out and more free, and they seem to leave peacably with the chickens. I let them all out in the day to run about and then they all go back in at night on their own and I shut the door. I looked in the backyard today and saw Lucy swinging on the tree swing with a couple bouncing bunnies in the grass around her and a chick or two pecking about, and it was the most idyllic scene. We've been so blessed here.

I tried to let the turkeys have some freedom today, as their pen opens up to the back pasture our neighbors use to graze their sheep (but is owned by our landlord). I came back to put them back in and the sheep had gone in there, eaten all their feed and upset their water. So I guess freedom won't be in the cards for them. Oh well, more tender meat, I guess. I'll try to get pictures up shortly.

Sorry if this was too gruesome for you, this is pretty much my journal, after all, so feel free to skip whatever.

I'm biking to work tomorrow, 15 miles, so I need to get to bed. Wish me luck.

Thanks for all y'alls sweet comments--I miss everybody lots.

200th Post: Happiness

Let me hurry and catch you up on the past month:

 

Get up, shuffle kids, get to work late, go home, shuffle/feed kids, start two hours of bedtime routine, chores, veg, crash.  Repeat 5 times. 

Saturday, get up and make a long list of things to do while managing kids and cleaning house, look up and realize it’s 4 p.m., do maybe one thing on the list, veg.

Sunday, try not to sleep during church (because it’s hard to play the piano that way), get things ready to start over.

 

So, aren’t you glad I haven’t been blogging about that boring liturgy?

 

There was one exciting thing a few weeks ago, where Noah smuggled a quarter in his pocket to primary (I was in there playing piano).  He popped it in his mouth around 10:30 a.m. during sharing time and got it lodged in his trachea just above his windpipe, triggering his gag reflex almost nonstop and causing slight bleeding for about 6 hours as we went from community hospital, then by ambulance to Primary Childrens hospital, had x-rays, had a radiologist try to push it into his stomach while he was awake and on x-ray (nightmare) and then had him scheduled for surgery to put him out and pull it back out.  Right before he was to go into surgery, he started talking again (he couldn’t most of the day) and they decided to x-ray him again (because it looked like his liver was in the wrong place—holy cow) and that x-ray showed the quarter in his stomach (and the liver “probably” ok).  We were promptly discharged at 6 p.m., and little Noah had little red spots in and around his eyes from little blood vessels broken from all the heaving and vomiting.  Next day he was warning all his little friends not to put money in their mouths.  We never saw the thing pass (poop filtering is not a daycare responsibility). 

 

Now go, scare your children with this story and hopefully spare yourself the drama.  Did I mention this happened on Mother’s Day?

 

David did his first felony trial a few weeks ago and it was exhilarating and exhausting for him—the pre-trial week, the trial week, and then this week while he’s traveling for his “real” job, I’ve been pretty much on my own in life, but it has been ok—he’s not that fun to be around when he’s stressed out anyway.  I mentioned he has some irons in the fire and we find out about them soon.  We are praying hard and ask you to join this, this Fast Sunday especially.

 

Here’s some good news—all the kids will be out of daycare after today.  I will still work 8-3, David will work at the FD 1-5 and work his “real” job around that, and we will have the kids with friends/family/sitters from 12:30 – 3:30 each day.  Since the kids are out of school, out of preschool, and out of daycare, we will save $800 a month this summer.  This will be so much better for them, and for our budget.

 

Ben is really growing up and it makes me nervous, because I feel like I’ve been just coasting as a parent too much with him and I can see he really needs active, attentive parenting complete with respect, validation and listening right now.  I also notice I tend to parent all my kids as if they were all the average age of my children—so Noah/Sophie get the most appropriate parenting, Ben is too often dismissed and overly restricted and Lucy runs wild.  This is just a generalization, but I see it happening.

 

Ben loves Tae Kwon Do, biking, scouts and wants to have his summer really start (he’s been out for two weeks).  I dream of taking them camping and fishing and doing summery things.  I pray that somehow that this life will be possible for us.  He is taking on more independence and we have nice talks at night sometimes.  Because he now goes to bed at 10, all that quiet, self/couple time we used to have after the kids go to bed is officially gone.  Kim warned me this would happen and I dismissed it.  That was about 3 months ago, but in two years I will begin my fifteen year stint of life with teenagers, so I guess that’s just where I am now—no self time anymore, or no sleep, I just need to pick between them.  Ben needs time with me to download in the evenings at least a few times a week and I need to just put him first on that.

 

Sophie is enjoying gymnastics and is excited about her last day of school today.  She’s had a good year, very much due to her wonderful grandmother/teacher, not so much due to her neglectful mom.  She really needs more from me too, and gets less than anyone.  I do end up sleeping with her many hours a night, so I’d like to get credit on that front, but alas, real parenting apparently happens when we’re awake.  I’m struggling with the idea that Sophie still has a very hard time doing the right thing and being honest when it isn’t easy and no one is watching, but I guess many adults have the same problem.  She seems to pick up the negative behaviors of others very quickly and want to fit in almost above all else.  I want to have time to help her feel more secure about who she is and help her look inside to find it, rather than outside.  Granted, she’s not even 8, but I can see red flags all over if that persists into her teenage years.  I’m trying to really tuck her in at night and chat.

 

Noah is also starting to talk and act in a way that makes me realize he’s turning into a boy, not just my little, cuddly preschooler.  Still cuddly, though.  He loved his preschool with Kona Dee, a woman around the corner who has done this for a long time, it was wonderful for him.  He is looking forward to not going to daycare anymore and being home more.  He also loves gymnastics class and is amazingly coordinated and strong.  We are still in the process of running some tests on him to make sure his metabolism/digestion is ok, because he has stomach aches a lot.

 

Lucy also is growing up on me!  Not physically, mind you, but in every other way.  She has a wonderful, sweet, strong spirit that seems intuitive, in a way, like she understands a lot about what is going on around her.  When she talks, it is as clear as a bell, even the Ls and Ss are perfect.  But, she generally chooses not to talk, except for occasional streams of gab that all of a sudden won’t stop.  She is three next week, can you believe it?  It will be a bit sad for her to leave day care, as she’s spent a third of her life there and has had a great experience and lots of friends.  There’s a good chance she’ll be there every now and then as a drop off, so that’s how I help myself feel better about it. 

 

We have been so blessed to have all the kids in wonderful situations throughout this year of me working, I really see the hand of the Lord taking care of us.

 

As for me, I’m continuing the training, have one week before the Tour de Cure and got enough donations (thanks!) to ride.  Even scarier, I start riding my bike to work on Monday.  That will be interesting.  I know you’re asking, have you lost weight with all this exercise?  Sorry, no.  Fat as ever (although I bet I can beat you skinny chicks in the pool or on a bike!).  But I have been sporadic the past two weeks with stuff at work going on and having to use my lunches to do family things.  I can’t miss one more swim class or I won’t make the Channel challenge.  Spudman is 6 or so weeks away, and I still need to find an Athena (big girl) wetsuit (new they are $300).  I’m depressed and conflicted about my garden, but can’t talk about that now.  Animals are doing great.  The Great Chicken Massacre of 2009 is on for tomorrow.  So, I guess those 21 fryers aren’t really doing great, but they don’t know it yet.  They’ll be tasting great, though.

 

I meant to write about happiness, and this fascinating Talk of the Nation show about this 60-year study on happiness, but I guess I kind of did talk about happiness.  If you aren’t going to listen to the show, I’ll give you a hint: All the things we spend all out time seeking out in our quest for happiness—rest, relaxation, a break, peace, less stress, more financial ease—of course aren’t the things that actually get us there.  It’s just like Lehi said, opposition is what creates this experience we call life.  Happy people are made happy by overcoming, working, adapting to stress, coping with challenges.  Resilience is the key, apparently, the ability to adapt to make the best of any situation, no matter how ugly.  Listen to the show or read the article it was based on: "What Makes Us Happy?"

 

This blog post is sponsored by Megan, who generously supported my campaign in memory of her sweet departed mom.  She tactfully pointed out that she wanted more blog posts because now she’s paid for it.

 

I’ll try to keep it at least weekly, if not more.  Love to all—

Valerie

 

Still here

Life is getting in the way of blogging these days—the pace of things is just overwhelming.  I’m at work and it is busy and some of my efforts are paying off here for them, although I spend their money like crazy. 

 

I’m back 100% and feeling pretty good. I’m training heavily for three events and am almost always sore, but at least not the bad pain.  I’ve been reluctant to talk about my training because I guess I secretly wanted an “out”—if no one knew, then if I didn’t follow through on it no one would still know.  But it’s too late for that now, fees have been paid, coworkers are in-the-know and I’m confident I’ll be able to do them.  The long and the short of it is that I don’t think I have an inner skinny person.  But I do have an inner athlete.  And, I have lots of coworker support and examples and people to go to the gym with every lunch hour for training, as well as people who have done these type of things who can help with my training plans.  Having training time completely built into my work schedule is the only thing that makes it possible. 

 

So, the three things on the calendar are:

 

Tour de Cure bike ride (25 miles) is June 18^th (please click on the post a few back and support my cause if you can!)

 

“Swim the English Channel” is a program sponsored by our county gym here that we all go to.  I’ve started the Master Class there on Tues/Thurs, which really tells you how willing I am to surrender all personal dignity—as I’m swimming with practically every male executive and coworker I have—no girls—and me in a suit is a sad, scary thing.  (My hair and eyes are my only redeeming features, and those are handily hidden by cap and goggles, so I’m just lumpy blob in a girl-Speedo.  J )  ANYWAY If I swim the distance of the English Channel (35000ish meters at it’s smallest point) I get . . .wait for it . . .a T-shirt that says I swam the English Channel!  Fortunately, this simply means I go to class and the brutal Polish taskmaster of a teacher always makes us do well over the 1350 meters each lesson, which is the minimum required to meet this goal by the end of July when the challenge ends.

 

Spudman Olympic Triathlon is in Burley Idaho on July 18^th.  Several of my co-workers are going, and I was nervous because, although I knew I could work up to an Olympic distance if I had to (about a mile swim, 10K run, 25 mile bike), I didn’t want to do it never having done just a Sprint Distance (half of the Oly), but the good news is—I’ve found a runner to be a team with me, so now I can do just the swim and bike without trashing my arthritic hips on the run.   Still, I am doing something I call a “Tridaho” which is me, in “my own private Idaho,” doing triathlon distances—I do one Sprint distance a week, 2 days of each event, half the sprint distance at each workout.  Before the Spudman, if I don’t actually sign up for a sprint distance event (because they cost money and are fixed in the schedule, which is hard) I will do an all-at-once “Tridaho”  on a Saturday so I feel more ready.  Don’t count on me to ever walk/jog more than a 5k, though.  I HATE running.  The bikey-swimmy thing I really like.  Plus, the gym has a bike video game where the handlebars move and I get to chase flying dragons and spinning coins, so that’s fun.

 

My inspiration has been the book “Slow, Fat Triathlete.”  Hilarious and helpful.

 

Our Relief Society is trying to read the Book of Mormon in 60 days.  Thanks to the iPod, I’m only a few days behind.

 

Also, I’m up to 5 voice students, so two nights are taken up doing that.  I never went back to choir after the surgery, and I feel guilty but also way less stressed.  Wednesdays are the gymnastics/TaeKwonDo Shuffle, Mondays are family night, Saturdays are date night.  Instead of blogging, I’ve been working on a book, so that’s the other night.  And although I know you guys think I’m crazy, the 59 chickens, four turkeys and four rabbits take really no more time than it takes to feed and walk a dog.   (But dogs don’t lay eggs).  21 of those chickens are on death row for sometime between the end of this month and the end of next.  When the new pullets begin to lay in late August, I will need to revisit the egg situation.  We are already getting 8-10 a day from our 10 chickens.  I have no business having 33 layers just because I want to see all the pretty colors they lay.  So I’ll have to figure that out.  I could always craigslist the eggs.  But I do think I will sell some of my current commercial hens off at some point. 

 

Plus, time is shorter because I’m trying to actually get to bed before midnight and am aiming for 11 each night.  After dinner, baths, stories, tuck-ins and time with each kid (Ben now goes to bed between 9-10), I try to hang out with David for a minute unless he’s working, in which case I either write or sit in a hot bath and Epsom salts and soak my sore muscles.

 

I don’t want to pay to go to Weight Watchers, but I learned from the Slow Fat Triathlete book that it is VERY possible to stay fat as an athlete—you can burn 600 calories in a workout and easily (if you’re me) gobble down 600+ calories in 5 minutes.  I finally realized that I have only been successful long-term in weight loss by doing the lame old calorie/portion counting thing, so I’m back to that.  This site is free and has been very helpful in keeping me honest—I track my food, workouts and journal each day there:  http://caloriecount.about.com

 

All this makes me sound far more ambitious than I am.  Rest assured that I am a very, very lazy person.  I just don’t want to feel so old when I’m not even 40.

 

David has had a nibble on a job app—pray for that please. 

 

In the spirit of calorie counting, I pass along to you an AMAZING recipe my friend here at work often brings in:

 

Peanut Butter Bars – Jeanette Ricks

1 C Sugar                              2 C Flour

1 C brown Sugar               2 tsp Soda

1 C butter                            2 tsp salt

2 eggs                                   2 C Oatmeal

1 tsp vanilla        

1 C peanut butter

Cream butter and sugars. Add eggs, vanilla and peanut butter. Add dry ingredients. Bake in jelly roll pan at 325 for 20 minutes. Do not overbake! Frost (recipe follows).

Peanut Butter Bars Frosting:

4 C powdered sugar        1 tsp vanilla

1 TBSP Cocoa                     ¼ C milk

1/3 C Butter, melted

Blend until creamy and smooth. Spread on cooled cookie bars.

 

*Before I put the frosting on, while it is still hot I pour on some melted peanut butter and then let it cool. Then the frosting

 

 

Love to all!

Little Farm

Downstairs bathroom converted to greenhouse (and turkey nursery)

Sorry, sideways. I replaced the normal vanity bulbs with alternating white and yellow CFLs. Plants love florescent light and CO2, (just the opposite of humans).

This is thanksgiving in it's early form. Four turkey poults (poults=turkey chicks). Two bronze and two whites, here four days old. These are commercial breed broad-breasted, so they can't reproduce due to the awkward physical size they will eventually have. Also, they can have leg problems if allowed to live too long--they've been selected for meat. Next year I am going to get the old fashioned kind that are a little less busty but can reproduce.

The poults look a little like the chicks, but they have more prominent wings, longer necks and a little knobby on their forehead/beak area. They are less flighty and skittish than the chicks and let me hold and pet them. The are very wobbly and awkward when they walk as opposed to the chicks, and tend to just walk right over each other rather than walking around. They are cute and very, very stupid. They are also very fragile, so it's recommended you get 1/2 as much more to double the poults as the number of turkeys you want to end up with because they die easily. Mine are very pampered, so I'm hoping for better odds.

white poult

bronze poult

They are friendly, but love to nip at my fingernails and wedding ring. They'll eat out of my hand.

Here are the layer chicks, 3.5 weeks old, 14 different breeds. Five of the tan ones are buff orpington cockerels (roosters under a year). When I make a weird noise or do something strange like hold a camera at them they all freeze and stare at me out of one eye like this. Notice "skinny-head," as the kids call her, in the back center, with the 'Nilla Ice crew cut.

The lovely hen in the middle is the one we call "red," for obvious reasons. She's beautiful. The Buff behind her I believe must be a cockerel, from the long legs and larger size. The water bottle on top of the waterer is to keep them from roosting up there and pooping in their water, because they are that way.

Another photo of the, "What the "%&*@" is food-lady pointing at us?" freeze-and-stare pose.

I keep the greenhouse/turkey nursery/bathroom locked and let myself in with a hairpin because I'm the only one in the house that can figure that out. This is spike, our gorgeous boy-kitty, saying, "Please, please let me in here just for a minute. I just want to look at the turkeys, that's all."

Girl-cat Bella smiles for the camera. She doesn't even bother trying to get in to the chick or poult rooms anymore. You're asking if my house stinks, aren't you? No, not really. Not any more than the barf fest we had over Easter weekend and the daily diapers. And as any good book will tell you, proper litter management means little to no smell.

Because there is no way I could properly manage all the litter these gargatuan 3.5 week old fryers are putting out these days, I had to move them outside, even though it is a little early. David built an 8x8 pen. At this age, they need about 1 sq ft of space each, moving up to 3 (min) -5 (cushy) sq feet each as they grow (on soapbox: commercial chicken batteries give them a space smaller than a piece of paper--six hens in a file-drawer sized cage--they can't even sit down most of the time. This creates disease and pecking, so they often have to debeak. It is not uncommon for one of the six chickens to be dead and trampled long before anyone gets to it. They live that way for two years. off soapbox). I have 21 fryers now, as some died, which chicks sometimes do. So 64 square feet gives them a very comfortable 3 feet each. They will need a heat lamp until they are harvested at 8-12 weeks. Chickens eat grass, and having chickens on grass reduces feed costs.

The Easter bunnies came to our house this year! Here are our four bunnies. The white ones are Goosey (named on behalf of Lucy, aka, the Goose) and Susan (named by Sophie). The black one was named by Noah: Blacky Taffy. The grey stripped one you can't see on the right is Ben's, Hoppity. These are all New Zealands which are a good pet or meat breed, the white ones are a good fur breed also. Theoretically we have one white buck (Goosey) but in all honesty it is too early to tell. If we do, it is possible that 150 rabbits a year can come from just these four innocent little things. A rabbit ovulates upon intercourse, the latter causes the former. They can start to reproduce at 8 weeks, have around 8 per litter, and can start over 8 weeks later (and so can their babies).

They can eat pellets, which are expensive, but are very happy on 70% alfalfa and 30% mixed grain, which is way cheaper. We got a starter bag of pellets and (my first!) bale of alfalfa hay. Alfalfa is a legume, which means the hay is high in protein for them (also Alfalfa feeds nitrogen to the soil and is a good crop to rotate before or after you plant your garden).

These guys are in cages, but we give them outside play time (when it isn't raining) and will build them an A-frame outside hutch for the summer so they can eat grass and save us even more on feed. These cages are old and free, given back from a family in the ward, whom my cousin lent them to a while back. This is in our shed/mini barn.

I can't show off my cute hair because it has been rainy and this picture was taken after doing chores in the rain--I had to clip my new bangs back because water turns them back into a fro--all the straightening-iron magic is gone. But here are me (tired, as you can see from the circles, and cold, as you can see from the red nose) and Goosey.

Will we eat the rabbits? We won't eat these, our breeders, which is why we can name them. We'll raise a few and try it and see how it goes. They are higher in protein and almost fat free in comparison to any other meat, and many say they are very good. Is it okay to eat cute things? Well, I think my chickens are very cute, and cows are just beautiful, with those big brown cow-eyes. This whole experience has definitely led me to be more mindful of the meat I eat, and we eat less. Rabbits are great food storage, as they convert feed to meat more efficiently than any other animal and breed fast and easily. Plus, I'd rather eat a cute rabbit that I gave a happy life than a miserable and factory-farmed chicken that is 10% fecal soup (sorry, off the soapbox really now). We can always keep the buck separate from the does to slow things down. And we can put the extras on ksl.com or craigslist and get rid of them.

We now have about 66 animals. I'm finding I really, really take a lot of joy from these animals, in a very satisfying way, not just like with pets, but another way I can't verbalize very well. I appreciate them and love them, and it doesn't wig me out that they are food animals, because I know that I really have a lot more gratitude and respect for food animals than I ever have.

So, our Easter was fun, with new animals and a big egg hunt in the yard with lots of our friends, including the Hunters from Pasadena, whom we miss terribly. It was so great to see you guys.

Work is fine, life is fine. I'm trying to walk that fine balance between striving hard and praying hard for the things we need but being accepting, thankful and satisfied with what we have. There are issues, some big, that aren't really blog fodder, but overall, we are very blessed.

I have to go because I promised Sophie we could watch "her video." Yet again. Ever since she saw Emilie Simon on my blog (my hair picture) she has been obsessed with this video. It is actually very cool and visually interesting. Don't wig out that it shows her back for a second at the beginning--it represents the beginning of spring, but it doesn't get all nudie. Watch--it's a fun song.

From Invalid to Athlete in 9 Weeks

I’m back at work, getting back into the swing of things, and starting some very challenging personal goals.  Conference was an important time for me and helped me refocus on service, discipleship and self-mastery rather than where I was (that would be the four Ds:  Discouragement, Despair, Lack of Diligence, at whatever the other one was). 

 

I keep thinking about the words to “Lead Kindly Light.”  “Lead thou me on, the night is dark and I am far from home . . . Keep Thou my feet, I do not ask to see the distant scene . . .  One step enough for me . . . I was not ever thus nor prayed that thou should lead me on.  I loved to choose and see my path but now, lead Thou me on.  I loved the garish day and spite of fears, pride ruled my will, remember not past years.  So long thy power has led me, sure it still will lead me on . . .”  I think about Elder Eyring’s talk a while ago about not always asking for our own agendas when we pray but asking what He wants us to do.  I have found some peace just asking for what He wants me to do (rather than telling him what I want) and saying simpler prayers.

 

Anyway, I’m starting to realize how important self-mastery is when trying to feel the Spirit and receive revelation  Part of my self-mastery goal includes not getting diabetes.  My coworker is the chairman for this ride and my company has a team.  Please click above and show your support in my efforts to help myself to fight off diabetes and others to fight the diabetes they have.  If you live in Utah, I would love it if you would ride with me.  Give me an email and I’ll send you a code so you can join for just $15.  There is also a family ride that is only 7 miles. 

 

From invalid to athlete in 9 weeks: Will you support me?

 

http://main.diabetes.org/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=5629&px=4686649

 

 

Love to all,

 

Valerie

My new look

Here is me wearing a custom instrument designed by Emilie Simon. Or, it's Emilie Simon. It's so hard to tell these days.

I go back to work tomorrow and since I had completely let myself go from an inch and a half of grey to a kick-A unibrow, I've been slowly putting myself back together. I had this picture from a New Yorker from last October and took it into the salon today. I said I knew she had a few inches of length on me still, but my hair does this on it's own I just didn't have the way-cute bangs. But now I do.

So, just a few pounds of difference, and she has brown eyes, but it's uncanny, don't you think?

When I came home from the hair place, Sophie said, "Mom, you look like a teenager!"

Ben in the paper

http://www.clippertoday.com/pages/full_story?article-Community%20gardening%20=&page_label=results_content&id=2126842-Community+gardening&widget=push&open=&

 

Picture 3 – with MeLisa Oaks

Eggs

This past year has taught me a lot about eggs. First of all, I've learned that you don't need a farm to have hens and fresh eggs. Even if I live in a tiny place, I'm going have hens. I'm not really even a bird person, but I'm becoming a hen person.

My 10 hens are now about a year old, which means they are no longer "pullets," and they lay about 6-12 eggs a day. Hens in their good laying years (some say age 1-2, others say their prime up to 3, although many can lay into their teens) can lay 280-300+ a year (half a dozen a week, usually one every day or so). When all my new layers are producing, we'll be getting 12 dozen a week in season (which is spring: summer heat lowers production and winter lack of daylight and cold lowers production). Enough for the extended family to get all the eggs they need.

I was reading in the Salatin book about how he sells his eggs to chefs by showing them how different his eggs are than factory-farmed eggs. The chefs get really excited and always switch, even though they cost more than bulk factory eggs. He shows them how you can put the egg in a bowl and pick up the egg yolk and the white tries to come with it. The yolks do not break easily and are easy to separate. If you break his egg into almost-boiling water it will poach all together and be easily taken out with a slotted spoon at once instead of falling into many pieces. The eggs sits up high in the pan (see my breakfast, above).

They are also higher in protein, with higher vitamin/mineral content (seen in the bright orange yolk) and you can taste the difference--they are very rich. They make way better cakes and pastries. Salatin has made a killing in the chef market in his area of VA.

So this week when making my breakfast I tried the same tests on my eggs and was really excited to see the same results. Salatin pasture-raises his eggs, which means they are on a large pen that is moved over fresh (chemical-free) grass on a daily basis, but they are still safe from predators (racoons, opossums, eagles/hawks, rats) and kept out of nasty things they shouldn't eat. We do a combination of free range and coop time, but David just finished the moveable pasturing box so we can start with Salatin's method and keep them on grass all the time. It really saves on feed costs.

Even if a person doesn't have room to move the chickens around, they can save $ on feed by giving them all the table scraps, dry bread and (non-sprayed) grass clippings. All chickens need feed in addition, and you can use scratch grains or layer feed from the store. We use a combination. They need 3-5 sq feet of space per hen, so you can have 3 hens in a 3x4 big dog house, and maybe a little fenced yard of the same size they can go into (covered with chicken wire to keep them safe). It can be just 2 feet high.

Free-range or pastured chicken eggs are NOT vegetarian eggs. Chickens on their God-given diet will eat grass, weeds, weed seeds and LOTS of worms and bugs. They will happily eat most kitchen scraps, including meat, although at our house we don't feed them chicken, because that's just weird. They love milk, and families with a goat/sheep/cow often feed extra milk to the chickens. Also if your milk goes bad they will gobble sour milk up. If they acquire a taste for raw eggs they will start breaking their eggs to eat them, so we never feed them raw eggs, although theoretically you can feed them cooked eggs and it is all unrelated in their (tiny) minds. If you're grossed out by eating eggs made by chickens that eat bugs (at first I was a little weirded by that) just learn a little about what concentration-camp raised commercial factories feed their chickens and you will start craving bug-fed chicken eggs.

Raising chicks takes about 30 minutes a day. At 4 weeks it takes about 15 minutes a day. A regular laying flock of juveniles or adults takes about 7-10 minutes a day. All these minutes are fun, even in snow, at least for me. Once a year you clean the coop, and that takes a few hours. They don't stink unless they are not managed well, in fact it doesn't even smell much inside our coop itself. We use a deep litter system where you just keep adding carbon matter (dried leaves, wood shavings, dried grass clippings, etc.) and stirring up the litter every week or so. It slowly works up until it is 18 inches or more of litter in winter, which helps keep them warm. The droppings compost with the litter, so in spring, you open up the coop, compost everything (if needed, sometimes it comes out fully composted) and put it on the garden. Having animals makes organic gardening so much more affordable.

The kids love going out to get the eggs every day, and are learning responsibility by feeding and watering them. The result is more nutritious, more humane, more connected to the land, so not super stinky to the neighbors like factory farms, family friendly, environmentally friendly, chemical free and very, very local. Even in towns with strict animal codes a few hens can be kept as pets, and yes, hens lay eggs even without roosters just like we ovulate even if there are no men around. Keeping hens to have your own eggs seems like a big deal, but I have been surprised by how NOT a big deal it is. It is way easier than having a dog, and about the same as having a cat if you have a box to scoop.

I'm not trying to preach or guilt people for buying factory eggs. I'm going to have to buy some for Easter because I don't want to waste my good eggs on boiling and don't yet have enough hens to spare eggs. Although mechanistic, industrial egg production is horrific and even more so the more you learn about it, it is hard to pull away from it. But I'm trying to get there and move into clean, humane food that focuses on stewardship.

What I am saying is, get a hen or two if you can. It is so great in so many ways, not the least of which is breakfast.

Chicks

Not much to report

I haven’t posted since there has been little news, but now I’m realizing that people are starting to assume the worst since I was having troubles and then stopped blogging.  So, be it known that I’m just walking the slow path to recovery.  I have only 2 Lortabs left and think I’m not going to ask for a refill and just stick with OTC stuff.  David says that the cut seems to be slowly coming together at the bottom and he can fit less gauze in there.  I feel like an old person (atrophy is not just something you get by bowling well, but also by lying in bed for 5 weeks).  I get tired easily.  Pain is just a dull ache most of the time except when David changes the stuffing, then it’s a good 30 minutes of feeling like someone just poured Clorox in an open wound (mainly because that is exactly what happens at stuffing-changing time).  It’s all good times, though.  David is the greatest.

 

He’s been having all sorts of successes and wins at the Federal Defender and they just love him down there and keep lamenting openly that they can’t find the budget to put him somewhere in a paid position.  Despite my Utah prejudices, my kids are in great schools/care, we have lots of family support, we love the place we’re renting, I love having four seasons, and moving is a pain.  And my job is here.  Sophie is becoming great friends with a girl her age that just moved in behind us, Elaine and Kim are wonderful to us.  So, my prayers have now changed for someone at the UT FD to die, be fired or quit, or alternately, that the government will take some of the money it’s printing and giving away wantonly to give more to the UT FD—won’t you PLEASE join me in my prayer?  He absolutely LOVES that job.

 

Can I just say that Ben is turning out wonderfully at this point?  I’ve been so impressed with him lately.  He takes good care of me when we’re home alone together, always bringing me snacks and drinks and pills –always on a plate covered in a napkin.  He is sweet and happy and loves being hugged (when not in public).  All his grades went up this last semester, so he has tons of As and two Bs and his teacher says his organization is great.  He loves going snowboarding with his dad, which they did this last week.  He reads like crazy, spends a lot of time working and playing outside and his screen time (TV/computer) is down to almost nil, yet he hardly ever asks for it.  He is really learning to work hard, does chores willingly and well and especially loves outdoor work.  He’s bagging leaves like a madman (it’s an endless job on this lot and he gets paid $.50 a bag).  David took him to clean the church on Saturday and the deacons’ advisor was there and was wondering if Ben was about to join his quorum.  He was shocked that he was only 9.5 (Ben really does look like he’s 12).  The advisor said he works harder than the deacons.  I know that doesn’t mean much, but I was proud still.

 

Sophie is seven, which my development book tells me (as does her behavior) is an emotionally turbulent time.  She also is making some great progress in character and academics, although it is interrupted by amazingly entitled, spoiled tantrums.  Noah is sweet as ever, although also with the tantrums (and the crazy wall coloring and potty accidents at dang four and a half!)—still, such a cutie.  Lucy—also the tantrums, but hilarious, funny when she talks and so coy and smart.  Her favorite joke is to tell me she’s poopy, bring me a diaper and the wipes, and as soon as I take off the diaper (unsoiled), she yells, “NO POOPY!  HAHAHAHAHAHA!!”  I can’t believe she’ll be three in June.  She’s started potty training.  I’m in that uncomfortable position where my day care person tells me that potty training will now start and explains how I can support the process as an ancillary contributor.  Sigh.  Don’t get me started.  I’m grateful she’s with Kari—she does a great job, but I’m really, really struggling with all this going back to work stuff right now (even though my kids are in daycare still anyway because I’m not up to caring for them).

 

The most exciting thing of the day was that our chicks came in the mail this morning.  We got 25 jumbo rocks (fryer/roasters), 24 layers and 5 roosters (because you are supposed to have no more than 8 hens per rooster and I want to have my pick).  Since I do very little besides sit around (except when every so often I jump up and do a bunch of things or go somewhere because “it’s time to be better” and then collapse in exhaustion and pain for the next 25 hours), today was an active day of making sure no more layers died (2 layers died in transit—we were supposed to have 26).  They are all two days old. 

 

The fryers are slightly bigger and very easy to teach how to eat, as that is their primary purpose in life.  They are all lemony yellow.  If we harvest at 8 weeks, they will be 3-5 lb fryers, but we will harvest at 12, when they will be 5-8 lb roasters.  David has gotten very good at that.  I don’t think I told you when he finally killed the fryers that I let live 11 months that one half of a breast weighed 1.25 pounds!  They were huge.  I didn’t even bother to clean them out, he skinned them, I cut off the thigh/drumsticks and bagged them for the freezer to crock-pot later, then just cut the breast meat off the bones just as you would if it were cooked and bagged that, so there were no guts involved. 

 

Anyway, the fryers are cute, but the layers are the cutest, all different colors and patterns—yellow, gold/buff, red, black, grey, striped and spotted variations on all these colors.  They are gorgeous.  I’ll try to take pictures before they grow.

 

I just finished this book, “You Can Farm” by Joel Salatin, the increasingly-famous sustainable agriculture farmer in Virginia.  It really changed my outlook on lots of things.  It is designed for people who harbor secret desires to farm but don’t really know why, how, or if they should.  He does things completely different from the standard USDA/county extension advice, and unlike most farmers who follow that advice, makes great money, has no debt, provides clean food and is an amazing steward of the land and the animals.  I learned from this book that I don’t really want to farm food for other people outside of my own circle of family and friends, but that I do want to follow his practices for what I do on my own small scale. 

 

I loved his old-school, curmudgeony advice. He feels strongly that a person should lease or rent before buying land and that success on rented land should pay for the land you do eventually buy—not debt.  He feels that until you have positive cash flow in your family, nothing should be bought that doesn’t contribute to your ability to get positive cash flow.  He rails against television and time wasters and complainers.  He talks about all the “I’ll be happy when . . . “ or “I can accomplish this or that when . . . “ syndrome, and basically says, if you can’t be happy where you are, you won’t ever be happy, and if you can’t make money off a one-acre farm, you won’t be able to make money off a 100 acre farm. 

 

I didn’t adopt his views hook, line and sinker, but I came away more convinced than ever to avoid concentration-camp, factory-farmed meat and eggs (there’s more manure in that food than you care to know about, and the hidden costs to health, land and humanity belie the fact that it is not, in fact, “cheaper”).

 

But more importantly, I came away more dedicated to be happy where I am, to enjoy renting this land, to make home and hearth a top priority, enjoy mothering more and to quit complaining and make something of myself.  I highly recommend the book whether a person is interested in farming or not.  I needed a father-like figure to slap me upside the head and tell me what my great-grandmother would if she were alive to do it.

 

So, as I said, not much to report.

Lortab

My new best friend. The doctor reopened the incision today, so I went from less than an inch open to over 4 inches open. Dave needs to clean and pack it 2-3 times a day and it should heal from the inside out over about three weeks. The Novocain didn’t work as well as one would hope during the procedure. It hurt quite a bit. It was really freaky feeling myself get cut open. Even David had to turn away in the middle of it, even though he had watched my c-section with rapt attention. When David turned around the doctor said, “Would you do me a favor and sit down? I’ve had to pick up too many men off this floor.”

The other night David was waxing unusually thoughtful about life and set aside his usual, stoic take on life (i.e., “Life is lame so just suck it up, shut up and deal with it.” This is not him speaking to me personally, but to himself—oh, and everyone else.) He said something like, “You know, sometimes people have to have to swab out their wife’s wounds. Sometimes people need to have their insides surgically removed. Sometimes work is overwhelming, sometimes there’s not enough of it. And then there are the good things—like Noah’s fat cheeks. Life isn’t so much about the big swings of good times and bad times, but it’s made up almost entirely out of the in-between times.”

He seemed to be saying that just living and having all these in-between experiences had value. We spend life holding our breath for the “good” times—yet those moments make up such a small portion of our lives. Life just is. We can boohoo about it or get excited about it, but it rolls on nonetheless.

It may sound like I’m mixing a little Buddhism into my Mormonism but you can’t argue with it: It is what is. Maybe that sounds like David’s “suck it up” philosophy, but to me it’s more just an “observe, learn and try to give thanks and trust in Jesus” philosophy.

Lost Tooth

Sophie has lost a tooth or two already, but here is that picture-perfect first-grader tooth loss that officially marks her progression into dental adulthood. Also, here is Noah's natural reaction to the statement, "Hey, Noah, I'm going to take your picture!"

I went to the doctor

at St. Marks yesterday at 9:30 and left at 4.  I met with my doctor, had a CT scan, had a blood test, and met with another surgeon, who apparently will be working with my doctor now, since it has expanded from the gynecology realm into a surgeon issue.  He gave David a very gruesome job to do 3x a day (I’ll spare you the details), said to stay on the antibiotic horse pills, and on Monday he will look one more time and decide whether things are improving to his satisfaction.  If not, he will open up the entire incision again (9”) , clear it out, and let it stay open while it closes from the inside out.  This sounds like a horror film, but apparently is the normal way to handle infections of this kind.

 

I still have all the flu symptoms and have been commanded to completely rest so the infection doesn’t advance.  With infections like this, they explained that the brain just draws in and takes all resources for the healing project, which is why I feel too tired to do things like eat or even watch TV.  I feel slightly more coherent this morning, but instead of taking that as a sign that I need to work for 6 hours so I don’t run out of PTO (as I am tempted to do),  I’m going to go to bed.  After my appointment Monday morning, I will update again.  Thanks for your support and nice words, they mean a lot.

 

The antibiotics

aren't working. Feel like warmed over death, as mom used to say. Lump bigger. Doctor running more tests at hospital tomorrow. PTO at work running out. It's been four weeks today since the surgery. I'm remembering the words of the blessing David gave me right before I had the surgery, that I would be able to "endure" what would happen. Odd at the time, but not so much now, looking back. Thanks for your nice words, just giving an update.

Removing grumpy self from blogosphere,
Valerie

Complications II

So I was doing a little better and starting to get up and around, just tired. I was taking massive doses of Vitamin C because they said it would speed healing, and that appears to be true, the incision opening has been healing from the inside out nicely. So when I started feeling flu-like symptoms on Thursday I thought there is no way I could be getting sick with all this Vit. C. But it just got worse, with headaches and backaches and then whole body aches and chills and sweats and then this lump on my stomach above the incision started growing quickly and by last night was big and hard and red and hot to the touch. So apparently I had an infection and had to go back to the hospital. My mom is a chemist/microbiologist at Lakeview Hospital here in Bountiful and she was concerned because infections, especially around your guts (vs. a hand or leg, etc.) can spread very quickly and get scary, so she made me go to the ER. I'm glad I did, because they told me it was a good thing I came in. I had to get some crazy nuclear-bomb style IV antibiotics and they had to cut me open a little bit (1/2" cut, 3" deep) to let whatever was in there drain out. They filled it with packing and now I have yet a new hole in my body that needs to close up before I can return to normal ife. Gross, I know. My mom took me home to her house at 2 a.m. after we left the hospital so I could have some undisturbed sleep (something that doesn't exist at my house), and I slept until 11 when David finished teaching Sunday School and came and got me. We've made arrangements to have everyone shuffled around for the next couple of days, because before all this happened David had committed to go to WA state for a quick business trip, so he left this afternoon and is returning Monday night. He feels guilty, but we couldn't have anticipated this.

Anyway, I am assuming this eventually will end and I'll feel/be better, but until then, it's back a few steps.

I did order chicks (they come in two weeks) and got all my seeds in the mail. David tilled the gardens Friday and my mom planted peas yesterday (my mom is so great.) The neighbors who moved in just behind us are going to work with us on our animals and garden, which is a huge help since I can't do anything but place orders with people right now. A sad thing, because we got all commercial chickens last year (these new ones are heritage breeds) I'm having problems with my fryers that I didn't kill. I kept 4 fryer hens alive to see if they'd lay, and although they eat too much, they lay gorgeous, huge brown eggs. Well, I'd neglected to think about how fryers are bred to be killed before 12 weeks. Like the huge-breasted thanksgiving turkeys, who literally can't stand up if they are allowed to live after a certain time and are completely unable to mate and be bred naturally--these commercial meat animals can't live healthy past a young age because of our greedy selection of unhealthy animal strains for maximum meat. So our tremendously fat, waddling fryers are getting red, raw stomachs from their dragging on the ground. I knew it wasn't cost-effective to keep them, but loved how funny they look when they run and the gorgeous brown eggs, but now it just seems mean--they aren't designed to live this long (they are 10-11 mos old). A healthy, normal chicken breed can live 12-15 years. although generally laying hen flocks are replenished each year with new chicks and older hens are taken out of commission after their prime laying years (age 3-4). Anyway, that's just sad. So, David's going to have to take them out next week with the help of neighbor Dan, who, although we are novices ourselves, wants to work along side us to learn what we've been doing.

All that farmy stuff cheers me up, as I am generally anti-social, depressed and under-estrogened these days, the first two probably being due to the last one.

Anyway, consider yourself updated. Back to bed for me.

Did I give you my Moby Wrap?

I loaned it to someone or gave it to someone who probably is done using it and now Doris needs it. Who was it? Was it you? Have you seen someone using a blue Moby Wrap in the last year who knows me? I use the word "my" loosely, because it's really Lisa's (AKA Anonymous in the comments :) Just putting it out there--my willingness to give away my stuff and my forgetfulness are an unhelpful combination. Congrats to Doris who finally named her two-week-old baby! Love you!

Sigh

I watched a clip from "The Crash" from PBS this morning and have been ruminating about where things are going with this crazy world. I couldn't agree more with Megan's post today (and LOVED the videos). There's no point in worrying about it, we just need to do what we can to take care of ourselves, our own friends and families.

The bailout news everyday makes me sick to my stomach, "The Crash" explains it perfectly, although he takes 30 minutes to do what he could in 5 and is self-important about it, but the bailouts are just so wrong. We are trying to prop up a way of life that was unsustainable on so many levels.

I don't regret my support of Obama, I guess I felt like if the plane's going down I wanted the pilot to be calm, a good communicator, intellectually engaged, well-read and open to many options. But in the face of what we're dealing with, the policies of the left are just as destructive in different ways as the policies of the right, and I get almost as angry and frustrated reading the paper as I did before, but I guess my vote helped pay for that "almost." I guess we just got to choose which brand of bad choices would lead us down the toilet.

Sorry to be so negative about it--if you are still looking on the sunny side and seeing stocks as nothing but bargains right now, please go read another blog with my blessing. :)

Well, at least we can still have our sense of humor about it. I stole this relevant video (also from Megan's blog), laughed myself silly every time I watched it.

Step aside, Dave Ramsey!