Well, it was really only six roosters. It appears that 3 of my 10 layers are probably roosters, so I kept all 4 female fryers alive. It was much easier this time around. David took an idea from a guy at my work and we still used the “killing cone” but we used large pruning shears first, which broke the neck and got them dead fast and then finished off with a knife. I tried to pluck one, which looks nice in the end, but took so long I said bag it and had David skin the rest. It was a better division of labor, he said, for him to kill and skin and for me to gut. It took way longer than a respectable person should take, but since he put them on ice after skinning, I had to gut cold chickens, which was SO much better psychologically than warm ones.
I eat less meat all around now since that first chicken murder, but suffice it to say that I’m fine with killing and cleaning chickens now (and probably most animals of similar size), which is a skill that may come in handy sometime, who knows.
Mom helped pick lots of garden stuff and I have 10 pounds of cherry tomatoes because I didn’t plan well.
For dinner Saturday, we had a chowder with corn (neighbors who apparently didn’t see my corn field), potatoes and onions (my garden) and brocolli (Costco) with zucchini banana bread (my garden and a facist banana republic governing oppressed workers with the Chiquita militia, respectively). We were proud of our #7 produce count for one meal.
The doctor told my on Friday I will probably need a hysterectomy this year. Any wise advice on that is welcome.
Michele asked what race I was preparing for–the answer is a sprint triathlon (or, the sissy triathlon). I already do almost the equivalent over three days but I’m moving toward doing them all on one day in less than 90 minutes.
- Swim: 750 m(0.5 mi) (I currently can do 900 in 30 minutes)
- Bike: 20 km(12.4 mi) (I am not quite there yet because my lunch hour is too short and I am too slow and stationary bikes are dumb, and I need to get me a real bike)
- Run: 5 km (3.2 mi) (I’m slow because I can’t run yet and have to walk, but I can do it in 50 minutes).
It’s good times. I want to be able to do this in one day, even if it just on my own, before I have to go get cut open.
So the funny choir story. When David was on a mission I dated a very nice guy for 9 months named Brett. He was very complimentary and, let’s just say it, fawning, and even though if the record was read back it would be clear I told him repeatedly that I really felt I needed to be with David, my actions spoke otherwise because of my own selfish need to have a nice guy fawn on me. Plus, he really was a good friend and I liked him. Just not in the irrational, apparently eternal infatuation-style way I liked/like my totally grumpy and un-fawning David.
So, this went on until the Wednesday before the Saturday David got home, when I was visiting him in Provo and just woke up and said, “Crap, I gotta go.”
I drove away, never spoke to him again, was married two months later, I heard gruesome reports on the results of my horrible handling of the situation, and learned in 2000 that he had never married.
So, the funny story–you saw it coming–yup, he’s in my choir. I’ll see him every week now–and he’s a baritone and I’m a SII, so we literally face each other the whole time in the U-shaped room.
The good news: he did finally get married three years ago. He has a 22 YO stepson and no children.
I saw him and after an initial, “Oh crap!” I just went up on the break and said, “Hey, we gonna talk and be friends or would you rather not?” He stared at me in confusion then horror (have I changed that much? He didn’t recognize me!), then he quickly covered with friendliness. We parted, then I realized he was absent the next 20 minutes of practice. Then, in an attempt to get it all laid out then and not drag things on, I asked him to talk with me a few minutes after practice to make sure it would all be cool with our weekly seeing each other and whatnot. He was nice and chatty and offered me a nice platonic yet snug hug, which was strangely familiar despite the years. Fifteen years is enough for him to get over me being a total self-absorbed @$#* and completely messing with his head and life, right? I know a good week is enough to get over me, but to get over the leavings of my evilness?
Life is stranger than fiction.
David says I can still go to choir, he just doesn’t want to ever meet this person.
Well, back to a crazy busy week. Manic ambition is a slave driver.