Stink Eye and the Last Green Egg

Thanks to one of my homeys in a denim jumper I awoke this morn with a flaming case of pink eye.  What in the world?  Did I shake hands with a six year old?  Isn’t this a childhood disease?  Anyway, my family is off to worship God at His place and here I sit….. only risking the contamination of our dog.  (Don’t laugh.  Trixie and Larisa gave pink eye to each other several times years ago…. back when we let them sleep together.)  Eeewwwwwwiiiiieeeeee.

Sadness has also enveloped our home as we bid goodbye to the only pets who were contributing members of the household, TJ (or Sidney) and Olivia.  The first time we had chickens (Thelma, Misty and King Pao) the kids bonded with their own and loved them and played with them daily.  Keeve especially loved Kung Pao and she rode in the power wheels jeep with him and clung to his bike handlebars as he rode her around the yard as she relished the wind in her feathers.  Those three girls went to a nice ranch north of Phoenix when we moved to a subdivision with an HOA.  So second time around, the kids built a coop and we went and picked up three peepers at Pratt’s pet store.  They are so adorable when they are chickies.  But the bond never formed and feeding and watering was a chore added to the chore list.  Not fun.  Personally I appreciated the yummy brown and green eggs, but it seems I was the sole appreciator.

Fast forward 18 months: a friend called and asked if she could come look at our coop and get some ideas about building her own.  My response, “It’s your lucky day!  Take ours! Can you come before Wednesday?”  So our feathered friends moved to their new abode yesterday and will be loved FAR more than they were here.  Farewell, TJ (or Sidney) and Olivia, already renamed Tina and Goldie Hen (Hawn, get it?).

And for those wondering why I keep typing TJ (or Sidney), we had two Rhode Island Reds because they are awesome producers of eggs.  But one died of heat stroke last summer when it was 118 degrees and I wouldn’t bring them into my airconditioned house.  (Please refrain from hate mail.) But we will never know which gal went to chicken heaven.

Peace out, Pink Eye Linda and Trixie

P.S.  Calling all cowgirls, new bags up tomorrow morning:  www.bagsforzaza.blogspot.com

Beauty in the Desert

Photography by ME.  Unusual for sure.  I usually lift them from Google images.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out why any covered wagon settlers stopped here in the Sonoran Desert.  It just doesn’t make sense.  There was no air conditioning then, let alone swimming pools.  And from my limited knowledge of that time and practices, I think they had to travel in the summertime….  which leads me to say, “What in the world could they have been thinking?” 

Was it a completely broken down wagon… and no trees in sight… that caused them to pause here?  Or was it a botanist discovering the flowering cacti that forced his wife and chillens to stay on the dry, cracked dirt?  Or someone from the Sahara Desert who finally felt at home with the mirages and heat stroke?

I don’t mind living here… in this day and age.  It’s quite comfortable as long as you stay inside and your A/C doesn’t go out. It did take a bit of getting used to.  My first summer here, 11 years ago, I jumped into my Dad’s ’66 Mustang without moving the metal seatbelt out of the way.  I had a burned-in, blistered horse tattoo on my backside for a long while.  But we have the necessary tools of survival… NOW.  I’ve seen women driving wearing oven mitts so they don’t have to touch the steering wheel.  We have spring loaded window shades that take an ambidextrous person to collapse.  Not to mention the safety glasses necessary whilst opening them.

Today, it’s a balmy 102.  Relatively mild for July.  If I remember right, it was 118 this week last year. And I like water.  Lots of water.  Camel amounts of water.  It makes me feel… wet and cool… bloated and waterlogged.  As long as I don’t have to do yard work from May – October… I’m good with living here.

www.bagsforzaza.blogspot.com  www.LindaCrosby.com