God Save You, If You Fall for a Horse-Girl!

So, back in October, we put Reno down.  It was a very hard decision.  Lots of you have been there.  I had great advice from multiple horse-owning friends, about how it could go if I did nothing, and I knew I didn't want to go there.  So it was done. 

I stayed away from the barn as much as possible.  Poor Princess got fed, and that was it.  Good thing I had bought those crazy goats.  They kept her company.  Another friend offered to bring me a loaner horse for the winter.  I even went to meet him.  Seemed fine.  But he was recovering from a significant injury and we wanted to be sure he was really, really healed up before he came.  So it went on a little longer than we planned.

And then I started looking on Craigslist...

Of course, you know where this is going.

I love to hunt.  I love the bargains.  I would like to think I have enough maturity to be sane about what I am contemplating.  I have mucked stalls in below-0 weather, busted frozen tanks, hauled water, dragged sandbags through rain, hauled hose through drought, put up hay, again and again and again--done it all.  This was the perfect opportunity to start down the ramp to less commitment, less work, more free time.   I had gotten another collie, so I would be able to show more in AKC.  After all, dogs can't kill me and I don't need a special vehicle to get them from here to there.

But I just couldn't put my saddle up for sale.  Even after I got bucked off my neighbor's horse and limped around for a month.  My significant birthday is coming up this year, and I still haven't made it to "combined training".  I learned that moniker back in 5th grade, when I was cleaning stalls all day on Saturday at my lesson barn, in order to earn 30 minutes of free riding time.  All the bigger girls went to "combined training".  I wasn't sure what it was, but I was sure I wanted to go.

I sold my saddle once, when Rachael was about a year old.  Handyman was sad for me, but I told him I would get another, and I did.  I rode Reno several times, have ridden Princess quite a few too.   And got a free horse from a nice lady in Michigan, and rode him a few times as well.  But still hadn't quite made the "love-connection"--which, like a good marriage, is more about long-term compatibility than about hearts and cupids and L-U-V.

There are always horses on Craigslist.  Most are half-broke, un-broke, green-broke, were-broke or too-thin/old/small/young to break.  There is always a smattering of expensive halter horses, ranch horses, great trail horses and sweet retirees that should be able to stay where they are forever.  And an even smaller portion of actual candidates for bus-driving wannabe's who can't quite give it up....

There was a nice looking TB gelding who had been an eventer and ridden by a 4h'er, available for FREE lease.  He had that good, smart, calm look about him.  He had one issue, the farrier, which was not insurmountable.  I made an appointment to see him--in January.  Bleh--a tough time to try a horse.  But he had that look on his face that reminded me of Reno, that decency you cannot dismiss.

But before I got to meet him, one night I searched "horse stall" on Craigslist because I had seen an ad for these iron stall fronts that were kind of cool, and I wanted to see if there was an affordable price range.  Just curiosity for curiosity's sake...I have stall fronts already, for cryin' out loud.  And half-way down the list of ads was a headline "DUTCH WARMBLOOD MARE $6000, MUST-SELL, MAKE OFFER"; so of course, I had to at least look. 

Notice it did not say anything about "stall fronts".  I do not look for mares.  I search "gelding".  I am a gelding person, except for Princess and she barely qualifies as a mare, since I have never seen her even put her ears back at any living thing, ever.  Well, the picture was great.  A big chestnut mare, in full-on dressage mode, white boots and all, doing her thing.  It was impressive. 

Have I mentioned that I specifically do not like chestnut mares?  I avoid them at all costs.  I make fun of them.  "CMS"--Chestnut Mare Syndrome, rhymes with PMS, something else no one enjoys.  I turn my head purposely away from chestnut mares.  But there was the very first horse I got in 4th grade, for free, Schnook.  She was a chestnut mare.

A chestnut mare that was 24 years old when I got her.  She was turned out in a 20-acre field with a bunch of other horses, and I could climb through the fence, catch her, bridle her and lead her over to the fence to get on.  I could ride her bareback, in that field; and if I fell off, she stopped and let me catch her again.  (What is up with that?!  Obviously, an angel from heaven taking the form of an old, sway-backed, chestnut quarter horse mare.)

Well, I avoided responding for about 48 hours.  I told myself all the reasons I could not own a chestnut mare, let alone a $6000, Dutch Warmblood, chestnut mare.  I found the ad again, against my will, and read it.  The person said the mare had been trail ridden, had been a show hunter, and had NO issues.  Said she was more interested in the home than the price and would entertain all offers to the right situation.  Wanted the horse to go to someone who had always wanted a quality horse but could never afford it.  (Pretty much sums up my horse life.)  So, since writing is one of my strong suits, I responded...

"Time will ease your pain.  Life's about changing.  Nothing ever stays the same."  That Patty Loveless song from 1999 has run through my mind many, many times.  Mostly because it is so true.  And then there's that great quote from The Sound of Music, "When God closes a door, He always opens a window."  Also true.

That beautiful horse in the picture above, is gone from our lives now.  He looks so wonderful there.  We were so lucky to have him.  I wonder if we will come across another as good, ever.

I had to make that horrible, horrible decision to say goodbye to Reno, the best horse ever, in the fall.  He was 29 and I only got to love him for 5 years.  What a great 5 years he gave me.  It was a beautiful day, and I didn't want to try to coax him through a tough winter when he couldn't really eat hay very well.  He was showing signs of pre-Cushing's syndrome, and was even foundering on the grass that came in after the drought ended.  So I couldn't turn him out very much, and he couldn't eat hay very well!  It was not a good situation. 

It was the right albeit terrible decision.  Several friends, whom I will never be able to repay, came and managed the whole process for me.  I could not attend.  Some may be able to do that, but when I talked with the vet on the phone, even she said she couldn't do it with her own horses.   The only good side to it, was that he could be buried here.  We had enough discussed it with several friends who had experience with the process and although Handyman thought it would be nigh-on impossible, it wasn't---again, thanks to some very helpful friends.

"Hi...if you're not doing anything today, could you come attend the euthanization of my 1000 lb. pet and put him in the ground for us? That would be great.  Thanks!  Oh, and I won't be here.  So good luck with all that." 

He is gone but not forgotten and we are getting a stone carved for his site, and planting a super knockout rose outside the fence nearby (otherwise those silly goats will eat it.)

Princess is a little lonely without him, but she does have her goatie girls.  I am not sure if I am actually done with horses.  I did get bucked off my neighbor's horse soon after Reno was gone.  It was not fun.  Probably the most painful part (okay not really), was that I was hurt and could not get back on and ride that sucker into submission myself.  Fortunately, I wasn't so hurt that I couldn't drive a bus! 

That realization that comes over you as you do the quicky assessment, while still lying on the ground....nothing is broke, but something is definitely messed up---dang! he is going to step on me if I don't move fast, and what will happen to my family if I am REALLY injured?!  No surgery today if I can get up quickly!  (which I did.)  But my back/pelvis was jammed up for about 3 weeks.  Sleeping on heating pad, Aleve for breakfast and very slow walking for about a month, and I am back to normal.  Also made me miss Reno all the more.

It was a nasty buck and twist and brought my age right into focus.  Will I keep doing this?  Should I just move over to dogs for good?  Handyman would love to turn that barn into a woodshop.  What  about llamas?  Yeah.  Llamas!  They can't kill me and #3 would love to show a llama at the fair. 

Me?  The one who has looked down my nose at llamas for many years, is actually signing the little one up to lease a llama for the summer.  Pack up the chaps, Honey.  We're getting a pet that can spit at us! :)  Oh, and you don't have to shovel their poop, and they don't need a farrier, and they don't bite or kick or rear or buck.  And, oh yeah...you can't ride them.  :(

Handyman wants to buy me a mountain bike...so we can spend time together.  It's pretty hard to say no to that.  I'm just not sure if I'm interested in working that hard.  Something about having the animal do the work, while I just hang on...but then we won't be hanging out together...


Well, you gotta try these things out, or you'll never know.  I don't think I would be able to turn down just the right horse if it came walking into my life, though.  We may borrow a horse from a friend, just for a companion.  But I'm not sure I'm ready to sell my saddle yet.

Menu Plan Monday--ALREADY? ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

I'm not ready! I'm not buckled in yet!

Monday: Eating at MIL's house--THANK the merciful Lord.

Tuesday: Spaghetti, salad and garlic bread. Cooking on the driveway again. Easy and everyone likes it.

Wednesday: Pizza Hut. Awana is back on after two missed weeks due to measles contamination. So we'll be hustling out the door.

Thursday: Handyman is in charge of dinner, because he was gone all week last week. And it's his turn.

Friday: Rueben casserole that I saw in the newspaper. Haven't figured out where I will bake it yet.

Sorry this isn't very helpful to you all. Can I just encourage you to put something down on paper. It makes all the difference in the world. Seriously. :)

Chickens

We love our chickens, and we love their eggs. They were our first farm animal. We bought an original flock of chicks about 6 years ago, with some friends. They raised that first group in two baby pools in their garage. They were suburbanites with 6 kids and wanted the experience. Once they were grown into pullets we moved them here, into the coop on wheels that Handyman had built.

They were a terrific flock, half Ameracauna (Easter-Eggers who lay green eggs), and half Rhode Island Reds, with a few unique specimens thrown in. We lost several to hawks, especially in the beginning. We had made them a wonderful aviary with pvc and poultry netting. It eventually got destroyed in a windstorm. Then for awhile they were free range in our orchard. It was absolutely delightful and hilarious to have chickens on the front sidewalk, looking in the sidelights at the front door!

Ameracaunas are wonderful, and they can vary greatly in coloration. We had one who was completely white, named Tweety. We knew she was an Ameracauna by her green legs. We also had one black hen. Her feathers are tipped with gold, and she has the puffy cheek feathers so common to EE's. Even as a chick, she was striking. Our friends named her Falco, because she looked like a falcon.


One spring early on, Falco went broody. This is when a hen decides she wants to hatch chicks. They refuse to get off the nest, no matter what. While they are resistant to getting off the nest, they also lose most of their fear of you in their zeal to sit. Usually hens raised without mothers (like ours), do not go broody.

Falco was a zealot. It went on for weeks. But we had no rooster, so there was no chance this was going to work out. I belonged to a great website called Backyard Chickens, and they have lots of bulletin boards for chicken lovers. I happened to see a post offering bantam hatching eggs, for a low paypal payment, including shipping. So I bought a dozen.

They arrived by Priority Mail the next day, wrapped in bubble wrap.

Bantams are small chickens, about half the normal size. I had had bantams as a teenager. They are terrific. More personality than 3 full-sized chickens. Beautiful colors, lots of fun. Since the eggs are tiny, we put all 12 under Falco.

She was unsure for the first day. Probably ready to give the whole thing up. I think she had already been broody for almost a month at this point! An entire sitting would only take 21 days, so I'm sure her hormones were ebbing. But she was swayed apparently, and commenced sitting. (I'm sure she was happy that I was no longer stealing her eggs.)

At about 2 weeks we candled them, and by golly--there were multiple ones that showed distinct promise. This being our first time to candle eggs, we were too unsure to take any away from her, even if they appeared empty. And on the night before day 21, we moved her and her nest, into a baby pool in our garage.

Sure enough, she hatched them! It was the most glorious, wonderful experience ever. Four fluffy little tiny chicks. We were enchanted. Then our stupid corgi decided he should catch one, and that was then end of that one. Kids learn about death...check that lesson off the list.

Fortunately we had 3 left. And spoiled they became. These were purebred bantam varieties. It turned out that we had a hen and rooster Buff Brahma Bantam and a Blue Cochin hen. They were tamed from birth, just about and became our favored pets. They grew up in our flower garden and we learned the vocalizations of the mother hen. The special sound that says, "DO NOT MOVE! EMMINENT DANGER!" and the one that says, "Come and get it!"

She was a wonderful mother. And she never went broody again. I have several scrapbook pages of "the chicks", and their miracle mother, Falco.

I tell you all this to say, that Falco is now the oldest and only hen left of our original flock of 28. I have one other hen, who I bought as an adult and several little bantam hens raised by their mothers, (who think I am Godzilla.) And Caesar, the little bantam rooster, is the only sibling remaining of his hatching. He is an older guy now, too.



So now we're having the urge to start a new flock. Little #3 doesn't remember raising chicks, so it's time to start thinking about another go-round. We've been through hawks, coyotes and even a loose dog massacre (someone else's dog). Having birds will definitely toughen your hide. But they are fun and the eggs just can't be beat. I purchased organic large eggs at the store, and my homegrown ones are still more orange and robust.

Another idea rattling around in my spring feverish mind...

Menu Plan Meltdown: UPDATED WITH FREE STUFF!

Yes, it is past Monday. Yes, I made a menu plan. Yes, it gave me peace of mind. Yes, it is buried in my daytimer and has not seen the light of day. In fact, I admit, I did not even prepare a dinner on multiple evenings this week. Those darn kids, they snack all the time. And when they start thinking about dinner, I have barn chores to do.

I made all the dishes on my menu last week. Actually I had to skip one, because I had three different, very edible leftovers in my refrig and I refused to cook something else. I even gave food away to the neighbors--(it was good soup). I'm just sayin' the effort was there. But this week, I have failed.

Handyman is on a major network show for Superbowl and he isn't home any night for supper. Kids eat without ceasing all day. I feel responsible to feed horses, they can't use the can opener or microwave. So I go to barn, kids fend for themselves.

Here is a good example: Hummus, crackers, organic turkey slices, 2 kinds of kefir, walnuts, craisins and almonds, pomegranate, honey bell oranges, tomato soup, cottage cheese, pickled beets, salsa, chips, chicken nuggets, nitrite-free hot dogs, salad with croutons. There are all kinds of great combos there, for a perfectly satisfying meal.

Staple of choice here: Popcorn. Go figure. No stove, no oven, no problem!

As a special reward for reading all the way to the end: GO HERE to get some FREE printable worksheets to help you get organized! I'm downloading them now! You should too. :)

On the Road Again

We headed back out onto the gravel road, across the rickety bridge and hung a left onto the bigger gravel road, that eventually joined the paved road. The goats were making their goat noises and we were all laughing, and it was sprinkling rain again.

I only missed one turn, amazingly. I do have some weird innate talent for directions or at least remembering how to get somewhere once I have been there. It's not as great a skill as my wacko-memory for phone numbers, but it's pretty handy.

We came upon the "knife sale" place again, and #2 piped up from the back seat, "Don't make eye contact!" I thought I would crash, laughing so hard. Then we heard the water noise. And it wasn't water. Then I had this flash-back to my friend April saying, "Goats pee a lot." It honestly never occured to me that a goat would pee IN MY CAR, WHILE IT WAS MOVING. I guess I figured they would be uncomfortable or unsure enough, to just hold it.

I was wrong.

Okay, well we have that plastic floor mat, that has curved edges and there is hay to soak some up. What else can we do, but continue?

As we were getting closer to civilization and it was supper time, I did agree to whip into a McD's for girl sustenance. But I stayed in the car, while they ran in and ran out. The sky was getting darker, and we had a ways to go, albeit all interstate from here on out.

As we pulled back out onto the road, we heard it again..."water". Ick. Oh well.

The rain really started coming down as we merged onto the interstate. I do have a small amount of weather phobia, handed down through the generations, like Bubonic Plague. I have done my best to overcome it, and had a modest amount of success with that. Being a mom, and a great actress, has its rewards.

But I do much better when I can look at the radar screen, which I could not, in the car. So I did the next best thing, which is to turn on my favorite, local talk radio station. They always have current weather info. I trust them. I have listened to this same radio station since I was a child. The child of a woman with weather phobias...

So I turn on the radio, and I turn up my windshield wipers. Coincidentally, we are friends with a talk-show host on this radio station. He is personable, generous and very kind to my girls. So when his familiar, smooth voice came right into our car, we felt a little safer...until he broke into his own show to start announcing tornado warnings, and sightings.

I continued to drive north, not going much slower for the weather. Our friend, on the radio announced, "If you are in the area of Taylorsville, you should take cover immediately! A tornado has been sighted west of Taylorsville, heading east at 20 mph. Take cover immediately."

Amazingly, it was at that very moment that we passed the giant, green interstate sign that read, "Taylorsville, 1/2 mile." #2 shrieked from the backseat, where the goat was letting go once again, "Mom! Are we in Taylorsville?! That sign says Taylorsville!"

There was this weird juxtaposition in my head. Our friend's voice, so comforting...was now scary to us and that just didn't fit in my brain. My only thought was, "What would Handyman do?" I knew he wouldn't stop. There were semi's blowing by me, as I slowed because the rain was so heavy that even high speed wipers weren't doing the job.

I just knew that Handyman would not stop, and so I was not stopping on the side of the road, in a deluge, in an SUV with GOATS in it, to wait for a tornado to come.

I told #2 to watch out the left side. If she saw, actually saw, a tornado, I would consider pulling over. I explained to her that I could drive north at 55-65 mph, and that was a lot better than a tornado moving towards us at 20 mph. We weren't going to sit and wait to be hammered. We could beat it.

I don't suppose it helped much that I had let them watch Twister that summer.

We kept listening to our friend on the radio, telling us to take cover. The sky was that awful shade of green/black, that you learn as a midwestern child. That color that just means "fear".

I can't remember if anyone prayed out loud. If we didn't, I know we all were praying silently. Even the goats.

And sure enough, as always happens in this crazy state, we drove away from the chaos--never saw a funnel cloud--and into bright, beautiful sunshine. By the time we crossed into the downtown area, it was all clearly behind us.

Only I would drive through a tornado, with two goats in a car. These things never happen to other people. We made it home. Handyman had made a little pen for "the goatie girls" and a little hayrack in their stall. We unloaded them into the barn area, where they peed again. #1 heroically cleaned out Handyman's truck immediately, as per my instructions, so as to hide the unpleasant details from her dad.

I swore them both to secrecy--the girls, not the goats. They were never to tell their father that 2 goats had urinated in his car, multiple times...no matter how funny it was. What ever possessed him to put that tar paper under those floor mats, is beyond me. But I can't tell you how thankful I was for that.

Handyman, who actually loves Jane Austen, and all our theme-related pet names, actually named the new girls...Flora and Fauna. And yes, I know it is not Jane Austen'ish. But once we heard them, we knew we'd hit on the right ones.

(If anyone has a day-trip to beat that one, I would love to hear about it!)

Goat Saga, chapter 3

Before I continue, my daughters have pointed out that they BEGGED me to go along. I did not draft them. They couldn't bear the thought of me being alone on such a long drive--and seeing something first! Thank heavens for their selfishness. Not sure I would have made it without them. Misery loves company.

They also both testify that when we passed the "Knife Sale" domicile, there was a man out front...with a long beard. I am not kidding. I did not see that gentleman, because I could not take one eye off the windy, curvy road. I only saw the knife sale sign because it was on a 4x5' sheet of plywood leaning up against the mailbox. And "Knife Sale" is not a sign one sees frequently. I think it was God's providence that I did not see that gentleman. Or else we might not be goat owners today.

And so I continue, we DID actually turn off the paved road. By this time, the road signs were just random numbers and letters strung together. In the flat counties where I grew up, west of Indianapolis, those numbers mean something. Usually they relate to the orientation of the roads based on the county seat. But down here, where all surfaces slant and sometimes you can't even see the sun, I doubted there was any plan to it.

We wandered a little on the gravel road and then, were to turn left onto a smaller road, that had a rickety little bridge, I kid you not. My daughters, of course, do not know anything about "Deliverance"; but I'm telling you, by this time, my heart is doing a little jig and the infamous music is playing in my head. And my mother's voice is ringing out, "Why would you bring two young girls out here, for a CRAIGSLIST ad?! Have you completely lost your senses?!" And I was agreeing with her.

Then suddenly the mailbox with the right number appeared, and there was a clean, modest little house with a barn. The cars looked like they were in working order. The sun was shining. My mother's voice faded somewhat. We got out.

There was nothing fancy, and nothing scary, in immediate view anyway. A nice, tall woman came out and she knew my name, so we had actually arrived, sans GPS even! As we entered the dark, cool barn, I had a small wave of fear, but was quickly settled by a healthy, shiny horse, and the ambient smells and sounds of a farmyard.

We met our girls, one of whom was relatively wild...a young 'un she hadn't taken much time with. She was the one going into the dog crate. The big girl was tame and like all goats, curious and bright-eyed. The girls loved them at once. The lady told us the goats had just taken a leak, so we might be able to avoid that in the car. (This had not crossed my mind really. Or if it had, I guess I thought goats wouldn't feel comfortable enough in a moving car, to pee. Too late now.)

We were able to load the little gal into the crate. She was about the size of a small German Shepherd. The larger goat wasn't too keen on jumping into the back of my Expedition, which I had stocked with hay, for eating or sleeping on. So the lady just gathered her up, all 85 lbs of her, and hefted her in. Down came the tailgate and the bleating began.

As with horses in a trailer, once they're in--you hit the road. I handed over the cash, we waved and back out on the gravel we went. And I reminded #1 that we now had to follow those directions backwards. I hope she had been paying attention because it might be important...I had absolutely no idea where we were.

Since it's my birthday, I will blog B4 I work!

So, it was a beautiful summer afternoon, as #1, #2 and I headed off in search of our next farm addition: The Goat Girls! We spent much of the time pondering what names would fit with our Jane Austen theme. I think we were pretty settled on Jane and Lizzie, or Eleanor and Marianne. Although Marianne didn't seem very goatish to me.

The drive was lovely and we soon arrived in Brown County, with its charming, windy roads. As we turned off the main state road, with which I felt familiar, it had started to rain. And as this is Indiana, the sun was still shining brightly and the rain was heavy enough for wipers. We continued to wind south, I think.

I had written directions off my email and had an address. We wound down past the Story Inn, which I have been to once before. I remembered that it was in the absolute middle of nowhere, and felt a little blip of anxiety as we turned away from Story and headed off in a new direction, on a smaller road.

Then I paid a little more attention to my written instructions and noted that it said 20 miles past Story. I gulped. Twenty MORE miles, on this road? I'm sure I spoke out loud at that point, because I am not known for shutting up at appropriate times. It was something like this, "Good grief! How much further now?!" At which point #2 asked from the back, "Are we in Kentucky?" and we all laughed. "Who knows? We could be close to it, at this rate."

The rain sort of ended, but the curving road did not. I'm sure if the roads were straight, we would have been on our way home by now. I really wanted to see this route from the air--or maybe not.

The homes got smaller and further between. We saw a mobile home on a sharp slope, with skirting that made almost a basement underneath the one end, seriously. Out in front of this place was a piece of plywood propped on the mailbox, handpainted to say "Knife Sale" ?!? I shrieked a little, and pressed on the accelerator harder.

And I drove a little faster and wondered what in the world was I doing, bringing two daughters into the hill-country on a Craigslist expedition to pick up goats from someone I have never seen and don't know?! What if it was a nefarious trap?! There isn't good cel coverage down here...what have I done?!? I had some confidence in the tone of the emails we had exchanged. The language the woman used indicated knowledge of dairy goats--I tried to soothe my anxiety.

I kept driving and driving and finally, and in Jeff Foxworthy's immortal words, "we turned off the paved road..."

Adventures in animal procurement

I haven't shared this hilarious story from last summer, and I want to do so before I forget it all. I am old, now. In 2010, I was far enough beyond breast cancer to begin a post-cancer mid-life crisis that for me, predictably, involved horses. I found a 5 year-old thoroughbred, with no issues, on the Internet, and obtained him--without specifically asking my husband--for free. The owner delivered him to the stable I where I've been connected for many years and I thought all my dreams had finally come true.



It was very exciting. I owned a TB. He was handsome and athletic and I was boarding him at a real stable. It was what I had wanted all my life, honestly. It was also over 90 degrees every single day from May on. It was quickly determined that he would need training that I couldn't provide. Then I started cleaning stalls to pay for the training.

I had learned in college that I could trade hard, honest work for whatever horse-stuff I couldn't afford. And I was eager to sustain my fantasy that I could be a good wife, mother, rural property owner and equestrienne. I would drive 12 miles one-way to clean stalls for several hours. Then I would groom my horse after someone else had ridden him and I would drive home exhausted, cook for my family, do laundry and clean my barn. Just what every girl dreams of...

Long story short, he wasn't quite the right fit for me. A terrific horse, a tremendous opportunity, but I couldn't sustain the training he needed, either financially or logistically. So I made other arrangements for him and began a descent into horse-divorce depression. Death of a dream. And in order to short circuit that mourning period, I decided I'd get what I'd REALLY been wanting--dairy goats.

I was sure that my horse phase had officially ended. I had had to work myself to the bone to pay off the training debts for a horse I couldn't consistently ride. I told myself that I was too old, too weak, too chicken and too poor for any more horsey adventures. Goats would be just right. They couldn't kill me. I didn't have to be brave and I didn't have to do a whole lot with them to prove myself to anyone. And, Handyman and I love goat cheese...

So, I found just the ones I was looking for on that mother-of-all bulletin boards: Craigslist. Two dairy does, under a year old. Specifically, an Alpine and a Toggenburg (which I had wanted since my first summer camp job in Michigan, where we had one.) Toggs are uncommon and so this convinced me that I was destined to be a great goat cheese maker. The arrangements were made.

These two little gals were down south, a little more than an hour away. In hill country. I had discussed with the owner about putting the smaller goat in our large wire dog crate. She thought that would work, but thought the bigger goat would not fit in a crate. I was not going to borrow someone's horse trailer to pick up two little, albeit not mini, goats. The dog crate would take up one half of the back of the Expedition and the larger goat would have to be loose, next to the crate.

I am not terribly knowledgeable about goats, but a little horse and dog experience, some riding instructor safety training and enough fear of the unknown to keep me wary, made me think that an unrestrained goat weighing almost 100 lbs., loose in the back of my Expedition might not be the smartest decision ever. So, Handyman graciously cut a piece of plywood to fit upright behind the seat of his Expedition. The Expedition with the rubber floor mat with the curved edges. (This will be important later.) Handyman is such a smart guy that he took the mat out and put roofing felt paper underneath the mat, to cover the holes where the seatbelt clamps are placed. I don't know why he thought of this, but we were all so thankful for this foresight.

I drafted #1 and #2 to go with me. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon and we were driving to one of the most scenic areas of our state to pick up our new pets. What fun! (Why Handyman puts up with these sporadic plunges of mine that always involve money and more work, is beyond me!)

Dreamin'

What if your dream horse came into your life belonging to someone else? The color you wanted...the build you wanted...the talent you wanted...the personality you wanted. Would you be happy, or jealous, or a little of both?

What if you were busy living your life and he was more than you could ever spend on a horse, but you got to ride him, for free?

What if the more you got to know him, the more you loved him and then you had to stop riding him because he was going to go showing with someone else?

What if you didn't get to see him again for awhile? Would you be able to just fuggedaboutit--sorta like a high school romance, great and dramatic, but burnt out and over.

What if you could have him, at your house, indefinitely...but he was too lame to ever jump again and might not become sound?



What if your husband said, "That's why we built three stalls." :)

Pinch me...I think I'm dreaming...

Germs run amok!

Just so I can prove that our lives are completely not-normal...here is the timeline from one week ago:

Wednesday pm: We have Awana at our church, where I shepherd 65 2nd graders around for 2 hours. Hectic and worthwhile. Of course there are plenty of germs to go around. 10pm, after we are home, #3 starts complaining of stomach pain and begins vomiting--yea!

Thursday am: I stay home from my amazing lunch lady job to keep #3. She barfs throughout the morning, going through 3 sets of sheets. Somehow she can't get it to the trashcan, or the bathtowel on her bed.

Thursday pm: after washing umpteen sets of pukey sheets, things seem to have settled down and I got the kitchen CLEAN, just like they taught me at work. :) I take #1 across the street after school to keep the little boy who usually comes to our house on Thursdays, trying to save his family from any contamination. She gets to watch 2+ hours of Kipper and some scottish claymation show with funny dialogue she recites for the next 36 hours.

Friday am: I take #3 to her Grandma's for the morning, until Handyman comes home around noonish. (Oh, yeah, he was out of town, of course.) She hasn't barfed since yesterday morning and no fever. She just wants to sleep. My mom is flying in from FL on Saturday night, for an out-patient surgery. Tonight we are supposed to get together with cousins at MIL's house for my SIL b'day.

Handyman picks up #3 after lunch and takes her home. She seems okay. So we take her back to Grandma's and we all have a terrific supper. Fried chicken, homemade slaw, mashed potatoes with horseradish and green beans with bacon. Mmm, mmm, good. (This is important. It'll be the last meal I have for several days.) ;)

Saturday am: I cannot lift my head off the pillow. Somehow, miraculously, I do not barf my brains out. I drink honey water and pepto bismol tablets and never leave my bed, really, for about 8 hours.

Handyman heads to the airport to pick up my mom, and take her to HIS mom's house (where we had dinner last night). The two moms can hang out together and avoid the Bubonic plague that is reproducing in our home.

Sometime late Saturday pm: I learn later that this is when #1, #2 and MIL start barfing their brains out. I am blissfully sleeping through it, while Handyman cringes on the far side of the bed, facing away from me, clutching a Lysol can.
My mom is immersing herself in hand sanitizer, while her hostess is heaving in the next room.

Sunday afternoon: I am able to sit up and watch a little tv. I hear that girls have stopped barfing, but I do not venture downstairs until the later playoff game. Handyman doesn't really want me to sit by him, I can tell. I see rolled up sheets by the washer. I'm sure he'll get those washed for me. Mom is not barfing yet.

Sunday pm: #1 and #2 are grey with blue lips. I think they can stay home tomorrow. #3 is back to normal. Mom makes a batch of Cracker Barrel chicken and dumplings and sends them up with Handyman. They are awesome. I eat two entire spoonfuls!

Monday am: #1 and #2 stay home. I go to work. #3 goes to school. MIL is reputedly recovering. Mom still not barfing, which is good. She has to be at surgery at 7 am tomorrow.

Monday pm: #1 and #2 have regained their color and have watched the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy all day. #2 is with me that the battle scenes are too epic, too long and too boring. Everyone will be heading back to school tomorrow. I discover rolled up icky sheets still by the washer and take them directly to the trashcan.

Tuesday 5:40 a.m. I wake up to that familiar sound: "Bwaaaaaah!" It's Handyman, in the bathroom! Ack! Quick call to Mom, who says MIL is up and going already and she can take Mom to surgery and bring her home. Good thing--Handyman isn't leaving the bedroom. I cover all the chores, dogs, chickens, horses, cats, kids and head back to work while my head starts getting snotty.

Tuesday pm: Surgery goes well and Mom arrives back at Base Camp #2. Girls take out trash cans and Handyman remains completely out of commission. I continue to do all chores and make a new batch of laundry soap.

Wednesday: Another Wednesday, here already?! Off to Awana again. Handyman rises from his sickbed in the late afternoon. I still haven't seen my mother, who came into town last Saturday.

Thursday: We seem to be over it and I got a jump start on losing those 5 lbs. I gained over Christmas. I get to see Mom, who is leaving on Monday. We laugh (not at all) about the amazing-ness of bacteria.

Top 10 List

Year's End

I love New Year's...it's a great big way to wipe the slate clean and go at it once again. Like Mondays, only a lot more fun and with great snacks! I got to go to lunch with BFF today, cleaned my stalls this morning and wear my way-cool purple shiny silk shirt from GW again. So it's already been a good New Year's Eve afternoon.

But to succinctly wrap it up, I'll give you my Top 10 Lists for 2010.

Top 10 Things for which I Am Grateful:

1. A personal relationship with the one, true God, through the person of His only Son, Jesus Christ. This has to come first, not because it should but because it is the filter through which I try to live, really. That doesn't make me better than anyone, or smarter or more spiritual. I am the chief among sinners, but thankfully, I am "on the line" and appreciate each time the Lord reels me in for a little one-on-one with the Holy Spirit, reminding me of the stupidity of "going it alone". I tell my children, the only hope we have is through Jesus. Hope for the future of our country, hope for our lives, hope for the dreams that are in each of us.

2. Loving, kind, well-mannered, funny parents. Yep, they're all that and more. I am thankful for their raising of me and their continued relationship which has evolved into a wonderful friendship, where I get all their best stuff! As I have posted here many times, my poor dad is still barn-building for me after all these years! And my mother will soon begin sleeping more peacefully, knowing that my kitchen/laundry/dog kennel/storage room will soon be completely demolished and replaced with something akin to a...kitchen!

3. Of course, HANDYMAN! I am what I yam because of him. Really. My parents got the first couple decades, but I grew up a lot when I met Handyman, because I wanted him to like me. I paid attention to what was important to him and I morphed! I gave up some of the goofy, girly nonsense and got serious about being a grown-up. I also read Debi Pearl's "Created to be a Help Meet" and learned how Biblical truths will always, always, always work--duh! And then of course, I read 17 years worth of This Old House magazine, so I can converse intelligently about moulding, spray-on insulation foam, underlayment, fiber cement siding and drip edge. ;)

4. My Bratinellas--all three of 'em. Because, well because I like them better than I like anyone else's bratinellas! They know me. They know my bark is worse than my bite and they know that I am trying to teach them things it took me awhile too long to learn...like picking up after oneself. They know Mommy loves Daddy the most and she's gonna do what he wants first. And they forgive me...thank heavens!

5. My awesome estate. Some might disagree with me, but it's wonderful in the summer, and terrific on dark, starry nights and pretty in the fall and wonderful in spring and even pretty in winter. It continues to evolve into something more terrific each year. And this year will be the biggie: New kitchen, back room stops being a storage unit and will become living space, with NEW back staircase, new laundry room, new mudroom. And I'm gonna make Handyman build a riding ring, pour concrete on the barn porch and frame up the tack room, so I can really ride horses again. (My dad better get back soon. There's work afoot.)

6. My critters. Goes without saying. Even on the most bitter winter mornings, IN THE DARK, once I get out there, I am so glad to be with them and feed them and rub their long, shiny winter coats. They give me something to get out of bed for...durn it! And the ones in the house are even better with that non-stop flow of love. Poor Handyman, didn't know what he was getting into. I promised him, once the kids left, I would be a crazy cat lady, who cleans the litter boxes. Next up, baby goats and bees!

7. I have this amazing, small circle of friends who are as faithful and loyal as anything I could have hoped for. When you're in high school, you think your friends are so deep and true and life-long and nothing could be further from the truth! You don't even know what life is about or what hard really is. When your friendships aren't about what any of you are wearing or doing, but about slogging on through devastating personal crisis or illness or significant loss and you keep linking your arms together and pulling forward and laughing whenever possible and taking care and not calling as much as you should...this is friendship. And I have been the beneficiary of some beautiful friends over the last decade or so. Women who I should get together with MUCH more than I do...who have been the sisters that I never had to grow up with!

8. In-Laws--I sure lucked out in this department. When I hear the stories from others, I almost can't believe the grief other women suffer. My in-laws have given me about 2 hours total of trouble in 20 years. Maybe less. In return, I have eaten at their table and opened their gifts and dumped off the bratinellas many, many times. My FIL is gone now, but I remember that a long time ago he told Handyman to get on with marrying me or he would do it himself!

9. My health. Of course there is no order to the things on this list. They're all about equal for me. But this would fall pretty high. Having walked through cancer, I feel stronger and surer and much, much more focused and I am glad for that experience. I recognize moments now and am more willing to sit and soak them up. I can just enjoy time for what it is. I regained a sense of wonder about much that was being swallowed up in the inanity of everyday American existence.

I am THANKFUL for the "broken" American healthcare system that allowed me to pick my doctors, and organize my treatment program according to what I wanted and needed. I didn't require the approval of anyone or anything. We pay our own health insurance, and for the majority of our medical needs, we pay for those too. My insurance company didn't give me one minute's trouble about anything I needed and I was NOT booted out. I didn't ask anyone else to pay for me and I'll be the first to join the group of "folks who don't want to pay for others' healthcare".

10. I'll be a little flippant and just say, that I love the internet. I love shopping on it. I love reading other blogs. I love reading the news on it. I love emailing my kids' teachers. I love skyping with my parents. I love watching old tv shows and movies, INSTANTLY. I love watching horse-for-sale ads on youtube. Okay, I love the White Knuckles dog video on YouTube. I even like Facebook, a little. The internet is awesome, and I hope the government keeps its grimy, greedy big paws off of it!

Leave me your list, if you wish!

As the worm turns...

And man, has it ever turned! We are a changed family. We decided back in the spring to put #2 into school this year, since she was ready for 6th grade. We wanted her to have the chance to get started with band and sports and things that #1 really missed out on, when we stuck her into 8th grade, mid-year. (Not the best timing, we realized, but it was what it was.)

Well, #3 wasn't too interested in staying home alone, so we visited a teeny-weeny private Christian school that was absolutely darling, but didn't have a teeny-weeny tuition; and we visited our local public school. #3 said, "Mommy, it looks like the Children's Museum!" And it does.

So as summer was waning, both girls were signed up for public school, and I started looking in earnest for a part-time job. And I got one, at a local high school cafeteria.

So I spend my days making cold sandwiches, viewing the juvenile public up-close and personal and throwing away hundreds of pounds of food each and every day. (More on that later.) I've joined a team of ladies who work hard and strive each day for efficiency and overall pleasant-ness. It's really enjoyable.

The best thing about it? Each day, I complete something. Not like at home, where nothing is EVER done. I can totally see how women would come to rely on the separateness of going to work and shutting the door on home for awhile.

Oh, the other best thing is that the pay is very good and I am home every afternoon, evening, weekend and holiday AND summer! The tools of my trade: a hairnet and some plastic gloves...yee ha!

Summer in full swing

It is with great relief and a fist full of benadryl, that I announce "the first cutting is in the barn!" Yee ha--what a summer it has already been.

You may remember that last summer, the very kind firefighter around the corner, GAVE me his 3 acre field of grass/alfalfa hay. It was my first time to be master of my own destiny and what a lot did I learn! I learned head knowledge about hay and made contacts. I learned to be obsessed with the weather forecast and then to not trust anything I heard. I learned that no matter how well my plans were laid, I really had no control over anything. And I learned not to cry, because trusting the Lord is much more rewarding, even in matters of animal fodder.

So this year, I have that same field and I called my "Hay Guy" from last year. He was glad to hear from me and tipped me off that he would be fishing in Canada the first week of June. I could/should call him whenever I thought the weather was ripe for cutting...dum dum dum...heavy hangs the head that wears the hay crown.

Now last year, the month of June was NINE INCHES over for precipitation. Last year I didn't get the hay cut until JULY 3--AND THEN IT RAINED ON CUT HAY FOR TWELVE HOURS on the fourth of July. Do you see the ulcers forming in my duodenum? I get a twitch over my eye just typing "rain on hay for twelve hours". I prayed for a new learning experience this year...learned the whole rain lesson, Lord, TYVM.

So this year, I called the Hay Guy the Sunday, a week before Memorial Day and by golly, we got her done! And the absolute most wonderful thing happened to me--I got to drive the tractor with the baler attached. It was one of the highlights of my life--I know I could not stop smiling. I almost cried. I will never forget how wonderful it was. There was just something about the perfect weather, bright sunshine, the great smell of the hay and the process that just charmed me.

And then, Handyman actually got off work at a reasonable hour and he showed up at the field while I was driving the tractor. Could it get better?? There was a small crimp in the happiness when Handyman tried to back the hay wagon up to our barn. You may be nodding your head right now, thinking "You CANNOT back a hay wagon." And you'd be right in saying just that.

I was in the hayloft at that time, sweeping vigorously in order to keep my lips together. #1 was down below, yelling directions at her father, and then yelling up at me to call my neighbor to come over to back the wagon FOR her father. I explained to her that I would do no such thing and that she should keep her lips zipped.

45 minutes later, we settled for having the haywagon in the same field as the barn and cursed our complete lack of foresight in how we laid this whole place out. It is completely unhandy, in every possible way--But it looks nice from the driveway. Fortunately we had hired two teenage boys to loft the bales from the trailer across the three-foot gap to the barn loft door. We kept the teenage girls in the loft, catching the bales.

No elevator this time--Handyman thinks elevators are for wimps--okay, not really. But we were in a hurry, what with all that time spent trying to back towards the barn, from the north, from the west and then the north again. The rain has been pretty frequent since then and I see lots of hay still in fields all around here, almost falling over.

And I'm SO completely thankful to have my first cutting successfully put up! I'm looking forward to getting at least one more cutting and HOPING I get to drive the baler again. I'd be willing to pay more just for the chance to do it. Call me crazy!

The Art Museum

Took the kiddos on a field trip to the Art Museum last week. It's been awhile since I've been to the Art Museum, thought we were about due for a trip, since we no longer need strollers and wipes, etc. I did remember my last trip to the Art Museum, where we encountered the GIANT piles of painted, knotted, piled nylon rope in the entry. These are piles bigger than furniture, some bigger than automobiles, uniformly knotted and coiled and stacked into massive structures, with little signs that say "Please Do Not Touch".

You're kidding me, right?! These things are indestructible and randomly placed in the ENTRYWAY, so that you have to walk around and through them, but we can't touch them?! They are made of rope, like from Lowes rope, and coated with seriously heavy coats of shellac..."Kids, don't touch the giant piles of painted rope. It's delicate."

But I digress. This time the entry was still in a state of un-pack, we thought. We were wrong. There were these frames, the size of patio doors, that had unfinished strips of plywood on the vertical sides and between the plywood there were different types of curtains sticking out. The frames were at all random angles and there was a second tier on top, that had shards of mirror sticking out of the edges. We could walk through them, and OF COURSE, not touch them. It was stupid and unattractive.

Of course, the descriptive card off to the side went on about how the different curtains and positions made the viewer feel different things, blah, blah, blah. Since my friends are just as shallow as I am, we could only feel endangered by the big shards of mirror sticking out of the edges of the unfinished plywood. Actually, the unfinished plywood made me think of my kitchen, but mostly all I could think about was that someone was actually able to get paid for such a piece of rubbish.

And then I remembered my favorite exhibit ever at the Art Museum...the unravelling cacti. I think that's when I realized how very shallow and uncultured I am. A man had paid some South American women to knit coverings for plastic cacti. These cacti were set up in a large diorama. Each knitted cacti had a yarn coming off it, running up to a powered spindle on the ceiling and at random times, the spindles would spring to life and unravel some yarn from the pieces. The "art" of this exhibit, was that it was always "changing" because it would be unravelled at random times, making it different. Huh? I've got stuff at my house that changes every time I look at it--the ring in the toilet, the stacks of laundry, even the litter boxes--perhaps I need to market myself more...

The "artist" didn't even do the knitting. Head banging on desk* Still don't get it.

We found our way to the clothing area, where we last saw women's outfits from each decade since the turn of the century, only to be disappointed--and shocked--at the display of coture from the 60's on, that included a swimsuit that was a brief attached to two suspenders that joined at the navel area AND NOTHING ELSE. The mannequin had other parts that weren't covered, fortunately the one boy with us was busy with the "artwork" that was simply a poorly-lit HOLE IN THE WALL, that you viewed from across the room.

I'm sure this description does little to explain the circumstances. There were some terrific things there and I am, for the most part, glad to take the kids. I just wish I could go without the whole Emperor's New Clothes feeling.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Yeah, yeah, yeah. My one fan (ccw) told me to my face the other night, that he was bummed that I wasn't blogging. Frankly, I'm bummed that I'm not blogging. I think about blogging every day. Then I think I must be pretty vain to think that my life is so entirely interesting that I qualify for daily blogger status. I mean how many times can you blog about where you have found socks? Or how many types of manure you handle in one day? (Bet I'd win.)

But really, the world is turning here at Netherfield. On Valentine's Day, Handyman's dad went into the hospital, and stayed for a long time. They tried to send him to a rehab a couple of times, but he got bounced back and then after yelling in my face that he wanted to die, he up and did just that.

It was my first up-close experience with death of a close loved one. I got to experience every single step of it, even the final end. I don't know how people go through this stuff without knowing Christ personally. What a bulwark it was for me to have God to rely on in all the various stages, with all the people I needed to help, in all the ways I was called upon to help.

All these decades of reading Dear Ann Landers and Carolyn Hax, and Billy Graham and all those columns in the magazines about life, have really helped. I was able to walk through those weeks without regret, saying what I needed to say and thanks to my dad, peeking during an altar call, I was able to reassure a lot of people that Grandpa knew Christ. And that was the ultimate peace for me and Handyman. We could say goodbye.

It was the first funeral I went to as a representative, rather than an attendee. And our friends came out of the woodwork--and what a blessing that was. You know how you never want to go to a funeral and you wonder if it's even worth your time...well it is. We were so blessed by the friends who toiled through an insane traffic jam to see us, just briefly--who bought us food because the stupid funeral home didn't even have a coffee pot that worked, who put on lunches for a huge entourage after the way-out-of-town burial--who colored with our kids in the funeral home kitchen so we could keep shaking hands. Note to self: remember how many ways you can be the body of Christ.

I actually stood at someone's bedside as they passed into eternity and I had absolutely no fear in my heart because I had said goodbye, days before, face to face, when he knew what I was saying AND because I knew he had asked Christ into his heart. Honestly, I always wondered if he remembered that he did that, and I probably should have talked more about it with him, but "that peace that passes all understanding" thing? It's real.

I could walk my kids through this first major loss of their lives with confidence in God and offer them peace for their broken little hearts.

Spring is coming now, I think. We have chicks in our attic room, with their mothers. We have contractors bidding on some alterations to our roof that are LONG overdue. My new horse is in training and I also have the opportunity to ride some other nice horses, to get legged up. #1 thinks she might get her drivers license this summer and #2 and #3 are going to school in the fall. Should be an interesting summer.

I have about 295 blogs in my head regarding the switch from homeschooling to public school, that I will be happy to unload at some point, but we're wrapping up some strep throat, orthodontia and raccoon attacks, so I really have to get out of this chair. Oh, and I didn't get pictures of the big crawdad I caught in the pasture this morning, complete with tail full of caviar, I mean eggs. I did release her into the creek and boy was she happy...

Menu Plan Monday--AGAIN!

Well, I'll keep it short...I did find the world's best Mac'n Cheese recipe, from Fine Cooking, and have made it twice. Not so hard and so rewarding to make something everyone ooh's over.

But today was Pancakes and Bacon! Costco has a new mix from Krusteze that is whole grain, with flax seeds. They were pretty darn good. Made a big batch and put some in the freezer.

Tuesday: I'm thinking Baked Potato Soup with Salad.

Wednesday: It is pizza night at Awana this week, so we'll be eating there! Yea.

Thursday: Salmon Patties and french fries

Friday: Chicken Parmigiana or Fettucini Alfredo from Pioneer Woman. Depends on whether I can find chicken in the freezer or not.

Gotta go watch the weather now, but at least I have a basic menu plan down for the week. What about you??

Winter blues

Well, the firefighter came and plowed out our driveway for us--first time ever to have that done. And it is appreciated. The piano teacher came zooming up the driveway in her little sedan, lamenting about customers cancelling. She said this is nothin' compared to northern Illinois. We must have gotten about 8" last week. It is pretty, I'll say that. And a ton more coming in tonight.

But I'm done with it. And now the Colts have lost. And Handyman is in Connecticut, via truck, not plane. And then there's this...in my chair, in my office, this morning...and on the floor. (Okay--I took the picture on my phone to send it to Handyman and then I cleaned it up and I don't know how to send it to my computer.) IT was a mouse, in a couple of pieces on the floor next to my chair and IN my chair, was barfed up more mouse with a big wet spot and a pile of erp. Aren't you glad I don't know how to send it from my phone. I'll be happy to send it to your phone if you like...

This never happens when he's home. Either the vermin sense his missing presence and they stridently march in, or the cats are just lazy when he's here, thinking he'll cover for them. Either way--it NEVER happens during the day. And that means, mice are running around here at night!

Where's my Lysol? Where's the sun? It's 8 degrees this morning and I have the Superbowl Blues. My favorite commercial--probably the Google ad, followed by the Underwear in the Office people. The Who (who I never liked, never listened to and was shocked that they were chosen), was undoubtedly the WORST halftime show EVER. They should have gotten Garth Brooks or Tim McGraw AND Faith Hill or Billy Joel and Elton John or someone who could sing! And what's a pinball wizard? That was the only song I had even heard of.

Do Something Good for Yourself

Just want to say I am really getting a lot out of the Darren Hardy, Success Magazine e-workshop Designing the Best 10 Years of Your Life. I heard about this through I'm an Organizing Junkie, and although I am behind the schedule, I am doing the worksheets and watching the videos and I have learned a lot about myself.

One of the first installments talked about whether you want the next 10 years of your life to be just same-old stuff or something more significant...and I'm wanting to really achieve things in a lot of areas of my life.

If you want to turn up the heat on your plans, goals or just get some heat going under your kettle, I urge you to sign up and catch up. It's never too late to make a success of yourself.

Do Hard Things!

Annual NFL Wacky Name Call-Out

I have blogged about this previously, but in honor of the Superbowl coming up, I will revisit the amazing variety of wacky NFL names...this year, we in the name-appreciation field pay homage to the NFL's missing: Plaxico Burress (currently serving time in federal prison for shooting himself in the leg with an unlicensed handgun, at a nightclub.)

Let's begin with the AFC East:

The Buffalo Bills have: Gibran Hamdan, Justise Hairston, Marshawn Lynch, Richie Incognito, Kawika Mitchell, Jairus Byrd, Drayton Florence, Leodis McKelvin and Ashton Youboty!

The Boring Old Patriots are the least represented in the Name-Bowl with: BenJarvus Green-Ellis, Tully Banta-Cain and Adalius Thomas.

The Dolphins have: Lousaka Polite (sounds like a greek restaurant entree), Ikaika Alama-Francis, Akin Ayodele, Channing Crowder, Vontae Davis, Yeremiah Bell, and Gibril Wilson.

And the Jets--who I will not disparage here, even though their coach tried to trash-talk the Colts before he was handed his season-ender...but I digress. The Jets have: Jerricho Cotchery, the infamous D'Brickashaw Ferguson (whose mother liked the movie the Thorn Birds, so much that she butchered a character's name and gave it to her son), Ropati Pitoitua, Sione Pouha, Lito Shepherd, Kenwin Cummings, James Ihedigbo, 2 Marques and 1 Marquice.

The NFC East Cowboys (how they got in the "East" is beyond me), have: Tashard Choice, Martellus Bennett, Montrae Holland, Flozell Adams, Igor Olshansky, Junior Siavii (which reminds me of Junior Seau of the Patriots, whom I didn't even mention because it seemed boring in comparison to all the others), DeMarcus Ware, Cletis Gordon, Orlando Scandrick and Shaun Suisham. Those last two have pretty ordinary first names, but combined with their last names, I felt the rhythm of the two names together warranted mention. Just my own personal choices, of course.

The New York Giants are a veritable gold mine for name aficionados like me: Rhett Bomar (wonder what movie his mom liked?), Gartrell Johnson (need a standout first name when your last name is Johnson), Madison Hedgecock, Ramses Barden (might as well go for early history ruling figure, all-powerful Pharaoh considered a god by his people), Domenik Hixon, Sincorice Moss, Hakeem Nicks, Darcy Johnson (an Austen fan, like me, I'm sure), Bear Pascoe (really?), Guy Whimper, Sha'reff Rashad, Mathias Kiwanuka and Osi Umenyiora. Wow.

The Philadelphia Eagles are no slouches with: Eldra Buckley, King Dunlap, Fenuki Tupou, Juqua Parker, Brodrick Bunkley, Moise Fokou, Omar Gaither, Chris Gocong, Joselio Hanson, Macho Harris, Asante Samuel (although I have heard this name so often during games, it seems very "normal" to me), Quintin Demps AND Quintin Mikell (what are the odds of that?) and Sav Rocca.

I'll wrap up today with the Washington Redskins: Colt Brennan, Ladell Betts, Rock Cartwright (must be Hoss' cousin), Quinton Ganther, Santana Moss (mom loved the guitarist, I bet), Brian Orakpo, Kedric Golston, London Fletcher, LaRon Landry, Graham Gano and my personal favorite, Antwaan Randle El!!

The highlight of my Christmas this year was an Antwaan Randle El bobblehead, in his IU uniform. (Only I thought it was going to be a Droid phone). I love Randle El trick plays--and I probably have three of the only girls in the US who could tell you who Antwaan Randle El is!

I'd love to go on and on with the NFL Name Bowl--we haven't even mentioned OchoCinco yet, but chickens need let out. Handyman is home from his Superbowl Tour and has a great picture of himself with the Lombardi trophy. But I don't think I can post it--he might get in trouble or something.

Happy Superbowl Week!