microwave hairs, snow, dates, death, and chickens

When washing out the microwave, does everyone have the experience, like I do, of finding a single, mid-length hair in there? Doesn't matter whose microwave oven it is, or how many weeks, months, or years pass between cleanings. One hair. Mid-length. A nondescript shade of brown.

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We got a snow dump over the last two days. We'd heard from the news guy it was coming, and it was confirmed by the horses running all over the place a few hours before it hit. A group of five got so excited that they broke through a fence to the adjacent property and had the run of a virgin field of deep snow. It was beautiful to watch their legs lifting high and hair flying, and fairly easy to lure them back since it was close to feeding time.

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In other critter news - we have empty nest syndrome. Literally. Jason got the coop enough finished late one night to take the chicks from the spare room out to it. Rather than wait a few hours until morning, we moved our two flocks of chicks to their new digs in their big awkward brooders in the dark across slick ice without headlamps. Don't misread this to be critical of my husband's exuberance at strange times. He's a wonderful fellow. Just exuberant at strange times.

We went out for a breakfast date yesterday. Jason has been so focused on the chickens and their coop, and I've been so focused on Zoralee, that we've been out of each others' loops. We sat down at a cafe and looked at each other for awhile, then had this romantic conversation:

"Hi."
"Hi."
"What should we talk about?"
"I dunno."
"Hm."
"Nice art on the walls."
"Yeah."
"Can't believe she wants to charge $1000 for that one."
"Yeah. Crazy."
"Yeah."

But then our date picked up when we started talking about death and depression and how some people cope just fine with darkness and winter and how some don't.

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Speaking of which, death has been shadowing us a little more than usual. Living with my folks means there are real deaths to contend with all the time rather than just my imagined ones. As pastors of a church in a small town and with Dad's involvement in a couple different chaplaincy programs, it's always something. This week, shirt-tail relatives of our shirt-tail relatives lost a woman my age who left behind an eight year old girl and a one-month old baby. Then Dad was called to console a young couple who'd just delivered their stillborn baby. Then yesterday close family/church friends lost their 82-year old mother. All were unexpected. Three separate generations, one week. I have been sad for the families. And freshly inspired to make sure my daughter knows she is loved. I don't have any brilliant or reassuring follow up to all that; just stating what has happened.