a wee bit o' Zor, the last few days o'er

Rachel has advised me that my recent entries have been depressing, and that some Zoralee footage is in order. Okay then! I needed a break from packing anyway. Not really, but you know.

Fortunately for prego hormonal sister, Zoralee has a lot going on. Why, she is even now standing in the yard with a measuring tape, playing a harmonica. Hey, I'll run out and get a picture. Technology is absurd.

(I got a short video too, but I'll post it later. Blogger is driving me crazy at the moment, what with automatically saving every .6 seconds, arranging pictures randomly and not as I'm placing them, and generally taking forever to get anything done. I seriously feel like I might have an anxiety attack over it.)

Here are some other shots of her recently. I believe the fun parts of having a baby are now outweighing the not-so-fun or sheer work/effort/maintenance parts. Actually, I'm just throwing that out there. I haven't analyzed whether it's true for me or not. But there is some truth to it, at least. Do other moms feel this way, especially with young ones? I'm picking up that the first couple years' experiences of the primary care-giver are quite different from the experiences of the other family and friends associated with a baby (the former being primarily times of enjoyment and bemusement). I remember a friend saying a couple years ago that her kids were just starting to be fun for her to raise. And they were maybe 3 and 6 then. Of course, she was a single mom and didn't have stellar support.

Anyway! 

Okay, Zoralee just pulled her pants down and peed in the driveway, only barely wetting one pant leg. How awesome is that?! The first time she did it, about a month ago, I thought my heard would explode of pride. She has slowly been improving the splash and spill factors. That's a whole 'nother post, but I am happy to report that we're potty trained! And I do mean "we;" EC is totally a group effort! I am really excited to blog about my take on EC now that we're about done, but alas, no time more today. Enjoy the pics.

Zoralee of the Rocks 

Henry and Z

the amazing developmental leaps of Zoralee's dolls

Just over the last few weeks, Zoralee's dolls have been surprising us with their newfound skills. For the first 17 months of her life, they either laid around in a toy box or hung limply from her hand.

But suddenly, they've come to life. Their most striking advancement is the use of baby sign language. We have witnessed Z putting their hands together for the signs of "more," "all done," and "eat." They love to have tastes and sips of whatever she's eating or drinking. They are potty trained, though their little paws and hands can't maintain a steady grip on the big toilet edges - we've had one or two accidental drop-ins. And just this morning, Monkey, who was sitting with us at the breakfast table, wanted to hold hands with the family to say grace.

keeping company with edible animals

is initially an exercise in mental agility. You've got to be able to bounce around from compassion to chewing. Then you get used to it and realize you were probably a softie before, a wussy, a person generally out of touch with the realities of the circle of life.

Anyway, that's my nutshell assessment of eating Blindey, though truth be told, we haven't eaten her yet. She's in the freezer. That's another thing I've learned. Time in the freezer accomplishes two things: it deep chills both the meat and your memories. Pets are easier to eat a couple months later.

Ha. This is reminding me of two things.

One: In "Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou?," do you remember when the cousin is feeding mystery meat to the runaway convicts? He says in a real southern hick drawl, "I slaughtered this horse last Tuesday. I think it's startin' to turn."

Two: In some independent film I saw years ago, an old indiginous woman of a mountain village somewhere sat petting her precious goats. She loved them, revered them, survived by their milk each day. But when it was time for one to be culled for its meat, she'd calmly rub its ears and gently reach down with a knife and slit its neck.

These days, in these parts (western society or so), we're generally pretty compartmentalized about our food and animals and the cycles of biology, yes? Cuz otherwise, we'd join with the rest of the world in saying "Love it while it's living; eat it while it's dead."

one youtube video leads to another and soon you're here

Blindey died so we could eat chicken: two tales of one bird's demise

Tale 1: Simple And True 
Blindey is a chicken. She was born to produce eggs for us, and eventually, meat. Blindey died so we could eat chicken.  THE END

 Tale 2: Complicated And True

 Somewhere in India, roughly 45 years ago, a baby girl was born into a family belonging to one of the more privileged classes. Around the same time, a baby boy was born into a lower class family. The girl and the boy grew up and met each other, threw societal expectations to the wind, and married. Eventually they moved to Montana, where my family has had the honor of making their acquaintance.

Last Friday, we were invited to a dinner that our two Indian friends prepared at our cousin's home in Lakeside. We feasted on curried chicken, lemon chicken kabobs, coconut rice, Chai, cilantro-chili paste, and mango chutney. As happens when there is an open invitation to "invite friends and come eat Indian food," a crowd of 45 - 50 people wandered in as the night progressed. Dinner and visiting carried on late. Zoralee didn't get to sleep that night until 11:30 p.m.

Her napping schedule for the next two days was kiddywomped. On Sunday, I had just put her down, when I heard the neighbor dog barking outside near her bedroom window. Not wanting anything to even stir Zoralee, I threw open the window and gave a hushed holler, which startled the dog. He'd been on edge anyway, barking at a long, burnt orange coat that I'd received from my great Aunt. The coat is hanging ominously on the back porch to air out and hopefully stop having Old Clothing Smell. The dog ran home.

Which now, in hindsight, I regret, because the neighbor dog is a good dog. We like for him to be here whenever he gets the urge; he chases off a red fox that comes to our meadow eyeballing the chickens. He is a good protector. And maybe, if I hadn't chased him off on Saturday, he'd have been around on Monday, today, when another dog, rescued as a puppy from a terrible situation by a construction worker who is now working at a site near our home, came into our yard and tossed old Blindey around.

Blindey was in bad shape after the tossing. She laid there, back feathers all missing, her neck punctured beyond repair. I petted her and calmed her for awhile, before Dad came out with the chopping block to end it. And tomorrow we shall have chicken, because Blindey died. But Blindey also died so that we could eat another chicken or chickens - last Friday night, with our friends from India who are here in America together, in part because their love overcame the caste system.

THE END