Saturday, January 14, 2012

Saturday Adventures in Chicken-ry

So today's my last day to mind Henny & Penny. I was running a bit behind because I called a friend and talked for quite a while. Not that the girls really minded. They were willing to go out of the roost but only after I scattered some of their feed out on the ramp and the snow. I gave Henny her morning pat and I almost got to pat Penny but she squawked and flapped back into the roost. The goofball. She's the prettiest too. Hmm, maybe that's why Henny lets me pet her; she knows she's not the fancy one so she has to be nicer, not a prima donna like her sister. There were 2 eggs waiting for me in the egg box. See? That makes 7 since Wednesday. Those girls are breakfast-making machines. One of today's eggs has a tiny crack in it so we'll have to have eggs and bacon or maybe an omelet tomorrow. Awww, too bad. Our grand-chickens make very tasty great-grand-eggs. Last night I nearly didn't go to Friday Night Knitting and Yoga. I was all cozy warm and full of the yummy ham and cabbage stew that Durwood made for supper and my right knee has hurt since Wednesday's yoga class so I was this close to not going. Then I thought about how I'd been so excited that Mardi started teaching Yoga at Harmony Cafe and it'd be bad if I ducked out the second night so I went. I am so glad I did. Not only were there only 3 students but doing yoga for an hour made me feel 100% better. One hundred percent, I kid you not. We did lots of downward facing dog and would segue into another pose and then back to the dog. It was the most fluid workout I'd done so far and it was much more what I imagined when I started going. I loved it, I was breathless and sweaty and I'm a little sore today but I loved it and can't wait for next week. You should yoga, even a little, it makes you feel awesome.

January 13--Amadeo Modigliani, The Italian Woman. There was a world of pain in her eyes. She sat on the sidewalk in the shade on an awning, always in black, her hands folded in her lap. No matter what time I went out or came in, she was always there in her chair. At times I wondered if she were even awake or alive, but then a neighbor or a child would come by and pass a word with her. She never smiled, never started a conversation. I couldn't decide how old she was, her skin was unlined and her hair was black. She could have been any age from forty to seventy and I bet she was nearing seventy because she sat so still. I wanted to learn Italian just to hear her story.

Now I'm going to wander off to do something else. Maybe knit. Ciao.

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