A Pale Blue Egg!

I was excited to see 2 eggs when I opened the nest box of the chicken coop yesterday afternoon--a brown-shelled Penny egg and a pale blue-shelled Kiev or General Tso egg.  (I still don't know which is which, gotta ask)  The brown one is twice the size of the blue one but I don't care.  I almost don't want to crack it open because the shell's so pretty but I think I'll manage it.  I was really hoping to see 4 eggs when I opened the lid but 2 was good.  Hell, one would have been good as long as that one was a pastel shelled egg.  (check out Henny's white earlobe)

My Farmer's Market haul was good too.  Durwood stayed home so I picked up MW, my knitting pal, and we went.  I got patty pan and zucchini squash, golden beets, wax beans, Durwood's tomoatoes, a golden Hubbard squash, and 2/3 of a purple cauliflower.  We split the purple cauliflower--it was $3 and our a little over half weighed in at nearly 3#.  I cut it into thirds because we're trying to avoid having veggies left over.  They taste better fresh.  Anyway, that's about $12 worth.  Not a bad haul.  Plus I had my crab rangoons and brought home pork eggrolls for Durwood.  An excellent use of a twenty-dollar bill, don't you think?

We're going to skip the corn roast today.  It just seems like a bad idea to have Durwood sitting outside all day so far from home and his O2 machine, at least until we get some questions answered by the doc on Tuesday.  So we're playing it safe, boring I know, but safe.

Yesterday afternoon the doorbell rang and the young woman from across the street was on the porch asking questions about the rental, so I showed it to her.  Seems they aren't married, she's moving out, he's selling the house, and she likes the neighborhood.  Ta-da!  She liked the price, liked that there's a washer and dryer in the unit--fingers crossed.

August 11--Myron H. Kimball, Emancipated Slaves.

Initials scrawled white
on a black man's forehead,
slavery on his face.
Children lined up
black and white--
freed, emancipated,
frightened of each other,
mistrusting motives,
not one smiling face.
Stand still, stand there,
be a symbol,
not a person
~~~~~

Ugh, when I realized that there was a brand on the man's forehead my brain slammed shut and I had to pry a few words out to put them on the page.  My eyes skittered toward him and away fast, all I could think of was how it must have felt when it was done.  Horrible.  Horrible.  Makes me embarrassed to be human.  On that happy note, enjoy your Sunday.
--Barbara