I'm sitting at my computer, and I'm looking out the window and I look down my quiet street. Once in awhile a car drives by, a dog takes a person for a walk, or the mailman puts something in the mailboxes. There are no people starving on this block, nobody is shooting off a gun, and a riot would be unheard of. It's just a quiet American street.
Then I click on the news on CNN.com.
Suddenly, images of starving, crying, naked children appear. Politicians are verbally stabbing each other with sharp, hurtful words. The stock market is having a nervous breakdown. Tornadoes are wiping out American towns. Authorities are trying to track down escaped murderers. Animals are being abused, along with women and children. Famous people in sports and Hollywood and the clergy are confessing their sins day in and day out. Every other advertisement claims that they can get rid of the fat on your belly in no time at all.
I think I am going to remove CNN.com as my home page. Well, maybe not. I really need to know if the eggs I might eat are safe or if the aspirin I take is contaminated.
At least I hardly ever buy a copy of The Enquirer.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
The Lowly Egg
Everybody's worried about eggs these days. If we eat an egg, will we get terribly sick or not, we wonder. I checked out my eggs in my refrigerator and they seem to be OK. But, how do I know for sure? So I won't use eggs for awhile and then I should be OK.
My mother raised chickens once long ago. My father built a chicken coop on our little lot on the outskirts of town where people could do pretty much as they pleased. One neighbor had a cow. One neighbor had a couple of goats. Some neighbors had vicious dogs. If a dog was too vicious, somehow it would get very, very sick and die. That was because people would put some poison out for stray dogs to eat. Sometimes the gentle dogs would end up dead, too.
My brother used to stand up on top of the chicken coop with his bow and arrow and wait for a rat to come along who hoped to get some of the chicken feed for his dinner. My brother was a sharp-shooter, you betcha!
Today, rats are still getting into these crowded coops where they raise chickens. They may be the culprits who are giving the hens the salmonella microbe that manages to invade the egg. I did some research on this subject. The cages where the poor hens are held prisoner are filthy with more than rat poop. I think there are going to be some changes made very soon if people do some protesting. Or quit buying eggs.
My mother took good care of her chickens, even to giving some of them names. I remember one called "Crooked Neck" especially, she really had a very crooked neck, thus her name. My mother sold the eggs to a few neighbors, who complained about the high price. My father hated to bring out the old axe in preparation for our Sunday dinner. I only watched one time after a beheading, when the sacrificial fowl ran around without her head attached. But she tasted good.
My mother raised chickens once long ago. My father built a chicken coop on our little lot on the outskirts of town where people could do pretty much as they pleased. One neighbor had a cow. One neighbor had a couple of goats. Some neighbors had vicious dogs. If a dog was too vicious, somehow it would get very, very sick and die. That was because people would put some poison out for stray dogs to eat. Sometimes the gentle dogs would end up dead, too.
My brother used to stand up on top of the chicken coop with his bow and arrow and wait for a rat to come along who hoped to get some of the chicken feed for his dinner. My brother was a sharp-shooter, you betcha!
Today, rats are still getting into these crowded coops where they raise chickens. They may be the culprits who are giving the hens the salmonella microbe that manages to invade the egg. I did some research on this subject. The cages where the poor hens are held prisoner are filthy with more than rat poop. I think there are going to be some changes made very soon if people do some protesting. Or quit buying eggs.
My mother took good care of her chickens, even to giving some of them names. I remember one called "Crooked Neck" especially, she really had a very crooked neck, thus her name. My mother sold the eggs to a few neighbors, who complained about the high price. My father hated to bring out the old axe in preparation for our Sunday dinner. I only watched one time after a beheading, when the sacrificial fowl ran around without her head attached. But she tasted good.
Monday, August 2, 2010
A Bird in the Hand
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, they say. By that, I guess they mean we should be thankful for what we actually have and quit lusting after stuff we don't have at the moment. All good things come to those who wait, somebody else has said. Of course, that is not true, but I digress.
Birds are wonderful whether they are sitting on your finger or singing some delightful song in a bush nearby.
The fact that I can play the piano a little is because of a bird, or two birds, in fact. This seems far-fetched, but isn't at all. You see, my mother was an amateur artist, and she was good, but very good, and one day she painted a picture of two birds, one a very large beautiful, colorful bird with wings outstretched and showing off its beauty in the air. The little-nothing of a sparrow was sitting in the right corner of the painting looking up at the gorgeous bird with a pathetic, defeated look on its little-nothing face. My mother won a nice prize when she entered it in an advertising contest.
She always wanted a piano, even as a little girl, so she used her prize money to buy a used piano with lots of music included. My mother never learned to play that piano, except for two or three chords, but I was given a few lessons by a very good teacher until the money became scarce which didn't take long in those days.
When you think of the unending array of birds that exist on our planet, it is astounding! From the busy little humming bird to the majestic eagle and beyond--it is quite overwhelming. From the blue-footed booby to the Minnesota loon with its crazy laugh, it is just fantastic.
A friendly little chickadee followed me around one day when I was mowing the lawn. I couldn't believe it! This little bird hopped along in the grass right behind me and later sat on the picnic table and jumped up on my finger. The next day I found some bird feathers and "stuff" in my yard. I assumed that this little chickadee was not successful in her attempt to make friends with a neighborhood cat.
I heard a mother robin "talk" to her baby who was just learning to fly. I could tell they were actually communicating because the baby was responding in a certain way. I also once saw both robin parents trying to encourage a crippled baby robin to learn to fly. It was touching.
So I have decided to take up painting birds on canvas. I probably won't win any prizes, but I am going to enjoy every minute of it. And when I'm not painting birds, I'll be at my organ having fun playing such pieces as "Yellow Bird" and "When the Red Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobbin' Along".
Birds are wonderful whether they are sitting on your finger or singing some delightful song in a bush nearby.
The fact that I can play the piano a little is because of a bird, or two birds, in fact. This seems far-fetched, but isn't at all. You see, my mother was an amateur artist, and she was good, but very good, and one day she painted a picture of two birds, one a very large beautiful, colorful bird with wings outstretched and showing off its beauty in the air. The little-nothing of a sparrow was sitting in the right corner of the painting looking up at the gorgeous bird with a pathetic, defeated look on its little-nothing face. My mother won a nice prize when she entered it in an advertising contest.
She always wanted a piano, even as a little girl, so she used her prize money to buy a used piano with lots of music included. My mother never learned to play that piano, except for two or three chords, but I was given a few lessons by a very good teacher until the money became scarce which didn't take long in those days.
When you think of the unending array of birds that exist on our planet, it is astounding! From the busy little humming bird to the majestic eagle and beyond--it is quite overwhelming. From the blue-footed booby to the Minnesota loon with its crazy laugh, it is just fantastic.
A friendly little chickadee followed me around one day when I was mowing the lawn. I couldn't believe it! This little bird hopped along in the grass right behind me and later sat on the picnic table and jumped up on my finger. The next day I found some bird feathers and "stuff" in my yard. I assumed that this little chickadee was not successful in her attempt to make friends with a neighborhood cat.
I heard a mother robin "talk" to her baby who was just learning to fly. I could tell they were actually communicating because the baby was responding in a certain way. I also once saw both robin parents trying to encourage a crippled baby robin to learn to fly. It was touching.
So I have decided to take up painting birds on canvas. I probably won't win any prizes, but I am going to enjoy every minute of it. And when I'm not painting birds, I'll be at my organ having fun playing such pieces as "Yellow Bird" and "When the Red Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobbin' Along".
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