E is for Early Bird. Not...

Mon Ami was a rescue, from a family that had hand raised him.  He didn't know how to do the poultry thing, when he first came here.  He was even afraid of the other chickens, and the lawn.  He watched the other birds, though, and figured out, wow, I can do this.  And then he figured out he was a rooster, and seems to have been a happy bird since.

The one thing he doesn't do, is crow early.  Most of the roosters I've had, 3 to 4 a.m., they would  be starting crowing, jumping down from the roost to stretch, flap wings, and bellow hello to the morning.  

Mon Ami takes a rather more casual approach.  He will let the day know he's awake, eventually.  He does crow, but I have more than once heard him crow, oh, at the crack of 7ish...  He will crow at other times of the day, if he's happy, if he's angry, or when he is high up on a perch.

But greeting the day, he's happy to let someone else be an 'early bird'!

E is for...

Evening.

The sun goes down.  We might, or might not, have watched a little TV.  Husband starts looking at a few forums that he reads, I might be knitting, reading a book, blogging, or reading in some of the forums I am a member of.  (So far, we haven't met up yet in any of the forums, tho...)

Schrodinger cat, tired from her day of bird watching, mischief making, and toy mouse attacking, will wander over to one of us, usually Husband, but sometimes me, and curl up for a nap.  The room gets darker, then the lights come on.

We hear the chickens squabble for the best roosting spots.

The wild birds settle, quieting down, while the frogs 'tune up' for the evening songfest.

One of our... more... unique neighbors, salutes the evening with rifle shots.  Why, I do not know.  But it has become a sort of normal background noise, like the cars on the main road up from us.

Rudee dog snorts, grunts, and makes himself comfortable for his evening snooze.  If I listen carefully, I can hear him snore.

The house here doesn't make too much noise, but I can make out the fridge, and a clock or two ticking.

Evening seems to be a slow time at our house.  And, when you think about it, that's a good thing!

E is for Eats.

Food seems to be a "thing" in our family.  I was thinking about it recently.

Grandpa E would cook the major meals most times, I remember him making roast duck, potatoes, things like that for Thanksgiving or Christmas.  He also taught me to like really "non-kid" food, pig's feet, capers, real oddball stuff...

Grandma E would always amaze me, we would show up at the house, and it just seemed like mere seconds, fried chicken, potato salad, or fry bread would show.   I know in my head that that wasn't possible, but it always seemed to be that way.  I remember one breakfast, we made toast.  She had this six bread slot toaster, and did we make toast!  There were several family members that came over, and Grandma toasted, I buttered, Mom was setting the table, getting jams, jellies, honey, all that out.  When we finished, there must have been at least a 2 foot high stack of toast.  I think it was gone in about 15 minutes or so.  Not counting the two that I snuck out during the buttering process...

My mom has always struck me as the MacGyver of dinner making.  I sometimes think if she had half a lemon, a taco shell, and three peanuts, we would have something wonderful by chow time.  I know that more than once, I forgot to tell her about a snack day at school, (something I found out is no longer allowed at that same school because of allergies...), and she was still able to come up with frosted graham crackers, apple and orange slices, juices, all sorts of neat things.  Even if she did seem to be a tad twitchy, and check the papers I brought home a little more closely.

One of the funniest memories, Mom made gingerbread cookies to match each student in the class, green eyes and red hair, or what have you, would have a cookie frosted to look the same.  Several hours later, they were ready to go.  To this day, Mom just sounds so disgusted when she says, "10 minutes!  Every last crumb, GONE, in ten minutes!" (I am surprised she wasn't impressed that I didn't filch mine beforehand...)

I think about one of the get-togethers I had with some of the younger members of Husband's family.  We "had" to go to a certain restaurant, and the kids would "ONLY" eat x thing.

How sad for them...

But, hey, more for me!   (Anyone up for toast?)

E. Embarassment? Eh...

I am somewhat embarrassed to say I haven't written much on my book.  I have been thinking on plot points, but actual pages written, not much.  I have been writing ideas down that I come up with, to add later.  Information about characters, plot lines, dialogue, and 'bits', for lack of a better word.  These 'bits' are things like names of bands, (there is a plot part that has to do with music), and so I write names of bands, and titles of songs.  While this isn't "writing", it at least keeps me thinking about what I am going to do. 

The funny part of this, I have no problem with keeping notes. I have been keeping them on a scratch pad, which I keep turned over, so I don't write things like a grocery list or some such on it.  I keep it with my magazines, and didn't think that it was a big deal... 

I was ready to leave to go shopping, and Husband pipes up, you forgot your list. 

??? 

Nooo, I have the list in my hand, hon...

He then picks up the scratch pad.  No, you were just writing on this one, the one that says...

He then actually READS the list, which is where I had just written down two names for rock/punk bands, to wit: Angel Poisoner, and Exploding A**holes.  He turned the list back over, and with a completely straight face, said "No, I don't think that's your shopping list." 

Then I heard him mutter something. I swear I heard, "At least I hope not." 

I managed to get out of the house before I laughed.

I noticed yesterday that SMIL had picked up the pad and looked at it.  This morning, I decided that the scratch pad was going to be in the back room for the time being.  She said nothing about it.  In fact, if you would look at the list, it is just random words and phrases.  I really don't know if she paid any attention, as she was just looking for something to write on, and I had filled a page with my scribbled notes. 

That, indeed, might be the saving grace of the situation, as my writing was 'get it down', not 'write for someone else to read'. 

Buuuuut, it is now less accessible to the general populace of the house.  Mostly because I really don't want to explain why I have written some of the oddball things I have.  Because, let's face it, explaining "Exploding A**holes" to my SMIL isn't first on my list of things to do. 

Even if it is relatively innocent.