Thursday, November 15, 2012
It is common knowledge and an indisputable fact that if, on the anniversary of one's birth, one begins the day by scrubbing petrified chicken poop from hens' bottoms in a freezing coop, the day can only improve from that point on. And thank God for that.
Yes, I am forty-nine today, and feeling fairly okay with that. I wonder if I will fall apart next year when I turn fifty. I don't think I will, but you never can tell how these things will hit you until they actually hit you. In truth, I am just too busy and too distracted to allow much time for the thought. I'm in pretty good health, I have my husband and kids to keep me grounded, the house and farm to keep me busy, my faith to keep me focused on what's important, and my knitting to keep me sane. Life's pretty good in spite of the challenges.
My mom came by today, as she always does. She brought me my favorite Nusskuchen (hazelnut cake), a bottle of wine and a monetary gift ("for a little wool", her note said). She also brought some lovely books on herbs and country living, gifts from my sister. I took the day off from teaching and baked some Selfish Brownies, so called because I baked them so that the kids would leave the hazelnut cake to me.
Forty-nine is fine...
PS: Una tells me that my opening paragraph would sound like Jane Austen, if I left out the chicken poop.