Why Never To Buy A New Computer

A week or two ago, Ronny prevailed upon me to purchase a new computer with Windows 7.  I was making a massive step up, coming from XP where I was comfortable and happy.  I had the computer set up just as I liked it.  I was content.  But as Ronny never is electronically satisfied, changes were made and I have been miserable ever since. 

When the computer arrived at the door and was unpacked and set up, it was discovered shortly thereafter that it was a completely wireless structure, possessing no modem at all.  Desktop PC's were opened and modems were removed and attempts were made to install them in the new one, but it was having none of it.  No, it was too good for an internal modem.  It sneered at me all night, matching the accompanying face of the teenager helping me at Best Buy.  "Internal Modem?  I wouldn't even know where to find one."  Before I could tell him where he should look for one, I swallowed my pride and accepted that I would have to buy an external USB modem.  I had researched the possibility the previous night, so I had that advantage, at least, of not looking like a complete idiot.  He sputtered something condescending about dial-up and it's status as a prehistoric relic, but I pressed on with my purchase and then went out to my 1989 pickup truck and ventured out past the borders of civilization where I live. 

The next several hours are fuzzy in my mind.  I know I downloaded Mozilla Firefox, which took something approaching four hours.  Then my husband called and firmly scolded me for tying up the phone for so long.  I finally figured out the the internet was so slow because the driver for the modem needed to be updated.  By then it was past 10 PM, past several thoughts of increasing my anti-depressant and what did I have in the house to take for STRESS.  I continued, determined not to be defeated by this transition.  I turned off all Windows 7 non-essentials, started transferring my bookmarks, and then had to call it a night.  We have a special assembly day tomorrow in Richmond and I have to be up at 6 AM. 

God Help Us All, except for the evil geniuses who create new operating systems.  I just remembered why I'm a neo-Luddite.  By the end of the weekend I may remove the 'neo-' and move into the chicken house.  I think my new goal is to have less technology than even the Amish. 

It's All in the Soil

Looking really good so far.  Let's just wait before we get too happy, though.  And definitely planting different lettuce in a few days.  I need way more lettuce than that.  But everything else is doing well.  Really liking the idea of keeping a full bucket of water at the end of each bed.  Each square gets one cup of water twice a day.  The water is warm and it goes right into the soil, not onto the plant tops.  The plant tops do enjoy a light misting, but otherwise they look like they've been beaten up. 

I remember last year's garden in comparison to this one and there isn't any.  I'm sold on raised beds.  Sold on mushroom soil.  Sold on top soil.  Now I just need Patrice Owens to teach me to can.  Hint, hint. 

Bouncing Baby Bunnies

Happy Accidents happened today, as I had a camera and was outside when four of the bunnies were in the hutch eating and drinking.  Bunnies instinctively act like crazy people when they are spotted, so all the running around through the waterer has left them wet and nervous.  Poor Bunnies.  And like the babies they are they always imagine that if they cannot see you, they are safe.  Silly Bunnies.  I can never decide which are the best pictures, so I'll just post them all. 

Bunny Stack

"Let's run around in circles! She'll never be able to catch us then!"

How many different ways can bunnies arrange themselves in the same small corner?

I really like this one.  It's a bunny stack with some poor bunny's nose stuck right under someone else's rear end.

They all seem happy and healthy.  Two bunnies were under the hutch when I came over and they hied it down the hole.  That gives visual confirmation of six bunnnies, but the dangerous period is still ahead where we may lose one or two.  Life is not easy when you are a baby bunny.  So many factors come into play as to whether you live or die.  Not least of all Me. 

Late Announcement

This rabbit picture is from last year because I have not been able to get a picture of this latest litter.  But if you take this cuteness and multiply it by seven, that would bring you to the correct number of little white cotton ball bunnies running around the pen.  Except for when you go out with a camera, in which case they all go down the hole.  (Everytime I write that I hear Baby Plucky Duck saying "Water go down the hoooole.")  They are all well to this point, which I am approximating at about 7 weeks of age.  That means that in the meantime, Mrs. Bunny has probably gotten pregnant again and had another litter that is just born and waiting in another chamber of the burrow.  This also means that Mr. Bunny was sent to his bachelor quarters for a few months.  He is such a good Daddy, though, hopping up to the fence like some innocent imprisoned man, spending some quality time with his children through the wire.  They rub faces and he sniffs them very well.  That seems very cute until you realize he is just sniffing to see if they are male or female so he can schtup them later.  Mr.  Bunny, you are a very strange sort of Daddy.  But Mrs. Bunny is no better, having liaisons with her sons while Mr. Bunny is incarcerated.  I suppose, for rabbits, they are excellent role models.  I know that they are good at reproducing, and Mrs. Bunny takes very good care of her children.  Which is all a very long way away from where I started:  Seven Baby Bunnies Trotted Out for Inspection This Past Week.  They passed the Cuteness Test with Flying Colors.  Pictures to Follow.  Eventually. 

How to Tell Time Like a Rabbit

Rabbit Time Telling is an Ancient and Secret Art.  Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, writing under a pseudonym to protect his identity from Rabbit Assassins, left secret, coded messages on the subject in his work "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."  Cryptologists have been working on the cyphers ever since, but to no avail. 


While undertaking a clandestine study of Rabbit Time Telling under the guise of Raising Meat Rabbits, I am delighted to announce that I have made a discovery.  Rabbit Time Telling, hereafter known as RTT, is based on the principle of confoundedness.  Let us illustrate by addressing some Frequently Asked Questions On The Subject of Rabbits and Time.  The question is often asked, "How long is a rabbit pregnancy?"  This is a question one can never answer without the indelicate business of spying on rabbits during their private moments, so let us pass on to another question of a somewhat less perverse nature.  "How long after being born will baby rabbits stay in the burrow, or in other words, How old is a baby rabbit before you see it being trotted out to exhibit how well it has learned all its rabbit lessons?"  After long hours of research I will tell you that the answer is 'When you have given up.'  Yes, using the Principle of Confoundedness, a rabbit will calculate the point at which you became aware that a litter had been born.  It will then use the Ancient Techniques of the Rabbit Ninja to note your facial expressions and secret conversations when you enter the pen daily.  It will track the growth of anticipation and expectation, and then as no rabbit makes an appearance, the decline of said emotions.  Once it has become clear to the rabbit that you are convinced that all the rabbits must have died or been horridly murdered by Jealous Tunnel Slinking Fiends, it will wait two weeks.  Then, under the cover of darkness, it will run underneath your feet in a friendly sort of way that says, "Fooled you, didn't I, but 'How'd ya do anyway'!"  The exact algorithyms used to arrive at this timetable are still unknown, but now that we have a working theory--wait, I think I saw a shadow at the backdoor.  When you get this message, burn it and deny any knowledge.  Now where did I put my samurai sword? 

Tying Up Loose Ends

The saga of the couch is nearly over.  I buckled down and made myself cut fabric and sew seams and measure compulsively.  I also braved the task of cutting foam, which is never easy.  For those who have been afraid to do it and do not own the oft-recommended 'electric carving knife', pay attention to the photo-essay below: 

I wanted to remove the rounded top edge of the cushion because I felt it made the couch look dated.  I used a large 'square' or straight edge to mark my spot. 

Pressing down firmly with one hand and one bended knee, I used the serrated knife as if it were a scalpel, cutting in one direction only. 

The sliced cushion looks kind of like pound cake, doesn't it?  Mmmmm, pound cake.

Three cushions cut to size.  That cut edge will now be at the bottom of the cushion as it is not nice and neat.  I also have the option of wrapping the cushion in some padding left over from the colorful Goodwill comforter, but I'm hoarding that for something special.  If I did use it, however, the imperfections would never show and I could keep that as a top edge.  Just FYI. 

The mostly finished product.  The back/bottoms are not finished.  I'm supposed to sew velcro on them to close them but I haven't figured out exactly how I want to do that yet, so they are just neatly tucked at the moment.  I used two small pillow forms and made two comfortable reversible pillows, and then I called it a night.  By the way, Allison, you were completely right about using the lighter fabric as the seat.  I am, as always, in awe of your design sense. 

Define: Day Off

My definition of a Day Off closely resembles a state of coma.  That would be ideal.  But my husband and I obviously use different dictionaries.  His definition looks like this: 

It begins innocently enough with the distribution of tools in the kitchen.

It quickly moves into the bedroom, to the plain white wall exactly opposite this identical plain white wall. 

Drywall is cut out and tossed into the backyard, cutting of new material occurs on the front deck, and final attachment takes place to the side of The Altar of Technology. 

Mostly done this side, he suddenly calls it a day, blessedly cleaning up all the drywall dust personally.  

Thank goodness his days run from 3 PM to 3 PM, because he left shortly after this, allowing some semblance of peace and tranquility to return to the house.   Plus I really wanted to start sewing the couch cushion covers without him hovering over my shoulder and offering opinions.  Maybe my idea of a day off is when he goes to work.  Hmmm.  Could be. 

What's the Difference Between a Couch, a Sofa and a Divan?

One of them involves chicken and cheese.  But I've got one or the other that I'm working on.  I had picked up a used sofa/couch for $30 thinking Ronny would like it for his room.  He didn't.  So, he picked up another used one he liked and I got stuck with inherited the 'bargain' sofa. 

The previous owner had made a new cover for the cushions.  Unfortunately, they neglected to pre-wash their fabric, and when I washed it, it shrank.  Big time.   (Secretly, I hated the fabric so I wasn't too broken up about it.)

I sanded, primed and painted what was a dark stained sofa frame.

This would normally be a problem due to the expensive nature of durable fabric.  But Joanne's was having a 40% off sale and I got a good deal.  

Not sure which fabric to use for the seat and which to use for the back.  

We were going to replace the foam cushions, but when the saleslady quoted the price/yard as starting at 59.00 we choked and said 'no, thank you.'  The fabric is sort of  "beachy" feeling to me, and since Ronny painted my blue walls white and had me paint the furniture frame blue, the beach theme is still working.  I think.  I'm much less convinced now than I was at the store enjoying the adrenaline rush of making an expensive purchase. 

This is why I never buy anything nice.  I'm a terrible decision maker.  I feel guilty immediately over spending so much, I lack the conviction that I've made a good choice, and I'm just plain cheap.  Oh, well.  They cut it now, so I can't take it back while suffering a case of Buyers Remorse.  I'll have to cut it and pin it and sew it and make my sofa so I can lie on it. 

The chair I bought for my office is still sitting in the other room waiting for me to work on it and here I am totally ignoring it and jumping with many misgivings into another project.  The only good thing is Ronny is on the road.  I can work in peace and insecurity, just the way I like it. 

The Great Jump Rope of Truth

Tonight, at the edge of dusk, I went out to supervise the Hens as they herded into the coop.  Squeaky was in there first, to make sure she gets the best spot on the roost.  Next, the Squatter twins.  Then Cagney, who cheeps from inside to incite her sisters to get a move on.  Last of all,  The Lumbering Broiler Babes.  They waddle like a ten month pregnant woman.  They summoned all resources to make the hop up into the doorway.  Then, they just stood there.  It is actually true.  That horrible rhyme I heard as a child as mean spirited girls jumped rope in the schoolyard: 

"Fatty, Fatty, Two by Four, Can't get through the Kitchen Door."*  It's true.  They were too fat to fit through the little doorway.  I had to take them around to the side and use the Clean Out Door. 

This is the 2x4 which divides the doorway and kept the big goats out of the chicken feed.  As of the close of this evening,  it also keeps the BIG BROILER BABES out of the chicken feed as well, although you would never know it by looking at them. 

Thank goodness they are being harvested tomorrow.  And I know that they aren't too big to fit through the freezer door.    I measured just in case. 
 

*There are two versions of the above jump-rope song.  One, dating back to the 1920's (at the least) is mean, but not disgusting.  The other, dating from the mid-60's is foul and disgusting and I am not referring to that one, thank you very much. 

Weight Watching Is For the Birds

In my post Recalculating, I was beginning to wonder if my pretty broiler chicks would be ready in time for their Appointment with Destiny.  I am happy to report that things look good for the 7th of May.  To determine how things were going, I first scheduled interviews with all the girls and asked them the critical question:  "How is your weight coming along?"  Well, like women all over the world, they lied.  Some had the nerve to claim that they only weighed two pounds!  I cannot countenance such mendacities, so I took desperate measures.  I broke out the scale. 

"I can't believe you're making me do this!"

"WHAT?!!!"

Yes, The Truth Will Out, You Delicious Chunk of Chicken!

So, unless I catch them sitting in a Sauna or jiggling in a Belt Massager, Saturday evening will see a full freezer at Good Enough Farm. 

It's All Relative

Your Garden is Probably better than mine.  It's probably greener, and taller, and more lush.  It was probably planted early and will produce into fall.  I say this as a defense for the pictures that I am about to post.  For me, for my garden, this is awesome!

I love the raised beds.  I love the orderliness of it all:  the gridwork, the patterns of seeds, the logic of planting ground crops up front, then mid-height plants in the middle, finally the tallest plants in the rear.  I even love that I can see exactly what is not doing well, what failed to grow, and what I should plant a second time.  So, remember that as you look upon my pride and joy.  Success is all relative.  That's what I keep telling myself, at least. 

This is my corn.  I planted sixteen squares of it, four plants per square. 

This is one square for Sugar Pumpkins.  Pie Pumpkins.  Yummy. 

These are peas. 

These are Bush Beans. 

There are already a few blossoms on the tomato plants. 

These are the carrots.  Some of the seeds didn't come up.  But I planted enough that I think it's okay.

The lettuces are very sad.  I'll use some of my empty squares for another go around. 

Beets are doing well so far.  They're growing at least.  That's always a thing to be preferred. 

This is onions.  I did two squares from seed, but I think I should do another one as backup. 

And this is a square in which I planted lavender.  I hope something grows.  It would be so nice to have homegrown lavender bundles hanging from the rafter in the kitchen. 

This is what it looks like all at once.  The middle and furthest beds are certainly more visually gratifying. 

So, here's hoping that success is not a sixth cousin, twice removed.  Let's hope it's more of a Kissing Cousin. 

Show and Tell, Part 2

Goodwill is a dangerous place to visit.  I went in just to take a peek.  I came out with three enormous bags.  I found two beautiful, bright, fun comforters.

Even the underside is fabulous!

I know what you are saying.  No, I don't have small children.  But I have a son who has inherited my sense of taste and is an Eternal Child.  Plus, I secretly want some of the fabric for myself.  I need to use one of the comforters to enlarge the other to make it a proper fit for Craig's bed.  That is easier than it sounds as they are really duvet covers, with a nice quilted inside just made for easy cutting.  That leaves me enough of the lively little animal print or the batik-like circles for my own nefarious purposes!  Woo-hoo! 

I also picked up an unfinished wooden tray.  I will confess that Ronny still gets breakfast in bed.  Yes, we have been married a staggering number of years and he still gets served on a tray.  In bed.  Sometimes he gets lunch or dinner in his room while he sits on his couch.  (Technically, it is Our Room.  But I assure you, it is His Domain.  It holds the Altar of Technology, the Couch of Game Playing, The Bed of Possible Sleepiness and all his time is spent in there.  It is, most assuredly, His Room.)  Anyway, the point being that we have worn out Tray #3 of our marriage, and needed another one.  When I saw an unfinished tray I was totally inspired and spent Sunday afternoon creating a masterpiece. 

Ronny likes Chinese Dragons and Chinese Red.

I printed this out and then spent time with a teeny pair of scissors cutting it out with great care. 

I know Ronny likes it because he said it was almost too nice to use, but a man has to eat.  In bed.