The coop door was left open the other evening, Sunny and one of the boys disappeared that night.  We are hoping that they eloped and are having a good time in Vegas, but we do have our doubts.  We spent a good chunk of the next day searching for them, but there wasn't a trace.

A week earlier we had e-mailed someone on Craigslist about a posting for Rhode Island Red chickens to replace the pullet who died on-route to our house, she finally responded the day Sunny and the boy disappeared.  Two days later (yesterday) I drove over to choose two pullets.  The sellers had their own mix of critters, at least three golden retrievers, one a puppy who walked between my feet tripping me as we headed to the coop.  Their cat was lazing in the sun and their horse hanging out in the small horse barn.  The coop was tucked under the wide barn overhang and didn't seem substantial enough for raccoon protection.    Inside were  fifteen pullets, one was already named by their seven year old daughter, so she was off limits, but I could have the pick of the rest.  Some were dark red and others more blond/buff.  I chose two chicks with dark feathers and mischievous looks in their eyes.  They both had clearly been well socialized by the children, they settled in my arms within a few seconds. They were officially named as they were chosen, the darker one is Scarlet, who despite her name seems calm and collected and the one that is slightly lighter is Phebe.

Scarlet

Phebe

They bore the ride home well and are now being hazed by the rest of the flock in our coop, luckily they are close in age and size, so they should integrate into the group in a few days.

Now it seems I need to review HTML, because the formatting for the blog is not working the way I want it to.  Please excuse the ill-arranged pictures, but here are portraits of the flock as they look today.  There are no cute fluffy chicks anymore, there are mini-chickens and gawky-ducks who are in large but not all feathered yet.

Lily and a boy

Olive

Amelia

Sebastian

Boy

Kiwi hiding in tall grass

The Golden Eggs

Back to the chickens and ducks...Here is the question--How much does it cost to protect $38 worth of ducks and chickens from raccoons, hawks, and opossums?  

The plans for the coop were free, published with step by step instructions in a library book. 
The first trip to the home improvement big box store cost about $170, and we thought we had pretty much everything for the coop and the run would be inconsequential in comparison, ha!  The lumber we purchased did build the coop, but it seemed that we needed more hardware.  Off to the local hardware store for screws of a different diameter or length, latches for the doors, hardware cloth, chicken wire, poultry staples for attaching chicken wire (really if you go into the hardware section they have a box labelled poultry staples), corner braces, you name it.  Oh, and then exterior paint had to be chosen (by my daughter) and purchased.  The woman mixing the paint exclaimed that the chicks and ducks will think they have been transported to the Caribbean, so be warned.   Next more hardware and then even more hardware.  For the last thirty dollars of hardware they gave us an itty bitty bag and as if to make up for the size of the bag, they threw in a bumper sticker that said "United We Stand".  Sigh.

Poultry Penthouse

The benefits for our several hundred dollar investment we will get some of the yummiest eggs available, I don't want to calculate the value of each eggs the girls produce, it would be laughable (or cry-able).  The girls (and Sebastian) are really pets, so they have their little penthouse, where they slept for the first time last night,  Our garage seems lonely.  No nameless boy chicks scurrying about, no Kiwi and Sunny running up to me to seeking some attention, no ducks soaking up rays from the heat lamp with the, "Hey, what's up!" look as I come down the steps.  It smells better in there already. 

There was a throng of excitement as I opened the coop door to put in breakfast this morning, it was intense.  Today their ramp to the outside will be built and they will be able to enter and leave as they wish.  What is now their prison will really be their penthouse.

So to answer my initial question--I don't want to know and I will not add it up.  I will enjoy the antics of the girls and Sebastian,  and savor the eggs produced.  It will be worth it in the end.

Cutting edge, throwback or just plain weird?

Am I cutting edge or a throwback?  What each family does every day is what they consider normal.  In our house it is normal to drink soy and almond milk or goat's milk once in awhile.  In our house pancakes are made from flour, eggs, soy milk, a little sugar, salt, baking powder and the fruit of our choice in an electric skillet (only because it's bigger than any pan I have).  Kids who come to visit/stay with us tell us of how their moms buy them pancakes and they toast them. Pre-teens stare at mac-n-cheese (made with real cheese and soy milk) incredulously, shocked that it can be made without the blue box and that it can be made with whole wheat pasta (which I have learned to overcook for visitors to simulate the texture of white flour pasta). One child was fascinated that her serving of chicken had bones, and dissected her food rather than ate it.  This same child stated that creamed spinach looked like barf (which it does) and looked at each of us as we sat down to dinner at a set table (which is our normal) and said, "Now we're supposed to talk to each other", as if she were interpreting a completely foreign culture for us.  My daughter has taught several friends how to set a table, a chore that has been her's since she  could carry plates one at a time at the age of three. Kids point out that the serving dishes, plates and fruit bowls all have the same pattern on them, it is a revelation.  When one was asked what their favorite vegetables are she listed starches and then added cauliflower which she mentioned that I had served the last time she ate over  (others can't name any).  To her credit, this same child quelled the look of revulsion that crossed her face when she learned that Pecorino Romano is made from sheep's milk, and then went back to eating her spaghetti with a snowstorm of Romano on top. Later, she found a chunk of tomato in the spaghetti sauce and asked to confirm that it really was a chunk of tomato.  Now, I am not talking about kids whose families have no education and live hand to mouth, I'm talking about middle class children with at least one college educated parent.  They weren't raised by wolves, they have the "Please, Thank you, Excuse me" training necessary for everyday life, they are bright chipper active fun-loving kids, but they seem to subsist on hot pockets, mac-n-cheese from a box, hot dogs, pizza (to the point where pizza isn't a treat, it is normal food), chicken nuggets or tenders and hamburgers.  Many seem to grab dinner and go rather than sit down for a meal.  Our land of persimmons, pomegranates, tart apples, turnips, eggplant, curries, rice noodles, foods mixed together, spices, assorted cabbage family vegetables and whole grains eaten at a table and cleared when everyone is finished is a foreign land.  I dread the question, "Can ________ stay for dinner??",  then I hold my breath and  respond, "Does she like West African style peanut stew and greens?"  So, throwback, cutting edge or maybe just plain weird, what do you think?

The Windy One

The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing...that's what I think of when I hear all the intense reports about the stormy weather headed our way.  They do this for every storm, I have arrived at the point that I don't really believe what they are telling me.  Sure, it looks huge on the weather map,sure it could be bad, and sure they could get everyone wound up just to increase their ratings.  It will be a very long windy rainstorm, probably a tropical storm for most of it.  I bought my batteries before they  ran out and I have made sure the staples are in my pantry and bought extra soy and almond milk. I picked up objects that could blow around in the yard, tomorrow we'll tackle that downspout issue that we've ignored.  Okay, I'm ready--I don't need the intense music played before each weather report--it's like the movies, when the exciting part is coming up the set the mood with music--they are playing a game with us--"Let's see if we can wind them up!"  They have the audience gripping their seats, but nothing has happened yet.  Stop it!

I was in the hardware store this morning, the contractors were there, all very jovial.  It seemed like a party, I realized the occasion when I overheard and exchange as one headed for the door.  One said, "Good luck to you!  Time to make some money!!"  The carpenters, plumbers and assorted other folks in the housing industry have had pretty lean times in the past few years and they see a giant, windy rainstorm as a humongous business opportunity.  Understandable.  I just never really thought about it until today.

Eating like a Bird

Never tell anyone that they eat like a bird.  I know from having a parrot for over a decade and now starting my second round of chickens that this really means you throw your food every where and poop in your water, also, the quantity of food is staggering, if only because half to three quarters of it gets tossed about and wasted.  Our new chicks have been with us for five days now, the box they came in seems inconceivably small ("The Princess Bride" always pops into my head when I say something like that).  The girls are all named:  Austrolorp is Kiwi (so we missed by one island)-she has an elegant look; the Silver Laced Wyandotte is Amelia since she is already attempting to fly; the Buff Orpington, mellow and sweet, is Sunshine, Sunny for short; then there are the ducks Olive is the big bossy one, Lily is the less assertive female and Sebastian is the drake.  It appears that the Golden Laced Wyandotte is the one chick that didn't survive the trip.  Eight broilers filled out the rest of the order, after studying images of the hatchery's stock, I have concluded that they are Barred rock cockerels.  Time will tell.

So we ordered seven babies, ended up with six keepers and eight extras that we need to house at least temporarily.  They are growing like gangbusters, so they will end up out in the coop sooner than planned, with their heat lamps, of course. Time to go cut some lumber, the run is not finished.

Amelia

Kiwi

Sunny

Olive

Sebastian

Lily

Chick and Duckling Power

Our new chicks and ducklings are set to arrive within the next 72 hours.  Like most other babies, we are expecting a call in the dark of the night announcing their arrival, but this time it will be the US Postal Service asking us to take the little peepers off their hands.  According to the postal worker I spoke to, the sorting room is rather echo-y and it doesn't take long for the peeping to be rather distracting and slightly annoying.  I also have the feeling that they don't want any dying from a chill on their watch.  So, we'll relieve the USPS as soon as we can.  We will all have a set of clothes next to the bed ready for the 4:30 AM call, the camera battery will be charged and the feeders and waterers filled.  We'll click on the heat lamps before we head out so the brooder will be nice and warm for when we return with our box filled will fluffy beings.

My daughter has begun to invite every other child she knows over to the house to cuddle the chicks and duckies, by the time they arrive we will have an entire elementary school and soccer league camping on the lawn.  This brings me back to my last post about lack of community in the suburbs, this will be a "building" experience.  I'll invite parents in, provide snacks and generally be the hostess.  We found pet chickens to have the magnetic power, years ago when our last batch of chickens were little. We often came home to find neighborhood kids in our backyard looking at the pullets, so much so that we had to put a lock on the coop, because they would take them out to play, but forget to put them back and leave them vulnerable to predators.  There was also the issue of flying.  I repeatedly told the kids that the chickens didn't fly, but it seemed that every little boy in the neighborhood had to test that by throwing the chickens high in the air only to see the the panicky  chickies struggle, flap furiously, and plunk back down on the ground, so the coop had to be locked to prevent the girls from suffering from these indignities.

One challenge this time will be  that the company that is sending them will put in extra cockerels to help keep the chicks we ordered warm for their journey, heat packs won't last for three days, but body heat does.  The issue of what to do with the cockerels afterwards has been something I have pondered in my red chair.  What the family has decided is that they will be called broilers and we will do what our grand parents used to do, learn how to eat our own home raised chickens.  These boys will be farm animals, the girls will be pets.  Since we would rather not have cock fights in the back yard and know that our land is abutting other properties whose owners might not appreciate an early wake up call from a rooster, this is the way it has to be.  From my experience living in a community that had roosters years ago, is that after a few weeks, you don't really hear them--they become part of the background, but then never annoyed me in the first place.  I'm afraid that someone in the HOA-type neighborhood that abuts the back of our property with their professionally landscaped lawns, etc. might not take too kindly to farm sounds.

Ducks are new for us.  We've done our reading, spoken to folks with ducks, prepped as best we can, now it is up to trial, error and further research.    A new adventure!!

Too quiet in Suburban-Land

It has been about six months since moving into our new home, and a year and a half since moving into this state hundreds of miles from anyone we knew.  We're in large lot suburban-land, you may or may not see the neighbors for weeks.  I'm not working at the moment, so I thought I would putter around for a bit and get to know folks.  One problem, I'm meeting very few folks.  One way I have met lots of people through the years is through my daughter's activities, those obligatory events and practices that chop up and chew up any parent's schedule.  It isn't working well here.  During soccer practice the parents who come and decide to stay, sit in their cars messing with their iphones and ipads.  At the events, everyone seems to pretty much walk in, watch the event and leave.  There doesn't seem to be as much, "Hi!  Haven't seen you in ages, what are you up to??" sorts of conversations about me.  Then I realized, I'm living in commuter land.  This town is where folks live, but it not where they work, socialize, eat out or shop.  You have to leave town to do those things.  It seems to be a community with little community, it's pretty, it's quiet, it has wonderful schools, low crime and comparatively low taxes, but does it have a soul?.  My mission, to either discover the bits of community that there are or create my own little community in the vacuum. Wish me luck!

International Adventure

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Yesterday was errand day.  I drove 45 minutes to an area that had all the stores I wanted in close proximity to each other.  I had two coolers, and a long list of merchandise that we needed for some reason or another.  I could have bought most of the things I was purchasing closer to home, but each place I went had a bit of a wider selection, so I had more choices. Plus, when I was done with the basics I would have a chance to play for an hour until it was time to beat the bus home. I started with building supplies, two general merchandise stores, then a grocery and I saved the best parts for last.  I was going to go international.

I stopped for lunch at a Salvadoran cafe, had a bite to eat and watched English soccer teams go head to head with Spanish language play by play, and  rested up a bit. This was my transition point, a language I understood, a cook/waitress who had pride in her handmade tortillas, and fresh real ingredients and someone else waiting on me.

So, with my car loaded down with cinder blocks, paint, cat litter, a big bird feeder, a new hair dryer, and a major pantry re-stock,  I headed to the international grocery, my playground, my adventure.  Some people buy jewelry, shoes, electronics or knick knacks, I'm into funky groceries.  I can't help it.

This market has an interesting dynamic, the workers speak Spanish (mostly of the Central American variety) as their primary language and the management is Korean.  The voices over the loudspeaker will vary in Spanish, Korean and Korean accented Spanish, just to keep you on your toes.  The languages of the customers can be just about anything, Chinese, Korean, Hindi, Tagalog, Spanish, Twi, Arabic...  Often, I am the only primary English speaker in the building, giving me the feeling that I have just traveled to a distant land, without having to go through airport security. 

The first indication that this will be something different comes as soon as I walk in the door with the "No pet, No flipflop" sign taped to it. I sniff  the international market smell...its a bit funky-cabbage-y. I know I am not in a Safeway, though it has sections labelled Bakery, Deli, Meat, etc., the pallets of  exotic produce just inside that define the walkway let you know that this place wasn't designed inside some marketing office in New York.

When I arrive at the fifty foot section of greens in the produce department I have to hold myself back and to keep telling myself that this stuff will keep a week, tops, don't lose it,  but I over-buy anyway. We'll be sure get our vitamin A and iron big time this week.Fresh parsley, dill, watercress, baby Shanghai cabbage (mild and kind of like bok choy, a bit more tender),  mung bean sprouts, and collard greens snagged me there. The supermarkets near my house always seem to have curly parsley with its funky texture, not the flat leaf that I love, so I bought two, since I've been craving tabouleh.  The big bunches of dill and water cress were a dollar each, and aren't in the stores near home except once in a while in teeny quantities for a big price due to their fancy packaging. I'll take the big bunch held together with a red rubber band any day.  The "fresh" greens in the regular supermarket somehow manage to always look as if they have been sitting there for at least a week, so I buy frozen, but they always seem mushy and watery.  Here the greens look like they came in this morning and there is more variety than at the farmer's market.

The hot pink and green dragon fruit  grabbed me as I headed to the apples, I was helpless under its colorful spell. I paid 50 cents less per pound for apples than I would have in the super market, which helped make up for the splurge on the dragon fruit.  The seasons do change in this store unlike the regular supermarket, so there is a different selection every time I go, I love a good produce surprise. When they have persimmons in season a Japanese lady (customer, not employee) always seems to appear from no where to give me a lesson on choosing  the best quality and the differences of the varieties, the Japanese are very clearly passionate about their persimmons. I just smile and and nod and pretend it's my first time while choosing the flatter, crunchy fuyus and avoiding the pointy hachiyas. 

On to the refrigerated section, there is tofu of every nationality, did I want the packaging in Chinese, Korean or Japanese?  Firm, silken or soft?? Several small cakes or one big one?  Organic or conventional?  Cute cartoons on the package or none?  Giant bucket down to a tiny aseptic box? Firm, small cakes, moderately sized package, no cartoons, Chinese text was my choice. I talked myself out of kimchi (hot spicy fermented cabbage, the Korean cure-all) and the fish cake, this week. The bright yellow pickled radish, which reminded me that I hadn't made Kimbap (Korean sushi) in a while, so I grabbed some--but forgot to get the nori (seaweed), so that will have to wait for a bit. It keeps for months. I didn't even look at the Central American refrigerated section, I knew I was running out of room in the fridge.

The Panaderia (Spanish bakery) in the back of the store offered warm samples of their chocolate filled pastries, but my milk allergy made  me pass them by, they smelled fabulous.  I  resisted the urge of the call of Indian aisle with its spices, ten types of lentils and spicy boondi (a yummy snack), because boondi is addictive as potato chips which means it could rapidly undo all my working out, I couldn't let it get within reach

Instead, I headed down to the meat aisle where everything from fowl and boneless skinless breasts, to tripe, calves feet, pork belly, hamburger, whole salmon staring back at you with its head and tail and octopus are available.  I didn't get any this week, I had already filled my coolers.  I did go to the freezer section to get cha shi bao (steamed meat filled rolls-which we had for breakfast this morning)  and pot stickers.  At this point I checked my phone and it was time to play beat the school bus. While I check out, always the same cashier, who never says anything but the total..  While she's ringing, I study all the different kinds of rice that can be bought in 25 lb bags, and always have a last regret as I exit back past the produce, because I'm sure I NEED something additional.

I walk out into the parking lot and suddenly, I'm back in American urban sprawl, with the giant parking lot, and four lane roadway.  No more time to play, I spent half of what I would have on a pair of shoes and will get a week's entertainment from my purchases. 
Oh, I did need something additional, I forgot sesame oil.

Mama Nirvana

Random topics, I'm just writing about my observations for the day and the bits and pieces my brain has chosen to record.

Today it was a soccer game played by 10-12 year old girls, but it wasn't just the girls...the parents, the coaches, the refs, so many people to watch!!

Just before the game I overheard the coach tell the team that they were there to play soccer and to play soccer wasn't about defending their goal, but it was about scoring points.  So, therefore their job was to head out in that first quarter and score points.  Oh, they tried, and tried and tried and I'd lose you if I wrote tried for the number of shots on goal those girls made, but they kept the game near the goal and the defenders were left bored to tears at the far end of the field.  Half of the field was a frenetic mass of arms and legs, shifting and moving, it was intense.  Meanwhile, focusing a little closer to where I was sitting, the parents were just are frenetic, with their sideline coaching, cheers of encouragement and sighs of disappointment.  The narrow river of chairs had waves of arms pointing up and down field, pointing to the one open and critiquing their own kids' performance with dramatic gestures.  They were just as intense as the players. My husband and I were a little quieter than most of the parents, mostly because our daughter was soaking up rays on the defensive line waiting for the ball to finally cross the mid-line. 

The second quarter came with a 0-0 score to start, but once the girls score their first goal there would be nothing stopping them.  The deliberate tripping of the girl in possession of the ball (twice), comments overheard from opposing girls about how they were going to "take them out" were to no avail.  Near the end of the third quarter when the score was 5-0 the parents on the far side of the field became quieter, I guess they were mentally composing what they were going to say in the car on the way home, was it going to be: "That was a good game you played, your team tried very hard, maybe next week..." or would it be a lecture on playing as a team or a chat about sportsmanship and or giving your best or just stony silence.

My lecture burst forth from my lips at the end of the third quarter when I found out that my bored defender was going to get the chance to play mid-field, a position that she thoroughly enjoys, but has less experience playing.  During practice and the first game she had never 'turned on her jets" as we call it when she runs so fast that other parents comment about it, the coach made asked her what would make her a good mid-fielder and she said her speed in running.  He indicated that he wasn't so sure. I just told her, "You' been practicing a month and have played one full game and your coach doesn't even know that you can run really fast.  Well, it is about time to show him, because if you want to play mid-field this is your chance, prove to him you can play mid-field,  otherwise expect to always be a defender."

Not only did she listen, she was a joy to watch.  There is a state I'll call "Mama Nirvana" when I watch my child do something and it is just so beautiful that I am speechless (well, this time I wasn't so speechless, I was at a  soccer game after all), but earlier times when I have seen her run it is as if time slows down and the world narrows to the strip of field, beach or yard where she seems to elegantly glide with above the ground.  The first time I saw her run in that way was when she was four, she ran up and down the beach at the water's edge with me jogging behind to keep up.  She seemed to enter a Zen-like zone and glided like a little horse over the sand.  She only stopped when I couldn't keep up any longer and reluctantly shouted that she needed to stop. The spell was broken, and she walked on the sand just like she normally did.  On that same beach two years before (yes, at the age of two), she had entered that same quiet state while watching sandpipers and slowly walked into the center of the flock without disturbing them.

Back to the soccer game, she got a  shot on goal, but no score and her team finished the game 6-0.  I felt sorry for the other team, they had played hard and had no points to show for it.  There were no lectures in our car on the way home.  Another game tomorrow, I hope it goes well!  After all of the beauty of today tomorrow could be very different, especially since a horse stepped on my daughter's foot late this afternoon and she spent the evening icing it.  Gliding might not be in the playbook.

Viewer's Remorse

I joined my daughter's class for a field trip today.  It is always interesting to see the kids that I have heard a bit about, snatches from here and there.  Some kids names are repeated more often for good or for bad reasons, and sometimes it is interesting to hear the names of the kids who are never mentioned.

 Today, one of the other parents on the trip referenced three television programs in just as many sentences, and then went on to say she really doesn't watch that much television.  It is always interesting to see their reaction if I tell them  that we have a TV without a digital converter box, it only plays videos.  When someone asks me if I've seen Honey Boo Boo or a funny commercial, the answer is usually, no.  Reality TV?  Nope.  The real shocker they get is when they ask when I stopped watching TV, I answer,"Back in the mid-'80's.".  They usually take a minute to think before they speak next.

The major issue I have had with not watching TV is that I have lost a major topic of small talk, and since small talk bores me to tears, that's okay.  What I find fascinating though is the denials of so many people.  They quote commercials and television programs constantly.  They buy what they are told to buy (more on that in a moment).  Almost everyone  insists that they watch very little television, they only watch this one program or the other, but for some reason they seem to have the whole pantheon of characters, shows and ads memorized, despite the fact that they say that they watch only one or two programs a week.

There are a just  few honest people (usually under 25) out there who do admit to watching a significant amount of television, and these folks will ask me what I do with all my time.  Depends on the week...this week I am building a chicken coop, I am reading two books one on the art of the Sistine Chapel and the other on the food ways of several immigrant families who passed through a tenement building in New York City.  I ran three times and did a bit of yoga, tried several recipes using chick pea flour...all this done in the hours when most folks will watch television.

What I "miss" is the marketing mess they put forth as entertainment, and the advertisements that try to convince you that you need things that you really don't need.  I don't need fashion, I don't care what is hot this year, be it trendy food, shoes, electronics, or a car.  I can make my own food, I don't need food with poly-syllabic ingredients. I can still wear clothes I wore ten years ago, I buy new ones when they wear out or I spill something on them.  My car is seven years old and has its spot in my driveway until the day when the payments to a mechanic exceed a new car payment.  I find the ads to be offensive, folks are trying to tell me what to do, think and buy, because it benefits them.

The characters in the comedies are stock, the smart one, the buffoon, the clueless one, the sneaky one and the loud mouth.  The dark shows all seem to have just a few plot lines, they change the names of the characters and the music that is used to create the mood.  The action shows, all have their version of the car chase or shoot 'em up scene at one quarter till the hour. I know the story, tell me a  new one.

 I have stood up with viewer's remorse too many times, I can't ever get that time wasted on drivel back

The Red Chair has a bit of history and maybe that is what helps me think better there, you see it belonged to my grandmother and it dates probably from the forties or the fifties.  It was originally a deep red, slippery fabric-ed chair that was perfect for little kids to slide down the back of, do headstands in, hang their legs over the stuffed arms, etc. My grandmother used to sit in it to worry, her hobby, as she worried she would drum her fingers on the right arm. Sometime in the early 80's, it must have been a bad day for my grandma, because it was transformed into the off-green tweedy chair when it was reupholstered, it was scratchy, no one sat in it for a few years.  The icky green fabric, just a bit too bright to be avocado, faded in the sun when it moved to my mom's house in the '90's waiting until the day in '02 that it was offered to me to help fill my empty living room. With me, it has gone to and fro through five houses, and through  all the states on the Eastern seaboard, except two.  It has always been there, its family.

Seven years ago it was again made the red chair, after I picked some fabric to be used as an accent on it and my mother was determined to make the fabric remnant stretch far enough to slip cover the whole thing. .  She did it, somehow.  The red must have done something for the chair. Suddenly it became the attractive nuisance of furniture, again, with its new look and feel it invited sliding and gymnastic events.  It is perfect for my daughter to do her generation's headstands ( but only when her father is not home to freak out over how she is going to break her neck, of course).

We have living room furniture that is virtually new in the next room, the cushions are used for all sorts of creative uses, forts, dog jumps, whatever, but no one seems to actually sit on  the new furniture. The situation with the Red Chair is different, we will watch the person in current possession, waiting for the moment they need a drink of water and diving into it, sometimes to find that another person, or a cat, was just a bit quicker. No one is sure where the chair gets its power. Unfortunately, this power pulled the cats into thinking that it was a scratching post and the red cover is drooping and dripping threads. Everyone in the house thinks that it is their chair, but really, it owns us.   I was thinking that I might turn it into the purple chair to rectify the cat damage, but then again that might not be quite right, the green was certainly a mistake, purple, maybe, if it leans toward red.  So, this blog is all about thoughts that come to me when I get my turn in the long lived, tattered, rumpled, deep sinking, well-traveled, powerful, and familiar Red Chair.