The Stick, the Chick, and Me…
Here’s how it turned out since my previous post:
I believe I killed it by procrastination. I would have done better to plant it in a little pot the instant I saw the roots. I kept saying, “I’ll do that tomorrow.” I am still saying that, because the stick is still in its cup beside my sink. You win some, you lose some, but at least you tried, and in every case you gain more knowledge.
I appear to have won out better with Elvira.
I am now the reluctant owner of a somewhat lame truly backyard chicken. Our Elvira spent much of the past three weeks in our backyard, with overnights in private accommodations in the garden room. After much picking up and carrying, much confinement so she wouldn’t overuse the leg, soaking her feet and legs in Epsom salts and coating with antibiotic cream (she had red spots of inflammation on her feet), she now follows me, comes at the sound of my voice. I’m not altogether happy about a pet chicken, but there you are. She is giving eggs again. As of yesterday, I eased her fully back in with the flock. She was as reluctant to do that as I was to have a pet chicken.
On the Me front, I’m writing again, purposefully, enthusiastically. I have, in these weeks that I’ve been tending a chicken and silent on this blog, finished revising and expanding a novella I originally wrote and published with Silhouette Books twenty years ago. Oh, the delight the moment I realized I had finished the final edit–and that I was happy with it!
I am in the midst of learning how to e-publish. I’ll be writing more on all of this in the coming weeks.
In the words of Rainey Valentine, my heroine in Lost Highways:
I don’t know where I’m goin’, but I’ll know when I get there. ~Rainey Valentine, Lost Highways