Turkey Love

She always looks away when he displays for her. 

I guess she's just not that into you, Tom. 

Music Monday: Yoshimi

Her name is Yoshimi

She's a blackbelt in Karate
Working for the city
She has to discipline her body...

A couple of years ago, we named a sheep after this song by the Flaming Lips:

Now, Yoshimi just had twins! Two girls:

The big question: What do we name them?

The Bottle Babies are Outside, Now

But I made them wear a sweater...

These sweaters are called woolovers. Mo from my yoga class lent them to us. It's the height of spring fashion this year.

Little Lambs Are In Our House!

The two orphans we brought in are doing well. I took a low quality - but cute! video of them:

BAH said, "Lambs in the house! Well, now I can check that off my bucket list."

Spring is Cancelled

Spring is cancelled this year. 

Or friendly overlord, Bodkay, has decreed it so. 

We shall move straight to summer, once we get over these few days of winter.

We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.

Wanda Wednesday: "In my heart, I am a woman."

I would think of Wanda Gág as a feminist. Her actions speak to that. She was a woman who was fiercely independent, had many lovers, and had a flourishing art career one hundred years ago. She definitely considered herself, on all levels, equal to the men in her life. I went through most of the diary (Growing Pains) wondering if she considered herself a feminist. Finally, Page 395, there is one entry where she writes explicitly about being a woman. It is a bit post modern here, as I will quote the entry in its entirety- and she quotes others, as well. Lots of quotes. She's around twenty-two, I think, at this time. This entry gives you a feel for the pacing of the entire diary, actually: a mixture of emotion and intellect, and day to day life that really puts you into her mind. The following is a direct quote from Growing Pains, by Wanda Gág:

'May 5th, Wednesday, 1915

'I am almost ashamed of myself. The thing just about drove me to distraction. I sat around and could not even cry. Perhaps I am a sentimental fool. Sometimes I almost think so. In fact, sometimes I'm quite sure. The funny part is that no one else knows it. They all consider me exceedingly neutral and unimpressionable.

'I read some verse by Constance Lindsay Skinner las Sunday. Indian Poetry. She has lived among the Indians ever since she was a child, and has subconsciously absorbed not only the rhythm of their songs but of their hearts and souls as well. "The Song of the Whip Plaiting" and "The Song of the Young Mother" gave me a queer feeling and another glimpse in the the great scheme of things.

"(Ah- sometimes- thou wilt be gentle?
Little roots of pain are deep, deep in me
Since I saw thee standing in my doorway.)

"I have quenched thy torch-
I have plaited thy whip.
I am thy Woman."

'"I am thy Woman"- and I shuddered with joy and fear. That, and the succeeding poem, struck a blow at a number of ideas I have held in connection with Woman Suffrage. Whatever Woman Suffrage will do in other things, it will ever be like this. The woman has to give herself over to the man. It's inevitable- for that is part of the great scheme.

'In the second poem: -

"Strange the pain came with love;
I knew it not until thy father sought me.
Yet-what woman would cast love out?
Gladly in the dusk I waited him-
None told me, not my mother, even, of the pang.

"..... Darkness... and his,
          utterly, in that dark.....
None had told me.....

"Ay, 'tis old, the custom,
Old as earth is old;
Ancient as passion,
Pitiless as passion-
Ay, pitiless, pitiless, the earth-way for women!
Bitter it is, the taste of bright sea water,
That he, who takes the gift, and wields our weaving of desire,
Knows not the meaning of the gift- nor can know ever!

 - - - - -
It is the law of the earth-way."

'I may change my ideas on the subject, but I doubt it. It made a tremendous impression on me. I walked around half of the day in a trance. I realized with a sort of fear gripping at my heart that I would do the same, that I would give myself over- and gladly at that.

'Mr. Dehn thinks I am neutral. I have made him think that. So you think I am neutral? In many things I am neutral, of course, but in my heart I am a woman.'
                                   -Wanda Gág, 1915

Professor Batty, in his research, found this photo of Wanda Gág.

She never did give herself over to a man. (At least, looking at the facts of her life, it appears that she always lived for her younger siblings and for herself.) Perhaps she gained some new perspectives on the topic, as she got older. It seems almost as if she truly believed in a great scheme of women giving themselves over to men, but at the same time behaved as though she herself were outside of that scheme. Wanda. As always, she's an enigma. 

More Lambs

Sevilla had twins yesterday. It's not the best weather for it- cold and rainy. 

This one was shivering. It was raining out. I took her inside to dry her off. 

The cats were curious, and somewhat horrified.

I was delighted.

I hope her mom starts taking better care of her soon! Now I'm going to go out and try to heard them into an area more sheltered from the weather. Wish me luck! I have notch clue what I'm doing. 

Book Party with Special Guest Star Professor Batty

I had a book release party today. 

I was surprised, awed, and overwhelmed when none other than Professor Batty (flippistarchives.blogspot.com) walked in the door! 

And then, before I even got over my star struck excitement, I introduced Professor Batty to someone as Jon. Which is not his name, never has been his name, but my brain consistently insists that is his name. He drove five hours and I called him the wrong name.

A weird guy once said to me, "there's an asshole in every crowd, and sometimes it's you."

Nevertheless, he didn't say anything to correct me, and we had a good time, anyway. I couldn't just let him go straight home after the book reading, so we wandered around my little town and ate dinner. 

Not there. Here:

He took lots of pictures for maximum internet embarrassment later, I'm sure. 


When I got home, I talked on the phone with my wild and crazy mother, and then I realized I had sheep to look after. I walked out and discovered Sevilla the sheep had had twins! They seem strong. It was starting to rain, and I felt it was important for the newborns to have shelter. I opened the gate that leads to a small shelter. Sevilla and her twins were as far from the shelter as they could possibly be. I figured that if I took her babies to the shelter, Sevilla would follow. So, I put one little lamb under each of my arms. One of them was still wet from being born! They started squirming and crying,

"Mwaaaah! Mwaah!"
"Mwaaaah! Mwaah!"

And I started marching across the field. Sevilla followed, with a deep,

"Baaah! Baaah!" And the little ones kept squirming under my arms,

"Mwaaaah! Mwaah!"
"Mwaaaah! Mwaah!"
"Mwaaaah! Mwaah!"
"Mwaaaah! Mwaah!"

Going across the field... And then Sevilla had to stop and get herself a drink. She took her own sweet time, too, (she did just give birth, twice) while her twins squirmed in my arms,

"Mwaaaah! Mwaah!"
"Mwaaaah! Mwaah!"

They have high pitched cries, almost like baby humans. 

Sevilla finally decided to follow me again. I put the little newborns in the shelter. 

"Mwaaaah! Mwaah!"
"Mwaaaah! Mwaah!"

Sevilla followed. Everyone else followed, too. Sheep everywhere! 

We now have four live little lambs, total. Three still pregnant. 

All the Little Creatures, Living and Dead

One of yesterday's lambs died last night! I was worried about it, yesterday, because it seemed so small and weak. But it was nursing, so it seemed okay. I called a friend who has lots of sheep, and he thought the lamb (whom we had already named "Chong") would be fine. He even came over and looked at it, picked it up, checked it out. And then I was worried that its mother was ignoring it, but last I went and checked on them, she was licking its head. So I thought it would be fine. Mama was taking care of Chong. And then in the morning, it was dead.

I'm all torn up about it. I should have bottle fed it a little bit, and taken it in for the night. But I have heard of them giving birth in the dead of winter when the temperature is in the negatives, on the ice, with this breed... so I thought the little lamb Chong would be fine. Hindsight is golden.

We still have five pregnant lambs.

The thing about it is, it was actually triplets, and one just never was alive. So triplets are risky business, I suppose. It's hard for them all to be healthy.

I really hope my daughter doesn't take it too hard. She named the poor little lamb.

This is our first lamb, ever. Damn. (That would explain, though, why I had no idea what to do. Some things require some experience.)

Right when I was having a good cry about the poor little lamb Chong, the phone rang- our ducklings, goslings, and poults were at the post office! (We ordered them a month or so ago.) So that cheered me up.

Little Cuties.

Of course, one of the ducks died, too. What can you do?



Enjoy the living. 

First spring lambs


Mama ran over when I took their picture.

P.S. I'm too busy with spring chicks, spring lambs, and spring weeds to write about Wanda Gág today! I'll try to resume next week. 


Paper: 38 (?) years ago, my uncle made me this dollhouse furniture, out of paper. Now, my daughter plays with it.

I'm in a "Photo a Day" group, and usually, I post pictures and get one or two "likes". It's a Facebook group. This photo, however, somehow has 194 "likes," at last count. The subject of the day was "paper." I'm pretty sure they aren't liking my photography skills, but rather Uncle David's work with paper.

My alternate photo, which  I didn't post there, was a little bit more exciting: 

Cooking Action! 

Music Monday: The Mountain Goats

I'm sure there are clearer recordings of this song out there, but I prefer this live video- probably from a wedding, I would imagine. The song is called, "No Children." I confess: I know all of the words. So does my husband, I think. Which is saying something. I don't know what. But something.
And I hope we stay on past the last exit. I hope it's already too late!

P.S. This music does not appear to be bunny-approved.


Window Shopping

I like going to thrift stores. I usually buy one thing. I took some pictures of things I did not buy. 
This sign spelled "without" incorrectly- twice!

This doll is named, "Dr. Bendover."

These are three (3) small, ceramic shoed feet, which I keep (for decorative purposes) on a shelf at the thrift store.


I saw a crane walking across the street at the corner today, in town. Then, it kept walking on down the street, on the sidewalk. It took me a long time to realize that was weird. I finally took a picture of the crane when it was almost out of site.

I had a strong sense of déjà vu. 

Yes, We Feel the Love

Review of Exhaust(ed)

You liked the cover! Thanks! I designed the cover myself. 

Exhaust(ed) has lots of good reviews, but you know what they say: "The key to happiness is to always focus on the negative." It's the power of negative thinking!  

Deal of the Century

You can buy it used for $55.96, or you can buy it new for $8.99. It's up to you.

Wednesdays with Wanda: Philosophy

*Wanda's Theory of "Myself's" and "Me's"

Wanda Gág's fantastic diary from 100 years ago, Growing Pains, is peppered with descriptions like this one:

"Well, I didn't have as bad a time as I expected. In fact I had rather a good time. Mr. Gray behaved beautifully, and they were nice people that we visited- and we made candy and talked. I didn't have to haul out my Me's at all. Wasn't that nice?" (p. 327)

and this one,

"Oh, Myself, Myself, where are you? I am surrounded by Me's and Me's- bewildered Me's, wicked Me's, frivolous Me's and vindictive Me's- and I cannot feel you at all." (p. 223)

What is she talking about? Wanda Gág had this interesting way of looking at the world, whereby everyone is divided into two selves:

1. Myself

The first self is the Myself, the true self, the self that you are, really, inside. When you are able to live as your "myself," you find yourself to be quite happy and in your element. The Myself is stable and constant. It is always there, but sometimes hidden.

2. Me

The second self is the Me. The Me is often required to deal with social situations wherein it would not be entirely prudent to one's Myself. The Me takes care of the physical needs in life, the Me articulates, the Me often deals with the problems of the real world. We couldn't really live without the Me. The Me is also the superficial self with superficial desires. If one gets lost being the Me all of the time, one loses one's true Myself and one cannot be happy. But if one were to be Myself all of the time, then one's superficial needs would go unmet, and one could not be happy that way, either. The Me's and the Myself need to live in balance.

The Me surrounds the Myself. She draws a diagram:

Gág discusses the "Myself" and "Me" with Armand, but I believe it was her original theory. And, as Maria Popova points out, Gág came up with this theory of the different selves in 1914, before Freud published his theories about the Ego, the Id, and and Superego. Wanda Gág was twenty-one in 1914.

It still feels relevant, one hundred years later. If you look at the goals of something like meditation, it seems to be to get in touch with the Myself. (Remember, the Me articulates, it thinks, but the Myself just is.) I like blogging because I can take time to explore the "Myself," and explain things in great detail. (Although Gág felt it was always the Me who was the writer, I disagree! I think sometimes, the Myself speaks through art and writing, especially when we are really in the flow and in touch with our muses. It's a paradox, isn't it? If the Myself never ever speaks to us, how do we know it is there?  I wish I could talk with Wanda Gág about it. She did enjoy debates. Séance, anyone?)

I dislike Twitter because I feel that it's entirely full of Me's, Me's, and more Me's, Me's everywhere! How could anyone ever reach their Myself with 140 characters? I suppose I could go on about many things being too Me-Centered. Much of modern life seems to be littered with Me's just taking over, everywhere, ignoring the Myself's entirely.

One person on the internet not too involved with the Me's is Maria Popova. Maria Popova interprets the "Me's" and "Myself's" a bit more in an article here, if you are interested in reading ten minutes more. If you are very interested, I recommend that you read Growing Pains.

* I'm quite insecure, writing this, because my Bad-Assed Husband has a degree in Philosophy. In marriage, we all have our roles, and my role has never been the philosopher! But here it is.

The Real Easter Bunny

We went away to South Carolina last week, and had a friend watch over our animals. While we were gone, the bunnies broke out of their pen in the barn. No problem, I told the friend. Just keep the barn door shut. Well, one of the barn doors is a bit tricky, and seems shut when it really isn't. And so it happened that Marshmallow, Everyone's Favorite Bunny, escaped.

I kept regular Facebook updates of the bunny happenings.

What do you think? Do we have an Easter bunny here at Hammerdown Manor? It's the simplest explanation.

Music Monday: Inflatable Boy Clams

I loved this song when I was a kid! I still think it's great. I've also found that it's a wonderful way to make your spouse think you are completely bonkers crazy.

Try singing it to a friend! Make sure to get the notes right, especially on the, "I wear it for yoooouuuu!"

Sock Monkey Fail

Uncle Buck Dollars gave my daughter this lovely... elephant (?) which is now her favorite toy. Thanks, Mr. Dollars! You have horrifically wonderful taste. We are clearly related (by marriage).

Big Z (age 7) believes it not to be an elephant, but a pooping Bonobo with a bone growth on its skull. 

She sites the red anus and short length of tail as evidence that it isn't really a tail; it is poop. It's difficult to disagree with such cold hard facts. 

This monkey is a freak of nature, and we love him so. 

A wonderful addition to the Big Z's toy family. 

(Buck Dollars, age unknown, loved this toy like it was his own sweet babe, and we are grateful for his sacrifice.)

Blog of the Month: Scarfolk Council

This blog is hard to describe. The whole thing is a running joke about an imaginary town called "Scarfolk." And it's terrible. It's a terrible, dark, twisted joke. You can almost believe that it is true. It's a practical joke on reality. It's just a tinge weirder than the seventies actually were. It's like if the movie "Wickerman" were real and the town council of that town had a blog.

Here's how Scarfolk Council describes itself:

"Scarfolk is a town in North West England that did not progress beyond 1979. Instead, the entire decade of the 1970s loops ad infinitum. Here in Scarfolk, pagan rituals blend seamlessly with science; hauntology is a compulsory subject at school, and everyone must be in bed by 8pm because they are perpetually running a slight fever. "Visit Scarfolk today. Our number one priority is keeping rabies at bay." For more information please reread."

Nonsensical, dark announcements from Scarfolk's town council are mixed in with bizarre and chillingly real looking illustrations.

Like most great things, I feel a little bit guilty about how much I enjoy this blog, because it's just so twisted. Is there something wrong with me for loving this so much? 

Scarfolk Council is this month's blog of the month.  

I saw an Exotic Bird Inside Today

But Mary (that's her name) where are your shoes?

Perhaps it was just the April Fool's Fairy.

Wednesdays with Wanda

Throughout her teen years and her early twenties, Wanda Gág was constantly annoyed by men falling in love with her. She referred to them in her published diaries, Growing Pains, as "cavaliers." She also has a bit of a problem: she is so poor that she really can't afford to get married. She needs to support her six younger siblings with her art. This, when she's fifteen or so. (She puts so much on herself. I want to reach out to her through the one hundred years and say, "Wanda! You're doing great! Stay strong!")

Ironically, the one young man she does take an interest in, "Armand," does not love her in return. Armand admits that she is smart, incredibly talented, funny, and easy on the eyes... but he does not love her. This does not stop him, however, from trying to mould her into the kind of person he would like her to be. When Armand first appeared in the diary, I liked him a lot, and thought perhaps they would be a couple. And then, later, I really wished he would just leave her alone forever, so she could move on with her life!

In summary: In one hundred years, nothing has changed. People still lead each other on and break each others' hearts, over and over again.

Professor Batty sent me this picture of Wanda, which might somewhat illustrate why so many men fell in love with Wanda (especially when you consider how uniquely outspoken and talented she was- and that she was funny and played the guitar). I gather from her diary that she did not much care for having her photo taken.

Armand was probably gay. 

P.S. Armand wasn't gay. I was being flip.