by jmgoyder
I think feeling happy is a bit different to being happy. Maybe this is because when you simply are happy (because your bank account, love-life, health, job, family and friends etc. are all okay) you don’t notice the happiness; you don’t appreciate it. But when you feel happy, you are noticing the fragile edges, blossoms, and sunsets of whatever happiness is and you are learning how to create it day by day by day.
Today, my happiness was hugging my baby peacock, having lunch at an Indian restaurant with my friend/niece, Jane, buying baking utensils for my new cooking phase, watching TV with Anthony in the nursing lodge whilst giving him the last of the sticky date pudding with lots of thickened cream, knowing my ma will be home soon from Scotland, riding my bike, watching ‘Undercover Boss’ with Ming, and looking forward to tomorrow’s unfolding.
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by jmgoyder
Atop my shoulder
This beautiful little friend
My teenage peacock
[Many thanks to Samantha for this photo of G9 yesterday].
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by jmgoyder
Just checking in halfway through my blogbreak. Thanks to all for comments on last few posts – I really appreciate it and had intended to reply, sorry!
I’ve temporarily unsubscribed from most blogs to give myself a break, but will get back eventually I hope.
It’s just that I am so sad at the moment, about Anthony, because of how fast the dementia is happening now.
Ming, Gutsy9 and I are all fine which somehow seems wrong. I miss Anthony so much.
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by jmgoyder
Gutsy9 (the 5-month-old peachick I raised inside the house because none of our peahens were interested) is thriving outside now. He sleeps in a pen with the ducks, Zaruma and Tapper, but every morning I find him in the adjacent pen with the turkeys, Bubble and Baby Turkey! Oh well at least he doesn’t venture into the geese pen because Godfrey hates him.
As soon as I open the three pens to let them all free-range for the day, I am met with a cacophony of excited noises and then G9 actually sprints after me to the house and follows me inside.
Until today. Today I decided to say no to him, and tried to explain that his peacock poop is the reason. He wasn’t happy!
Oh and G9 is definitely a boy because our friend, Mike, who raises peas told me so. I’m not as thrilled as Anthony was when Ming was born and he yelled IT’S A BOY!
Secretly I was hoping for a little peahen – ha!
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by jmgoyder
When a young woman marries a man who is 23 years older than she is, the term ‘gold digger’ tends to fly through country towns such as this one, and sometimes insinuates itself into the gossip of all and sundry.
Ming was conceived on our honeymoon (March 1993) and born a very decent 9 months later (January 1994) but, by this time, I had already been labelled as a gold digger. I wasn’t happy about this but there was nothing I could do about it. Anthony laughed the gossip off, and so did I, eventually.
So imagine my shock when my friend – JL – informed me yesterday that she had recently heard a story from her brother-in-law (who is friends with the bus driver at Anthony’s nursing lodge) about me!
Me: What?
JL: Well the bus driver told N that they sometimes take the men’s group for a visit to a farm that has peacocks.
Me: Yes – it’s a wonderful arrangement because they bring tea and scones and feed the birds and it’s a great way of getting Ants home for a couple of hours.
JL: But the bus driver said that every time they come to the peacock farm, the young lady who owns the farm starts kissing and cuddling one of the residents – a bloke called Anthony – and she is all over him, obviously after his money.
Me: What?
JL: It’s okay, N. told him you were Anthony’s wife.
Me: Oh thank goodness – what must they have all been thinking!
I’m guffawing too much to go out for my daily gold-digging expedition!
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by jmgoyder
Lately the peacocks have begun congregating outside my office and staring curiously at me through the flyscreen door. They’ve never done this before. They used to come to the back veranda door in the hope of bread but I stopped doing that ages ago when their poop began to replace the pavement.
Today I realized that their staring-at-me-through-the flyscreen-door-behaviour was due to my hayfever and the noise I make when I blow my nose. It almost exactly resembles their loud hoot-honking noise. They must think I’m calling them! Of course Gutsy9 is the first one to come running.
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by jmgoyder
Zaruma is one of our two pet Muscovy ducks. We raised him from a chick. Then we got Tapper and raised her from a chick too and now they are a happily married couple. At sundown I always put them into one of the fox-proof pens and they now look after Gutsy9, the baby peacock, during the nights. (One photo shows Zaruma clearly; the other photo shows all three unclearly).
Anyway, onto the miscommunication part of this post: Anthony absolutely loves roast duck so the other day I bought two frozen ducks. Well, yesterday I defrosted them to cook tonight so I could be a bit ahead of myself for Easter lunch. So, at 6.30pm I told Ming I would join him to watch our favourite TV show as soon as I put the ducks in. At 6.35pm this was our conversation:
Me: Okay, the ducks are in.
Ming (watching TV): How the hell did you do that so fast?
Me: Well I got them ready to go, put a bit of salt on and no need for oil because ducks have a lot of fat.
Ming: Salt! They don’t need salt do they?
Me: Well it just makes the meal a bit tastier.
Ming: You put salt on their wheat?
Me: What?
Ming: They’re ducks, Mum – they don’t need condiments!
Me: Well I was going to use some pepper too.
Ming: What?
And that’s when we realized that he thought I was talking about Zaruma and Tapper. LOL!
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