BA-GOCK!

About a year ago, a friend of my husband’s put a crazy idea in my brain: adopt chickens. As in those feathery animals that lay eggs. The idea has resurfaced a couple times lately. First, reading Marley & Me, I came across a family that named their chickens Feathers, Tweety, Fluffy, and Shirley (if I do end up raising chickens, I’m stealing a few of those names). Second, I’m moving to a part of the country where I might actually end up with land, perfect for chickens. Then today, at the editorial offices where I work, I talked with a lady Connie who owns chickens. Six or seven, I think.

“I want chickens,” I said to Connie.

“Chickens lay eggs,” I said.

“Chickens eat bad bugs,” I said.

“And good bugs,” Connie said.

“But do you name your chickens?” I asked. “Because if they had names, it would be harder to . . . well . . . when it came time for the . . . the . . . the meat,” I stumbled.

Oh to heck with it. Just ask her: “Do you chop off their heads?”

“Oh, no,” Connie said.

Connie’s probably a vegetarian. The people at the editorial offices where I work are into mindful living – mindful with a capital M.

Connie said she used to name her chickens, but now she simply calls them The Girls.

“Chickens are great for other things too,” Connie said. “Chickens poop and all that nitrogen fertilizes the land. And if they go to the bathroom in their chicken coop, I shovel it up, mix it with water, and it makes a great chicken poop tea.”

Most normal people would probably realize this comment was a joke. Not me. I take life – and all that comes with it – very seriously, which means that I often miss the fact that someone is kidding (ZOOM – funny comment flying over my head). So I stood there, speechless, thinking, Chicken poop tea? Why not? These mindful living people are waaaay stranger than I ever imagined. After all, they eat weeds. And they do. Seriously. Dandelions, chickweed, and nettle to be exact.

“I think I’d draw the line there,” I finally said. “No chicken poop tea for me.”

Connie began to clarify that her plants drink it, not herself, but by that time I was so mortified at my misunderstanding I escaped into my office and spent the rest of the afternoon slapping my forehead for being so silly (side note: keep an eye out for my personal essay on forehead slapping in an upcoming edition of Self magazine).

I’ve since regrouped and was able to come home and write about our conversation. And that’s the beauty of this profession. Writing allows me to reflect, and when I look back, I not only catch the jokes, I catch a glimpse at how funny it is that I take life so seriously. My laughter may be a little late, but as the saying goes: better late than never.

Random Stuff: The restaurant review I blogged about in my post Plain Ol’ Vanilla is now in print. Check it out at http://www.wholelifetimes.com/ (it’s the second article).

My dear friend Michelle started a blog today. Her writing is good – as in, Michelle, please don’t forget I’m your friend when you’re on the NYT Bestseller List list good. Read her post "To Go or Not to Go?" at http://www.michelleoneilwrites.blogspot.com/.