About Me

Twenty years ago I asked a Tarot card reader what would I be doing when I was 50. She replied, “I see you doing something so wildly creative, it defies a job title.” Only recently did I realize that was a slick way of saying, “I have no idea of what you’ll be doing.” But that prediction kept me charging ahead to the fifties with zeal and anticipation. Now that the future is today, I’m ready for anything!

Time to change

I can recognize the sounds of my farm animals sight unseen. Among the goats, there's the high-pitched, insistent bleat of Cupcake. The rattly bleat of Molly, a pygmy among pygmy goats, who we gave 50/50 odds of survival when she was born. I have one horse, a mini named Macy, but I swear I could identify her guttural nicker in a herd.

Among the chickens, there's Oddishly Ghastly, a turken rooster who looked like he was put together with spare parts. His screechy, garbled crow sounded as if he were crowing with a mouthful of cracker crumbs. When I hear a rooster whose crow is similarly screechy, I figure his father was Oddish.
The other day I heard a rooster crow I hadn't heard before. It was the first crow of one of our new roosters. A tentative sound. As if he were still learning to operate the sound equipment.
When a rooster first crows, I wonder if he thinks afterward, "What the heck was that?" Probably not. Maybe they just accept it as the next step in life. Wyatt's voice is changing, too. For awhile it would come and go, not quite like Peter Brady, but as if he had a sore throat. Now, at 13, Wyatt's voice has evened out at a deeper level.
And I'm changing, though I don't know into what. Each day is bringing new opportunities, new challenges, new abilities, new confidence. Change doesn't always come easily. Some days I wake up with a guttural grunt. But more often than not, there's something to crow about.



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