. . .and into their own! It was 9.30pm when we carted them out to their just finished chicken house. My goal for today accomplished. All are pleased.
Well, the chickens might be a bit more bewildered than pleased. I don't know. I'll worry more about their emotional state, when their laying starts paying their way.
I love to see a church give it a go. Good for these guys.
Sent from my iPhone
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. . .but some can never be close enough.
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pp. Purchasing a whole cow or side of beef from a local farmer and sharing the cost among multiple families. [Blend of cow and carpooling.]Anyone in East Central Indiana want to cowpool with us? We'll let you have the weird bits!Thanks to Wordspy for a great site collecting cool new words. Example Citations:Amid growing concerns about large-scale meat production fuelled by such recent books as The Omnivore's Dilemma and The 100-Mile Diet, some consumers are bypassing supermarket meat aisles and even the local butcher shop in favour of cowpooling — clubbing together to buy half or whole carcasses directly from local farms.
—Wency Leung, "You take the ribs, I'll take the rump," The Globe and Mail, May 21, 2008Top quality, tender lean beef with (as we see it) a healthy balance of omega 3 and 6. Dry aged a minimum of 14 days, cut to your specifications and quick-frozen. (included in price) Available by the half, quarter, or mixed quarter (from $3.19/lb) ***** Special pricing for Cowpooling groups.
—"Grass fed beef," kijiji.ca, June 8, 2008
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Bibliopolygamy: The tendency to read many books at the same time.
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A little over a week ago, our Suburban was sent early to the auto graveyard. The crash damage was mostly cosmetic, but the cost to fix it was determined to be more than the value of the truck. We're scanning the country for a suitable replacement. If you know a friend who's trying to sell theirs, let me know.
This is not our Sub! I nicked the photo off the web.
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(Written Monday afternoon, March 30)
I think I'm about to escape from travel purgatory. . . wanna hear the tale?
The alarm went off at 3.45 this morning, I left for the airport at 4.15am, departing IND for El Paso, connecting in DEN. I cut the time to IND a little close, then failed to factor in spring break volume at the airport. That, and Frontier Air ("A whole different animal." Yeah, like a manatee or a shrew or maybe one of those geese that gets off course of their migration pattern and ends up settling in and causing havoc in small mid-western town.) moving the flight time earlier by ten minutes. Yeah, earlier. You don't see that every day.
So we get off and everything's going well until we near Denver. Apparently it's a little snowy. I thought DIA was built for way snowy. We circled for a bit then got the surprising news: "We're diverting to our back up airport. . . (You're thinking COS, right? Well, that would make sense. But no!) . . . Pueblo! We landed in my former home town and sat on the plane, waiting for the snow to clear in Denver, not realizing that the snow was clearing in Denver by moving south to Pueblo! After a long wait, word arrived that Denver was ready to receive us. Around then we discovered that the bustling Pueblo airport lacked de-icing gear sufficient to reach the tail of our aircraft. (Apparently, if you can't de-ice the tail, you needn't even bother with the rest of the aircraft.) So plan b (or now more like plan q) was revealed: "We'll bus you to Denver. We have busses on the way. And we ordered pizza." Whoo hooo. So we all got off our plane, along with the passengers from three other 737's that had joined us in sunny Pueblo, and jammed into the terminal, a facility designed to comfortably accommodate the eight passengers that can fit on the turbo props that arrive and depart twice daily, or Amelia Earheart and her entourage, but not both at once.
After a long wait, in which pizza apparently arrived and was completely consumed in the time it took me to slip in the restroom to pee, busses arrived. The first couple seemed to be reserved for the United passengers, but I found one at the front of the line and jumped on. After waiting on board for 30 minutes the driver slouched up the stairs and sadly announced that only Frontier passengers could be on this bus. Others had to go find another bus. Of course this caused no end of consternation, "Aren't we all pretty much going to the same place?" Well, about the time the passengers were sorted out to the right busses, another announcement rang out, "We think we're going to fly back to Denver. Get off the bus and back into the terminal." Luckily the eight passengers who were waiting for the scheduled turbo-prop flight they'd paid for were quickly loaded and dispatched.
We hung out in the terminal while busy, fretting airline personnel decided what to do. Our eyes narrowed, along with our options, as we watched the empty busses roll away. After some time, in which TSA personnel were drug unhappily from their afternoon slumber and posted at their checkpoints, we began the security process. Rules were followed precisely in an absurd attack on commonsense. None of us had expected to visit Pueblo that day. None of us had been to a gun show during our long, hot layover. But some of us may have purchased liquid or gel in quantities over 3.5 ounces, so we were rechecked.
After another delay, during which the sole set of airplane stairs stationed at PUB, were located, the key to the truck they're mounted on was collected from the bottom of a desk drawer, said truck was gassed up and jump started, Jorge, the one guy who knows how to drive it was called in off the snow plow he was plying, the mechanical part that raises the stairs was liberally sprayed with WD40 (without the little red straw that got lost last year at the Christmas party) the planets came into proper alignment, and the stairs we're elevated to the plane door, we were finally able to reboard. The flight attendants re-gave the safety lecture, missed a chance to pass out all the alcohol on board for free, and we took off. It was a bumpy flight and one poor kid puked.
Frontier (A Whole Different Beast from Hades) had re-booked me to El Paso on a flight that would take off at 6pm and land at 8pm. Since I was due to land in ELP at noon and now would not get there until eight hours later, I kindly asked for a meal voucher. "I'm sorry sir, but since the delay was weather related, we can't do that."
"Could you, if you wanted to?" I naively asked.
"Not with our boss standing right there." They pointed down the counter.
"Could he do it?"
"He can do anything he wants," they confessed in whispered tones.
To the boss, "Hey can you hook me up with a meal voucher?"
In a suave, bossly tone, "No our policy is not to give meal vouchers in cases of weather delay. We'd love help, but we can't in this case."
"Could you do it if you wanted to?"
A little more tersely, "If I did it for you, I'd have to do it for everyone."
I looked behind me to draw his attention to the fact that I was the last in line. He wouldn't really have to do it for everyone unless I ran and told everyone, like one of my kids might if I tried to sneak just them a cookie. I wouldn't have done that. I'd have gone to Chili's, ordered dinner and the beverage they should have given out on the long awaited PUB-DEN flight.
Instead, I told him in all my "power to the consumer" pompousness, "Hmm, I'll keep that in mind." I didn't add, but I'm sure he felt the sting nonetheless, "Next time instead of booking with Frontier, I'll use a whole different airline."
If you made it this far, you may want to watch this video as an antidote: (there may be a bad word or two)
And finally, my entry in the "Pick the new tail animal for Frontier Airline" contest:
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