Grounded

Life throws us zingers:  those times when what you really want to do is run screaming in the streets, those days when your mind feels like a balloon with an untied knot zooming fast in every direction and going nowhere until falling to the floor.  In heavy weather and rough water, ships will throw out a sea anchor that will keep the ship steady and on course.  No matter what else is going on, regardless of what anxieties I might be feeling, it is my animals that keep me grounded.  They are my sea anchor (to mix a metaphor).

I won't know until late this afternoon how Pete's surgery went.  I do know he is wrapped safely in the thoughts and prayers of many, most of whom wouldn't know him from Adam's off ox.  I and my family, especially Pete, appreciate this outpour of caring.  I hope Pete's doctor is included in these prayers; that he has had a good night's sleep, a good breakfast, that his hands are steady and sure.  He will hold my son's heart in those hands, and mine as well.

And so this morning I will gather the buckets and go out to the coops and down to the barn.  Even with the rain that began in the night, the chickens will tumble down their ramps as they do every day.  I will throw down grain and squirt milk for the mice this morning as I did yesterday and the day before.  The girls will come in and get on the stand and eat their cereal as I sit by their side as I do every day and begin the rhythmic squeeze-and-release while warm milk fills the pail.  There is comfort in routine, in knowing without thinking about what comes next.  On a day like this, my animals will keep me grounded.