An instructor asked the college class, "How many of you are happy fifty percent of the time?" Some hands went up, but I did not raise mine. "How many would say you are happy thirty percent of the time?" More hands went up, but again not mine. I had thought he was going to go higher, not lower, and he continued to drop the numbers. It was just sad, in my mind, that so many could only find happiness in such small doses.
Not every day is a good day, but there is some good in every day, to my way of thinking. Admittedly, sometimes it's pretty well hidden and it is only on bedtime reflections that one realizes there were some bright spots, after all, and it was a good day. Then there are the better days when everything goes smoothly, you had a nice visit with friends, the laundry danced on the line, the girls went easily through the milking routine, and there is a sense of accomplishment and contentment at sundown.
And then, for me, there are the best days, days spent in the company of one or all of my Kids. As a surprise, Dave drove up yesterday morning by himself and we sat in the kitchen and talked all day. His current construction site (he's a foreman) has him driving to the Bay Area every day, so I doubt the hour's ride up here seemed appealing and I appreciated his visit even more. "Oh, yes, go up to Mom's and be miserable!" Dave has a severe allergic reaction to cats and must dose himself with eye drops and medication when he comes up. Since Ralph and Celeste sit on the "fur"niture. we stayed in the kitchen on stools at the breakfast bar to minimize his symptoms. Curiosity got the better of Ralph and he jumped up on the counter to check out my guest. Dave didn't move or say a word, but he gave Ralph "the look." Ralph's eyes got as big as saucers and he slowly backed away before jumping down and leaving the room. Dave's look had made Ralph a believer. I laughed so hard I almost fell off my stool. It was great to play catch-up with my son, and there's nothing quite like hearing "Love you!" as my Kids leave.
Having two pens of chickens has been twice the work and I've been waiting for the pullets to get big enough to move to the big coop. Introducing new chickens into the flock must be done after dark to minimize possible warfare. It's also much easier to catch a sleeping hen than to run after her during the day. The time had come last night and I put on my lighted hat and grabbed a small pair of scissors to clip wings. The pullets had been flying up on the roof of their coop and that wouldn't do in the big, open pen. I'd learned from experience to clip the feathers on just one wing, otherwise they can still get lift and fly. Eight times I went into the little pen, reached in to get a chicken, clip the wing, and take it over to settle in with the bigger hens. I'm afraid one of the pullets is, in fact, a cockerel and I can only hope that Tsar Nicholas will tolerate the competition. The sleeping flock opened an eye, ruffled their feathers, and moved over to make room for the newcomers. I can only hope for peace this morning.
All in all, yesterday was one of the best!