Monday, June 30, 2008

Digging A Hole

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

What I am not doing today is digging a hole.  OK, not literally anyway. My son is digging a hole.
The sick goat didn't make it, and all I can see of my son is his bare back bending up and down, back and forth as he digs. He is digging within sight of the other goats. The dead goat's pal is letting us know how upset she is about her friend. I don't know if it will help her to see the burial, or if it will be more upsetting. I hate to think of her being more upset. 

I took some Trauma Life essential oil out to the goat pen. Brent's assistant is doing farm work today so I had him rub the oil on Hillary's ears. It had an immediate effect on him, let's hope it helps the goat settle down. Duncan and Josh will be building fence near the goats all day. Hopefully, they will be a reassuring presence for Hillary. It's crazy how humans become attached to their animals so quickly. We've only had these particular goats for a week now. I feel bitterly sorry for Hillary's loss. As for the goat that didn't make it, I am actually glad that she is out of pain.  As for me, I am creating my own hole.

I'm not sure if it is a hole so much as a rut. But, it  could be one of those ginormous Oregon Trail covered wagon ruts. Some of those are pretty damn high. I'm supposed to rest. I am so tired of resting, but every time I do anything remotely physical my body lets me know, in no uncertain terms, that it wants to spend the rest of the day recovering; sometimes several days recovering.  I don't feel like  I can start anything today until I dye my hair anyway. I don't feel comfortable dying my hair when the men-folk are working outside, and may come in at any moment. We need an outhouse and human watering trough out there.  Maybe if I wasn't such a messy hair dyer, I wouldn't have to get fully naked to dye my hair, and I wouldn't care who might walk in on me. 

A good farm girl would wind her hair up in a knot, stick a hat on her head, and dig herself out of her own hole. It could be time to go white.  People have begun to accuse my "no longer, dark haired," husband of cradle robbing.  I don't find it flattering.  However, the women in my family traditionally dye 'til they die. It is hard to break a family tradition.  I need to just suck it up and do something. It's not like I don't know how to climb a rope. I could get out of my pity hole if I really wanted. 

Well, the sun is only going to get higher in the sky, and my hole isn't going to get any smaller. I am going to try it the farm girl way for now. I'll probably let you know how that went.
May peace and a long, strong rope be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.



Anonymous said...

May I suggest that you use an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt to be your hot weather hair-dying outfit, and an old sweatshirt and sweatpants to be your cold weather hair-dying outfit. It won't matter if they're stained because this will be their dedicated task, sort of like gardening clothes are for gardening.

That way, you don't have to pick and choose when to get this dreaded task over with.

sister3 said...

~oh I missed this blog,
poor goaty goat

We had Goats for 2 weeks lo those many years ago, until we gave them to Pete because our dogs wanted to eat them every day
(go figure).
I still have pictures of Tina & Boots on my picture board
(we didn't give them those dumb names)

~I freaking hate dying my hair.
All those years I did it when I didn't need to and now that
I do, I am so over it!

sdmp said...

After the one and only time I dyed my hair and it turned magenta...I will NEVER do it again!

I'll deal with my silver and wear it with pride.

I've earned every one of those strands...(Rune breaking his hand, Rowen playing with a knife in the middle of the night, Rick not paying the phone

Love ya, Sondra