Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's BĂȘte Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com

Friday, September 02, 2005

THIS IS A COW (click on image to enlarge)

So says the sculptor, Nat, the resident 2.5 year old.


Potty training is going well. He's graduated to underpants during the day, with few problems after the first couple weeks. My beloved spouse, Flo, reported this conversation from a few days ago.

Nat, to the next door neighbor: "Catherine, I'm wearing underpants!"

Catherine: "That's great!"

Nat: "They're blue! What color are your underpants?"

Flo: "Nat! You don't ask grown ups about their underpants!"

Catherine: "That'll just be between you and me, Nat."


We have chickens. Natasha, one of the two 8-year-olds, died last night. She was the best of chickens, friendly and mellow. Her twin, Karen, who still lives, has always been meaner. Karen beat up on the younger set when they were adolescent chicks. Natasha ignored them. When the younger set grew up, they beat up on Karen. They ignored Natasha. She knew how to get along, to live and let live; she didn't embroil herself in conflict.

Trivial home life stuff. When Icarus fell, the plowing went on.
Natasha was named after Natasha Rostova, from War and Peace, which I was reading at the time. Karen is named after my dear friend, because Karen the chicken was the best worm-getter, and Karen my friend turned me on to worm bins for compost.
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