There has been a lot of driving back and forth between southern and northern Virginia these days to help with my mother’s care and transport her to doctor appointments. I realized today she has at least four eye doctors, each of which specializes in one particular thing. I guess if I had to inherit one negative trait from Mom, at least I got her bunions and not her eyes.
All that driving gives me time to think, which could be good or bad. But I tend to think in short form rather than long, which is good for you. In other words, I don’t think one entire 1200-word essay; I think in 300-word snippets.
Here are the most recent.
1. The cow who wouldn’t give birth.
We put the bull in with the cows in early July each year so we can plan for calving in April. Did you know cows have the same gestation period as humans? Nine months. This year, they’ve all calved—weeks ago—except one, 35. This will be her fourth calf so we’re not terribly concerned, but still it bears watching. You never know when something will go wrong (as it did with the dairy cow this year—her calf had a hoof hooked backward and by the time we got him all straightened out and pulled, he was stillborn), and there’s not a lot of time to intervene if something does go wrong. Calves should be born pretty quickly.
Anyway, 35 is not “bagging up,” not “floppy”—both things we watch for to predict how close she is. She’s just taking her time. At this point though, even if she calved in the night, we could look out in the pasture in the morning and not know there was one more little one. It’s a full-blown nursery out there, with almost as many babies as adults.
2. The neck that wouldn’t stop hurting.
I finally went for the MRI of my neck last week, and by the next morning the report was in my inbox, thank you, UVA. It is full of very big words like “extensive right facet arthropathy” and “uncovertebral joint osteophytes” and “severe left foraminal stenosis” in more than one C-joint. Also apparently there is “ventral effacement of the thecal sac” and “diffuse disc bulge osteophyte complex.” I think that means my neck is pretty messed up, and this is why you don’t settle a car accident case even though the statute of limitations is two years: because six years after the accident you will get a report like this and there won’t be a single thing you can do about it. You and your medical insurance company will be on your own. Now you get to have your neck nerves burned. You’re welcome.
3. The book that wouldn’t stop honing.
You may not remember this, but if you are a subscriber here I told you in my welcome email that you would occasionally get a grammar lesson and that I promised it would be fun. I might be about to break that promise, but I’ll do my best.
I recently read a book that is so wonderful and that I will highly recommend but which also made me want to pull my eyelashes out with its use of “hone in.” I do not blame the author. This is 100% the editor’s fault for not catching this misuse any of the three or four times it was used.
Listen to me, please.
“Hone” never goes with “in.” Never. Never ever.
Hone means to sharpen, as in a skill or a knife. Hone a skill. Hone a knife. No “in.”
If what you are trying to say is that you are getting nearer to your target, the center of the bulls-eye, or your intended destination, narrowing down your focus, what you want to say is “home in.”
H-O-M-E. Home. Home in.
The way you can remember this is by the bird that always goes HOME, a homing pigeon. A homing pigeon homes. He (or she, if you need to ask for directions) goes home. Can you picture a homing pigeon sitting at a spinning whetstone, honing a knife? No, you cannot. Homing pigeons do not hone. They “home in” on their home.
Home goes with in. You home in on something.
Hone never goes with in. You hone something.
Thank you for coming to my TED talk. I hope it was fun.
4. What on earth even?
This is an actual sign I recently saw in a department store that is in the process of going out of business. (I’m sorry, but this may be two grammar lessons in one post.)
There is so much going on here it makes my head spin. This company should declare apostrophaeic bankruptcy and close the doors. I am not actually going to give you this lesson, because I think you already know where the apostrophes should be. But just in case . . .
5. Learning about myself.
One of the things that’s been so fascinating about this healing-from-trauma journey is that I’ve learned some things about myself. It’s not that I’m all self-centered, but when you go through your whole life knowing you are a certain way but not knowing it actually has a name—it is a whole thing—it’s kind of fun.
I’ve always known I was a feeler. (No, I’m not an enneagram 4.) I have always been able to pick up on emotional cues. I sense things. I can walk into a room and feel tension or frustration or sadness. I feel it before I see the person. I know that sounds weird. I know when something isn’t quite right.
Years ago a friend told me I had discernment, and while that’s part of it, it’s not the whole story. I feel. I sense. I just . . . know. I feel it coming a mile away. I learned a couple years ago this is called an empath.
I am an empath, and it’s very cool to see it in action now that I know I am this. It has a name. I’m not just weird, which is what I always thought. I also understand (now) that not everyone is this way. Some people are oblivious to the “vibes” in a room. I am not. Vibes jump out and hit me in the chest. They are louder than anything else.
Sometimes I think it would be easier to not be an empath, but it does seem a little like having a special “spidey sense,” so I guess I’ll just accept it (as if I have a choice).
6. The chickens came home.
We were gifted a coop and eight laying hens by a friend at church, and this weekend was the big move. The girls were understandably upset about all the moving and shaking and there was a good bit of squawking, but they are settled in their new home on the shady side of the yard. Tomorrow we will order movable fencing to make a run, but today they have clean bedding, water, and feed, and they’ve been treated to apples and fresh pea pods. We’ve already been rewarded with two eggs, so I count it a win.
Our Memorial Day was spent working—there is no shortage of things to be done on a farm—so there was no cookout here. But we rewarded ourselves with a completely homegrown supper: pot roast from a cow we raised, fresh potatoes and peas from the garden, and applesauce I canned last fall.
And with that we begin another week.
Blessings to you.
I enjoyed your life vignettes and grammar lessons! I hope your neck pains heal rather than get worse 🙏🏻