Happy Eighteen

Happy Birthday to the Girl.  She's eighteen!  Long after all the cake is gone, I'll still be happy at how well she's turned out.  So far so good ...

The girl says:  The cake is gone.  Why is the cake always gone?

We're very proud parents.  She makes it easy to be proud.

Research

My DH is coming home today after a long absence.  I love the work he does, but I love having him home more.  The relatively quiet winter spoiled me.  He'll be globetrotting most of the summer, and he'll be away more than not.

At least I'll be able to go with him for some of it.  We're going to Worldcon, barring unforeseen circumstances.  I hope we'll see some of you there!

In writing:  I'm researching architecture.  Not just for Masks, but for a bunch of books.  The books I own on it (I hadn't gotten around to reading them yet) are fascinating and easy to understand, at least so far.  I'll review them when I'm done.  

Anyway, research is a dangerous thing.  It can halt a project dead.  Research and writing have to balance in favor of the primary task.  In other words, the writing still has to go onward somehow.  I try to get the 'short answer' quickly (as in within a couple of hours) so I can move onward, and then in the evenings I read up on the subject so that I can embellish the section later.  After all, though I love setting-heavy books, my main focus is on the human characters and what they're doing.  Unless one of them is an architect, I shouldn't have to know everything there is about architecture of my period (or fantasy setting) in order to complete a paragraph.  

There's always a chance that my research will lead me to changing whole aspects of the book, but I don't think it's wise to stop the writing process just because there's a chance (not a certainty!) I might have to rewrite some stuff (or all of it).  If the book really was that dependent on research, I should have done it up front ... and while I'm researching that book, I can be working on another.  I also have to entertain the possibility that if research may change a book that much, there might be a vision issue.  If the book relies too much on things that I don't know, then how do I know my overall concept is sound?  It would be like trying to write a book centered around a dinosaur planet without knowing much about dinosaurs.  If I knew what I needed to know about dinosaurs in the first place, would I really choose to write my book around a dinosaur planet?  Maybe it would be a better idea to write a book set on a world with dinosaur-like creatures, but they're alien enough that they behave like I imagine them to behave.  As our adventurers get into more and more trouble, maybe scientists back home trying to help them keep throwing their hands up in despair because as far as they knew, dinosaurs aren't like that.  And it could work as a story.  Isn't the story the point of writing in the first place?

Some books really do require research, and I wouldn't dare write them without.  But if all my book concepts require massive amounts of research, then I should ask myself if I'm ready to write books.  Maybe writing short stories in the meantime will keep my writing skills honed until I'm ready.  But isn't that a trap?  Maybe I'm not ready to write those stories either because they need research ... and I'd end up being a researcher, not a writer.  

There's nothing wrong with being a researcher.  I could put up an amazing website about my research.  I might even be able to make money through a donation button, or through selling articles as my knowledge grows.  And then I'll really be writing, though maybe not the way I'd planned.

It's all good.  Writing.  Research.  Reading.  Lots of reading.  I just have to make sure that I'm doing my primary thing, um, primarily.  Because, in theory anyway, that's the thing I really want to do.  Right?

On A Lighter Note ...

I'm not sure what this cat is doing, but whatever it's doing, it negates all my thoughts and makes my head kinda cock to the side and then I want to take even more pictures.

And no matter how many pictures I take, even though I use the flash every time ...

freakishly ...

... it just keeps doing it.

And her eyes follow me around the room.

Weird.

Medicine

A lot has happened in the past week, and some of it has been terrible stuff.

I hate to write about it because I don't want to attract sympathy, and I certainly don't want to cause my family additional pain.  But I think I need to write about one of the things because it might save someone some pain and agony.

A relative of mine passed away suddenly.  She'd written off doctors a long time ago ...  

I'm so sad for her family and closest friends.  And I fear there are thousands of people out there who are going to die from treatable, even preventable illnesses because they have a thing against regular doctors.  There are so many people who have no choice at all, and wish they had access to a medical doctor.  It might seem like madness to them to reject water from a pump when you're dying of thirst because you refuse to drink from anything other than a stream.

I have to be okay with it, though.  People have to make their own choices, and it may be that my aunt was willing to die this way rather than see a doctor.  I have to honor that choice, because it is her choice, and I wouldn't want to take that away from anyone.  In the end it was her body to do with as she wished to do.

Having said that ....

I'm well aware of a doctor's limitations, and the dangers of going to a hospital.  You can come out more ill than what you came in with.  I don't think going to the doctor should be done frequently, or lightly.  On the other hand I think it's foolish to refuse things like antibiotics or blood pressure medication or insulin when it might save your life, and it seems very strange to me to take these things without a prescription on your own by borrowing someone else's medicine or getting it on the black market or making it from scratch on your own, as if that makes it better.  

I believe that real naturopathic medicine can be extremely effective, but it's not the only way, or even the best way in a given circumstance.  And I believe that there's a lot of misinformation and delusion in regard to naturopathic medicine out there.  There are bad doctors too, I know.  But clearly, avoiding all doctors to avoid the bad ones is not a path toward superior health.

I hope my aunt lived happily and well and fully, and my heart is with her immediate family.  They all did what they thought was best, and I refuse to point fingers and blame and be angry.  This isn't about me anyway.

What I don't want to see are people convinced that their chosen alternative form of medicine is the only and best option, and that things would have come out far worse if they'd seen a doctor.  If they choose to limit themselves, I hope they do so accepting the fact that it is a limitation in some situations.  Limits can be good, and honestly we're all going to die anyway, so I'd just soon people live the way they want--as long as it really is a choice, and not delusion.  Because, we all know deep down, that living naturally doesn't make us immortal, or better, or cleaner.  And a long, healthy life isn't truly natural.  It's a combination of luck, and resources, and wisdom, and genetics, and ... medicine.

I urge everyone to make these choices in an informed way, and to really study all aspects of their health and well-being from a variety of sources.  Health is one of those incredibly valuable things that many people take for granted, and not always in the way that you'd think.  Ill health can be taken for granted just as easily as good health.  Health is not obvious, or automatic ... it's a gift.  May it be yours to hold and keep as long as possible.

Thought and Action--Infatuation vs. Love

I've had lots more fun/progress with Masks.  I never have enough time to write, or garden, or do art ....

Sometimes what I pick shows how much of a priority that takes above the other things, but sometimes it means the opposite.  When a project gets too overwhelming or goes too deep or takes me to scary places, it's funny how important my other stuff becomes.

Which works okay, but I have to be really careful that I come back and finish what I began.  Otherwise, eventually everything that I care about will be put on a backburner until that fictional time period where it will no longer challenge me.  I can't live and create in fictional time.  I have to do that in real time.  I have to work hard and get my hands dirty in the garden.  I have to sit my butt in the chair and write.  I have to get out my ground and my medium and work them together until I finish (or give up, more likely, but at least I'll have gotten to a place where I'm doing more harm than good and I can set it aside satisfied that I've taken it as far as my skills allow.)  

And now I really do have to find out why my dogs are freaking out.  Could it be a deer eating my roses?  Time to get my flashlight (wah, it's all the way upstairs!) and go outside (but it's cooooollllddd out there!) and check it out.

'Cause intent without action means all the roses will be gone tomorrow.  I love them too much to let that happen.  I guess that's the difference between infatuation and love.  Follow through.

She did it!!!!

Congratulations, my daughter.

Your teachers and every member of the tribe is so proud of you.

Especially your dad and I.

Bravo.

Love, Mom

Work and Play

I'm trying to set up a new business and the details are crazy-making! I think I'm going to have to do a lot more research before I can figure out what it is *exactly* that I'll be doing with this.

Advice is welcome.

I had a wonderful time in Seattle. Our hosts were amazing and extremely hospitable. I had some amazing conversations over the weekend, and met a lot of fantastic people. Which reminds me: thanks to everyone there for weathering my sugar-crash on Saturday. I forgot what they felt like.

Note to self: No donut for Kami when she's hungry.

We have ongoing good weather, so I'll be out in the garden a lot. Good grief, the garden ... it either rains too much or not enough. I'm sure the seedlings are very confused, what seedlings I have. It's late, it's late, I've missed my very important garden dates, but it doesn't bother me. I'll plant anyway at this inauspicious time and see what happens.

Gardening would be boring if it turned out awesome every year. I guess that makes gardening something like gambling, and maybe that aspect is part of what makes it so addictive. The other parts? I can go on and on about how huge the peony blooms are this year, and the taste of fresh tomatoes and snow peas, the pleasure of picking fresh herbs to season our meat for dinner, etc.

Besides, I like playing in the dirt. It smells nice.

Tangential Thoughts that don't lead to anything but more thoughts

Long but good day. I had a lot of great conversations during breaks (my DH was teaching and no, I didn't have to be his button monkey.) Some were intense and got me thinking about things I haven't thought about in a long time.

Mostly I had a really easy life, but there were a few hairy patches and some rough and sad times. Who hasn't? I think that it was those hair, rough and sad times that shaped me the most. And people who don't have it tough, who seemingly have everything (nice house, plenty of money, access to good food, medicine, the best education, etc.)--are those of us just misinformed about their behavior or are the privileged kids creating their own problems to weather?

Do we need a certain amount of pain to grow through, and does pain we generate for ourselves actually grow us or is it a sad substitute that doesn't work but is better than nothing?

Stuff to think about.

In which Kami gets Long-Winded

Stress.

Not mine, at least not directly. The girl is experiencing unprecedented levels of pressure, and it's starting to really get to her. Luckily she's got a nice weekend ahead of her with nothing more to do than pick out which book she'd like to read in the shade under our trees.

I only vaguely remember that kind of pressure. It's not a success thing, at least not in the usual way I think of success. When you've been living under the protection of adults all your life, it's hard to trust that you've got what it takes to make it on your own. Add to that the sense of permanence to those early decisions ...

I decided that I wanted to be an engineer like my father. I didn't do very well in college in that first year. Better than some, in that I didn't completely flunk out, but my grades reflected my complete lack of preparation for attending a university full time.

It was the end of the world, or so I thought. I bore up well on the exterior (I think) but deep down I felt like opportunity had come knocking and I'd opened the door and accidentally shot it dead.

The girl is trying to decide whether to work, where to work, how to focus her learning and efforts, how to do the college thing both financially and also mentally/emotionally, and I know she feels like whatever she decides in the next couple of months will either make or break her.

Well, yes and no ....

Because all of us who've been there know that things like college and first jobs and where we choose to live when we first set out on our own is just a beginning. That beginning could be really short and actually not affect the rest of your life at all.

My father died. I married and had children. I started writing. I took more college courses, toyed with finishing my degree or maybe starting a new one ... and that life-and-death freshman year in college turned out to just be a brief testing ground. I learned important stuff about myself, but in the grand scheme of things, I doubt that completely flunking out would have broken me. Completing school and getting an engineering degree didn't guarantee success either. I'd have a different life ... but better? Worse? It think that would have depended on me more than what I achieved, if that makes sense. I think that one way or another, wherever I ended up, I'd be happy only if I figured out how to be happy, and I'd be miserable no matter how cushy a job I landed with my fancy degree if I never learned how to cope with failure, and cope with partial successes, and appreciate what I've got no matter how things are going.

That's a really long-winded way of saying, basically, that I think that no matter what the girl decides, she'll be all right. Even if she's not, it may not have so much to do with being stuck with what she decides as being in a particular place at a particular time with a particular skill set. I wish I could help her understand that it's okay, and that sometimes mistakes aren't mistakes, and sometimes the right choice turns out really crummy, and we just have to adapt. Stuff happens. Part of growing up is learning how to take that failure or success or weird switcheroo and make it work out for you, or at least laugh and move on and keep being happy.

As long as there's life, there's hope. Not hope for a happily-ever-after. Just hope. Hope that there's going to be a good day, or hour, or minute ahead, or if not, hope that we can at least say it was all worth it.

Good luck, my children. It's a big world full of lots of things, and I hope you can shake off the stress long enough to appreciate how much of a privilege it is to try, and choose, and be.

Appreciation

I'm on my way to Seattle with my DH. It'll be a working vacation, with lots of writing for me and lots of teaching important stuff for him.

Before we left I took a shot at putting in some veggies. It's so late in the year I don't even want to think about it. Ugh. It's not the latest year, though.

I remember the year we moved to the area. Wind tore the gutter away from the roof on our first night. I'd wondered what the banging outside might be--I was unfamiliar enough with the house that I didn't think it was abnormal.

That year it refused to stop raining, and I didn't know enough about how the planting season worked in our area, or that it would have been better to just turn the sod over rather than try to dig up the grass (which was really more like bamboo at that point) and shake off as much topsoil from the roots as possible--I didn't know anything, actually. I thought I did. I was about to learn that I was a lousy gardener ill-equipped to deal with a large property.

I don't remember if I actually got anything out of the garden that year. Probably not. But I got started. Every spring since then I thought this year the garden is going to be really spectacular. One year it really was, but I didn't realize it at the time. I was too busy battling blackberries.

I don't think this year will be very good, but it may still surprise me. What I have learned, though, is to appreciate the progress. I might never think the garden is really good in a particular year, but even on a cruddy year with mostly cloudy skies, low temperatures, the ground too saturated to dig and/or too cold to plant until June, I can take a look around and think 'this is the best year yet.'

So here's to the best year yet, in gardening and in life. Enjoy the sunshine if you've got it!

Exciting Times

Masks has taken a strange turn thanks to a book I'm reading.

I love it when that happens.  And I love strangeness, especially when it feels familiar despite the fact that it's bizarre.  Stuff like this encourages me to play with my brain.  

I'll review the book that upended Masks and sent it spinning into unforeseen directions when I'm done.

In other news, the boy is home for a visit.  I'm always happier when he's here.  He has a project he's working on and I'm hoping to guide him through the process of creation.  I know how hard it can be to begin something creative.  When we face a blank page, we're really facing ourselves.  It's weird but true that when we're faced with ourselves, we don't feel up to our own challenge.  You'd think that hey, it's my challenge and I want to do it, what's the harm in trying?  And there is no harm ... just terrible, nasty doubt and that doubt knows all your buttons and switches because it's you.

Anyway, I have to go to work now.  I wish I could stay home, but I'm just too darned ethical to call in sick, even when I'm feeling sick-ish, since my malaise is entirely my own fault.  It's not a cold, it's not a broken bone or a severed artery ... it's called insufficient sleep after a huge day and then waking up before first light to take my DH to the airport.  Thank you to all the folks who turned out for my DH's first-ever book signing and reading at Cedar Hills Powells last night.  I had a ton of fun before, during and after, and I'm all right with feeling dragged out, headachy and feeling like I want to eat nothing all day today because my tummy is unsettled.  It was totally worth it.  

Totally.

Bits

Just a quickie before I head back to work ...

I've been writing on Masks again. My writing process changes all the time, and sometimes that scares me. I think a lot of writers are afraid of doing it wrong. Change doesn't always mean you change for the better.

I have to keep writing and not judge myself. I'll let others judge me. It's better that way.

Also, I'm getting closer to putting House of Goats up for those who'd like to read the kind of stuff I write but aren't into fantasy/sf. I'll make a big announcement when it happens.

Lastly, the girl is working on finishing those critical senior year requirements before she graduates. The pressure is up but she's hanging in there. I'll try to get her to send out her graduation announcements soon. I think she's a little worried about jinxing herself, when she has time to worry!

Proud to be a Mom

Wow.  It's a whole new month!  

Here, at last, are pics of the girl just before she went to the prom.  The extra string by her neck is from her purse--I couldn't get her to hang out for pics very long because she was in quite a hurry to get out the door.  I think I may have overdone it in the fussing department.  

She had a wonderful time, and even danced with a boy.

I don't know who will look back on this night more fondly--the girl, or me. 

The boy is visiting for Mother's Day.  I sure miss having him home.  I love having him here on Mom's day, and I feel totally pampered.  He helped me a ton around the garden.  The girl helped too, but not much.  Rain and thunder drove her off and she never came back.

Peas are in, artichokes and cardoon (hardened off seedlings that are under a protective cover until things nice'n up) and the onion sets which couldn't wait any longer.  I think the onion sets will be fine, since some onions that overwintered have plenty of green on them.

Cake, gardening, crystalline gifts, and a good talk with my mom this morning.  Awesome day.  It'll be hard to go back to work tomorrow after being spoiled rotten all day.  I'm so proud of my kids, and spending time with them was a huge treat.  

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there!  I hope you had a good one.

Waiting

Still @ McMenamin's, waiting for my daughter to call us to pick her up from the prom.

Happy, excited, apprehensive, watching the minutes tick closer to when the prom is officially over. Can't wait to grill for details.

I'm such a mom.

The Milestones are Getting Bigger

My youngest child is at her senior prom. I'm at a local pub not drinking, eating good pub food and I'm desperately hoping she's having fun.

She'll never know how beautiful she is, not just to me but to everyone who sees her. I wonder if it scared her a little to see herself in makeup, with her hair up, in a formal floor-length gown. It didn't scare me. I see her as a incredible young lady whether she's dressed up or she's in grubby jeans and a stained sweater.

Meanwhile my eldest child is finding out about the work world in a way that no one likes to learn--through the frustrating process of endless job hunting in a bad economy, where people with no experience are forced to compete with people who are overqualified and desperate for any kind of income. And he's met someone his age. A couple of years older, actually, but how different she must seem from his high school friends. She has a job, is old enough to drink ... yeah.

I seldom thought this far ahead when I had kids, and I only could think that way in unfocused abstracts, especially since we had autistic kids. I think that turned into such a blessing in so many ways. I was never tempted to pigeonhole them or force them onto a track. Everything was up for grabs. Would they go to college? That was nothing--I wondered if they'd be able to make friends. Would they participate in team sports? Let's just worry about whether they would be able to stay in a mainstream school.

I don't think I ever set the bar low, or decided that they couldn't do anything they wanted. They did surprise me a lot, but that doesn't mean I didn't think they were capable. It was always about what they wanted to strive for, and I was never sure what they would want to do with the resources they had within themselves physically, mentally and emotionally.

My kids taught me how to be a supportive parent by unveiling the difficulties and exceptional capabilities given to people born with autism-spectrum stuff. If they'd been born 'normal' I wonder if I might not have turned out to be a crummy parent, that terrible combination of helicopter and controlling that only allowed them to be all they could be as long as that being was within the realms of my vision for them. I did too much of that as it stands. But they didn't, and I had to immediately let go of any kind of planned future for them.

And that turned out to be a very good thing. I'm not going to stress about my daughter going to the prom without a date or a gaggle of friends. She wanted to go to the prom, and she went by herself, and I did everything I could to make her prom night special within the context of her desires. Just between us, I'm proud of her, because I wanted to go alone but I chickened out and went with someone I didn't like so I could conform. Unlike me when I was her age, she is a true individual, and her high school class is full of like-minded kids. Amazing. I doubt they will bat an eye at her showing up by herself.

I'm not going to stress about my son not finding work either. He's taking a community college course on his own dime and looking and learning and discovering so much about what happens to a plan when it meets up with the real world. There's time yet to learn about how to work at a real paying job. Right now he's in the middle of plenty other lessons, and I can see his mind spinning and working and going into overdrive trying to figure out how to make things work. Part of that learning will involve trying to hold onto or fall back onto old habits that made life comfortable for him at home, and figuring out how well those habits serve him now.

None of this is about me, of course. But I'm going through a process too, not so much of letting go but seeing my children in a whole new way. Not as independent beings--they've always been that--but as rapidly changing beings. Like seeds growing into trees, they stay little for such a long time, and though they're growing at the same rate on a cellular level they seem to suddenly explode into so many branches and leaves that it's beyond counting.

I finally get to see them as the trees, and not just an assortment of leaves and twigs that I feed and water and nurture as best I can.

And that's a very awe-inspiring thing.

Good Friends Gone

These weren't the pics I originally planned on posting.  I've been going through my pics and I found these.  I'd forgotten that I took them.  The top one is of our beloved Nikita and goofball Beast, and the lower one is of our sweet girl Dakota who passed away so recently.

Good days, gone but not forgotten.

Day Two in Chickville

We still have six baby chicks.

The kewl thing about chicks is that no matter how wound-up you are when you get home from work, they're reliably themselves.  They live their lives under a warm red light eating, pooping, and sleeping.  Oh, and peeping, of course.  They peep in a similar fashion to sparrows, a very sweet, uplifting sound that relaxes me unless they're peeping in my bedroom at 2am, but we're not raising them in the master bedroom this year.  I do vaguely remember how that peep cut through layers of blankets and pillows like well-aimed bullets.  In a sweet, uplifting way, of course.

I'm still concerned about their health, but the fact that they made it through the night and they're all active is encouraging.  They're also all eating.  And eating.  And eating.  I think they're in a race to see who doubles their weight first.

I'll post pics soon--possibly tomorrow.  This may be as cute as they get, though you never know.  They may turn out to be very beautiful birds despite the rather plain-looking pictures I found on the web of their adult forms.

The new flock

We have chicks.

We got three black sex-link chicks and three barred rock chicks today.  No ameraucanas this time, but they may have some next Friday, at which point we may pick up three more.  We'll see.  We didn't pick out the prettiest chickens in the universe, at least to my eyes, but they're tough, reliable breeds and they'll be good layers.  Not that we need a gizillion eggs.  

I still miss my original birds desperately, especially Cleo and Hero, and Henry, and that may be why I didn't decide to wait for ameraucanas and get only that breed.  I don't want to think of these as replacements--they're their own birds with their own lives.  

Of that original flock we still have Beatrice and one of the Wyandotte roosters.  They're doing very well, although they're a bit perturbed about not being able to roam around the garden freely like they used to.  Beatrice lays one lovely pink egg every day, despite having a mere quarter of an acre on which to roam.  She's good at making due.  The rooster seems more surly lately, and attacks me when I start to leave.  I figure he's trained himself not to attack when we come in, because that might deter us from providing treats ...

I'm really anxious about introducing our babies to the older birds.  In theory they'll all be hens (the feed store changed companies after customer complaints about having too many roosters) so the rooster probably won't object to them, but still.  Fortunately that's a long ways away.  They have to get all their outdoor, grownup feathers first.  They'll still be peeping, though, when they move into the big coop, and I hope that will help the adult chickens look at them as non-threats.  They'll look almost grown-up, but they won't really be mature birds until winter has come on, at which point they should be completely integrated into the flock.

They're fast asleep right now.  Why is there always one that has to sleep with her head over the edge of the waterer?  Her beak isn't dipped into the water and she's breathing fine, but still.  Sheesh.  That can't be comfortable.

We have a better chance of having all females this time around thanks to the change in company, but I don't know if the quality of bird overall will be better.  I'm having my doubts.  I've had to clean up two pasty butts already.  I had only one sick bird last time out of the seven, and she ended up doing famously.  I'll keep my fingers crossed and hope that these all survive to become big, healthy, happy biddies.  It's not all hope, though.  We'll take the best care of them that we know how.  So far, so good.

Writer's Block

I think I've got writer's block.

I'm not sure, because as far as I remember I haven't, at least, not a full-blown-can't-write-squat.  That isn't to say I haven't had writer's block before.  I just don't remember.  My mind is like a sponge that way.  When it gets full of water stuff drips out the bottom.

The best cure for writer's block is, of course, to write.  So I'm going to be taking down notes today at work and really try to put myself into that opening that I want.  And then, tonight, I'm going to write.  Even if it's crappy.  Even if I'm sure it'll never see the light of day.  And I'll keep going.

I know I've got something going on because the last few things I've tried to write were short stories and I didn't finish them.  The idea of working on novels ... I put them off.  I make excuses.  But I know intellectually that I've written more words into novels than anything and it's novels that keep me writing, so novels should get me writing again.

In the meantime I'll try to write some articles and maybe have another go at short stories or whatever.  Whatever keeps me occupied when I put my butt in the chair.  The only rule is that if I start a short story or an article, I have to finish it.  All the way to the end.

The End

Tis the Season of the Goaty Worms

Recuperating from a long week.

The goats were looking kinda wan, so I decided to worm them even though the weather hasn't warmed up much.  

Springtime is worm season, and we've gone through worm overload problems before.  Anemia, bottle jaw, hypo-proteination ... yeah, I've learned it all the hard way.  But do I remember worming itself accurately?

Hell no.

I bought the wormer goop in an appealing-sounding flavor.  Apple cinnamon.  Sounds great, right?  And I head out to the barn.  Here goaty goaty goaties!  I waved the no-needle syringe in the air.  The goats come running.  Oh yeah, way easy.  I squeeze out a little and wave it in front of Scooter's nose.  His nose wiggles, then wrinkles.  Aw, come on!  You know you like it ...

Five minutes later I'm winded and astride Scooter, prying his mouth open with one hand while trying to push the syringe in his mouth with the other while squeezing the stopper.  White goo, scented pleasantly of apple-cinnamon, drips onto the ground and foams in his mouth.  I get most of it in and let him go.  

And he was the easy one.

The white goat won't even let me get near her.  I lure them into the barn with grain, and then the rodeo begins.  She's good with her horns ...

A couple of minutes later I walk out and they follow me, bleating for more attention.  I've got goop on my pants, on my hands, on the grain bucket, and I've stepped in some.  Fortunately I got close enough to a full dose in each of them that they should be safe.

Next month, maybe it'll be as easy as I remember it being.  You know, as easy as trimming hooves.  The way I recall it, hoof trimming isn't so bad.  

I have no idea why I keep putting it off.