I'm STILL in love with an inanimate object.

So, I'm re-posting this with an update as I've just returned from spending a week with the Jura, er, my dad. You see, after I talked it up so much last year, my father received one as a Christmas gift from my step-mother (who, coincidentally, gets the Most Awesome Wife Ever award for that). I thought you all should know that it lived up to the hype and I happily drank cup after perfect cup throughout my stay. Upon my return, well, I returned. To reality. To my life without the perfect, smarter-than-me, coffee machine. Which means I've returned to blundering around in the mornings all bleary-eyed and confused trying to find my way to the other side; the side where the caffeinated people live. See below for brand new coffee follies!

I'm in Love With an Inanimate Object (original post)

It's true. And I don't mean that pheromone-driven, baby talking, googly eyed kind of puppy love. I mean the serious "let's grow old together, I cannot imagine my life without you, how did I exist until now" kind of love. This is the real deal. And let's be honest, the fact that it doesn't talk is sort of a bonus.

First, let me say that I don't typically covet material things. As much as I appreciate your fancy new stereo or phone (and I have been thinking about investing in some good headphones) I would generally rather book a plane ticket than add an object to my collection if I have some money to spend. That is, until now.

I met the new object of my affection recently while visiting friends and I was done for. It was love at first sip. Let me introduce you to the Jura Capresso Coffee Center.




This, my friends, is no ordinary coffee maker. "Coffee maker" really isn't even a fair term. This is as close as you get to having your own personal barista. It wants to know things about you..."would you like your coffee strong, medium or mild this morning?" (although, for me this is an irrelevant question...are there really people out there who like weak coffee? probably. So see! Something for everyone!) It also asks what size cup you would like and what you're in the mood for. It will brew you one fine cup of crema coffee, a single or double shot of espresso, make you a latte or a cappuccino or just steam your milk a little so it doesn't cool down your coffee and all this in less that one minute! Seriously! You can also keep it loaded with two kinds of coffee (regular or decaf? espresso or something a little lighter?) AND, with the built in grinder and 64oz. water reservoir you just fill it up every now and then. This is in large part why I'm so enticed by this machine. I don't function well in the pre-coffee hours of the day and this leads me to do really stupid things that hinder my efficiency in getting said coffee into my body (see below for examples). It's a problem. I'm not proud.


So, after returning home I took to the Internet to learn more about this magical coffee genie. I knew it was pretty expensive but I was not yet prepared for my dreams to be shattered. They start at $899.00...ouch. Oh, so sad. I contemplated selling a kidney on the black market (I mean you really only need one, right?). It occurred to me though that after having a kidney removed you probably have to restrict your coffee intake so it seemed a little counter productive. Never one to be deterred, I checked out eBay and CraigsLook and I found a few used ones...even one for $350, but I didn't buy it. I kept thinking about the things I could do with the money if I had it to spend..fly to Central America, pay my booth fees into a good art show, get the new tattoo I really want...I'm sure I could go on, but you get the idea.


The reality is that I don't have $900 to blow on the best coffee machine ever or anything else frivolous. No matter how much I would love it. And the idea that $350 is a "really good deal" on a used coffee machine seems a little out of balance. So, for now, I'm stuck with my regular old coffee maker, grinding my own beans and occasionally staring blearily at the lack of coffee coming out wondering where it all went wrong.

Morning Coffee Follies

(In all instances you can picture me, in my pjs, half awake and barely functional slowly transitioning through confusion, to annoyance and eventually into laughter because I'm ridiculous).

• I neglected to grind the beans; coffee maker runs with whole beans in the filter basket yielding a slightly yellow pot of hot water.



• I remember to grind the beans but neglect to actually put them in the coffee maker yielding a perfectly clear pot of hot water.



• I remember to grind the beans and add them to the filter basket but I neglect to add water yielding...well, nothing.



• I place the carafe in the freezer...then spend several minutes trying to find it (I mean really!? that's just pathetic.)

• I grind the beans, put them in the filter basket, I add water and I push the button (yay me, right?). I walk away only to return to a cold, silent, empty machine. Because it is unplugged.

• This may be the best one yet. I add the water (after checking the plug!), open the coffee grinder, get out the beans and then proceed to pour the whole beans in to the water reservoir of the coffee maker. Know how you get those out? You have to turn the whole machine upside down over the sink and shake it. I couldn't get them all. I made coffee anyway so I would be better equipped to figure out how to get the rest of them out.

*All NEW*

• I grind the beans, I remember a filter, I fill the caraffe and press start.  I go about my business only to return and find that I neglected to actually pour the water into the machine.  Ugh.

The Gypsy Soul was Stirred: Part 2

So in thinking more about my restlessness I've come up with a few thoughts. One is that it is simply the latest installment of the three year cycle and on some fundamental level I can feel it coming. Another is that this cycle has become habitual for me and since I know the three year mark is approaching, I feel restless. Are you feeling the chicken and egg vibe here? Really I think both of these are true and are not mutually exclusive. The trigger is no doubt New York City though. I used to think I knew that I would live there someday. It has always tugged at me but for whatever reason (it was impractical, irresponsible, too expensive, I was in school, there was a boy, there wasn't a boy..I could go on and on) I never made the leap.

I love the energy there, the pace and the creativity...good god the art! It speaks to me (and about a gazillion other people, I know. I'm not unique here, I get that). So all those years that I basically had total freedom and the luxury of making selfish choices, I didn't. I didn't choose it. I chose school and practicality, financial stability, a boy and then a smaller boy. During those years when my friends were on Dead tour, backpacking through Europe, moving "out West" for no apparent reason or otherwise not being "productive members of society," I was studying and working and staying the course. When I finally did veer off course it wasn't really off course, it was to get on someone else's course instead.

Don't get me wrong, it isn't like I wasn't having a lot of fun along the way*. I traveled, went to school in Costa Rica, I backpacked across Panama solo, I went on a thousand impromptu road trips to see music or just because I could. But I always made sure that I was back in time for class and that I had all my shifts covered at whatever bullshit job I was working. I also moved to Antigua alone to do my Master's research...that was certainly an adventure. But it was still work and productive adventures don't count I've decided.

* This is me at 21 on a rope swing on a beach in Costa Rica...swinging over a giant bonfire while drinking beer in the rain. That was fun.

Visiting New York is just a reminder of the path not taken...more like the path not even attempted. This is obviously not a disaster, but it brings out the mystic in me and I think about things like destiny and kismet and other things that I talked myself out of believing in years ago. I want to run away from home and be an irresponsible vagabond...but we all know I won't.

So this is the exact point at which writing a blog like this begins to feel completely narcissistic and ridiculous. I mean seriously, who needs to know this? Nobody. Really. Why are you reading this? Don't you have enough of your own problems? My dear brave (and sometimes infuriating!)friend has a giant tumor growing in her chest and I'm bellyaching about not living it up enough in my 20's? Good lord, go read something productive like how to build a birdhouse or how to green your cleaning products or something. This is utter nonsense. And even if it isn't, I don't have any answers. I'll be as surprised as anyone to see what happens next.

The Gypsy Soul was Stirred

We'll call this part one because I know I don't have time to write what I want to write right now, right? NYC girl trip was a blast...getting to know one friend better and making new ones along the way. What I didn't expect is my absolute inability to settle down since my return. I knew that I had the travel bug and that I have been seriously missing that part of my life in recent years, but this feels like a disease. An affliction? addiction? It is visceral. I feel like an out of luck crack head looking for a hit. I'm restless and antsy and I can't concentrate. I'm distracted and day dreamy and totally anxious because I know that I will pay dearly tonight and tomorrow morning in my attempt to scramble to finish all the things I should have done today. I am eking out work at a snail's pace because I can't stay focused. I'm really not ADD; this is very specific. And familiar, but it has been a while. I'd like to say it is too much coffee, but A. I don't believe there is such a thing and B. I've really only had two cups so that's not legit anyway.

Sometimes people laugh when I tell them about my 3 year gypsy cycle but this is no laughing matter. If you haven't heard me talk about it and you actually care, it goes like this. Pretty much since I was born, every 3 years (sometimes down to the very day) a major life change and often a physical move comes my way. You might say this is a self-fulfilling prophecy and maybe on a subconscious level you'd be right. But as some of you ("you" my friends out in the world, not "you" the non-existent readers of this blog) have witnessed I usually don't have any idea these changes are coming and don't do anything to invite or perpetuate them. Shit just happens. I make a major life change and move far away for a very specific reason with no intention of ever coming back. Three years goes by and WHAMMO here I am, moving back to the very place I thought I'd left forever. Or WHAMMO I'm leaving again for unforeseen reasons to yet another adventure. Or WHAMMO a tiny human comes out of my body (that one was on purpose).

Here's my point, next week it will be three years since I returned to Abingdon and I've been fighting the feeling. Something is coming, I can feel it. The wind is shifting. I should probably mention that these events are not always physical relocation. There have been job opportunities, the birth of my son, tragic losses of friends and family, beautiful unexpected windfalls and much more. The only thing that remains the same is the timing.

To be continued...

Taking the Plunge

And into the blogosphere I go. For years I have been told that I should have a blog but I never thought I would have the time to write about what I'm doing because I'm always so busy doing it. When I'm not busy living my life I'd usually rather take a nap than spend more time on the computer. However, I do love to write and I rarely have time to construct the kind of essays and stories that I'd like, so this will have to do. I compose imaginary blog entries (err, posts) in my head all the time, while I work in the garden or make dinner or lay awake at 3am for no reason...but they never make it into cyberspace. So here it is. My brain in digital. I'm launching this with no intention of continuity and complete disregard for any applicable blog etiquette or rules since I don't know what they are and really don't care anyway. This is not my attempt to wow you with my well-crafted commentary. There will be punctuation mistakes but as long as you get the point that's good enough for me. This is as close as you'll get to talking to me in person and hearing about the nonsense that I get myself into...if you think that sounds like fun, well, then welcome to the circus.

Chicken Shit

So, the coop was finished about two weeks ago and I finally started to paint it today. And yes, it took a while. And no, some of you will not be impressed (ahem, Dwayne), but I don't care. I still kind of can't believe that I pulled this off. I mean, I knew I would build something, but I thought there was every chance that it would look like a giant plywood box that could go at any minute. I mean really, I've never built anything bigger than a bluebird house and the pieces for that were pre-cut. The compost bin, yes and that was a success and a great warm up project but it doesn't need to protect anyone from predators.

I suppose I could back up in case for some reason you are reading this and yet have no idea what I'm talking about. That seems boring and like it would take a long time though, so here's the short version. Five weeks ago I bought 7 baby chicks...basically on a whim. They have since grown into small chickens and at least one of them has grown into a small rooster (sad). Anyway, I built them a chicken coop (wait for it) from scratch. I know. I started with some graph paper and a pencil and here's what I ended up with. I feel like an architect and a bad ass. Hey, small triumphs are fine by me!

There are a few hundred missing steps in the photo documentation because I was so focused on getting it done that I forgot to take pictures, sorry. Anyway, you'll get the idea. I still have work to do. Build the attached run for one thing, that too will come...if we ever decide to stay home for a whole weekend and it doesn't rain the whole time. For now the chickens are basically free ranging in the yard and garden during the day and going into the coop at night. I do have a temporary movable run (read, old baby play yard) up for them with some aviary netting and plywood for shade and a little protection. These days though, I've been leaving it open so they can come and go as they please. They seem to like hanging out in the compost bin a lot which is fine with me since that's where I'd most like to have their poop anyway.

FYI, it is not my intention to have this be a chicken blog, but chickens are a good part of what's up with me right now...so we'll see.

The first few steps, building the frames for the walls and the nest boxes.

The finished coop with the doors on. The small door next to Ry's head will be inside the attached run and will give the ladies access to the run when we can't let them out into the yard.








































This little door will be outside the run so I can change out the water and food without going into the run.

This whole side opens up for cleaning. We put in a vinyl floor to make that easier and keep the yuckyness from soaking into the plywood flooring.

The nest boxes on the back are also outside of where the run will be so egg collection will be easy.