Chickens and coming home

Everything on our dinner plate was from the garden except for the chicken. The large zucchini was cut up in inch thick slices, splashed with a garlic-ginger-soy-rice vinegar sauce and the put on the grill; an alternative to the zucchini bread that I don’t have any use for.

The green beans came straight from the vines, cooked al dente with a little bit of salt and nutmeg; eaten with fingers. The tiny potatoes, cooked in the skin, were the remainders of our latest harvest. We start eating the largest potatoes and then work ourselves down to the ones no bigger than a half inch. Yummy all by themselves, without any additions, not even salt and pepper.

The chicken came from the store. It could have been different but Axel has so far resisted my entreaties to get chicken – primarily for their eggs. I could imagine, at some future time, maybe after a 4-H class, that we could actually kill and eat our chickens but something more drastic has to happen to the store chicken and to Axel’s mindset about chickens.

Axel and Steve cleaned out the attic of the barn to make space for stuff from Lanesville that has to be out of the tiny doll house in less than a month. Tessa and Steve are coming back to live with us, just when Axel has created some order in his clubhouse.  But we do like them around, just not the dog hair.

At work I have been making some long days, mostly because of a training in a virtual facilitator program called Zing that I am quite excited about.  I now have some allies who are also seeing its potential. The process of getting the training populated and funded taught me a thing or two about change processes – just the topic I am working on for an e-learning course; the material delivered on my doorstep so to speak. It also taught me something about salesmanship and the role of champions and sponsors.

In the meantime the budgeting process for our coveted overhead monies is in full swing at work, with lots of people busy planning, budgeting, adding and subtracting and, soon, horse-trading. My dance card is, to my surprise, oversubscribed, quite a drastic change from last year. I can see now how I was left out, not being around for the process, invisible in Kabul. It makes me wonder who is now in that position, invisible in their field posts, but ready to come home. When you get as big as we are, personal relationships aren’t sufficient – you need a system that picks up the signal when someone is ready to come home.

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