Monday, February 4, 2013

What? Me? Chicken?

Hey!  If the hit counter on Blogger is correct, about 130 of you read each post.  130 give or take, that is, since surely some of you are so taken with every word that you read it twice, right?  So, where were you all when last Monday came and went without my weakly (sic!) silliness?  I didn't figure out it was Monday until part way through Tuesday which then got me thinking about an old Irish Rover's song called "To Morrow"   which I played endlessly while I was teaching guitar at Golden Ring Folklore Center, but that's a story for another day.

No, on to that grand rooster at the top.  Each year when I go to my trade show in Minneapolis, I try to stop at an area indie bookstore.  One of my favorites in called The Wild Rumpus which takes its  name from a line in Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are.  Rumpus has a store cat, a couple mince and perhaps a rat or two that live in an enclosure suspended beneath the floor and covered with glass so we can all enjoy watching them.  Me - not so much.  There are a couple birds, and two chickens.  Yup, two chickens.  One is a Rhode Island Red; the other is one of those exotic,  chic white models that looks like she could be one of the Gabor sisters.  As odd as bookstore chickens seem, it works,  Every time I have stopped at Rumpus, there is at least one wee person sitting in a kid sized chair, holding a chicken and reading to it.   It's a lovely sight. 

So, if I like the idea so much, why do we not have a LaDeDa chicken, you ask.  We have health code rules.  If I eliminated the cappuccino, smoothies, and all the other drinks we serve, you can be sure we would have a chicken.  Until then, Buddy will have to fill that.

Do I have to say that this is a lighthearted book?  No, but I just did, so deal with it.  On the surface, Brian McGrory had is all - great job at the Boston Globe, season tickets to Fenway, a classic townhouse, and a cool roommate, Harry his golden retriever.  When Harry dies, Brian is heartbroken.  (Let me digress for a moment here.  Why did I read a book about a dying dog?  Doesn't that break my number one cardinal reading rule?  Sort of.  The rule actually is: PROCEED WITH CAUTION IF THERE IS A DOG ON THE COVER.).  No dog here, just a chicken, and that double crossed me.  By the time Harry died, I was hooked and carried on through my tears to find out what was up with the fowl.

Brian eventually meets and moves in with Harry's vet who owns a farm and a rooster.  Buddy fiercely protects Pam and her two daughters, and Brian soon becomes public enemy number 1.  This is funny stuff.   The author tries to bring in some profound life lessons learned from living with a rooster, but that sort of falls short.  Still, a happy weekend read. 

Rest assured, a fulled edited version of this would have plenty of chicken puns...but ATT is going to call about renewing my YP ad, and so I have to save the clever, and snarky comments for the unsuspecting sales rep. 

More bits.....

  • Heart-A-Rama auditions this Thursday at 7:00 and Sunday at 1:00.  for more info go to

  • Sara, I know you're lurking out there.  I hope Amelia is feeling better!

  • Our hearts go out to Majel H., loved and respected music teacher at Wilson Junior High, and wife of our friend, Phil.  Majel is one again fighting with the cancer beast.  She is incredibly strong, brave, and resilient.  Send good thoughts  her way, please.
Thanks for stopping by.