baby chicks for sale
my car wanted to turn into the wilco parking lot today and i wanted to buy a chicken. i am not making this up. every spring they bring the baby chicks in and keep them in a stainless steel tub on an aisle between horse tack and garden mesh. they are only $2.50, the chicks that is. less than the price of a good espresso. i came close to missing my turn because i was imagining how cute the chick would be in the bathtub until it wasn't so cute anymore and reality called me back to my senses.
i knew this couldn't just come from nowhere, but i had forgotten...so was delighted by a rediscovery of the father-daughter connection.
tonight we were celebrating my mom's birthday which falls on st. patrick's day and yes, her name is pat. we were eating and drinking our customary green colors when my dad said, "spring really begins when you go and visit the baby chicks at wilco, you know. i just did that the other day. that and collecting pussy willows; i'll bring you some next time."
i looked at him and we both immediately recited from memory what he used to tell me while we fed the birds down at the lake when i was four. back when i pronounced grey "gway".
"there was a pussy willow/her name was silver grey
she lived down in the valley/not very far away
she'll always be a willow/she'll never be a cat
meow, meow, meow/now what do you think of that--scat!"
seriously, dad, you too?! just today i wanted to buy a chicken at wilco! and i still love pussy willows.
we of course had to make several metaphorical statements about this. because we have a love of metaphor and a silly sense of humor in common too. i didn't fully realize that my love of marking seasons in special ways is a gift passed down as well; one of those things you subconsciously absorb just by happening to grow up in your family of origin.
proud to have irish blood (mcmichael) and proud to be their daughter. as for the chickens, i'll just window shop--for now.
i knew this couldn't just come from nowhere, but i had forgotten...so was delighted by a rediscovery of the father-daughter connection.
tonight we were celebrating my mom's birthday which falls on st. patrick's day and yes, her name is pat. we were eating and drinking our customary green colors when my dad said, "spring really begins when you go and visit the baby chicks at wilco, you know. i just did that the other day. that and collecting pussy willows; i'll bring you some next time."
i looked at him and we both immediately recited from memory what he used to tell me while we fed the birds down at the lake when i was four. back when i pronounced grey "gway".
"there was a pussy willow/her name was silver grey
she lived down in the valley/not very far away
she'll always be a willow/she'll never be a cat
meow, meow, meow/now what do you think of that--scat!"
seriously, dad, you too?! just today i wanted to buy a chicken at wilco! and i still love pussy willows.
we of course had to make several metaphorical statements about this. because we have a love of metaphor and a silly sense of humor in common too. i didn't fully realize that my love of marking seasons in special ways is a gift passed down as well; one of those things you subconsciously absorb just by happening to grow up in your family of origin.
proud to have irish blood (mcmichael) and proud to be their daughter. as for the chickens, i'll just window shop--for now.
Lanette,
ReplyDeleteThose are cool insights about baby chicks, pussy willows and memories with your dad :). Yes, our early childhood memories definitely shape us.
Liz