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Rozanne Paxman
Chickens and Coops
Turquoise paint dripped from the brushes as they quickly worked to cover the rough sides of the chicken coops. I walked back and forth between the rows of coops and told them to hurry.
"Faster, paint faster!" I demanded.
The workers responded well, and it wasn't long before the barrack-like coops were glittering in the sun like turquoise rings.
As I admired them, I heard a voice say, "Why are you so happy? The coops are pretty on the outside, but they are a mess inside. They are completely unusable."
Suddenly, in my mind's eye, I was able to see inside of those dirty, messy coops – feathers and chicken droppings covering old wooden perches. What a mess.
I stood next to the fence considering my situation when I stumbled on a chicken that was – oh, shall we say for lack of a kinder way of putting it – dried up. I was about to toss the chicken away, but out of nowhere my mom appeared and said, "That's still a good chicken. I can make tapioca pudding with that chicken."
"You cannot," I replied.
Mom pulled her shoulders back, grabbed the chicken, and marched towards the back door of the house. "You just watch," I heard her say as she crossed the lawn.
Curious how a dried-up chicken could be turned into tapioca pudding, I followed her. When I entered the room, I found her pulling out a large metal pot, much like those used in military kitchens, from the cabinet. She put the chicken in the pot, covered it with water, and put it on the stove. "There. It will take about four hours."
"To do what?" I asked.
"To boil into pudding. It takes that long."
I was feeling very confused and that made me upset. "Mom, it is not possible to boil a chicken until it turns into pudding. I'm telling you that it can't happen. Besides, tapioca isn't made out of chickens."
Mom winked at me. "You'll see."
I left the room and returned later to find – to my surprise – a pot of thick, delicious tapioca pudding.
It wasn't to be and yet it occurred.
"What?" I stammered.
Mom smiled sweetly and said, "You can't judge a book by its cover."
I stared at her.
"You just painted the chicken coops?"
I nodded.
"Turquoise blue?"
I nodded again.
"How's that going for you?"
"Not so well, Mom. I have old buildings with a mess inside of them. The blue paint isn't kidding anybody."
She nodded at me. "Beauty is only skin deep."
"What are you trying to tell me, Mom?"
She winked. "That it is time to wake up now. You need to figure it out yourself."
I have been working on doing just that ever since I had this unusual dream. Obviously, my dream was about judging, and I was misjudging something... but what?
I have been carefully going through everything in my life and have found gaps. The most interesting finds, however, are that some of the opportunities I had thought were nice possibilities need a second look. And some of the plans I had discarded because I thought they had unsolvable problems associated with them are not as impossible as I had previously believed.
I think I'll judge what is going on in my life by a new standard. Is it a chicken or a coop?
So, here's today's challenge: Look for chicken coops and chickens in your own life. What good things are you missing because all of the facts you understand tell you that it is impossible to do them? What things seem appealing on the surface but, once examined, leave you with a bitter taste in your mouth?
Chicken coops. Chickens. Bluck. Bluck. Bluck. Bluck.
See you in the barnyard.
- Ro
Muse: To be absorbed in one's thoughts; engage in meditation. Not intended to solve the world's problems, another person's problems, or to cover topics completely. One does not have to agree with musings to enjoy them, just as one does not have to be the same as someone else to appreciate who they are.
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