Come, Hobbitses

I went over to feed my friend’s chickens tonight. It was pretty cold, but I took them some hot oatmeal with raisins. They seemed pretty excited about it. I remember my grandma doing that for the chickens when I was a kid. My friend’s are out of town for a couple of weeks. I learned a valuable lesson – there is a difference between friendship and fun. These friends always seemed closer to my husband, hung out with him and such. I thought they just liked him better than me and they condoned the way our marriage ended up. But, I have since learned, after a long and heartfelt talk, that they like hanging out with him because he’s fun, not because they consider him a true friend. They feel he has a right to make the choices he did, but they don’t agree with those choices and think he’s making a mistake. I figured they asked me to watch their place because I am responsible and dependable – and that’s part of it, to be sure. But, they didn’t ask my husband to do it, wouldn’t ask him, because they don’t consider him enough of a friend to do something for someone if he didn’t feel like it. They know I would and would do the same for me, if I needed it, even if it was inconvenient for them. It is a message I am getting from many people – he is still fun to pass time with, but now that I don’t have his back anymore following up on his promises when he felt like flaking, he is not their friend. He is probably oblivious.

The chickens were happy, despite the cold. They even gave me two beautiful, fresh eggs – one bluegreen and one brown. I didn’t know what to do. I had other errands to run and I had to go to church. I couldn’t leave them in the car because they would freeze. So, I put them in my pocket and went about my business. I felt a little odd, smelling like chicken poo and carrying eggs in my pocket at church. But, this being an agricultural community, I am probably not the first. I don’t know what it is about fresh eggs, but they fascinate me. They are amazing, valuable little treasures, a real prize. I don’t feel anything for supermarket eggs – those are just food in a fragile package. I carried those eggs gently around all evening and then fried them lightly in butter.

One more thing about my husband, like anybody cares. He’s been coming into the shop more frequently. Yesterday he was grinning like an idiot, which usually means he’s nervous (about something he’s done or something he thinks he knows about me.) My boss thinks he’s doing it just to mess with me, but I know him. He doesn’t actually mess with people. I have never seen him maliciously f**k with anyone. I would like to think he just wants to see me. Maybe he misses me.