Aunt Joyce

My aunt Joyce died last week, and because of the crashing birds, she has been on my mind. When I was a little kid, her daughter and I were very close, so I spent a lot of time at her house. Several experiences there were unique: she knew how to prepare beef tongue, but it still looked too much like a tongue for me to choke down.

She kept chickens for a while, and I will never forget the day she grabbed one by the neck and swung it around vigorously by that neck until the chicken died. Maybe I should say, until the head came off and we had a DOA. I was not exactly appalled, but it must have been something traumatic enough to have burned itself into my memory because the event it as vivid as a mental movie.

The reason I thought of her was because I dressed my first dove breast this morning, immediately after the bird killed itself on my glass doors. The plucking was okay, but the fact that the creature was still warm was unpleasant--I kept feeling for a heartbeat before I cut the bird up. It was indeed very dead, but it was scant moments away from life, so dressing it was somewhat unsettling. I can see why people become vegetarians.

Rain, and more rain, but today is a rest day in my training schedule and tomorrow is a long walk. We have two new movies, though, so the treadmill will not be the ghastly bore it could be.

Book reviews: For those of you who like military history, don't miss the wonderful "The Last Battle of the Tin Can Sailors". And for history buffs in general, I can highly recommend Matthew Cobb's "The Resistance", about the French resistance during WWII. For human interest and life lessons, there is "Tuesdays with Morrie", but have a box of Kleenex handy.