Most of that accounting is pretty straightforward. Another year of waking up next to the woman I love - blessing. Another year unencumbered by the pitfalls of materialism and the idle trappings of wealth - big curse.
And then there's Buck.

We call Maggie "The Queen" but this unbalanced fowl who might be all of 2 pounds (I say "might" because I'm as likely to farm the soil of Neptune as I am to hold Buck when he's healthy) is the unquestioned master of all he surveys. You can tell whether Buck is in the front yard or the back yard because our cats will only go out which ever door he's farthest from. I've heard our youngest daughter, now 22, cry out for an escort from the shop out of fear of the crazed bird. Even Satchel, our ten year old lab mix, must heroically endure the unchecked aggression of this young frail, and yet foolishly cocky...cock.
I should like for the sake of balance to point out Buck's redeeming qualities...could I but think of one. His first crowing seems entirely unrelated to the rising of the sun, occurring as it does anywhere from three in the morning to noon and randomly throughout his waking hours. He makes us nervous when family, guests and brides come to visit because we know first hand the unwelcome surprise of an attack by the deranged fowl when we are caught preoccupied or unaware. We would like to credit him with the attributes that anyone hopes to see in those under their care. But if we're really honest, then as with the Raven in the poem by Edgar Allen Poe, we have to admit to the possibility that he's just pure evil.
And yet we love Buck. We've saved him from hawks. We worry when we don't see him. We give him cookies when we have them and he makes the sweetest sounds when he gets his treats or just the time and attention that he craves. I look froward to the sound of his crowing and running to the front of the house if I get home before the sun is too far down. I enjoy his company and curious, oddly social if slightly distrustful nature when I have a few minutes to spare with him. He doesn't want to be touched, but he likes having us close.
For all his irascibility, we like having him to close, too.
So as we look back on the year that passed and count up our wins and losses, let's give special consideration to our "mixed blessings". Maybe how we find the value in them actually helps define we are.
Here's to Mixed blessings!
And a blessed and happy New Year to all!







































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