Eggs sit waiting to be picked out of a coop

Eggs ready to be picked.

Icy on the birdbath, but today is supposed to get into the fifties.

Arlene’s planning on riding in the afternoon, and I will be battling manure in the chicken coop. Time for a thorough cleaning out there. I want to spend some time at the desk today to take on glamour more seriously. The busy-ness of snapping pictures is a bit distracting in its own right. I think I’ve allowed that to encroach on writing the chapter, which by now should have undergone another round of keyboard-tapping of the hand-written pages.

The chickens are once again laying eggs, after they went through a long period of nothing. I think they already sense that the days are getting longer and the skies are brightening. When I cleaned out their coop–quite thoroughly, I should add, since I even swept it out–I discovered a few days’ worth of eggs, deposited in three corners. They were still fresh, even though I hadn’t checked for some days. The cold weather is a friend sometimes, and no one in the flock is “broody” trying to be the Earth Mother and warming eggs with her body.

So checking for eggs is now another chore that needs to be made routine. But that’s a joy. It’s nice to has farm fresh eggs instead of the pale imitations that you find in the grocery store.

We made soup and staged another celebration of turkey frozen since the holiday. I was in charge of the vegetables, and Arlene did her magic with the broth and the cooking. For the last turkey, we were quite liberal about leaving meat on the bones. We made a large turkey, I guess, by the standards of many, but I’ve always thought that roasting a turkey smaller that twenty pounds was a rather paltry affair. The 2020 Christmas turkey came in at about 23 pounds, even though we had few at the table because of the pandemic. There were lots of left-overs that have been distributed and consumed. Today’s soup is a last hurrah.

Soup is an excellent way to warm a winter kitchen and keep the body happy in the cold.

I drove to Lowes in Roxboro to stock up on tacks, and I believe I overbought. That’s not a problem, since the tacks are cheap and easy to store, and they wait for the next project to come by–a repair, a picture to be mounted, something to be built. I’m not wild about going shopping especially now.

Getting back into the glamour chapter was a bit hard, and now that I look back at it I recall something a friend of mine said about his writing habits. The first hour of writing is to throw away, he said. Then you can settle in and maybe something good will come about. This glamour chapter looks at the ways that glamour was used to establish the automobile in the exalted place it has today, and of course it includes the particularly fruitful, paradoxical, maddening, and persistent relationship that glamour established and maintains between women and cars. It is, in no small measure, a matter of glamour channeling “appropriate” power to women. The chapter initially underplayed the larger question of women’s rights, the feminist movement, and vexing issues of power and gender. Now, I’m trying to place the glamour and car connection into that larger framework. It’s hard because the underpinnings in power and struggle are compelling. They are a necessary foundation, and I don’t right now know how much of the foundation needs to be laid down in the chapter. It’s not a particularly new story, but the linkage to glamour and automobiles hasn’t been spelled out well enough or to the audience that I hope I’m writing for.

I think I’ll just write and write. After an hour, you know, something good might come out….