Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

  • Welcome!
  • Home
  • lazy w farm journal

goodbye pacino

December 21, 2020

Saturday morning I found Pacino deceased at the bottom of his overnight cage. We are in shock and hurting, filled with questions (we do not know what happened) and just plain longing for him to still be alive. Thank you for reading a little bit about his life, and if you can, we would love to hear your Pacino stories in comments, for our memories.

We adopted him as a hatchling the summer my husband turned 30. We were fairly newlywed still, and the girls were so small. He was a tiny, cobalt blue and bright yellow macaw with a short, perfect tail and enormous, cartoonishly out of proportion eyes that studied everything and everyone. Those eyes were set in two fields of vivid zebra-stripe face feathers.

We held him gently and stared at him in awe, sometimes all day long. The girls made pillowy nests for him inside cardboard boxes. His meals those first several weeks were liquid formula. He gobbled it up through flexible straws we held for him, and he bobbed and jerked his head and neck greedily to get every drop. This was a brief season, and a good, solid bonding one. I remember wondering during those weeks if this tiny, quiet, unmoving bird would ever walk or make a sound.

My husband named him Bobby Pacino, after two of his favorite actors, Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino. Known far and wide as just Pacino, over time his personality became famous, part of our own identity I suppose. More than extensions of us, he was his own person. The life energy he lent to our little family is hard to quantify.

He was a handful, for sure. Messy, noisy, demanding, sometimes uncooperative, occasionally violent but mostly in self defensive ways, and can I say loud and messy twice? Past infancy, macaws are neither quiet nor tidy creatures. His tail eventually grew long, his eyes gradually fit his frame, and his voice and energy levels exploded out of nowhere.

But! Pacino was also unbelievably smart and articulate, dazzlingly beautiful and prone to groom himself for long periods of time, but without ever plucking his feathers out. He was gregarious, appreciative, energetic, and easily one of the most affectionate animals I have ever met or even heard mention of.

Pacino was highly sensitive to moods and attitudes. He was perceptive, trusting some people quickly and others not at all. He bonded tightly to his favorite people. He sometimes held a small grudge against us when we travelled but always forgave us quickly and resumed the love fest soon. This was one of the times he delivered a hard bite. I was on the receiving end of it, and I can attest to how strong that shiny hooked beak was. But again, within minutes we were cuddling.

Pacino certainly found his voice, ha! My concerns over his quiet beginning were quickly dispelled. He squawked and sang and make all the Amazonian bird calls he was born to make, whether we wanted him to or not; and he mimicked and learned and spoke words and phrases in an eerily human voice, frequently joining in conversations and sprinkling in laughter at perfectly appropriate moments. Meaning, he got our jokes and was gracious with how funny we were or were not. We always loved for people to hear Pacino laugh (hahaha!) and ask us, “Was that the bird?” He sounded so much like a person. My god we miss that sound. Did you know that he learned to play Gone Gone Peekaboo in one afternoon? He was less than six months old.

A few years ago, with very little effort, I was able to catalog over 120 words and phrases Pacino had mastered then. On Saturday when we told Jessica the sad news, she suggested that we write another list now, to memorialize him. So if there’s a special thing he ever said to you, something that stands out, feel free to send it our way and we will add it to the list.

If you only saw photos of him online or met him at chaotic parties, then you never got to see Pacino at his best. He thrived on face to face interaction. He loved to be spoken to directly, and held, and he loved to dance. He has a particular swaying move which he did with his short legs stuck out stiff and his feathery shoulders kind of shrugging, his beak up in the air, yellow chest puffed out. We called it his Stevie Wonder dance, and we always sang to him, “I just called… to say… I love you…” We were usually rewarded with a happy operatic reply. We are going to miss that little ritual, hard.

He always appreciated a good snack and was adept to playing the “Do you wanna bite” game, going for up to twenty minutes of gasping, dramatic, sideways pacing without doing his part to close the circuit. Then he finally say his part, “I wanna bite!” and laugh.

Here is Pacino being kept happy with a candy cane. Behind him is a surprise Handsome painted for me. The French words mean, “Always Now and Forever.” xoxo

Speaking of snacks: Pacino loved cookies and crackers, apple cores, pizza, French fries (especially McDonald’s), raw jalapeño peppers, strawberries, grapes, any kind of batter he could lick off of a kitchen beater (holding it like an ice cream cone), peanut butter, and more. Mostly anything he could fish out of his Daddy’s mouth or steal from our plates. If he especially liked a food, his pupils would dilate wildly while he said, “Mmmmm do you like it??” Or sometimes, “Mmmm what is it?” The main food he never liked was carrots. If offered any size or shape of carrot he would immediately throw it to the ground, like it offended him a little.

Pacino moved here with us from the city and quickly acclimated to farm life. He learned the sound of the horses’ whinnies and would call to them by name, especially “Chaaaaa-ntaaaa!” and when we had Daphne’s foals, “Wah-PI!! Wah-PI!!” Once Klaus was here, Pacino was happy to encourage his little brother’s fetching efforts. He cheered generously and screamed “GET IT!” Klaus loved it, and we did too. He was also infinitely gentle with kittens and baby chicks. It was quite a thing to behold.

You will never see a gentler, more devoted surrogate mother who is a boy.

Once Pacino began to spend warm days outside with the chickens and ducks, his lifelong and very natural habit of scattering birdseed came in handy for social bonding. The hens quickly learned that standing beneath Pacino’s perch meant a generous scattering of more exotic fare than they normally received, and we thought Pacino enjoyed throwing stuff at them. I used to hate for him to do this in the house, because it meant constant sweeping of the wood floors. Jessica and Handsome once heard me reprimanding him, “Pacino this is not your mess castle!” Well, outside in the South Coop, it definitely was his Mess Castle, and he was King.

I have, in fact, complained a lot over the years about the mess and the noise Pacino generated, but today I would very much love to hear him scream obnoxiously again and say Hi momma and to clean up the floor and smell his powdery dander. I am ashamed for having ever complained, for having every assumed that he would always have him. We trusted his life expectancy too much. He was part of us, and losing him at all hurts more than we want it to. Losing him so suddenly, with no explanation, is leaving us in shock. Honestly, we expected to grow old with him. We expected to find a place for him to retire when we die.

He loved us, we felt it. He loved many of you, we saw it. We know that he was loved by so many of you, too. Thank you for that. Thank you to our friends and family who have sent the most wonderful messages, making it clear that Pacino was known as more than an unusual pet; he was a family member with an amazing, full spectrum personality. He is already deeply and sorely missed, and we shudder to think forward to all the things we will be doing here at the farm without him.

“Birds are as fragile as they are beautiful.”
~Brandy Wreath
XOXOXOXO

15 Comments
Filed Under: UncategorizedTagged: farm life, grief, Pacino

headlines & themes this week

September 20, 2020

Around the Farm:

The animals are enjoying our mild weather. The horses, llamas, and Little Lady Marigold, our timid and solitary sheep, are all snoozy and calm. They watch the skies change and graze to their hearts’ content. Our two geese still wander free, and I love this very much. They nest anywhere they want to and do little damage. Klaus has not murdered them, not even once. The chickens are rewarding us for the nice weather (as if we are responsible for it) with heavy, thick-yolked eggs, shells in every color from tan to heavy brown and a blue-mint green. Do you remember Zoom, our little quarantine hatchling? She has outgrown Zsa Zsa now, and clearly Zsa Zsa, a fancy Polish girl, was just her surrogate mother. Zoom is growing quickly into a picture perfect Auraucana. For our Pacino devotees, please rest assured that he is still wildly happy living outdoors in the South Coop. One red hen in particular keeps him company on a daily basis, and often six or seven other chickens join the fun inside his private quarters. It’s fine. It’s fine!

While plenty still remains and is thriving, I have been ripping out exhausted remnants of the summer gardens, making space for what comes next. Today the boys and I walked through Scissortail Park then did a little easy shopping around town, and I brought home a good amount of mums, pansies, ornamental cabbage, and a few other fun perennials. I did hold off on buying pumpkins until Jess and I can explore together.

We closed and covered the pool yesterday. September 19th is a respectable date for punctuating a long, happy swim season. We are okay with it. Do we love summertime so much and still crave a trip to a beach somewhere on the Gulf? Yes. Yes of course we do. But how wonderful that we enjoyed the pool and deck for so many happy months of this very weird year. And since the end of melty heat and intoxicating coconut oil and chlorine also means the beginning of cool, crisp walks outside and longer bonfires, then the task at hand is to count our blessings and pleasures. This is almost always the task at hand.

The yurt is fully built now and about ready for a floor inside. We are leaning toward mulch, to amplify the cedar-steam experience. Lots of friends and family have already visited to do a little socially distant painting on the exterior covering, and we are in love with it all. Just look at this cute brother-sister duo!! The Whitley crew added lots of color and love to this project, for which we are so thankful. They are all very special to us.

Seasonal Shift:

Our temperatures and humidity have dropped, and the leaves are changing just so delicately, so gently. We have opened the house windows several times and are planning a few repairs and beautification projects around the house to caplitalize on the comfortable afternoons. Personally, although I did bake pumpkin bread once, I resist diving straight into cold weather anything, because I know that soon enough it will be plenty cold for longer than we like. I have my feet planted pretty firmly in this transition season, determined to enjoy all the in-between beauty that comes with it. Lots of ease, lot of fresh air, in every sense of the expression. A long, fruitful pause between extremes.

Read, Watch, Listen:

There is a lot to be said for good communication, for granular expression, as Bree Brown says. I listened to her podcast episode on emotional literacy and ended it feeling challenged to sit more comfortably with my feelings and then to express them more clearly, more effectively. I ended it deciding to answer my husband better when he asks are you ok. I also decided to start finding more specific ways to discover how my people are doing.

Brad and Steve honestly have the best material. I cannot get enough. Their podcast episode on burnout and the pandemic was so helpful. Give it a listen. I have a whole post in draft, outlining how it impacted me. How are you doing, on the burnout barometer?

I am almost done reading To Shake the Sleeping Self. It is the memoir of a young man who, together with an acquaintance from work, took a nearly spontaneous bicycling trip from Seattle all the way down to the tip of Patagonia. It has inspired me, certainly, for both physical endurance challenges and for deeper self exploration, but also to travel more and to travel better. Going off beaten paths, meeting more people, seeing unseen places and rediscovering new beauty. I just finished a chapter where they stopped in Moerlia, Mexico. This is a town in the mountains with which Jessica’s boyfriend Alex is intimately familiar. I love hearing him describe the culture there. It’s nothing like the tropical, touristy slice of Mexico we experienced on our honeymoon (though wow that is beautiful too).

Have you considered the Netflix series called Ratched? We are big fans of American Horror Story, and this is a similar viewing experience. We binged it this past week, and I think it made Saturday night popcorn taste even better than usual. Dark! Dark and adult. Not for kids, in case you were wondering.

Are you following Morgan Harper Nichols yet? Because if you are a living, breathing, feeling, evolving, hurting, or otherwise hungry human being, then you sould. She is easily found and propogated on Instagram, but she has a strong presence pretty much everywhere I look. Bob Goff even interviewed her recently! Gorgeous. Noursishing. Makes me cry and makes my mouth water all the time.

And then this short essay on a beautiful, anxiously aging woman, I ran across it on Facebook:

How many years of beauty do I have left?” she asks me.
How many more do you want? Here. Here is 34. Here is 50.
When you are 80 years old and your beauty rises
in ways your cells cannot even imagine now
and your wild bones grow luminous and ripe
having carried the weight of a passionate life.
When your hair is aflame with winter
and you have decades of learning and leaving and loving
sewn into the corners of your eyes
and your children come home to find their own history in your face.
When you know what it feels like to fail ferociously
and have gained the capacity to rise and rise and rise again.
When you can make your tea
on a quiet and ridiculously lonely afternoon
and still have a song in your heart.
Queen owl wings beating beneath the cotton of your sweater.

Because your beauty began there
beneath the sweater and the skin, remember?
This is when I will take you into my arms and coo
YOU BRAVE AND GLORIOUS THING
you’ve come so far.
I see you.
Your beauty is breathtaking.

~Jeanette Encinias

Find more poetry by Jeanette Encinias here.

People:

Jess and Alex invited us to their house for dinner Friday night. Jess set the table beautifully and spent several hours preparing us a gorgeous, delicious meal. It was part belated birthday fun for Handsome, part just touching base with each other. We took Klaus along, and he and Bean partied hard while the rest of us did not cheat at cards whatsoever, despite the rumors.

During our cards game, Alex got a phone notification about the passing of Justice Ginsburg. It is just so sad, and her life was so truly humbling and inspiring. We had one more good conversation about this with the kids, in a long line of good conversations. They are two of the smartest, most thoughtful people I know. We are so happy to spend time with them, watching them sort out their beautiful lives and express themselves. I think that I will always remember sharing that moment in history with them, at their dining room table.

This collection of short tributes to Ruth Bader Ginsburg is worth reading. What a legacy. We will all be watching our collective love for her grow over time.

Final Thoughts for the New Week:

The world is changing, we are all feeling it. But the world is as beautiful and magical as it is broken. We are every bit surrounded by miracles ready to happen and dazzling grace as we are burdened by tragedy, difficulty, and grief. We are not robots. We get to creatively choose how we respond to every single detail, even the curveballs. Especially the curveballs! We get to take hold of our own energy and make something breathtaking with the gifts we are given, which are numerous.

Hang in there. Write some Senses Inventories this week. Reach out to your people. Drink more water. Exercise in a new way. Take it all in. Count your blessings and register your pleasures, and if you’re in a dark place, know that things always turn around.

“Fight for the things that you care about,
but do it in a way that will lead others to join you.”
~Ruth Bader Ginsburg
XOXOXOXO

1 Comment
Filed Under: UncategorizedTagged: autumn, choose joy, daily life, ginsburg, gratitude, grief, seasons

a restful, healing week

July 29, 2020

“It is the soul’s duty to be loyal to its own desires. It must abandon itself to its master passion.” -Rebecca West

This past week was the first time in many years, outside of a few occassions of convalescence, that we have enjoyed so much quiet, uninterrupted time with Jessica. (Although my husband might passionately argue that very much of our time was quiet, ha!)

It was luscious in every way. She and Bean went home today, and the farm is so quiet. We already miss them very much.

Image may contain: Jessica Hartley

Of our many exceptionally deep and fascinating conversations, one that has been echoing in my heart was about how humans are designed to crave beauty, how it is a natural appetite and a healthy inclination. We measured it against passion-gifts, too, like art and science, cooking and gardening and nesting, against caring for ourselves as women, and travel and the craving to explore this big world, and much more. We agreed that a hunger for beauty and a drive to pursue our unique passions can lead us down the best paths, if we watch our motivations.

My daily devotional entry from July 20th says, “Seek my face and you will find all that you have longed for. The deepest yearnings of your heart are for intimacy with me. Do not be afraid to be different from other people. The path I have called you to travel is exquisitely right for you.” (Jesus Calling)

This past week I was able to see the farm, and our home, through Jessica’s eyes a bit more deeply. A bare bones routine became soothing, not boring. I watched her slowly unwind and shed a landslide of stress from her body and spirit. She soaked up every day, morning till night, and every meal and activity we laid hold of, with a joyful kind of mindfulness that really inspired me. She allowed beauty and pleasure to overtake her, and more than ever she reflected and magnified all kinds of beauty, just by being herself, natural and free and untethered for a while. It was like watching overstressed plant rehydrate, turn emerald green, and bloom before your eyes.

Her health and happiness, and Jocelyn’s, is everything to us. This well timed investment of time and rest was so wise on Jess’ part, and I know that she was engaged enough in the retreat process to retain the feelings, to translate the efforts to her daily life and normal routine, in ways that only she can do.

I would like to chat more extensively about the pursuit of beauty in life, in the world at large. About how the deepest purpose in our various callings, is maybe to reflect Love? Soon, I hope. I am sleepy now and can feel my thoughts unraveling a bit. Thank you, friends, for the love you send our girls.

XOXOXOXO

Leave a Comment
Filed Under: UncategorizedTagged: beauty, choose jopy, gratitude, grief, Jessica, love, purpose, retreat, summertime

impermanence

July 23, 2020

Yesterday afternoon, Handsome walked into the Apartment where Jess and I had parked to do some serious conversating. He announced playfully that between the dogs roughhousing and panting like monsters and the women talking nonstop, the temperature inside the house had risen five degrees. Ha! It might actually have been true. Once again, #sorrynotsorry

On Day 2 of Jess’ Farm Retreat, we swam, made frozen treats for the chickens, chased the dogs tirelessly, made Bean swim in a tiny inflatable pool donut, fed extra soft grass to the horses, discussed legiterally everything, made sprinkle sugar cookies via Joy the Baker, made homemade pizza from scratch, and watched a movie at the end of it all. Somewhere in there Jess managed a good old fashioned summertime afternoon nap, much needed and hard earned.

We had planned an art project like painting or scarecrow constructing, perhaps macrame, but got pleasantly sidetracked making the chickens’ frozen scraps treats. This is when the topic of impermanence arose. It was such a careful, loving task, walking around the farm collecting colorful flowers, herbs, and bits of fruits and vegies, then cleaning out the kitchen for more. We chopped everything and Jessica arranged it beautifully inside a bundt cake pan before filling the pan with water to freeze. All of this preparation for a treat that will freeze overnight and be toyed with, melted, and consumed tomorrow morning. A brief pleasure, an impermanent gift. But still joyful. We talked about the monks who work so hard on their intricate chalk mandalas, only to sweep them away once finished.

Have you seen Onward yet? Oh gosh. The three of us (five of us if you count the dogs which you definitely should) watched it tonight with our homemade pizzas and sprinkle cookies. It is not just cute and funny, it is also one of the most inclusive, soothing, loving Pixar films so far, with many beautiful messages. We all really loved it, and I actually felt a warm touch of grace for having seen it exactly on this night, exactly in this life chapter, exactly after a series of heavy conversations Jess and I have had this week.

I am not certain what tomorrow holds for us, both in the broader life sense as well as in the what will be doing on Friday sense, ha! But I know what our prayers are. I know what our values are. I know what binds us together and what fuels our work and our play. I know that Love is worth every bit of our trust and that magic is real.

Sweet sleep, friends! Thanks for checking in!

XOXOXOXO

1 Comment
Filed Under: UncategorizedTagged: bloggingstreak, choose joy, farmlife, grief, impermanence, Jessica, love, memories, summertime

in a continuum, where does the story begin?

July 19, 2020

“The good news is that the heat seems to be exhausting our five million grasshoppers. Wait, let me back up…”

I was around nine years old, barefoot and in the middle branches of Mom’s mulberry tree, right there on the west edge of the house against our neighbors’ driveway. My hands were stained black with the wonderful inky juice, my skin brown from summertime and my hair probably tangled in the back. I was worried that something deep and important was wrong with me because I could never figure out the correct beginning of any story. I was fundamentally flawed, though I didn’t know the word fundamental yet.

I marveled at how people could just dive in and tell any story fluidly, discerning with confidence how to begin the tale and what details to include. To me, to my nonstop thoughts and conveyor belt lines of questioning, every beginning was really just the middle or end of something else, everything was very literally connected. Nothing, not even in fiction books, had a believable and well formed boundary.

It’s why I still have trouble telling stories. I never know where to start. What history can be excluded, can just be trimmed away as if it didn’t happen, as if it doesn’t matter any more.

What details matter not just to me, but also to the listener or reader? What details would be missed, if I attempted some economy? What precious context supplies the understanding that makes all the difference?

Nothing happens in a vacuum, and no man is an island. We all affect each other, and we are all affected by each other. That’s not a flaw; it’s part of our wonderful design.

As for how you tell me stories, tell me everything. Leave nothing out. I want to hear it all, even if it barely seems relevant. I want to understand the background stories, the moods and flavors, the weird implications, the spider webs of complicated stories that led up this exact moment.

The grasshoppers are numerous, but they are slowing under the weight of Oklahoma summertime. And the tomatoes are thriving. Tonight we ate a pretty delicious galette made with a few of those tomatoes plus fresh garden basil and a parmesean-cornmeal crust.

And we sat with and loved on our friends whose story is changing. Not suddenly, and not in a vacuum. I do not grasp where it begins, really, and maybe they don’t either. Tonight, though, we have this part of it, of this one part of a big and complicated story that is far from over. This moment in a continuum, this chance to do the next right thing.

I very much wish that someone would have told me, at nine, barefoot in that mulberry tree, that it’s ok to not know where a story begins. No one knows. We just get to dive in right where we are and pour ourselves out lavishly.

“You never know how hard it will be.
You never know when it will end.
You can’t control it.
You can only adjust. And, he added,

No one gets through it on their own.“
~Angel, Born to Run, Christopher McDougall

2 Comments
Filed Under: UncategorizedTagged: choose joy, community, gratitude, grief, love, marriage, storytelling, ubuntu

  • 1
  • 2
  • Next Page »
Hi! I'm Marie. Welcome to the Lazy W. xoxo

Hi! I’m Marie. This is the Lazy W.

A hobby farming, book reading, coffee drinking, romance having, miles running girl in Oklahoma. Soaking up the particular beauty of every day. Blogging on the side. Welcome to the Lazy W!

I Believe Strongly in the Power of Gratitude & Joy Seeking

Follow Marie Wreath's board Gratitude & Joy Seeking on Pinterest.

Pages

  • bookish
  • Farm & Animal Stories
  • lazy w farm journal
  • Welcome!

Lazy W Happenings Lately

  • first friday 5 at the farm of 2021 January 8, 2021
  • an army of love & we will survive December 31, 2020
  • goodbye pacino December 21, 2020
  • 8 specific ways to name your gratitude November 24, 2020
  • getting centered before Thanksgiving November 22, 2020
"Edit your life freely and ruthlessly. It's your masterpiece after all." ~Nathan W. Morris

Archives

January 2021
M T W T F S S
« Dec    
 123
45678910
11121314151617
18192021222324
25262728293031

Looking for Something?

Theme Design By Studio Mommy · Copyright © 2021

Copyright © 2021 · Beyond Madison Theme on Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in