Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens...

In September of 1997 I made my first trip to Europe. I made an 8 day pilgrimage to France and Rome with my parents. When the pilgrimage ended, my parents and I parted ways in Paris. They went on to visit my brother in Norway, and I went to visit a friend in Lyon, France. It was cheaper then buying another plane ticket to Norway. Plus, I longed for a bit of adventure alone on my first trip to Europe.

From the moment I left them at the airport, adventure found me. But those are stories for another time. Tonight the story is of how I fell in love with the rooster.

One Sunday during my visit, my friend, Daniel took me to lunch in a small country inn nestled among the vineyards of Bordeaux. Daniel and his friend Michel picked me up in a small car the size of bathroom stall. We drove on to pick up another friend he promised I would love. Jean Rene sauntered up to the car with beautiful gray hair, chic sun glasses and flowing roomy linen pants and tunic. Of course my memory may be tinged with drama, but I think he did something to the effect of bowing, kissing my hand and vowing "Enchanté." Within minutes we were speaking of classic movies and books. Our friendship was immediate.

The sky was blue as we drove through the vineyards. The colors were vivid, the air perfumed and life was as carefree as a Doris Day/Rock Hudson movie. I was in love with France and sad have to say goodbye to Europe. We drove up to a small, quiet restaurant called "Le Coq Au Vin." The innkeeper led us to a small rustic table. The walls were truly distressed with years of paint. The pictures on the walls were mostly of roosters and chickens. There were statues of roosters and chickens everywhere. In 1997, this was not something I'd seen much. I fell in love and vowed I would one day have a large ceramic, colored rooster in my kitchen.

Alas, when I returned I realized the rooster would have to wait. My kitchen was the size of that car with perhaps one extra backseat. I only had a small counter top and the coffee pot took precedence.

In November of 2002, nearly 5 years to the day I moved into a larger apartment with a nice size kitchen. I set about decorating my new home in the French/Tuscan style and began shopping Ebay for my rooster. Before I finally found my ceramic masterpiece a group of friends and I traveled to Cuero, Texas for a ranch house weekend. We stopped in some small antique store and I discovered an aluminum chicken, beautifully painted and a wonderful piece of Americana. I simply had to have her and immediately named her Henny Penny.

Henny was home only a week or so when she was finally joined by my rooster. He wasn't as large or as French as I wanted, but the price was right and he looked good atop my refrigerator.

And that, my friends is when everything went out of control. The rooster and chicken were suddenly THE hot decorating item. Everywhere I went, there were chicken and rooster items. Now I'll admit, I gravitated towards them. And sure, I truly adored a great deal of them. But I started gettting poultry decorating chatkes. My kitchen became a damn hen house. Everywhere you look - there are chickens and roosters.

I love gifts. I love gifts people specifically pick out with me in mind. I love that people think of me. But folks, this is out of hand. Two months ago I made the announcement, my home is no longer accepting feathered lodgers. No more chickens, hens, roosters, you name it - if it clucks, it's not allowed in the house.

A group of my friends teased me about my edict at dinner one night as we welcomed another French friend who was visiting Houston. Imagine my deep distress when days later he gave me a number of hostess gifts from France. A statue of a rooster, an apron with needlepoint chickens, and two candy tins with rooster logos. Oops!

Tonight a friend called me to tell me he was just going to drop by and give me something. I stood out in the yard watering the plants as I awaited his arrival. He proudly walked up to me and at first all I could see was the most godawful arrangement of plastic flowers. Then I looked closer, there was actually a small gathering of beautiful feathers nestled amongst the plastic hell. All were wedged in a tin old time lunchbox decorated with, you guessed it, roosters. Are you kidding me?!

Long story short, it was a sort of gag gift to him, but he knew I could do something with the feathers and box. Sigh....

Did I do something wrong? Did I simply entice people with my "No Chicken/Rooster" edict? Or is it because it's the year of the Rooster? These are the questions I ponder as I ready to bed down in the old hen house.