Goose down pillows. Reminds me of a story. During my childhood, we kids helped grandma make our fair share of down blankets and a few down pillows. We used soft chicken feathers, though. I miss this comfort of sinking deep into downy softness. In my early twenties, I decided to surprise my husand and our little girl with “feather” pillows to add a touch of the country to our inner-city lifestyle. We did not have much money, actually we were poor, but I did budget aside enough money over a year to buy four feather pillows through a mail order outfit, you know, one of those cheap circular magazines which arrive in mail. Major expense for us, I paid twenty dollars, plus shipping, for those feather pillows, an extra twenty dollars which took a year to save up. A day of anticipated excitement arrives; the man in brown is knocking at our door with a large but light box, “Sign her, ma’am. Not sure what is in this box but whatever it is, sure does smell bad.” In our small front room, I rip open this box with great anticipation. Instantly, I am almost floored by the smell of rotting flesh. This is awful. I manage to hold my breath, on and off, to clothespin those pillows on our clothesline. We could not afford a dryer but we did have a washer. Cannot wash feather pillows, however. I left those “Made In China” feather pillows hang out there under Southern California sunlight for almost two weeks. Never lost this smell of rotting flesh. Eventual outcome of those delightful feather pillows involves a trash can. That year, I gave a traditional farm gift to my loved ones, new socks. Our girl made us “I Love You” Christmas cards. Her father, though, truly delighted us; he brought home for us a used dryer he picked up for free on a job site. To this day, I remain annoyed with the Chinese for sending me rotting flesh feather pillows. I guess none of them ever lived on an Oklahoma farm. Fascinates me this delight we enjoy sleeping upon and under dead animal stuff, after stuffing ourselves with dead animal meat. This soft downy comfort helps us to close our eyes, just like we close our eyes to how this comfort comes about. Okpulot Taha Choctaw Nation

Ok I thought 1/2 the people who answered this blog was so sick of hearing about Palin…if that is the case then stop reading and listening to what is being broadcast. Lordie, how crazy is it to sit there and say your sick of hearing about Palin after you read and watch what they show of her on tv. Makes no sense people. So I guess all those who are putting down the way turkeys are killed wont be waering your nice leather shoes or coats any longer? I know leather does not come from turkeys but it comes from cows and they are killed also…How else would you like turkeys, chickens, pigs, cows to be killed? I mean back in the day you sent out to the chicken coop, grabbed the first chicken you could, broke its neck, cut its head off, plucked it and then gutted it and then cooked it and ate it. Lordie…..come on people. Guess something else for ya’ll to dislike Palin about…not a big fan either but oh well. I am sure she was not aware of what the guy was doing b/c you notice he finally walks off camera. Even if she was, oh well, that is how that turkey plant handles their turkeys. From what I saw that turkey was already dead b/c if not it would have been moving around a lot more. Did you know if a turkey looks up in the rain it can drown…

LOL…. you can’t make this stuff up, Palin is a walking, talking SNL skit! And the guy in the background is looking at her smiling while he’s killing the turkey! He’s not a supporter, I’ll betch’a! I am vegetarian btw, so this will not spoil my Thanksgiving dinner one bit.

I’m not a vegetarian, but I know what it takes to get a once live animal carcass onto my dinner table so it won’t spoil my Thanksgiving dinner either. As long as the butchering’s quick, and the animal has had a quality life (again, I’m so glad CA passed Prop 2… too bad it doesn’t take effect ‘till 2011), YUMMM!

Diana comments, “…Grandmother grabbing the chickens, wringing their necks….” Reminds me of another story after which, I am off to help my husband work on a rental; stock markets suck today. Roosters, especially Bantam roosters, are just like human men. As you know, roosters are cocky and prone to fisticuffs, again, just like human men. After robbing eggs from hens in our hen house, some roosters are smart enough to figure the appearance of a child, all of three or four feet tall, ends with a ruckus in the hen house and a lot hens mad as all git out. Roosters become protective and will attack, especially if trained to fight. I am walking out to our hen house to fetch eggs and a scratching hen sounds an alarm. Instantly, here comes running this Banty rooster towards me. I am mortified to a point of being frozen in place. This rooster springs into the air then crashes right into my face, whereupon he immediately begins trying to claw my eyes out while repeatedly pecking my forehead like a jack hammer. During this, he is also flogging my head, flapping his wings against my ears while screeching bloody murder. Damn rooster knocks me down to the hen-shit-mucklety-brown ground then proceeds to work me over but good. I mean this rooster is eating my face alive; a George Foreman of roosters. Hearing my screams and all the ruckus, a Choctaw elder comes running over, and the rooster takes off running being outnumbered. Later, Grandfather instructs me to find, catch this rooster, wring its neck, then pluck it for dinner cooking. This is a point of pride; I am expected to know how to do those things. I have never killed a chicken but have watched elders wring a chicken’s neck. Outside, knowing to always follow Grandpa’s orders, I begin chasing this stupid rooster all over our farm. We run around our hen house a few times, run between mule’s legs, run past my Choctaw elders who are laughing and yelling words at me, “akak okpulot taha lioli!” Crazy Chicken Chaser. Eventually, after sloshing through our pig pen, I corner this rooster in a pig slop trough. I grab him, slip a hand around his neck, as customary, begin slinging him around in circles then slam him down on the ground. This rooster instantly jumps up, then screams, “Brawwwwwk!” and takes off running like crazy. From our fields, “akak okpulot taha anuklamalli! “akak okpulot taha anuklamalli!” Crazy Chicken Choker, followed by lots and lots of laughter. To add insult to injury, that rooster from Hades runs right next to a Choctaw elder of mine out in a field. He deftly grabs the rooster, spins him twice then drops the rooster to the ground where my nemesis rooster begins an epileptic Saint Vitus death dance. My elder looks at me and grins. About the same time, Grandpa catches up with me. He is older and not as fast of foot as a young girl child and frightened rooster. He looks me over. I am covered with chicken crap, covered with pig crap, my hair is wet with pig slop and is littered with chicken scratch and chicken fluff. There are red welts on my forehead from rooster pecking and long scratches all over my face outlined with streaming tears. Grandpa motions with his hand, “Go round the side of the house, drop your overalls and bend over.” After a unusually gentle butt switching, none look to watch me walk to the farthest side of our fields to hoe weeds in private humiliation. My pride is pig slop now. That night, all of us, adults, Choctaw and children, each enjoy a little bit of fried rooster, which is a rare treat. Grandpa honors me by allowing me to sit with the adults to eat, instead of waiting until adults are finished, as children are expected, then eating whatever is leftover. Next day, a “Chahta ohoyo kasheo,” a Chocaw woman elder, hugs me, strokes my head then explains, “amafo fehnakchi lasaha.” Grandfather spank pride. I well understand her three word long story told many times, by many elders. Grandpa spanks me for hurting his pride and spanks me for hurting my pride. He expects me to know how to kill a chicken, quickly and efficiently. His pride is hurt because he did not teach me, my pride is hurt for not knowing how. Grandpa, with his switch laid to my bare butt, spanked both of us. To this day I have a tiny scar near an eye corner from that rooster, and to this day I still hate that rooster, and I am not prone to hatred. That rooster robbed me of my childhood pride for a day, much like a human man will rob a woman of her pride, for a night. Okpulot Taha Choctaw Nation

Apparently Palin was told that turkeys were being slaughtered right behind her and on camera and she replied, “no worries.” I’ve come to realize that she is one of the most disgusting humans on the planet.