Facebook friends

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . December 18, 2009 . 9:43AM

I’ve never done well with keeping friends for long periods of time. I think much of this has to do with several integral factors in my life. I grew up on a farm and, most of that time, I played on my own. I’m also highly introverted, by nature, and I often prefer my own thoughts to the thoughts of others. It’s not that I don’t care what you think, it’s just that the noise in my own head is so strong that your noise would be overwhelming. I like quiet and solitude and small groups of people. I like to go out, but infrequently. My profession is one-on-one and that connection is important to me in so many ways. It fits me.

It never occurred to me that the people I’d left along the way weren’t really gone. For the longest time I was such a black and white thinker that I’d written those relationships off as lost to me.

And then I found Facebook. Because I’m an introvert, social networking draws me like flies to honey. I can speak to people quickly and efficiently, which also hits my firstborn tendencies, and feel like I’m connecting without losing the energy that I lose in face-to-face interaction.

And then I started exploring.

And found the little girl from down the farm road that I used to play with often. I road my green bike with the banana seat to her house frequently. And not only did she remember me, but she was delighted to hear from me. We still had the connection that we had even then.

And I found the first friends I had when I finally started elementary school. And then those when I moved to a new town.

I found my first group of friends from middle school. We were so close for those four years. It was like we picked up where we left off. The best friendships are always like that, aren’t they?

I found my high school best friends and my college best friends. I found people who weren’t best friends, but that I like more as adults than I did as children. They have grown into amazing people that I love.

Through other social networking sites I have found people that I love more and more each day.

For me, I think it was just a reminder that, though there are times I feel alone and have certainly felt alone in the past, I never was. They were with me. They missed me. They were there.

And they still are.

Why I didn’t eat chicken for 18 years

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . October 20, 2009 . 11:29AM

If I haven’t outright said it, though I think I have, I know that I’ve hinted to my upbringing on a farm in a rural small town. Until the month before my 10th birthday, I lived at my grandparents farm. It was much like other small farms, not like the large designer farms that make their owners millionaires.

I remember helping plant potatoes as far back as walking age, though I don’t remember ever doing it correctly. Don’t think for a minute that I had to do any of the hard work. My grandfather loved me immensely and treated me like a princess. He asked me to help him to spend time with me, not to make me work. Kids on other farms work. This kid didn’t.

This kid played on dangerous wood piles. She ate strawberries straight from a field and so many peas from the pod that she’d get sick. Roosters chased her (filthy little beasts) and she got shocked by an electric fence on accident one time. She played in the barn, which was supposed to be off limits. She ran down the dirt road behind their house. looking for all the places to play that she was told to avoid. She ate mulberries and played in trees.

She also played in the chicken coop, which was VERY off limits. It was also where she found a mess of chicks that became her playmates. She named them and cared for them and played with them daily.

Until, one day, they disappeared. She was little, probably around 6, and couldn’t figure out why the chickens were gone. The adults carefully avoided her eyes at dinnertime, as the smell of fried chicken wafted through the house. There were many mouths to feed and times were tough. I never said she was the smartest child.

This kid had an evil older cousin, who, incidentally, has turned out to be a great adult. However, he was a pickle as a child and decided to ruin Santa Claus for multiple children in the family (deny all you want, you know you did). That particular day, his mean streak ran deep. He’d been in trouble and I’d been sad and mopey because I couldn’t find my chicks. He came up behind me and, in typical 8 year old fashion said, “We’re eating them for dinner, stupid! What do you THINK chicken is made out of?” I was mortified. Horrified. Stupefied and sickened.

And I didn’t eat chicken for 18 years, with the exception of Mcdonald’s chicken nuggets because we all know that in the 80s they probably weren’t really chicken, so they don’t count.

None. I was angry with everyone, including my grandfather. I’d seen our chickens slaughtered before that day. I’ll spare you the details. It’s horrific, but when you have the option of feeding your family or starving, you slaughter the chickens, even if you know it’s going to hurt that 6 year old beyond belief. Even if she stops talking to you and even if you wonder if it’s damaged the relationship beyond repair.

As an adult, I get it. But I often wonder if the 6 year old inside me ever got over it. There are still times, when I see a picture of a baby chick, that I get a pang in my heart and an urge to go play in a chicken coop.