Today as I tackled chores, annoyances kept cropping up. As I was trying to maneuver the first doe back
into the stall while letting the next one out, a baby (goat) escaped his night’s separation and ran to drink
from his mama who was in line for milking --and beat me to her, gulping rapidly. Ugh.
Then, once more separated and closed back in with the first doe (now reunited with her baby after her
milking), he began making it clear that he was growing up and could no longer be kept with the girls.
Ugh again. What timing! Yet to be fair, he turned three months old on the 25th of last month, which is
when I’d originally planned on placing him with a new family. Usually, though, we haven’t really needed
to separate our bucklings until they turn four months, so I was hoping for a little more time.
Next, I spilled some of the just-milked jar. “It’s like liquid gold,” a friend describes the precious fresh
goat milk, full of goodness and free of the hazards of commercial products. Even outside with a barn
kitten eager to help with clean-up, this spilled milk could easily be a crying matter, no matter what they
say. Triple ugh.
One thing after another, and I knew if I looked for them I could note many more irritants. It was starting
out to just be one of those days.
Years ago in parent training, the leader said, “Most parents are scanning for the things that need fixing.
Instead, set your radar to pick up the good things, not the negatives that need correction. Focus on and
encourage what is RIGHT.” After we moved to town when I was a child, my family lived near the radar
tower of a metropolitan airport. I picture its antenna, constantly revolving, sending out particles to
bounce back to the viewing screen. Our parent training encouraged us to note and comment on at least
four meaningful reality-based positive behavior for every correction. We even had to chart them.
Perspective. I challenged myself to come up with positives to balance each negative. 1. The refrigerated
cooler in which I could stash what milk remained while I completed the rest of the chores. (Thank you,
Vera Bryson.) 2. Our wonderful veterinarian who repaired poor Lacey dog’s ear Saturday evening, and
sent home antibiotics and pain meds to help her recovery. She wags her tail gently and moves with me
from chore to chore. I snap her leash onto a nearby fence panel as I feed goats or chickens. Thank you,
Dr. Dee, who instantly diagnosed the issue with her swollen ear (aural hematoma) while on a farm call
for a goat.
3. As I set out mineral salt for the goats, I chose to be thankful for whoever designed the new chelated
minerals, more easily absorbed by the goats’ system. Now, shooting a bolus (capsule) of copper down
their throats every few months is no longer necessary.
Ugh, I must have forgotten the bucklings’ bag of hay back at the barn when I walked to their far-flung
grazing pen at the other side of our property. Okay, I think of my opportunity for natural exercise built
in to my schedule. Also, last October’s foot injury as well as the heel spurs that developed in January
seem to have finally cleared up. 4. I can now walk without pain to the barn and back, a definite positive.
Then I see the hay-stuffed feed bag resting against the other side of a tree near the grazing pen; I hadn’t
forgotten it after all. 5. Yay for efficiency! But then I get caught in thorns as I try to drag the panels of the
grazing pen over for the goats to tackle fresh greens. 6. What a blessing, though, that they love to clear
out the brush and don’t seem to mind the prickles.
As I pull the pen closer to the woods, I see leftover plastic piping littering our woods. I am frustrated
afresh by the mess left by the former owners. We’ve cleared most of the debris, but some still lingers in
the woods. 7. Hmm...I retrieve a few lengths of varying diameters, hoping they might work to repair the
supports on the mini-trampoline I bought used for the new Pre/K REACH Explorers group.
Suddenly, I realize I’m playing the Pollyanna game. Presented with rough circumstances, look for the
silver lining in the cloud. Why has Pollyanna gotten such a bad rap in our culture? Her name has come to
signify empty groundless optimism unrelated to reality.
Yet, actually, the Pollyanna character was a resilient survivor; an overcomer. She grew up in challenging
circumstances as a missionary kid, dressed in people’s cast-offs, then orphaned and sent to relatives
reluctant to take her on. Eventually she was seriously injured and faced paralysis. I don’t think she was
out of touch with the reality of dark challenges.
Sometimes I am chided for pessimistic tendencies to worry and expect the worst to happen. So why is
someone who processes the negatives but looks for the life-brighteners criticized rather than
commended?
Thank you, but I prefer to choose to highlight the blessings, the silver linings; the reflections of infinite
wonder and joy.
Call me Pollyanna if you will. Then try to come up with three more compliments.