Y is for Yaqui

YHWH are the consonants in the Old Testament that stand for the name of God.  And Y is for Yaqui Indian, which, until my husband was an adult he grew up thinking he was half Yaqui Indian.  His mom told him he was.  So one day my husband asked his dad, "Am I half Yaqui Indian."  His dad said no.  My husband was in his mid-30s when he learned the truth! Apparently his mom was ashamed of being Mexican so she told her son a fib!  His mom knew the Yaqui as fierce warriors.  Back in the day, the Yaqui were feared where she came from.  His dad said in Mexico they learned enough of the Yaqui language so that when the Yaqui came by the town people could trade with them instead of getting killed by them.  That's an interesting Y story!

Today I'm going to do the hot oil thing for my hair.  I'm getting ready to do it right now. I wore a new, gorgeous crystal barrette to church this morning but it slid so far down my pony that I had to take it off.  I wore it yesterday with a figure 8 and it stayed.  So, figure 8 in, single pony out, for the new purple barrette.

I'm cooking a chicken for chicken noodle soup.  I'm really pleased with this chicken my husband bought.  He bought it because it was the only one there, but it's a natural kind of chicken - no antibiotics ever, free range, no cages.  Very cool.  I always feel bad about the chickens I get that have bruises.  I look at their little bodies when I wash them in the sink and wonder how they grew.  I think about one night during the wee hours of the morning.  We were traveling in southern California and it was a miserably hot summer day with daytime temps in the 100s.  It was still dark at about 4am.  We stopped at a gas station and a semi was there full to overflowing with chickens squawking.  They were thirsty and I'm guessing hungry too.  I didn't eat chicken for a weeks after that.  It was horrible.  There should be a law.

A label on it says "Raised by the Charlie Mann family."  I looked up Harvestland.  The chickens are raised in Kentucky.