Awkward Bodies, Big hearts.

The church I attend has been leading a non-violent communication workshop in response to all of the social and political tension that has been percolating/boiling over/erupting in the world lately. The workshop sadly conflicts with my work schedule, so I haven't been able to attend, but The Mr and I went through a mini-version of the workshop during our pre-marital counseling. Not that we showed signs of violent communication, mind you. I feel like calling it "non-violent" communication makes it sound like it's just teaching people how to talk without smacking each other. It's more about the ancient and near-forgotten practice of having a conversation with someone you disagree with without resorting to dickish behavior, I guess? It's kindness. That's what it is. It's just relearning how to be kind to each other even when we don't believe all of the exact same things - or even when we believe completely opposite things.

 

via GIPHY

And since I'm all about that kindness and love stuff, I was really excited when the administrator at our church reached out to me and asked for a favor.

If you've been following this blog for a while, it's no secret that I adore giraffes. Afterall, we have a lot in common: we're both tall and awkward, we both have knobby knees, and we both make weird faces on a regular basis.

But recently I learned something new about my favorite animal: Giraffes have the largest heart out of all land animals.

And for that reason, the giraffe is now becoming a symbol of non-violent communication.

And I just so happen to crochet stuffed animals for a hobby (if you want one, you should check out my patreon page), and the administrator at the church knew this about me, so she put in a request.

He's certainly not perfect. He's been chewed on in some places (an inevitable fate with a puppy in the house) and patched back together (but then again, haven't we all?), and in spite of all of his frays and lopsidedness, he has a permanent smile.

And a really big heart.

So his new home will be at the church, as the official representative of non-violent communication, and apparently, whenever someone has something to say, they have to hold him when they're speaking, which I think is amazing because who could ever be angry while holding this guy? And who could ever be angry at the person holding this guy? It's basically impossible, right?

I think so. And if you disagree with me, that's okay.


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Giant Wild Ninja Turkeys, Everyone. Giant. Wild. Ninja Turkeys.

Okay, so disclaimer: I do not have the reflexes of a lightning fast cheetah, so I did not capture this moment on camera. You're just going to have to trust me that it actually happened. I live on the second floor of an old farmhouse and my couch is positioned next to a window outside of which is the first floor rooftop, which is slanted and made of tin. This is important information.

So, I was just calmly sitting on my couch, crocheting while watching Gilmore Girls. You know, the usual.

Everything was great. The sun was still out, but it was a rainy afternoon, so my couch was, like, the best place to be ever. I even opened the window next to me so that I could enjoy the sound of the rain hitting the tin roof while I sipped my coffee and watched my fictional biography play out before me. To say it was perfection is kind of an understatement.

Oh rainy afternoon, how I love thee...

So I'm in my zone, right? I'm all "Le sigh... life is beautiful.... Gilmore Girls is the best and these fingerless gloves are going to be so cozy this fall!" and then

BAM. TURKEY.

Hm? What? That didn't make sense? Allow me to elaborate: I was sitting on my couch, enjoying a calm and relaxing Sunday afternoon when a WILD TURKEY LANDED ON THE ROOF RIGHT OUTSIDE OF MY WINDOW.

So there we were, Reginald (that's what I named him, of course) and I, he on on my roof and me on my couch. We shared a brief glance with one another before he just flopped off the tin roof because HELLO, IT'S A SLANTED, WET TIN ROOF, REGINALD, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? and then he gobbled away.

Even weirder is that for the next few minutes, I could hear him gobbling, but I couldn't see him anywhere.... which leads me to believe that I'm dealing with some fucking ninja turkeys, you guys, and that's terrifying.

Remember when I lived in Ohio and my biggest issues with nature involved bunnies eating my vegetable garden? Yeah...