A friend came over to chat. Before she left she asked to meet my flock. I'm not sure if she knew she was stepping into a fifteen minute tour including four pens, and a social structure spanning three generations. I love my hens, and she was willing to peek into that world. I introduced her to the week old chicks and their devoted mama. 

Yet juxtaposed with my joy is embarrassment. The coops look, well, like a chicken yard. There are dirty waterers, spilled pellets, chewed watermelon rinds, and of course droppings. 

Sometimes I look at new chicken coop designs online and they are all so adorable. And clean. There are no chickens in them yet. 

When I teach sewing to children, I see their dolls and pillows through the eyes of the maker, and they are beautiful. It's easy to ignore the dangling threads, and lopsided legs. Anything that could be construed as a mistake does not interest me when I am intent on focusing on what is lovely. And loved. 

We took a couple out for dinner last week, and between the time we invited them and the time we picked up our forks, the man asked us our intentions.

"Is this to grill us?"

I smiled. 

"We just want to enjoy the time with you. Hear about how you met, and what you appreciate about one another.'

Looking for what is good is so endearing. Why do I ever busy myself with criticism?