Scrambled eggs?

When I told my ex that I thought I came from a pretty eccentric family, he laughed. That's a revelation?, he asked.

Actually, it's not. But sometimes the facts stare me in the face.

Take my aunt. Aunt Marilyn moved to Los Angeles about three years ago to be near her kids. She'd lived in Brooklyn all of her life, so leaving her old house, relatives and friends was very brave. But she didn't seem scared. She's got a sense of adventure that makes her very flexible -- and a penchant, like my mother, for attracting peculiar situations.

And she's adjusted very well. A former high school drama teacher, she still recruits people for amateur productions -- in Brooklyn, she held them in her living room or a local church. Somehow she's run into a traveling veterinarian who is a friend of a famous dog trainer and "whisperer", Cesar Millan. Apparently this veterinarian has gotten Cesar interested in filming Aunt Marilyn and her aged mutt, who has recently broken a leg. "I'm going to be the wicked owner" she tells me, unsure of whether she wants this kind of fame at 81.

But that doesn't explain the chickens. You see, my aunt's dog broke his leg chasing a chicken. Now, one wouldn't expect to see chickens who live and reproduce right off Ventura Boulevard. In fact, no one knows how they get there. And Marilyn's not pleased when the folks who stop and want to pose with the poultry talk about "her chickens." But she knows she can't get Animal Control to come get them -- some of her neighbors would be distressed.

I don't wonder how they got there. Anyone who knows my aunt, or knew my mom, wouldn't wonder, either.