With entertainment and delicious sushi!
Owen and Jessie worked on and off all day on a song-writing collaboration. Here is the result of that. Jessie on guitar, Gibson on popcorn popper and Owen doing vocals. The time-honored tradition of Dinosaur Blues.
He was so proud, our Owen, to perform for the party with Aunt Jessie.
It was such a good night. There was so much going on. The boys playing and sushi-making and beverage drinking and raucous laughter and everyone got involved.
I believe that I myself sliced half a carrot. Jessie and May did the bulk of it all and Hank and Lily and Jason helped roll the sushi.
It was delicious.
And we all sat down and ate.
And ate. And ate.
And then the boys, for some reason, dressed for Mardi Gras,
having achieved a second (third? nineteenth?) wind while everyone pitched in to wash dishes and then the boys were changed into pajamas and stowed in their car seats and their mama and daddy took them home after great hugs and kisses for everyone.
It was a fabulous party.
And today the sun is gracing us with its presence, I have moved the baby chicks into a bigger ice chest to accommodate their stunning growth, Jessie is already over in the magical land of Gator Bone with her Cicada Ladies to record a song with Lon and Lis, I've had a lovely chat with Lis on the phone, another with Vergil who is home working and studying for an exam and whom we sorely miss, Mr. Moon is out doing shade-tree mechanics on the old Toyota, and we are going to be attending a Tae Kwon Do tournament this afternoon. Owen assures us he will be getting a medal.
Lily has assured us that everyone will be getting a medal which does absolutely nothing to dampen Owen's excitement.
And then tonight- off to the Mockingbird to watch the Cicada Ladies play and there will be friends and there will be family and I might even wear sparkly eye shadow.
So. That's what's going on in Lloyd on this beautiful spring morning and the peas are coming up and the fig trees are swelling at the tips and I am most definitely glad to be alive, to be here, to part of of it all.
Still dreary here, cold and wet, the day is beginning, the boys will be here soon.
I couldn't find the dogs this morning to let them out and of course, they are upstairs, sleeping with Jessie whom they adore.
I think that Jessie and I are going to have to take the boys to town to shop for tonight's dinner. You would think I would have had this more under control but no, I do not. We are talking sushi here.
It is amazing to me how very little it takes to unbalance me. I suppose I need to remember that three weeks ago I was what I would describe as completely unhinged and had been for three months.
Just three weeks.
Not such a long time to find my balance; it is not reasonable to believe that I am yet sure of my position on the high wire as it stretches across even the shortest distance between two points.
And even if I stumble, there will be my loves to catch me.
Jessie arrived glowing sweet as roses and the boys and Lily have come out to see her and much Wii playing went on and kissing and hugging and petting of baby chickens, too.
"Want one," Gibson said. "That one."
He wanted to pet them all.
Owen was content to hold one. "They're so nice!" he said. "Where is their mother?"
I explained to him as best I could about how these chicks don't have a mother. "I'm sort of like their mother," I said.
He accepted that fine. He was beside himself with joy to have Jessie here and his mama and his Boppy and his Mer too. He showed off his fancy martial arts moves, he showed off his tattoos, he demanded that Jessie play Beatle dolls with him, he told everyone playing Wii games to "focus your brain." He excelled at sword fighting and at cycling.
Gibson mostly wanted his Boppy and couch fishing and games but he was happy to give and receive a few hugs and kisses from the rest of us as well.
They've all gone now. Lily and the boys back to their place and Jessie to a rehearsal. Mr. Moon and I are here alone again, the rain still comes and goes. Soup is simmering.
So it goes. One moment the house is bursting with energy and voices and the next, all is calm again. The boys will be back tomorrow for the day and then...the gathering of everyone.
I am drinking my fiber on this rainy day. A smoothie with a peach, half an apple, a few frozen cherries, blueberries, strawberries, prunes, a half a banana. Coconut milk. It is good but it is not warming and it is chilly again and this rain falls and falls but I have to remain grateful for it, even as I yearn for the sight of the sun.
Jessie is on her way, I have spoken to her. Oh! The miracle of cell phones! I remember when I was nineteen and had to get out of Denver because my soul was dying there in that place where there were hardly any trees and the mountains reached up so far that it looked as if they might pierce the sky and the house where I was living was under surveillance (and for good reason, trust me) and it was snowing and I packed up my green Capri, surely one of the worst cars ever made, with my parakeets in a cage, my rocking chair, my pressure cooker, my books, clothes, craptastic stereo, records. I waited for the snow to melt a bit (this was in January) and drove from Denver to Tallahassee, my AAA Triptik beside me. Every night I would call my mother to let her know I'd survived another day and I drove from winter into spring and when I got to Tallahassee, the azaleas were budding up and giant oak trees dripped with Spanish moss and couples were walking around, holding hands.
That was forty years ago.
I still have that rocking chair.
What in hell was I talking about?
Oh yeah. Cell phones. And how amazing it is to me that my daughter can call me from the road.
Unimaginable, forty years ago but then again, I will never forget the feeling of driving halfway across the United States all by myself, my little nineteen-year old hippie self, no one in the entire world knowing where I was exactly, except for perhaps someone sitting on a porch as I drove by but of course, they had no idea who I was, just a green blur with Colorado tags.
It was terrifying and exhilarating, I will never experience anything like that again.
Forty years later and I'm still here and the azaleas still bloom and the trees in my yard as as big as any oaks I've ever seen and are draped with moss and sometimes on a Friday night, my husband and I walk around our yard, holding hands beneath them.
With our cell phones probably in our pockets.
Who could have imagined any of this? Not me. I never could have imagined as I drove into Tallahassee that the house I would one day live in was down the road a few miles, already a hundred and fifteen years old. I could never have dreamed that one up. Not that one or the changes in technology I would see or the husband I would have or the children or the grandchildren. Or even being able to buy coconut milk in the grocery store if you want to know the truth.
The boy I lived with in Denver, the drug dealer, was a huge Grateful Dead fan and I never have been, not for one second, but the phrase, "What a long strange trip it's been," rings ever more heart-true every year of my life.
I am glad things change but I am, at the same time, so glad that some things do not.
Here I am, such a different person but at heart, still the same hippie girl, living in this house which is now a hundred and fifty-five years old, holding hands with my husband of almost thirty years, sheltered and shaded by the trees, keeping chicks and grandsons, typing out my soul on this silver spaceship of a laptop.
Able to call my husband, my children any time and anywhere.
"How are you? Where are you now? What do you want for supper? Be safe. I love you. I will see you in a few hours."
Well, that's what it's like in Lloyd this morning.
Everyone be safe in your travels to and from wherever it is you call home.
Call your mama, tell her where you are. Then maybe put your phone away and spend a moment watching the trees go by if you are traveling, watch them sway in gratitude for the spring rains as their buds form and open, if you are sitting still.
Enjoy the trip, whether across the country to make a new life or across the yard to pick your greens from the muddy garden. Long and strange or short and sweet, let us enjoy.
I have felt weird today. Not bad, just weird. A little cranky. Maybe I've already lost my perspective on living without anxiety.
God. I hope not.
I felt quite proud of myself for finally getting my ass out the door to take a walk. It was gray and gloomy and chilly but it wasn't raining and there was absolutely no excuse not to do it. Not like there was ten inches of snow on the ground and I was risking frostbite of the face. Let's be realistic.
And that helped my attitude for about five or six minutes.
After that, not so much.
Anyway, who cares? I've gotten the kitchen and a bathroom mopped and I've got groceries and I've taken trash and also a nap. Man, I seem to be heavily into the nap thing these days. I wake up and have to force myself to move so much as a little finger. Eventually, though, I do.
Jessie will be here tomorrow and then the whirlwind begins. Her four days here will go so quickly. Friday night supper here with all the kids, Saturday night at the Mockingbird where the Cicada Ladies will be playing a set. The tribes shall gather.
For those of you who may not know, The Cicada Ladies are a group of friends and musicians of which my daughter, Jessie, is a part and they try to get together and play every time they're all in the same town.
Here's a video from two years ago. Jessie is the mandolin player.
As you can tell, it's always a lot of fun.
All right. Here's another video of a very different sort. See how messy these chicks are? I just cleaned their whole world this morning and they've already totally trashed it like rock stars on crack.
Another day of cold and drizzle and my hips ache like hell and so does my wrist and I just want to stay in and cocoon on the couch or on the bed and read but again, that is not my way and so I've eaten some sort of ancient grain granola and raisins and coconut milk and taken Ibuprofen and am waiting for some relief. All night I woke myself up, rocking these aged, aching hips in small cat motions, trying to rearrange the arm I broke the wrist of when I was seventeen to relieve the numbness and fiery needles shooting through my hand. Dream snippets of asking Phillip Seymour Hoffman to come and eat with our family, discovering that I'd posted a blog post entirely sideways, pictures and text, baby chickens drowned and swollen, telling my mother that really, go away, you're dead.
None of it quite as bad as it sounds. The one about the sideways blog post bothered me the most because even as I dreamed of the other things, I knew I was dreaming so it was okay. And Phillip Seymour Hoffman was as charming as could be.
No, this is not going to become My Awesome Dream Journal blog.
Even in the drizzle the blackbirds sing their rusty song and Elvis crows to be let out. I have to go to the store, I have more cleaning to do. The baby chicks' bedding needs changing. There is laundry. Always laundry, just as there are always going to be these days, wherein movement must be forced, wherein inertia must be overcome, wherein one must plug in the fancy lights and light the candles because the sun is hidden, wherein one must give thanks for the fact that there are lights, there is Ibuprofen, there is a washing machine, there is Goodwill cashmere to soften the cold, there are birds both wild and domestic who sing their own songs despite the weather, reminding us that life goes on, goes on, goes on and tasks must be attended to and spring is proceeding as it should and as it will, within us and without us and there is great comfort in all of that.
I swear to you, absolutely nothing exciting has happened here today. Unless you count the fact that I finally decided what to make for supper (frijoles negros AND rojos!) and I'm sorry. Really. That does not count.
I took a walk. I picked the azaleas you see above from an empty-house yard. I cleaned Jessie's room. I, uh...filled up the chicken waterer?
Well, good morning. What's your world like today? Mine's gray and chilly and I slept for about one thousand hours and I'm having house dreams again.
Oh my god. These dreams!
I love them. Thank you, Celexa!
In the one I had last night, the dream-house started out as a house that someone I hated lived in but as the dream progressed, the house became more and more enchanted and magical. A nearby river washed the floors with the tides and the floors changed from wood to marble which was swirled with greens and grays and blues. And suddenly, it was no longer the house of someone I hated but the house of people I loved. And everywhere I looked there was beauty and funk and the house was still a house but it was also a magical forest and I was only visiting but the people I loved gave me an amazing statue of saints to take with me when I left and I feel almost blessed this morning with those images still in my head.
Well, back to reality and my actual floors had dog diarrhea on them when I woke up. Let's address this issue. My dogs are old. And I remember back a long time ago when I had a neighbor with a dog who was very old and he was blind and couldn't do a damn thing but lie in the middle of the road all day and I thought to myself, "Why don't they put that dog down?"
My dogs don't lie in the middle of the road all day but they're blind and all they do is lie around in the house and stink it up and have to be forced outside to go pee and poop and sometimes they have diarrhea in the house.
Is it time? Can one just decide that enough is enough or do you have to wait for some horrible illness to appear which will cause pain and suffering? Does my pain and suffering count for nothing?
Oh god. I don't know.
Meanwhile, I have to call the groomer today. HAVE TO.
I am NOT going to town today unless something extremely urgent pops up. I am going to stay right here in Lloyd. I have plenty to do. I wish it were sunny and warm but it is what it is and Mr. Moon found the other two Hunger Game books out of the trilogy at the library and so I have hours and hours of listening pleasure while I walk, while I clean, while I do whatever the hell it is that I'm going to do today. Sounds perfect to me. Some days a girl just has to keep to herself and go over the images in her head of water rushing over swirled marble floors and ponder what it all means.
And clean up dog diarrhea.
Because that's life.
And here is your daily picture of my chicks.
Yesterday while the boys and I were in the car waiting for Lily to check their kitty into the vet's office for HIS shot, I asked Owen for suggestions for names for the new babies.
Here is his list:
I sort of like Eggie.
But I am just too superstitious to name them yet.
I'm a little teary right now but not in a bad way. I'm tired and I just talked to Jessie on the phone and I was so loathe to hang up. She'll be here in three days and I can't wait but I know I have to share her with the world and that's all right too. On Friday night we're all gathering, the whole family, and it will be so good to have us all together under one roof again. But it crossed my mind as we were talking and laughing on the phone that yes, I am myself again. I am present, as Bill Murray said. I am not 99% hiding in a cave of panic with 1% leftover to deal with the world, even the ones I love most in it.
Which is just a horrible feeling.
But that is not how it is now. I can be here, not just for others, but for myself too. What a gift! What a true and monumental gift.
It's been a good day despite the fact that Gibson is continuing on his path to becoming two with great and dedicated ferocity. It's such a shock! He has always been the most easy-going of children. Just absolutely a delight and always easily comforted if he's unhappy, eager to go along with whatever adventure lies before us. But now I guess he's figured out that he does have the power to make choices and HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT HE WANTS AND IT MAKES HIM CRAZY and he is not suffering in silence. Lily is handling it with aplomb and tender dispassion. She is such a good mother and she remembers Owen going through this stage and knows it will pass. Meanwhile I, even with all of my experience and practice, feel as if I must do something to make him happy. But this is the way I am. When we were in Target today, I heard a newborn crying and it made me feel completely panicked. Not in the anxiety-way but in the a-human-baby-is-crying-and-something-must-be-done way. I finally told Lily, "If someone doesn't do something about that baby I am going to go stick my own boob in her mouth."
I did not. And eventually the baby stopped crying but I am wired to want babies and children to be happy, to be comfortable, to be fed and content.
And so when Gibson is absolutely inconsolable, it jangles me. He gets over it and then he's his good-natured little boy self again but while it's going on, MerMer is somewhat beside herself.
My beloved therapist once told me that she had a theory that children in families like to play good-cop/bad-cop. That one of the children will always be the troublesome one, and another child will be the easy one. And that they can switch these roles instantly.
I agree. And Owen is being a very, very good boy right now. Which...thank god!
I have to brag on him for a second. We went to his pediatrician's office for him to get a shot. He's about to sign up for Pre-K and he needs his shots. And he knew he was getting a shot. He got one last week. And yet, he was cool as a cucumber all during the long wait and when it came time, he got up on the table and covered his eyes and let it happen with absolutely no fussing or wailing or crying at all.
Not one bit.
He was mostly curious about it.
And when it was over he asked me, "Mer, are you proud of me?"
And I said, "I am not just proud of you, Owen. I am AMAZED."
And I was telling him the truth.
He didn't throw any fits in Target. He knew what his mama was buying him as a reward for being a good boy (some no-name Playdough in the dollar section) and although he was a bit mesmerized when we passed the toys, he didn't demand anything. He didn't plead or cry or beg.
So there is that.
And when we were through with our lunch which we ate outside, Owen went back into the restaurant all by himself and got us to-go containers for our leftovers. He is growing up so fast. As is Gibson. Oh, it is so hard to be two! I promise you- that boy would not be so loud about his displeasure if it were not valid. I know that.
He fell asleep in the car on our way back to Lily's and after I'd transferred all my stuff to my own car and had kissed Owen and was kissing Lily good-bye, I said, "Call me when this phase is over."
I was sort of joking.
"It's really not so bad," she said. "He only does this five or ten times a day.
And we both laughed. When Owen started going through this, Lily had just gotten pregnant with Gibson and that's when she was beside herself. "If I had ever known he was going to be like this, I never would have gotten pregnant in the first place!" she said then. But here we are and Owen is a fine four-year-old and Gibson is just taking his turn and so it goes.
But as I said, it's been a good day and well, here's some news- I am going to have two short stories published soon by Shebooks. I haven't talked about it because
(a) I didn't want to jinx anything, and
(b) When it all came to pass, I was in the middle of my worst mental anguish and it really didn't register with me that it was truly going to happen.
But I got an actual real check in the mail from them today so I suppose they are serious.
I feel...like an imposter.
It's very difficult to explain but that's how I feel. I don't even know how to talk about it right now. I am beyond grateful and I suppose in a way, it justifies something. Sort of. I joked to Jessie that now I am, as the little girl told her daddy about her mama's new boyfriend in the wonderful movie, "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" bona fide.
But it doesn't feel like that.
I have had a life of being able to do mostly what I wanted to do for love. Which makes me incredibly fortunate. And yet, has never allowed me to feel as if anything I do is worth being paid for.
This is a conundrum, in a way.
And of course I've had jobs but even those were extremely low-paying and I did them because I believed in them more than for the necessity of earning a paycheck, except when I was much younger. And my husband has told me thousands of times that if I did not do what I do, he could not do what he does to support us.
Which I will never believe. I know that plenty of women (most women!) have done what I've done and worked outside the home, too.
And raised beautiful, functional children and maintained fine relationships with their partners, and, and, and...
Wait. What am I talking about here?
Oh yeah. I am going to be paid for a bit of writing I did and people will be able to download my e-book from online and that's a good thing.
Of course I'm pretty sure that ones and ones of people will be ordering it and that Shebooks will come to its senses and demand their money back but that's just me.
I remember when I had fire in my belly and finished my first novel and how beat-down I got about the whole process of trying to get published and I guess I've sort of let that dream die. And then other dreams have come true and grandchildren have come along and to be quite frank, my need to write, which goes way beyond my love for it, has been satisfied quite beautifully here on the blog. I have written for love and I have been repaid in love. A thousand-fold.
Oh well. I'm done talking about it for now.
Mr. Moon just called and he's made it to Orlando safely and the baby chicks are happy and thriving and my grandsons are good and healthy and all of my children will be under my roof for awhile, at least, in a few days, and I am tired but will be able to get such good sleep tonight.
Here's the clip from O Brother, Where Art Thou? about being bona fideand it reminds me that I really should watch that movie again.
I don't really feel bona fide but what the hell? That check will cover a few days in Mexico if I don't count shopping. And that is a very fine thing.
I will take it with gratitude and much bewilderment.
I frankly thought the Oscars were incredibly boring. Was that just me?
Jared Leto so very deservedly won best supporting actor and his speech was great and I loved it.
I should have then gone to bed.
Well, I would have missed Lupita Nyong'o and she was amazing.
I also would have missed Bette Midler singing "Wind Beneath My Wings."
Are you kidding me? And I am Bette's biggest fan and have been since 1973 but still...
Here's what Billy and I were saying to each other about it all during the last half hour (or last eighteen hours, it was hard to tell).
Sorry for all the overlaps. I am still waking up. I am in blue, Billy isn't.
I was glad to see McConaughey win. Did I spell that right? Anyway, I thought his speech was sort of weird. He talked about his god a lot. He did not once mention Ron Woodroof, the guy Dallas Buyer's Club was all about. Unless I missed that part. But I suppose the important thing is that he got that movie made against all odds for a pitiful amount of money and I believe they shot it in 29 days and that's amazing. Also, he brought his mother along with his incredibly beautiful wife. Extra point for the mama-bringing.
I did not see any boobs that made me very happy.
I fell in love with Bill Murray harder than ever before.
U2? Bite me. I heard that on at least one tour, Bono wanted to sleep in his own bed every night and therefore, someone drove his damn bed from city to city in a Ryder truck. Sorry. I have never understood the appeal of U2. Don't even tell me about all the good works Bono has done. It's Monday morning, I didn't get enough sleep and I don't care.
I will not, out of kindness, mention Goldie Hawn's face.
All right. That's about all I have to say about the Academy Awards Ceremony.
It is Monday. It is sort of raining. I am going to Target today to buy my husband new underwear. That is my entire goal for the day. I think I may also be going with Lily to the pediatrician's office for Owen to get a shot. She sent me a video last night of Owen in the bath that is the funniest thing ever but I cannot share it here because if I do, he will hate me when he is twelve.
Butt-slapping is involved.
The baby chicks are alive and well. Here's what they look like this morning.
I've had a piddling day today. I drifted from one project to another like an indecisive butterfly. I did get a few things done. I actually and for real washed the dogs. Who sadly survived without a whimper. Which then necessitated the cleaning of the tub. I almost said "scrubbing" but that would be a bold-faced lie. I did not scrub it. I sprayed generously with KaBoom! and left it for awhile so that the magical foam could do its work and then I sprayed the fuck out of it with the hottest water my water heater can generate. My sprayer attachment in the tub will take the hide off a donkey if it's used full-force so I figure that's sufficient.
It will have to be.
I went upstairs to Jessie's old room and pulled the sheets and quilt off the bed and washed those and hung them on the line and they dried quickly and I remade the bed. Now I need to get in that room and sweep and dust and tidy so that Jessie will feel cozy when she gets here on Thursday. I also washed all the sheets and tablecloths I've been using (mostly in vain) to cover the plants during freezes. Washed, dried, folded, put away so of course it will freeze again. I swept the porch and put a few of the plants back outside which have wintered in the house and pulled a few of the ones which stayed outside to the front of the porch. The ones which have survived. I will not throw any of them away quite yet but will wait patiently to see if some are simply dormant and have the will to push forth some new leaves. My giant bird's nest fern which was one of my pride and joys looks completely dead but I refuse to give up on it. I continue to water it, hoping against all proof to the contrary that it will come back.
I weeded a tiny bit simply so that I didn't have to do housework. I chatted with my neighbor. I checked on the baby chickens about forty-five times. Let me tell you something- baby chicks grow so fast that it is almost frightening. I swear to you- you can see a difference in them between this morning and this evening. If baby humans grew at the rate of baby chickens, they would be ready for kindergarten in approximately a week and ready for college in a month. How does this happen? I suppose its a good thing, evolutionarily. The faster the tiny things are grown, the more quickly they'll be able to run from attack or even fend it off, depending. And the sooner the mother will be able to get back to her life because sitting on eggs and then taking care of the babies is an extremely stressful situation for a hen and they can become so very thin and dehydrated, too. But still- it is disconcerting. All of these babies seem strong and they don't peep much which I am hoping is because they are warm and full and contented. If large amounts of poop are a good indication of this, then they are doing quite well indeed.
So that has been my boring day. I have had none of the euphoria of yesterday but in its way, it has been a very, very fine day and mostly because it has been one more day without the horror of anxiety and no hint of depression either. This continues to be a miracle to me. For me. To simply live my life without the scrabbling of the rats' toenails in my brain, without the constant and obsessive crazy-thoughts, without the wondering of why I am even bothering to try to live is just a pure and true miracle. I have even started taking supplements again. When the anxiety was so bad, I couldn't even begin to think what the point of them was. Life, as I was living it, wasn't really worth the effort, much less Vitamin D or calcium.
But it is now.
The red-carpet portion of the Academy Awards is on and I can't help but wonder why E! can't find someone more interesting than their regular roster of snark-and-ass-kisser interviewers and commentators. I mean, I have nothing against Kelly Osbourne or even Ryan Seacrest but it's like I feel so often with Republican candidates- this is the best they got?
I can't even believe I watch these things but hey- it's the closest this country is ever going to get to royalty with all its pomp and circumstance, the gowns, the jewels, the boobaliciousness. Not that royalty is exactly known for boobaliciousness but you know what I mean. And Ellen DeGeneres never fails to entertain me. Who in the world doesn't love Ellen DeGeneres?
Oh, it's all fiddle playing while Rome burns but there might as well be fiddle playing, I suppose, if Rome is burning.
Well, onward. In Hollywood there are movie stars who no doubt wish their shoes were not so uncomfortable and here in Lloyd the frogs are starting to call.
I know where I'd rather be.
No doubt in my mind at all.
All the chicks survived the night although when I got up this morning and checked on them I discovered that somehow the waterer had drained itself dry, probably from being unbalanced, and so the towel and hay were drenched and I had to quick, quick, change out their bedding and rearrange things to hopefully prevent that from happening again. They'd also flung most of their food out of the feeder but that's just what baby chicks do. They are messy eaters.
If you look closely at the picture you will see that the yellow chicks, who are a little older, are getting their wing pinfeathers. Some of the other ones are too, but not as many yet.
Another simply beautiful day here in Lloyd and we've had our pancakes (sweet potato, peach, pecan, oatmeal, oat bran) and they were, as they are almost every Sunday, the very best pancakes I ever made. I think making those pancakes may have been my most creative effort for the day. Sunday ennui has overtaken me and I feel no real compulsion to do anything beyond hanging the clothes on the line. Mr. Moon, on the other hand, has a list as long as his arm (and he has a long arm, as you might imagine) of things he wants to get done from tuning up the old Toyota that we've had to bring back over from Dog Island for repairs to tilling some of the garden to...oh I don't know. He told me. I forget. He's outside making manly noise with vehicles and so forth right now.
I imagine I'll watch the Oscars tonight but that's a long way away. My porch plants need some serious tending but I need potting soil and do not want to drive to town to get it.
Ah well, something will present itself and the bluebirds are back, nesting in the box on the back fence and the sun is shining and it's time to open up the doors to let the outside in, the sweet warming air, the light.
I should wash the dogs, clean my bathroom, mop the kitchen but oh! how good it would be to simply lay on the ground on a quilt, reading and drowsing in the dappled light. I probably won't do that. We shall see though.
Here I am and it really doesn't matter what I do. I am the merest and most insignificant thing in the universe I can imagine and that is absolutely fine with me today.