It's Fine

You know what? It's one thing to joke about being batshit crazy and it's another to wake up with the heart-jumping-out-of-throat, oh-my-god-everything-is-wrong feeling. That weight of the universe on my chest, my stomach twisting, seemingly trying to get away from itself.
This is not a joke.
It's not nearly as bad as it was last year at this time but it's uncomfortable. I'm finding it harder and harder to go outside of my yard, to try and get anything done. Everything seems insurmountable and I look at people who do and accomplish and plan and follow through with awe and wonder and guilt, too, because I can't even make myself go to town and try to find tomato plants although I can work like a demon in the garden I have, right here in my yard. Where it is safe.
I think it may have something to do with sense-memory. This is how it felt last year- the temperature, the humidity, the bearing down of the barometer as tropical storms form and dance their way towards us. Waking up and feeling that feeling. That something-is-happening feeling. And I know it's just a feeling. Feelings can't kill me. Feelings don't mean anything except that my chemicals are unbalanced, most likely. Winter's continual darkness can make people crazy. So can summer's relentless heat and humidity.
I swear it can.
The cricket's chorus swells and hastens in time, the metronome of their chant ticks so fast it breaks and then there is silence. The air is so heavy and I dream of houses where I find peace and then a distant relative starts a fire, an old friend brings a peaceful presence and then leaves and I yearn in my sleep for the peace I know is there, right beyond my grasp. I wake up and my husband holds out his arms and I tell him, "I am anxious again."
"What can I do?" He says. His eyes are so warm and I know he cares and I know his plate is already so full with the thousands of things he takes care of every day. I don't want to put this stupid feeling stuff on top of it all. I don't want to.
"It's okay," I say. "It's just a feeling."
And I mean it.
We go out to feed the chickens because he knows that soothes me. We find a giant caterpillar, and he looks monstrous, dangerous. We take his picture and it turns out he is harmless, a Hickory Horned Devil and he will turn into a Royal Walnut moth next year after feeding for almost two months on pecan and walnut and sweet gum trees and then burying himself into the ground to pupate.
Not scary when you know the facts, but frightening when he first appears and you have no knowledge of what this creature might be. He will turn into something beautiful. A metaphor which barely needs mentioning.
The chickens are fine, we fed them by hand, the ones who are not too shy to come to us. Some of them are and I don't know why. They are the way they are. Perhaps their breeds. Red and Suzie will jump up into the air to retrieve a grape we're holding. A funny trick, hard to catch with the camera.


There was a party last night at a good friend's house. I did not want to go. I was afraid there would be people there I didn't want to see. I am socially awkward. I feel fat. I hate wearing a bra. But we went. It was fine. I talked to two women, both named Katie. I loved talking to them. I felt okay. It was okay. Mr. Moon and HoneyLuna were there to cuddle me up if I needed it. The people I was afraid of seeing were not there at all. Thank god.

HoneyLuna is healing. She is doing fine. Lily is having Braxton Hicks, which means her uterus is tuning up for the big event. She is gorgeous and still having a hard time believing she's in the last month of pregnancy. She works eight hours and goes home and unpacks and gets ready for the baby. She calls me and we have long conversations about birth and I tell her that she has to remember to tell us what she wants. No matter what that means. Even if it means, "Mama, get out of the room."
I tell her everything is going to be fine. And it is.
Everything is fine.
Mr. Moon is out finishing up the laying boxes for our chickens. The two flocks are tolerating each other warily. The big birds allow the little ones to eat from the feeder, drink from the waterer.

Penny is fine. Her head is healing up. Little Elmira is fine too. In fact, she may turn out to be a rooster. That's okay, too. Mr. Moon saved her and she is never going to be big but she is fancy and she is fine with those feathery legs of hers.


A tropical storm is indeed headed this way. Claudette, which brings to mind french petticoats and their gentle swishing, not ripping winds, not torrential rains. Mr. Moon and Jason took out two pine trees yesterday which were dead and in danger of falling on Lily and Jason's new house. Mr. Moon is covered in poison ivy today. Jason is not. We are grateful that it's Mr. Moon and not Jason. We're old and know how to deal with itches and rashes and oozing. We're glad that the trees are not threatening the house if the winds pick up, the rain makes the ground soft.
Fine. It's fine.
It's all fine.

Babies are fine, chickens are fine, houses are fine. It's all just a feeling. A heavy feeling caused by weather, caused by insanity's anniversary.

Hank is coming out soon. Jessie is coming home soon. I've talked to Lily who wanted to know how to make oatbran muffins. I love her for calling and asking me things like that. I need to talk to May, make sure that she, too, is fine.

And I feel better now, having written it all out, looked at it with rational steeliness.
I feel fine.
Not great, but fine.
I will go do the laundry. I will go pull up some things in the garden. I will find something good to eat from the freezer and thaw it out. I will cook it later. I will watch my chickens. I will give you this picture which is a picture of some of the silky chickens my neighbor is raising. Yes, I swear, these are chickens.

Little Dr. Seuss birds who do lay eggs. Fluffy pompommed birds whose eyes are hidden by their furry feathers.
How can life be so serious with birds like that right next door?

It's the weather. It's the heat. It's the heaviness of the air and the way it's picking up and swishing the petticoats of the trees. It's the crickets, racing to beat the metronome's tick. It's the green dragon in my yard. It's the brown eyes of my husband, it's the round belly of my daughter, it's the strong knee of my baby, it's the joy I feel when my children drive up. It's Hank's laughter, it's May saying, "Hey Mama!" It's the way women can leak hearts in a kitchen, having just met and recognized something familiar. It's the love of friends. It's the mix of it all.

It's standing with my feet on the ground, feeling and recognizing, fearing and calming, it's August, it's summer, it's life.