Billy, Do Not Look (If you click on the pictures you will see dust and cobwebs!)

Billy refuses to go into my bathroom. I think he believes it is filled with floor-to-ceiling satin shoes or has a jewel-encrusted toilet or at the very least, the tub is always filled with bubbles and a pink maiden or two.

Of course it is nothing like that, my bathroom, and really, it needs cleaning. My entire house needs cleaning. It's at that point where even I am gently appalled. And it's so hard to clean. There are, wait, let me count: twelve rooms downstairs alone. There are two upstairs but I don't ever go up there. And there are four porches which should be swept far more than they are. We won't even get into the spider webs. No. We will not.

And the dirt here in Lloyd, which I have mentioned more than once, is a sort of black, greasy dirt which comes in and sticks to things and then there are the four dogs. Oh yes, the four dogs.

Well. You can imagine.

I always start at the far end of the house where Mr. Moon and I have our room and two of the bathrooms. Mr. Moon's bathroom is strictly utilitarian and doesn't really take long to clean. The tub is so old that it will never be clean so I don't work very hard on it. The sink and the toilet are no big deal and then it's just the rugs and the floor and oh yes, the window sill where bugs to go die and the walls where mildew comes to live.
But that's nothing compared to my bathroom.
My bathroom is filled with stuff. Mostly madonnas and mermaids. I bet you I have more madonnas in my bathroom than the pope does.








I'll bet you anything he doesn't have THIS one:

Not over his toilet anyway. At least I hope not.

But he may have this one:

And my jewelry hangs on walls and on mirrors.

Would you put a charm bracelet like this in a drawer?

Or necklaces like this?
Surely not. They would be so pissed off. I like to keep my jewelry happy.


That's a mermaid madonna, wouldn't you say?


And here are my beautiful older women for inspiration. As well as a few of my babies.


And you know- you gotta have Bill Murray wearing a red neckerchief looking at you adoringly as you brush your teeth. At my age I'd rather look at Bill's face than mine anyway.


Merchildren and baby shoes.



A basket Miss HoneyLuna made me with a pretty handkerchief and dried oak-leaf hydrangea.

And oh sugars, there is more. Much, much more.

Make-up I never wear and hair thingees I never put in my hair and face potions I never use on my face and lotions and perfumes and bath salts and rubber duckies and sea shells and a shower AND a tub and a dresser. Yes. My dresser is in the bathroom. It's a big bathroom.

And oh, how I love it. It is my dream bathroom in my dream house but I sort of hate cleaning it.

And I should go do that even though I feel sort of pulled down and mighty lazy today. In yoga I kept trying to do back bends to unkink the energy block which is so obviously nestled somewhere south of my shoulder blades but it didn't work. I still feel like a rag doll who has been loved by so many children she has no constitutional fortitude left whatsoever. Just kick me into a corner and let me rest.

Really, what I'd love to do is go lay down on my bed with the newest Oxford American Magazine which, if you read with the attention it demands and deserves, can take as long as a novel to get through.

Or, alternately, I wouldn't mind just going out to the chicken coop to watch the birds. I stood there for about ten minutes a while ago. Miss Red laid an egg and cackled and bragged about it so I went to go collect it and while I was watching everyone chase Miss Daffodil around, I saw Sam get on top of Miss Bob and have his way with her.


Well, he has good taste. She is a mighty pretty hen.
There's always so much to see in the chicken coop.

Or I could go out and sit in the garden and watch the rows I planted yesterday. This morning I saw a beautiful butterfly on top of one those rows and I don't know what she was doing but it sort of resembled what Sam was doing to Miss Bob. But more delicately. Much more delicately.


Kind of made me want to be the ground. I never, ever wish I was a hen.

Ah yah. I better get busy. The afternoon is half over and all of a sudden, the sun seems to want to set about seven thirty instead of eight thirty. How did that happen? I swear, I've been paying attention. The chickens seem to have noticed. They go to bed by six thirty now.

I think I'll make some coffee first though.
(Yawn)

I'll let you know how it goes.