How To Make It Through A Sunday

"What?" He's saying. I'm just playing with my stuff here. You mind?
Oh. My Owen. I walked into the kitchen and he began to grin at me.
"Your grandmama's here," said Lily. She was holding that boy. Or maybe she said, "The Crazy Chicken Grandma's here."
Whatever. Didn't matter to me.
In the little over an hour that I was there we played on the blanket, doing patty cake and touch-the-toes-to-the-nose and he talked to me. He's so serious when he talks. He forms his words carefully and lets them out in a string of sounds which sound very, very serious. He waits for me to reply.
"What?" I ask him. "What are you telling me?"


He looks off into the distance as if to say, Oh Lord. These Bigs are so retarded.



His first tooth is almost through. He chews on his hands and my hands and a clean diaper and anything he can get in that mouth of his. He doesn't seem too upset by the whole process, as if he were just going through it and knew it was going to happen and whatever.
I changed his diaper twice and blew on his belly. He loves being naked. Loves it. As all children do.
And we danced. I took Lily her copy of Lis's CD and she put it on and we danced, me and the O-Boy. The last song on the album is called Time and it's my very favorite.
"This is the sound life makes," sings Lis, "Like the first breath a baby takes. When it's born."
And I cried, holding that boy in my arms while Lis sang.
I called her on my way to Monticello and left a message on her answering machine. "I danced with Owen to your album and it was one of the highlights of my life and I cried."
She left an message on my answering machine.
"You made ME cry."

Yeah. We crone-ish women. We cry all the fucking time. You know why? Because we know how precious each precious moment is. We don't have time to waste on panty-waist emotions. Dancing with your grandchild to the album your heart-friend made? Reason to cry.

Which brings me to the play we're doing now. Our first real rehearsal went really well. Kathleen has got this director shit DOWN! She's thought about it. She knows where she wants us to be when we say our lines. She is ready. I am so impressed but not in the least surprised.
And it's going to be funny. But in a way, it's not that funny because part of the humor comes from men accidentally taking a drug which causes them to experience menopausal symptoms including crying for no apparent reason. But we women don't cry for no reason at all. The reasons may not be readily apparent, but they are real. Things TOUCH us. They make us cry. But what the hell? It'll be funny in the play and there is nothing in the world I love more than making people laugh. It also occurred to me as we were blocking the first act and Colin was lying on top of me that I haven't had another man lay on top of me since Mr. Moon and I got together in 1983!
But I do have to say that if I MUST have another man laying on top of me, even in service of The Theatre! I am glad it is Colin.

I remember back when I was going to that therapist last year and she said, "Oh my! You are a writer- the way you speak! You need an outlet for that!"
And I said, "Oh well. I do. I have this blog..."
And then she said, "And you are an actress! Your voice! You need an outlet for that!"
And I said, "Well, I do. I act in plays in Monticello."
And she said, "And you need to nurture!" and I said, "Well, I have chickens and I'm about to get a grandchild."

And that was the last time I needed to see HER.

Anyway. That's what my Sunday turned into. The trifecta of what-I-need.
Not to mention the little organic chicken in the oven (oh Lord- I can't believe I can still eat chicken) stuffed with a dressing I made of homemade bread, homemade cornbread, onions and celery, and a cozy house and a sweet husband.

Phew. Made it through another Sunday.
Did you?