Another Post Where Nothing Goes Together At All Because It's A Fuckitall Kind Of Day

I remember the snow from when I lived in Denver. I remember how it fell silently and I remember standing under a streetlight and looking up at it as it fell. I remember how quiet the world seemed after a heavy snow. Snow is quiet. It is, quite rightly, often compared to a blanket. The snow blanketed the ground.

Rain is not quiet. It can whisper, yes, it can tap at the window, it makes one sound as it hits the broad waxy magnolia leaves, another as it falls on the tin roof and yet another as it drips off the porch overhang. Last night, before I went to bed, I realized it was raining but it didn't sound like rain, exactly. It sounded sharp, not wet. It sounded icy.
I think it must have been sleeting a bit. I went and stuck my hand out but whatever hit my hand melted into water immediately and I had no desire to investigate further but came in to where it was warm and listened to what sounded like tiny needles falling outside.

It's raining now, normal wet rain and it's cold. I just spoke to Lon on the phone and as I told him, I try never to complain about the rain but I must admit that I am a bit tired of the eternal gray...wetness. And cold. And I don't feel so well today. Achy but more in a feverish way than in an old-joints way. I'm not hungry (a sure sign of illness for me) and nothing I have in this kitchen to eat sounds good. I think I may be "run down" as they used to say. And they also used to say, "My wife, I think I'll keep her," when they advertised Geritol and a beaming wife would stand with her husband's arm around her, happy and with plenty of iron-rich blood (twice the iron of calves liver!) circulating in her veins to do her chores with, to make that husband so damn happy.

Advertisements haven't gotten much better over the years. Okay, some of them are pretty good but some of them are so sucky you just want to strangle someone. I was watching Project Runway last night, as I sometimes do and an ad came on for Cepacol, I think. A poor man had a sore throat and there he stood with his warm hat and coat on in the middle of a snow storm with his wife and child. His face was a picture of perfect suffering but no worries! Moms always know what to do about sore throats! said the announcer and the woman I had assumed was his wife because she certainly wasn't old enough to be his mother, gave him a Cepacol lounge and you could see the fast relief washing over and bathing his throat and then he smiled. Next, it turns out that the kid's throat hurt too, so Mom gave him a Cepacol and soon he, too, was smiling and then suddenly, they were all happy, still in the snow, throwing snowballs at each other and frisking around the winter wonderland and all I could think of was, "Goddamn! If these people have sore throats, they're sick and should be inside drinking hot tea, not outside in the fucking snow!"

But hey- you know- Geritol, Cepacol, Fuckitall.

It's a fuckitall kind of day for me. I never have made Owen's cashmere chicken but that's what I'm going to do today. Every time I put my scissors to a perfectly good cashmere sweater, I hesitate. But the sweater is too small for human consumption after I washed it last time and really, it'll make a lovely chicken for Owen to sleep with. I'm going to cut it out and sew it by hand in front of the TV, maybe embroider it a bit. Did you know that there are THREE hours of Wife Swap on every afternoon? I didn't either until recently and I wish I didn't know but I do so that box of slimy goodness has already been opened for me. I'm addicted like it was crack. I love it when the people open their eyes and realize (and this ALWAYS happens) that they do not spend enough time with their kids! Or else- they spend TOO much time with their kids. One or the other. Sometimes big men cry on Wife Swap. Cleaning toilets seems to make big men cry. They say they're crying because now they realize how much work their wives do and that makes them sad to think of how they never appreciated her before now but really- I just think that big men cry because they're on their knees looking at a toilet up close and personal AND sober for the first time in their lives and it makes them so disgusted that they can't help but cry.

Eh, that's my theory. I have a lot of theories, as you know.
The funniest thing Mr. Moon ever said to me was that if he DID clean the bathroom, he would do a GOOD job. It was one of those things that when you say it, you realize AS YOU ARE SAYING it that this is quite possibly the stupidest thing you've ever said and it's never going to be forgotten or forgiven. I'm pretty sure I've written about this before but, as I said, it's never going to be forgiven or forgotten, although time has lent it humor. It's one of those short-hand phrases we use now, to admit that we have no idea what we're talking about. Marriage is full of those.

Mr. Moon. I think I'll keep him. And if I ever see him scrubbing a toilet I have no doubt he'll be crying because I'll be too sick with a terminal illness to do it for him. He better be crying! But you know what? He'll do a good job. Because that's the way he is.

And now I think I'm going to go change into my high fashion overalls because I still have on my yoga clothes and I need to get comfy. Ralph Lauren is dropping by later to talk to me about what he needs to put in his Fall 2010 line. I'm thinking more overalls. But in velvets or perhaps silk-cotton blends. I'll ask him if they can do a denim-silk blend. That would be so nice to wear. Or wait! Cashmere overalls! AH!
Well, you heard it here first.

Stay warm, ya'll.
Happy Friday.
Love....Ms. Moon