How In Hell Did I Get So Lucky?

We went out last night to Kool Beanz for our supper and it was nice. Mr. Moon had procured a new vehicle (new for him) yesterday for resale but before he re-sales it, I think he just wants to drive it around. It's a yellow jeep and so we got in it and headed to town, a little dressed-up, my face painted some, and we thought that with the FSU kids out of town for spring break, we'd have no problem getting a seat.
Ha!
We probably waited an hour before we were seated at the bar, our favorite place to eat because we can watch the chefs doing their magic with flame and meat and veg and sauce and also because I can blow kisses to the dishwasher who has the most beautiful face in the world.

As always, it was delicious but we way over-ordered and have enough in the refrigerator for about four more meals.

I do love to go out, I do love to eat something I did not cook and I certainly do enjoy not cleaning up after but it's odd, somehow, being waited on. And I never feel as if I fit in. Everyone there last night looked like people who lead lives so different from mine but of course, that's probably not true. I felt better and more comfortable when a woman who is a server at the restaurant came in and sat at the bar next to us with a copy of Another Roadside Attraction, one of my favorite books in the world. It was her night off and if that isn't an indication of good food, then I don't know what is. We chatted and it turns out that she knows May and that they share a last name and it's an unusual last name. My ex-husband's people were from Virginia and so are the people of this girl. I can see a resemblance in her face to my daughter's. She is beautiful too.
So we talked with her and had a few snips of conversation with one of the chefs who was wearing a fedora to cook in. His name is Ted and I asked him if it was short for Theodore. He said it was and I thought about how few Teds there are anymore. Ted Danson, I suppose. But I doubt there are any little Teddys in the daycares, which is sad. Such a good name, Ted.

We rumbled home in the yellow Jeep and it was such a luscious experience, falling into a bed where the sheets had been dried on the line. I slept so well. I woke up this morning with the congestion. I felt it coming on last night as we waited for our supper. I could literally feel my sinuses swelling, feel the mild pain of that.

I met Kathleen this morning at the Opera House where the Altrusas were having their annual Junk and Treasure sale. Or, as Kathleen called it, The Drunken Treasure sale. She bought a few things, I bought nothing and then we went across the street for coffee (me), tea (her), a blueberry muffin (her) and a scone (me). It was amazingly sweet, sitting there and laughing with each other, saying hello to people on their way to the counter to order. Monticello is a very small town and even I see someone I know, every where I go there. When we were at the Opera House for the Drunken Treasure sale women kept coming up to me and telling me how great I'd been in the play, how much they'd enjoyed it. I love to hear words like that, of course, but it's funny how lightly those words skim over me. For some reason, I cannot take my acting abilities or what other people may think of them seriously. It's all play. Children play and pretend as soon as they are old enough to talk and we could all do that at one time or another. I'm just lucky enough to have the opportunity now and then to do it again.

I've already started dreaming of the Opera House again. When I'm not involved in a play there, I dream of it. I feel so at home there. I know where the back doors are and I know where the secret bathroom is and I've been up to the scary prop room above the dressing room. It's dark up there and the stairway is funky and I don't like to go up there alone to find old phones and hats and our sound effects toys. I've done it, but I don't like it.

Jan was there, working at the sale, and she has a bad cold. I offered to go make her a cup of tea and I did, the Altrusa ladies curious to know what I was doing in the kitchen. I was tempted to steal some of the lemon poppy seed poundcake which one of them had brought, but I did not. It looked very good though.

I love the south. I love the way there are garden clubs and Altrusa clubs and camellias and azaleas and big old courthouses and locally owned coffee shops and surprisingly good Chinese food and people who know you every where you go and stop to chat. I love home made baked goods and I love knowing secrets about people because they trust me to keep them. Secrets that would shock other people if they knew. I love that there are all sorts of people in these small southern towns. Not just the scratch-the-surface-and-you'll-find-a-racist people, whom you would expect to live in such places, but also a lot of crazy left-wing liberals who wouldn't vote Republican if you held their feet to the fire. You'd be surprised at how tolerant people can be if they know your heart and find it to be good. Even the scandal of Jan and Jack seems to be blowing over. At least they haven't kicked her out of the Altrusa Club.

"We really do live in Mayberry, don't we?" I asked Kathleen as we left Tupalo's. The woman who runs the Milady's Clothing store next to the restaurant was sitting outside in the sun, talking to a gentleman who was also sitting there. "Doesn't the sun feel good?" she asked, and her smile was as big as the world.

Oh yes. The sun feels good. And here I am about to go out into it to leisurely weed and perhaps trim up the Confederate Jasmine which is pulling the chain link fence over with its bountiful, milky vines. There are delicious leftovers in the refrigerator and I do not have to go to the Opera House to put on a show tonight but I have visited there today and had a wonderful time. Kathleen and Jan and Pat and I are talking about forming a secret society called The Jezebels. We already have a motto- "Once a Jezebel, always a Jezebel," and also, "The Unredeemables." We have decided that we will have a secret knock and passwords. We shall get together and drink champagne (or beer for me) and eat chocolate and talk about our Jezebel experiences.
But don't tell anyone- it's a secret.
And it won't be a club. I don't join clubs. But I will gladly be a member of the Jezebel Society.

I have noticed the redbud in the yard is starting to bloom and when I was across the street, letting the dogs out for the people who live there who are on vacation in New York City, I took a picture of their blooming pear tree.


I hope it does well this year because they always offer me as many pears as I can take. They are the gritty sand pear, or at least that's what we call them and their flesh is more apple than pear-like and they make the very best pies and preserves.
Another thing I like about the south. Sand pears.

I hear the snap of the seeds as the cardinals feed beside me and the cluck of chickens and the feisty rooster-crowing going on between my rooster and the ones next door. I hear mockingbirds, I see that blue sky, I have a beautiful weeding tool, practically new clippers and I'm wearing my overalls. So is Mr. Moon.

Last night was fun and I enjoyed it but it is here, in my own little county, my own little world, where I feel at home, surrounded by flowers and by birds, with a bit of work to do, work that can be done outside.

I hope your Saturday is going as well as mine. I would wish that for everyone in the entire world but especially for you.

I really do.