Tuesday, November 16, 2010
That good boy was here most of the day. He comes in like the owner of the country, the ruler of the kingdom. And he knows he is.
There was no electricity when he got here. It was dark in the house but the rain was tapering off and we went out and found our first egg in a week. A huge green one and we were both overjoyed. I mean, I love my chickens and would probably keep them as pets but it's mighty nice to get eggs.
The rain cleared for awhile entirely and we went for a walk, up Main Street and to the post office. We talked to Ms. Liola, we discussed the power outage with quite a few folks. "Around eleven it should be back on, they said," was the word on the street. I hadn't even bothered to call it in.
And sure enough, just when we got home from our walk, we found the lights on again. Good timing for us although we didn't really do that much which required electricity, although we did some laundry, Owen helping by shutting the door on the washer, putting things in, pushing buttons.
I swept the floors and he found the old fireplace popcorn popper and used it as a vacuum. He didn't learn that here, I'll tell you. I never vacuum. He ran the popper over the floors as I swept them. We were a team.
He pulls chairs out from underneath the tables and climbs on them and then proceeds to belly himself up on the tables, too. He reaches for the camera, he hands it to me, finds a pen, hands that to me too. There is nothing safe from Owen.
We played on the porches and we went out to the garden. We looked at books and he found his dust mop for more cleaning. He emptied the cabinets and he spent a good fifteen minutes with a tube of tennis balls, opening it, taking the balls out, putting them back, replacing the lid.
He fed muffins to the dogs and ate pizza and yogurt on the run. We gave crackers to the chickens and every time one of them took one from him, he'd give a yelp of joy. He didn't have any major falls and he can tell me what the cow says, the rooster, the hen, the chicken, the cat. His meow is perfect. He can also tell you what the ghost says.
After we go through the litany of animals I say, "Owen, what does the grandmother say?"
He looks at me and I say, "I LOVE YOU!" and then I hug him up, tight, and he lets me.
I'll tell you something- this early evening darkness is killing me. It's not a joke, how the early fading of light triggers something sad in my brain. SAD. Seasonal Effective Disorder. What a great name.
Well. The days will continue to grow shorter until they turn that corner and then, slowly, they will become longer again. And until then, I'll hang on. You will too.
And we will have joys. My Owen, my friends, my incredible family. I found a note when I got home yesterday from Mr. Moon that said, "You are the love of my life." He has no idea what those notes mean to me.
I'm going to go make a salad with just-picked arugula. It doesn't even know it's dead yet, those peppery greens. And carrots, shredded and orange. And celery and dried cranberries and chicken and tomatoes, too. I'm going to throw everything in there. Mr. Moon will be home soon.
Tomorrow I call the doctor. Tomorrow I will do that.
And then I'm going to go to town and buy the fresh cranberries and pecans to make the cranberry orange relish for Thanksgiving and more pink yarn. I'm knitting up a storm and these old hands wake up hardly able to turn the fan off but I don't give a shit.
Busy hands are damn good things.
The rain has cleared. The sun has set. Owen discovered puddles today. He walked right through them and was happy.
And that made me happy too.