My internet connection has slowed to the speed of molasses on a very cold day. I have been dealing with the issue for twenty-four hours now and tomorrow afternoon a tech guy is supposed to come by and check the line because that appears to be where the problem is.
Sorry. Boring details of a boring subject.
Anyway, that's what's going on here. Owen was with me from one in the afternoon until just a little while ago. We did pick peas and eat them but he prefers marigolds. Really. The chickens, however, do not. They like the peas. Not as much as grapes but then grapes are manna to them. But nothing makes Owen as happy as pulling up great wads of marigolds and munching one or two and giving me a few which I politely thank him for and then put in my pocket. They are not to my taste.
He amused me, he wore me out, he cracked me up. He got in his stroller on the porch and kicked back with a sippy cup at one point, exactly like a grown man in a recliner with a beer. I tried to get a picture but by the time I had the camera and was ready, he was off to another venture. It's so hard to get good pictures of him now because he moves from one thing to another like a hummingbird on a firespike bush.
He ate supper in his high chair at the table with Mr. Moon and me and he ate well. He loves cucumbers and tomatoes and he liked the eggplant parmesan and bread pretty well too. He did not like his bath. I have no idea why.
He certainly has his own mind but I will say that he is a very agreeable young man for the most part. I can ask him to put things back and he sometimes will. If he feels like it. He loves the chickens best and being outside the most. He hugs fiercely and he kisses me occasionally but ALWAYS kisses the mermaid in his favorite book. And the queen. He likes mermaids and queens and he likes his grandmother and grandfather, too and he adores baby powder beyond reason.
He tolerates the dogs as they do him.
He is something, that boy. And when he does something funny and his grandfather and I look at each other and smile, it's like nothing else on this earth. No matter what else happens, in this, we have done good.
And now, although it is only nine o'clock, this old grandma is going to bed. The thought of taking a shower is almost more than I can bear but I suppose I'll manage and then I want to slip into those sheets with the book of short stories by T. Coraghessan Boyle (Wild Child is the name of the book) which I am enjoying tremendously and read until I can't focus anymore and then put the book down, turn out the light, and go...to...sleep.
The election results have finally come in and I am so disgusted that I can't even bring myself to talk about it. Okay? I really can't.
It's just all beyond my control, which I suppose is what I was saying this morning.
Okay. I'll say this- money may not be able to buy you love but it can sure buy the fuck out of an election.
Well. I suppose the sun will still come up tomorrow.
And in a thousand years- who will care?
Not me. You can bet on that.