Tuesday, November 9, 2010
This Is My Grandson, These Are My Chickens
That boy was just the tonic I needed. When he walked in this morning wearing his bomber jacket and his big-boy shoes, I almost couldn't believe that was my Owen. I hadn't seen him since last Wednesday and believe me- he's grown.
He walked in like he owned the place. I expected him to say, "Gimme a sarsaparilla" but instead, he demanded to be picked up and I did and settled him on my hip and there we were. Back together again and my heart was happy and the Ibuprofen and the Sudafed kicked in and all was well.
We did all our stuff. We went for a walk, we went to the post office, we fed the chickens chips and then grapes. We read Fluffy Kitty and other assorted books. We hung out on every porch. We walked around outside and fed the goats. We played peek-a-boo. He dust mopped most of the house.
The boy loves to push things. He wants to push chairs and the butcher block cabinet in the kitchen. He climbs everything. There is no stopping him now. As if there were before...
I fed him some ravioli and noodles in his high chair and he ate them, mostly, although he gave a few to the dogs. And then he shared some apple with them, too. He looks me straight in the eye and furtively hands off the food to the dogs, thinking that if he doesn't take his eyes off mine, I won't notice.
What do I care? There's plenty for boy and dogs, too.
He cracks me up. He makes me laugh so much.
We don't even need language. He just looks at me and I know what he's thinking. He understands almost everything I say to him.
When we go out to the back porch the first thing he does is hand me the dog food bowls because he knows I'm going to put them up where he can't get them, which I think is hysterical.
Such a boy. Such a good, good boy.
The four hours he was here flew by and really, it was the perfect amount of time. But now I don't really know what to do with myself. Kathleen just got out of surgery- Judy called and reported that all went well. She's going to be so sore. I feel as if I should be there. I mean, it's STRONG, this feeling. We're a team, Judy and Kathleen and I and I'm not doing my part.
Well. Soon I will be again.
And tomorrow I think I'll go to town. Get some damn cat food and go to the library. I have a ton of things to return. I need to be patient with myself. Need to still take care of myself.
But I can sweep the floors and I can go cut some of the firespike to root for next spring's planting and maybe I can get those woods plants in the ground. Damn ants. I can edit that story, cut it 'til the bones show, make it lean and sing.
I know that I'm feeling anxious this afternoon and I also know that writing is something that alleviates that feeling. Tearful Dishwasher mentioned a man yesterday in his post named Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. Now frankly, I thought Tearful had made that name up but I googled him and yes, he's real, and he talks about creativity and he's written about how when a person is doing something creative, the passage of time becomes different. I believe that with all my heart. I have always noticed that when I write, when I am in a good flow, which is the name of one his books, by the way, that time passes so quickly that I am astounded when I look up and see that it is growing dark.
As it does when Owen is here sometimes.
Perhaps if all of us were able to do that which we are intrinsically put here to do, we would not have the anxiety and depression we suffer from. But who knows? Artists are not known for their mental stability so there goes that theory.
Well, writing and digging in the dirt and playing with my grandson are things that make me feel better and so I do them. I don't want to over-think it. I just want to accept the miracle.
Watch the little video to see the miracle of Owen today. A year ago I was taking a tiny bundle of a wrapped-up baby out to the chicken coop to visit with those chickens and I'm pretty sure he had no clue as to what was going on or why I did that but here we are now- Owen and his chickens.
Miracles, baby. Sanctified, purified, testified and bona fied.
And that beats terrified any day of the week.