Friday, December 17, 2010
Temperature- 60 degrees.
It is raining.
Which is fine for the thirsty earth and the chickens like it too as it seems to bring up bugs and makes the ground softer for their scratching needs. I love to watch them scratch. Step forward, scratch, scratch; step back, examine ground for results. Repeat until fatigued at which point- find a sheltered spot and take a nap.
Yes. It's one of those days. Not a bad day. Except for my hips and knees which, okay, let me just say that if they did hip and knee transplants, they would not use mine. Or at least, they shouldn't.
"What the fuck?" the patient would say after the surgery.
"That dead person's knees and hips are worse than the ones I HAD!"
"But they looked fine," the doctor would say. The doctors always say this when I get an X-Ray. Okay. I won't lie. I've never had an X-Ray of my knees. They are what they are. Old. Well-used.
My mother tells me about her knee problems. I don't mention mine. Why should I? She can't do a damn thing about them. Neither can you but here I am, blah, blah, blah. Jo will tell me to go to an osteopath. I still don't know if there even is such a thing in North Florida. Maybe there is.
Maybe I just like to bitch.
Yeah. I do. I like to bitch.
The tree is still outside. The Christmas tree that is. It's a fine tree and it only cost ten dollars. What a steal! Perhaps Mr. Moon and I will make a martini and set it up tonight. We'll put lights on it. Twinkle-twinkle and pine smell. Lovely.
Owen's coming soon. I wonder what devilment he'll get up to today. I knew it was going to be warm today and was thinking we could take a good, long walk. Not in this rain. Maybe it will clear. His Bop said he'd come home early to play with him. Owen thinks his grandfather is god. I'm pretty sure about this. When he sees his grandfather, he runs towards him with outstretched arms like a lover in a field of daisies. Then his grandfather lifts him up, up, up into the air, up into the sky because he is a giant. "Bop," says Owen. All is well with his world.
I understand. That Bop is a pretty great guy. Sometimes I wish I could sit on his hip. It's a pretty fine perch, I would imagine, from which to view the world.
Well. That's it. It's almost Christmas. Yesterday the obituary page spilled over onto another page and a half. I guess it's true what they say about people dying near Christmas. Blake Edwards has died. If he had never done another thing but make Victor Victoria for his wife it would have been enough. Mary Poppin's breasts, bared for all the world to see. The singing, the dancing, Robert Preston and James Garner. Throw in The Pink Panther and well...genius.
I'll forgive him for Ten.
But I think about Julie Andrews and how she must be mourning her love. I think of all the families who lose a loved one near the holidays and I mourn for them. It's a hard time of year and today represents that well. In Steel Magnolias, Shelby says, "I love cloudy days. On cloudy days I feel God's not trying very hard, so I don't have to either."
Amen, Shelby. I'm not going to try very hard today myself. I'll just try to keep Owen safe and happy. And that'll be enough.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. Step back and look for results. Repeat.
And if I had an ounce of estrogen left in my body, I'd bare my breasts for you in honor of Blake Edwards.
Be well, y'all. Stay alive.