Put Up The Flash

In Steel Magnolias, one of Truvy's lines is, "Sammy's so confused he doesn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his butt."

Well, move over, Sammy. Me too.

Ah-yah.

It's been a day.

One part of it was ecstatic and I shall write about it here:

I was at Lily and Jason's house to take care of the boy for just a few hours. Sometimes, if they only need me for a little while, I go there so that they don't have to make the long, long drive to Lloyd which really, is only about a fifteen minute drive but still- when you're working and there's a tiny man involved, fifteen minutes is a pretty long time and since I do have to go to Tallahassee now and then to visit the grocery store, I'll just go there and today was one of those days.

Owen's daddy was trying to get him down for a nap when I got there at one but of course when I arrived, that plan went out the window and we shared the lunch I'd brought and he put black olive rings on his fingers and we fed Elmo and I love how he makes pretend eating sounds for Elmo. He clucks his tongue and I know I taught him that and he makes the same sound when we go out to feed the chickens. A hardly audible tcck, tcck, tcck, but it's so darn cute. Anyway, before too long he was beside himself with needing a nap and he would not take a bottle from me and went ballistic when I tried to lay down with him on the bed and so I picked him up and remembered what his Bop always does to get him to go to sleep which is to tickle his neck with his mustache and his beard.
I don't have a beard and not that much of a mustache and so today I pulled out the pin holding up my hair and tickled the little boy's neck and face with the ends of my hair and he fell asleep in my arms with a smile on his face.
I am not kidding.
The boy did that.
I felt like the Queen of the Universe.

My god. It was the most beautiful and satisfying thing I think I've ever done, short of giving birth.

So anyway, I went to the library today too and I am most likely the only woman in the USA who has not read Eat, Pray, Love and I got it on CD to listen to in the car and it is narrated by the author who has one of the most beautiful voices you'll ever hear, professional or non- and I was listening to it and it starts out with how she started praying and she was crying out from her soul in her bathroom because she didn't want to be married any more and she didn't want to have a baby and she addressed god directly and then she heard a voice from within her say, "Go back to bed, Liz." And that's when she knew God was Real.

O....kay.

I'm going to have problems with this book, aren't I?

Shit. I should probably just not listen to another moment because I'm going to be bitching for weeks. Here's another thing Truvy says: "I don't understand those people...but they sometimes seem to have a sense of peace about things that I've never had. Maybe I'm just jealous."
Bless Truvy. She's sweeter than I am.

Because when you start out a book like that and then in the next few pages go on to tell about the completely horrible and devastating divorce you went through and then the even worse horrible and devastating break-up with another man you went through, I just don't get where god comes in. My own damn body tells me to go to bed every night and I listen to it and that has worked out well for me.

But wait. Maybe god was the one who told her to study Italian which lead to...Eat, Pray, Love which has obviously made the author a fabulously wealthy woman and I should indeed withhold judgment until I get to the part about India.

Well. I do not know.

All I know is that the second I held my first baby in my arms my spiritual journey was signed, sealed, delivered, and I didn't even have to put on a sari. Now listen closely- I am not saying that having children is the path to god that most people need to follow. Not at all. I am just saying that this is how it worked for me. Of course there have been many, many different journeys I've taken which have illuminated and instructed me, but not very many of them have involved actual travel unless you count the steps from the kitchen to the garden and back to the stove.

Or to the bed.

Which all reminds me that I have clean sheets to put on my bed and greens from the garden waiting to be made into supper and a grandson to take care of in the early morning while his mama goes to get her tooth fixed.

Maybe if I wrote a memoir it would be called Love, Grow, Cook, Eat, Sleep.

Maybe it would be called, Make Pizza And Drink Martinis.

Maybe it would be called, What The Fuck?

And maybe it would be called, Tickle My Neck Until I Fall Asleep, Grandmother.

And who knows? Maybe it would be called, The Wisdom of Truvy.

I don't know but I do know that Mr. Moon is in town playing poker and I should just go eat my arugula salad with avocado and go to bed. I'm tired and the moon is full and I want to take her picture but she's still somewhere in the wings, putting on her make-up and her silver Cha-Cha shoes.

I'll report in tomorrow when I can. You know I will.

Love...Ms. Moon Who Is Not Fabulously Famous And That Is All Right With Her Because She Is Afraid To Go To India Anyway