Oh dear. Last night I clicked on New Blogger Template Interface or something like that and now I have no idea what this composing screen is all about.

What-what?

It's so upsetting when things suddenly change, even if you have wrought the change yourself.

Ah-lah. We shall persevere.

 Owen is coming soon and so I got up early to have a little bit of time being Mary before I switch into Mer-Mer Mode and it was dark and cool and lovely out. I fed the cat, got the paper and read an opinion piece by a woman named Tina Dupuy which I liked very much. The title of it is The Case For Separation Of Church And Weather and I couldn't have said it better myself.
Go HERE and read it if you want.
What she's pointing out is that although we chuckle softly at the very idea of the superstitious ancients performing strange rituals to appease the weather gods, there are actual and real present-day Presidential candidates who are doing basically the same thing.
Rick Perry issued an official proclamation for all Texans to pray for rain for three days? 
Uh-huh.
Michele Bachmann has drawn a direct line from the recent earthquake in Virginia to government overspending? 
 Just go read the piece. Ms. Dupuy already said it.

I just keep yearning for the old days when people who claimed to hear god's voice in such dramatic and unbelievable ways were treated for mental illness instead of running for president.

Oh well.

So as you can see, Owen is here and in the past hour and a half we have done so much that I am already exhausted. Right now he's on his trike-bike beside me on the porch playing with the purse I gave him with a pen and a pad of paper in it and he'll be on to the next thing in seconds, I am sure.

One of the things we did was to go upstairs to Jessie's room, which he loves, and being up there with the sweetness of Jessie's things and paintings and Beatles posters and pictures and her old clothes hanging in her closet made me cry. "Owen," I said. "I miss Jessie."
"No!" he said and I quit crying because, well, he doesn't understand and that's not fair to the boy. We played with her old chimp doll who hugs and makes pant-hoots and then we came back downstairs and I am still crying a little, but it's okay. Jessie is off living her good, true life and I am not Miss Havisham, merely presiding over crumbling memories. I am a woman with my own full, true life and this little boy to take care of and play with and feed and take on walks.

Which I think we'll do next. Take a walk. It's not so deadly hot, even now, and I cannot dwell in sadness if I do not have to and today, I most certainly do not.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon