I was having a lot of anxiety today. It was creeping up into the red zone, the way it does sometimes. I kept on doing stuff, trying to keep it at bay. I did laundry and started pinning together what we call a name blanket around here for Owen.
But every second I was having to tamp it all down.
And then Lily brought the boys out and within minutes there was chaos everywhere and mess and joy and Owen was showing me his toys and Gibson was leaning his face in for kisses and we were feeding goats and walking Buster around the back yard on a leash ("He needs to poop," Owen insisted) and eating cookies and feeding crackers to chickens and doing all the things we do when the boys are here while Lily went through photos and designed and ordered a holiday card and then Boppy got home and the fun really got started. He and Owen went out and played on the boat in the garage and Gibson crawled around and then crawled into my arms and we sat on the side porch and swung in the swing that all the babies love and we watched Lloyd as nothing happened.
Nothing happened at all except for the trees respiring in their tree-way and the occasional car going by and Gibson and I practiced clapping and neck-zorberting and it was so, so fine.
I talked to May on the phone and Lily put baby things in the room upstairs where things are being stored and went through Owen's old clothes up there which Gibson can now wear. It was just one of those days. All of us together but doing separate things and then coming together to look at pictures, to change the baby, to make him laugh, to help Owen with something. Just...being together.
Boppy and Owen started making plans for a backyard campout here. The menu was discussed- hotdogs and marshmallows cooked over a fire- and Owen determined that he would sleep in his blue sleeping bag. Thus, the future was ensured.
Or at least, as far as the future can be ensured by us mere mortals.
There. That. This.
I say those words a lot. They all have that sound of definitiveness about them, don't they?
And we, as humans, have to hang by them.
There is where we shall put our tent and that will be so fun and this is the life we are living and the life we hope to keep on living. At least until we can't. At least until we don't.
Last night Mr. Moon spent about half an hour on the phone with a child, I suppose, from Dish Network who didn't know who the Rolling Stones were or what this PPV concert was all about but instead of getting angry or being all up in her face about it, he was so funny and gentle and kind with her that she got it all figured out and supposedly, at nine tonight, we'll watch that concert. I am very excited about that.
Do you want to hear something crazy? When John Lennon got shot, I'd just read some piece of crap book about Keith Richards and it was filled with lies and myths and so I thought I knew something about him and I said these words, "Why? Why did John Lennon have to die? Why couldn't it have been Keith Richards? He's been trying to kill himself for years!"
I remember that. It was me, then, trying to make sense of something completely senseless.
I don't do that as much any more. I am far more aware that some things just are without sense or reason or anything at all having to do with what we perceive as fair.
And I can't control shit, for the most part. But I sure can be grateful for the gifts that come my way, the small ones and the great ones. I sure can.
The kisses of my grandsons, the voice of a daughter on the phone, our laughter together. A husband who will spend half an hour with someone on the phone so that I can watch the Rolling Stones live. The trees that breathe invisible breath, the home that allows chaos to come and go without interfering with its beauty or integrity, the dough rising on the stove, the tomatoes and onions roasting sweetly in the oven.
All of this. And the dissipation, for now, of anxiety.
A day. One day. In this life of mine.