Another full day. Completely.
And while the boys were here, all was well. There really isn't time to bog myself down in the thoughts that poison me when they're around. With a baby or a small boy, one has to stay two steps ahead, seeing and preventing peril at every turn. This is the way of it. Everything is a possible threat to small children from stairs to pruning shears to chemicals under the sink. We all know this. And so the mind stays busy and the body as well.
After they left, Owen calling out his good-bye yodel, Gibson waving and saying buh-buh-buh, I again slept for a little while, then got up and had a shot of espresso and did what my dear Lis calls a "fluff-and-stuff" with the house, tidying and putting away and sweeping and then put the laundry away and now I've got supper started and the dark is here and I feel the anxiety creeping in and if there has been one thing about my fifties I have hated beyond all measure, beyond even what my skin has done, it is the anxiety.
Well. I've lived through worse.
I haven't talked to my mother but the charge nurse where she is now reported nothing out of the ordinary. I will go and visit tomorrow. I will take camellias in a vase. I will go to the grocery store. I will return library books. So many pieces of my life feel as they are fraying, coming undone and the word "slatternly" keeps coming to my mind. I feel as if I have become slatternly in my house, in my yard, in my body, in my life. Not that my standards have ever been that high.
Well. We fed a mule today, Owen and I. I taught him to hold his hand flat so that the donkey-horsey, as Owen called her after I told him about a mule's parentage, could take the apple without biting the hand. We fed grapes to the chickens and we played cards and read a book. Gibson practiced his walking and Owen pronounced his brother "adorable" and gave him many kisses and when the small boy was tired, I rocked him to sleep against my bosom while Owen laid out a chess board with all the men and checkers too in an arrangement which pleased him. I fed them casserole with twirly noodles and Owen called it "delicious." We disturbed a hen on the nest and when she kicked up a fuss he said, "Oh! Sorry Chicken! Sorry, sorry!" and then he looked at me and said, "Jesus."
I could barely stand to tell him he should not say that, he used it so correctly, his tone so perfect.
I do not let the dishes stand overnight. The laundry is done and put away. The boys were sent home filthy and tired but whole and well and loving me. I do what I can and if the spider webs threaten to overtake us, if the dead brown of winter has yet been trimmed back, if there is dust everywhere...well, that's just the way it is.
My legs need shaving but my hair is clean and my teeth have been flossed in recent memory. There is much that I am not attending to- believe me- but again, I am doing what I can.
Last night I watched the video here.
It made me happy.
Go ahead and sigh and say, "Oh, Ms. Moon and her Rolling Stones obsession."
Music will save your life. It has saved mine over and over again.
It is something you can count on like baby kisses and oat bran muffins and holding your hand flat when you feed apples to a mule.
And Keith Richards.
Supper is ready.