I know, I know. This is a bit sick but it's the way I am and I'm not likely to be changing anytime soon. Here's a picture that I grew up with:
I know. Right? It was in my grandparent's dining room and when Grandddaddy and Granny died, I claimed it for my own. It hangs in my office now. As a child it sort of fascinated me but it was never disturbing. Still, death was a presence, even as we ate our raisin toast and dug the sweet, sour fruit from the halves of grapefruit with serrated spoons. I wish I had those too.
Anyway, I do understand there is absolutely nothing wrong with taking it easy on a Sunday. In fact, some of the more popular religions demands that very thing but I'd be a hypocrite if I used that as a rationalization for being a lazy ass. I mean, I did clean out the hen house but to be quite honest, that takes approximately two minutes. People who bitch about how hard it is to keep chickens are either:
(a) Lying, or
(b) Doing a far more intense job of it than I am.
Then I was going to weed and was already in the dirt and everything but it began to rain and then it began to pour down rain and so I meandered back to the house where I did some laundry and ate lunch and that included cake and I wish that cake wasn't here. The icing for German chocolate cake includes four egg yolks, a can of sweetened condensed milk, 1 and 1/2 cups of sugar, 1 and 1/2 cups of butter, an entire 7 oz. package of sweetened coconut and a cup and a half of pecans.
And that's JUST the frosting.
Sigh. I am a weak and pitiful being.
Mr. Moon had gone to town to run some errands and supposedly, was going to pick up Owen to go with him and maybe take him to lunch. Next thing I know, I'm getting pictures like this:
And more. Owen playing games with brightly colored balls, Owen in a bouncy thing, Owen EATING ICE CREAM!
I texted him back saying, "You are trying to bribe his love. Why don't you just buy him a puppy while you're at it?"
Yes. I am a jealous grandmother, just as God is a jealous God. I admit it. But hell's bells, Martha, how can hunting for eggs compete with an afternoon like that? Well, it cannot. Dammit.
Owen is developing an intense sense of smell. His mother had the same thing. It was a burden to her and made her life difficult. The funny thing is, is that when I was pregnant with Lily, I was so sensitive to odors that I could hardly stand it. I had to take about six showers a day because I couldn't stand the way I smelled. I didn't do that with any of the other kids, only Lily. I'll never forget when she was probably about Owen's age and walked into a room where incense had been burning. She stopped and wailed, "What is that HORRIBLE ODOR?"
And so, it's somewhat amusing that Owen is developing this same trait. I've been noticing it in him myself.
One day recently I was reaching across him to click his seatbelt and he said, "Mer, you armpit smell sort of bad."
I laughed and told him I'd taken a shower the night before and put on deodorant but that it had been a long, hot day.
Then a few days later, as I was helping him buckle his britches after he peed, he said, "Uh, Mer? Armpit?"
Lord. Not only do I not take him to fun crazy places to play and then to get ice cream, I also have stinky arm pits. Jesus. The kid is going to start hating me. There's still hope for Gibson, though.
So I'm almost finished reading a book that has me vaguely interested. It's called The Blood Of Flowers and was written by Anita Amirrezvani. It is not great literature but it doesn't suck and it's slightly erotic. It's about a girl in 16th century Persia who is good at rug-making and who has an interesting life. Did you know that back in those days, a guy could offer a girl a three-month marriage contract? And he'd pay the family and the girl would be his "wife" for three months meaning that she had to have sex with him and maybe at the end of the three months he'd renew and maybe he wouldn't.
"Man, I'd really like to fuck that chick. I think I'll marry her for three months."
And the girl still lived with her family and everything so it truly was purely about the sex and the guy could have a "real" wife already or maybe a few, depending on his wealth and status.
So yeah, I spent a lot of time today reading that while my husband was taking our grandson out to Disney World. Okay, not really Disney World but as close to Disney World as Owen knows about.
Oh well. Mr. Moon is back and I spent about an hour picking up fallen branches and pulling a few million Mexican Hydrangea. I sweat like a pig because it's approximately 99.9% humidity out there but compared to Arizona right now, I guess it's heaven. And I've traded a few more pictures around and Mr. Moon has put up a bamboo screen on the back porch and I have to admit that I'm liking the changes around here. When I lie on the bed I feel protected by the magic of stuff I love and there's something very good and which feels very safe about having the window over my bed lead out onto a porch which then leads out onto the yard where the most beautiful ancient oak towers above us all. Here's what the view from my office yard looks like.
Sunday. What can you say?