Lloyd is very peaceful today. Well, one train did go by. You know, even though I've been living by this train track for over nine years now, it still sometimes surprises me at how loud it is when the train passes. Last night I was back here on the porch and the train went by (and honestly, it's so close that if the train fell over it could very possibly crush my hen house) and I thought of Owen and how when he hears the train coming he yells, "Take cover! Take cover!" and he closes all the doors and it's funny and it's silly but I can understand it and sometimes I, too, feel that I should take cover, that great blast of the horn sounding way before it gets here and then the metal beast thundering down the tracks, the very glass in the windows of my house rattling.
It's wonderful and it's annoying at the same time.
And it doesn't wake me up at night which is the ODDEST thing to me. How can I become so used to it that it doesn't wake me up and yet, hot flashes do every time?
The human brain is a strange and mysterious organ.
As are so many of our organs but let's not discuss that this morning.
Organ. Ick. What a horrible word unless you're talking about Booker T. and the M.G.'s or Bach.
So I just watched two episodes of the Jerry Seinfeld internet series Comedians In Cars Getting Coffee. I am fascinated by these little pieces. The best one I watched this morning (and one of the best I've seen so far) was the one with Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner. You can watch it here.
I highly recommend that you do and if you like it, check out the Alec Baldwin one as well. I don't know what it is about Alec Baldwin but he cracks me up. Those movie-star good looks and that wicked sense of humor. Forget IQ tests. In my opinion, the most intelligent people have the best senses of humor.
Which, of course, makes Mel Brooks a genius but we've discussed that before.
I just ate my breakfast which I cooked myself for myself. No pancakes today and despite the fact that I have three kinds of berries in my refrigerator AND cantaloupe already cut up AND peaches AND nectarines, I made and ate potatoes and onions and eggs and bacon and toast.
So sue me.
I just fed my chickens some corn scratch and crumbled up oat flour and whole-wheat rolls which have gone stale. It occurs to me that we anthropomorphize animals because what they do and how they sound reminds us so very much of what we do and how we sound. For a reason, I am sure. Because we're all related, not just us and the great apes, our cousins, but also us and the chickens. Elvis, upon discovering food that he deems fit to eat, makes a sound which, even without words, we would recognize as being a call to his hens to come and join him. "Ohww," he says, "come on, this is good, come eat." And then hens, when they find the food, make a sound which I am sure translates to, "This is good. This is so very, very good," and it's not a stretch to believe this. They vocalize just as we do. They express happiness and terror and pride and contentment and discovery.
Here's a picture I love of Elvis and Miss Sharon and Ozzie at nap time one day.
The two hens are cuddled up together, Elvis appears to be checking on them and Miss Ozzie (who does look a bit vulture-like, even I admit) has one of her greenish dinosaur legs stretched out like a posing lady on a fainting couch.
Or perhaps I am just being silly. Which is far better than being Sunday-blued, depressed and melancholy.
The boys will be out later and I think that now I'm going to go do some more weeding. Although it is such a beautiful, slow, sweet day that I could very well just get back in the bed and read and snooze and perhaps dream a little. I feel as if this time by myself has dispersed some demons, has calmed me and soothed me.
Has settled me.
Happy Sunday, y'all.