Mr. Moon brought home baby-food for chickens, or as it is called, Chick Starter/Grower and I took some out and spread it around and left more in a little dish for them. The yellow one was trying to make an escape, it appeared, walking around the perimeter of the coop but Mr. Moon placed chicken wire there to prevent such a thing back last year when we had the other babies. I see her mama in her, this little yellow one, not in appearance, but in the desire not to be kept in by man-made boundaries. Or, of course, she could be a rooster. Some people say you can sex a chicken (i.e. determine its gender) when it is a baby but in my experience, the only true way is to be patient and wait to see if it crows or lays eggs which is the definitive method in my opinion. The more I think about having a tiny Elvis, the more charmed I am but I cannot afford to get too attached to these babies. I just can't.
I had a good time in town with Lily and the boys although Owen was in a mood. He refused to eat more than a few bites of pizza at the place we went where they make your pizza to order and the whole-wheat crust must indeed be whole-wheat and not fake whole-wheat because, as I said to Lily, eating it sort of makes you wish you were eating the white flour crust. It's fine, it's good, it has to be at least a little bit healthier and so we choose it. As if eating whole-wheat pizza crust is going to keep us alive forever. We went to the library and to Publix as well and then I stopped by Costco on my way home for vitamins and frozen blueberries and barely beat my husband back to the house. He is going to auction and so I made his snack bag and his coffee drink and his popcorn and kissed him good-bye and washed the dishes and finished the laundry and now it is six-thirty at night.
I am not cooking salmon tonight. I could not care less about what I eat tonight and have no energy to cook anyway. I actually bought some sort of "all-natural" chicken pot pie (I am such a hypocrite) but I don't know if I'll eat that or not. It may be "natural" but it has plenty of calories and fat and it may well be that it's the chemicals that make frozen chicken pot pies so delicious anyway.
I am not a food snob. To add to last night's post about restaurants, let me just say that one of my most memorable meals ever in my life came from Hardee's and consisted of two pieces of fried chicken and a biscuit. I will think about that supper on my death bed and I will be glad I ate it. I like food that tastes like it's supposed to taste but what I don't like is when restaurants tell you what the chef has prepared in terms like "aged balsamic-infused golden raisins" and then to eat the salad those raisins are in and to find it bitter and not in a good way, like an arugula-way which is a fantastic bitter that I never grow tired of. The best food we ate in Apalachicola was a tray of oysters baked with crab and parmesan cheese and they were so good that after I ate the oysters from their shells I tipped the shells up and swallowed the liquid. The liquor of them. They were perfect. If Mr. Moon and I do build our house down there and live there, I hope to eat lots of delicious seafood, and most of it caught or harvested by my husband and cooked by me. I will cook it simply and let the freshness and flavor of it be its glory and yes, I will use balsamic vinegar but I doubt I'll be infusing anything which makes me think of nursing school, that term. Infusion.
And so it has been another day on this planet. I tickled my grandson's face with my hair and I made him laugh and I was shocked and delighted when my other grandson figured out what his mother and I were talking about when we spelled words out because we didn't WANT him to know what we were talking about and how can he have done that? Owen is still not quite clear on the difference between letters and numbers and yet, suddenly, he seems to be grasping phonetics and I guess it's like with Gibson who doesn't say a whole lot but who seems to understand about fifty percent of what WE are saying and who any day now, will start spouting language like a pro.
(Does it bother me that he can and does frequently say "Boppa" referring to his grandfather and yet hardly ever says anything even resembling MerMer? Not really. Okay. A little. But I love the way he says Boppa. I love how he loves his grandfather.)
The human brain is (not to put too fine a point on it) amazing and watching how it develops in my grandchildren is a continual wonder and delight.
We are animals. We love and want to protect and sooth our babies if nothing has interfered with that process. We do the best we can. We are completely blessed with our ability to love and be loved.
Here is a Carl Sagan quote which was delivered to me via Matt Haig's The Humans:
"For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love."
I think that says everything I am feeling tonight.
And I am honoring love in its many forms, even the ones we can't begin to grasp in our infinite smallness, even with what we are convinced are our amazing brains.