Mr. Moon is gone to Georgia and so I am spending Friday night alone which brings no bit or whisper of sadness to me because I know he is happy doing what he is doing and I am here in the home we've made together, selfishly able to suck it all up unto and into myself and the sun is sending its final shots of light rays to silver the magnolia leaves, to illuminate in that way which is called the magic hour and so it should be.
It was a good day with the boys even though Gibson fell off the horse and even though Owen grated his knuckle.
Neither act resulted in dire injury and thank all the lucky stars that babies are built of sturdy stuff and that grated knuckles do not result in an entire body's worth of blood being drained which, of course, is what little kids worry about when they see blood- that all of their life essence will pour forth from tiny cuts and they will die.
I assured Owen that he would be fine, that his body would take care of that small problem and I gave him a purple bandaid, just as I held Gibson to me and patted him and rocked him and told him that he would be fine and that yes, it had been scary but that all was well. And it was.
I talked to my Lizzie on the phone and Judy came by for a visit and as happens with people whom you have heart connections , in both conversations we got right to the point and went from there and before I hung up with Lis I said, "Don't you make me come take care of you. That would be awful!" And we laughed and when Judy left, I said, "Give me a kiss," and really, the only sort of social relationships I'm interested in these days can end in such ways.
Perhaps as I grow older, I know I only have so much to give and it must be sincere or there is no purpose and there you go. Angella posted something today that knocked my heart out of the park, that helped ease my fears and made me cry and which may have actually changed my life. It's so funny how something can do that.
Maybe not funny. Maybe miraculous. Perhaps, like the light just now, illuminating. I don't know.
All I know is that I've tidied the house again and even dusted my hallway altar and my entire house needs cleaning in the worst sort of way and I wish there was a merry band of twinkling fairies who would come and do that for me, laughing and illuminating and spinning the dust off onto the floor with their hummingbird wings so that I could come and sweep it all up but there is not, you know, and my dogs need grooming so badly and they are blind as bats now and we have to direct them out the doors to pee and poop and direct them back in when they're done and their hair is shagging off everywhere, catching the dust so that there are almost living wads of it but this morning, when Owen came in at seven a.m. he looked around and said, "Someone clean this place up!" and I said, "I did," and he said, "Thank you!"
My zinnias have finally started blooming.
I am thinking of the line in Angella's post about growing old and becoming mostly Love. I am thinking about kindness and how it may be the most important thing. I am thinking about my mother and how, at the end of her life, there was so little kindness left in her. Not to herself or anyone else and how sorrowful that was. How much she must have suffered for that to have been true. I am thinking of it all and thinking about the fact that I have had the possibility of a shot of light rays of illumination.
And of course, being me, wondering what in hell I'll cook for my supper.