Sunday, August 4, 2013

Rippling The Keys, Nothing More

I slept last night like the dead, just fell down on the bed and that was the last I knew. It was heaven, a trip to the Elysian Fields, whatever they are. Of course one wakes up and must get up and so here we are. It is gray and still and muggy and people are coming over in six hours. I'm not really doing much for this gathering. Cooking a few things. Mr. Moon snapped and stringed green beans while I was cooking our dinner last night so that part is done. Green beans and potatoes, that's one thing I'll cook.

I better get busy. I'm still wearing my nightgown which is new from Asheville. I bought two of these things. One white, one periwinkle. They are actually slips, I think, the softest cotton and perfect. And they were half price, which is good because dammit, they weren't cheap. I need to get dressed and get moving. I need to just admit that this is a difficult time of year for me. Deep summer, hot August, the earth itself seems tired and weary and breathes with steamy breath. Change is in the wings, and that will be good. This has been a hard year.
Jason's grandmother died yesterday.
So in one year, Owen and Gibson's two great-grandmothers have died. I wonder how much they'll remember of either. They'll probably remember Gigi, Jason's grandma, as she lived with his mother and thus, was more a part of their young lives. Or at least Owen will. And the old must go on, yes, for sure, but it's another heaviness. It's another weight and I look back on this year and if bad things happen in threes I have to ask- which set are we on now?

Up and get dressed, make pancakes, the crickets have begun their morning song, the chickens are percolating in the hen house. Baby's baby is still alive and more and more yellow is showing up in her down. The anxiety sits in my belly like a particularly noxious stone, but it is not the sort which will prevent action. One cannot stop because one is feeling uncomfortable in ones skin or heart or head.

They (they) think they've found a piece of the True Cross in Turkey. Oh boy. That changes everything, doesn't it? Now if they'd only find the body of Christ as Plucky Pursell did in Tom Robbin's Another Roadside Attraction. 
Tom- what the fuck happened to you?
This is a question I ask myself frequently.

Among so many others.

Let's get to it.

Happy Sunday from the Church of the Batshit Crazy.

Love...Ms. Moon


  1. Another death in the family is too much. My condolences to Jason. It just shows we are at that age and the kids are at that age when the cycling begins. My father went thru a very difficult period when his peers started to pass away and I felt sad for him but of course I didn't really know what it was like. Now I am beginning to understand a bit.

    I guess it's good that things go on despite how we feel as the alternative wouldn't be good. And if beautiful Owen and sweet Gibson come to the party it will be the best in the world but with the latest development, I'm not sure if that will be possible. Whatever your day, I hope it's a good one Ms. Moon. Sweet Jo

  2. My condolences too. Great grandparents are an added bonus, though, I always think - my husband never knew any of his grandparents, excuse me if I've said that before. They were lucky to have known their great grandmammas at all, really. But it's hard, yes.

    Tom Robbins... wtf happened to him as in, why isn't he writing, or do you not like his newer books? I'm sure you've said so before, I think I remember it's the latter, but not too clearly.

    Maybe he just got...old? Sigh. It's harder to be appealing once you're out of your young years. I got told I was like my 22 year old student's mother the other day. It's a sweet sentiment, and I guess it's not an impossible idea (I COULD have got pregnant at 15, sure). Still... sigh!

  3. Sweet Jo- Ain't it the truth? Death, death, death. It is a heaviness upon us right now. And yes, the boys will be at the party. There won't be a funeral until much later in September, down in another part of Florida. They will cremate her so....
    Life proceeds.

    Jo- Yes, I have talked about this before. Tom Robbin's books have become progressively weird and obsessed with butt-fucking and old men, young women. So...NO!
    I mean, a little of each is fine but too much is just too much and his stories are not so lovely any more.

  4. I'm sorry about another death in the family. My family is all gone, except for a few old second cousins. I haven't thought about death a lot lately which is a good thing. I surely was focused on it though over the past few months. Nice to have something new to think about. Take care. Condolences.


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