Boys are gone and toys are put away and floors are swept and beans are simmering and porch plants are watered and I took a walk this morning and the laundry is done and put away and I'm so tired I could just die.
Looking at it that way, in a list-sort of way, the things I've done today, well, I can see why I'm tired. Still. This tired?
The kind of tired where I hope that Mr. Moon gets home soon to close the chickens up because I've walked out to the garden and picked basil and a few tender baby mustard leaves for salad and I can't walk that far again.
I've been on the verge of tears most of the day and I don't even know why. Maybe I'm being emotional, thinking of Jessie and Vergil coming home. Maybe I'm a little upset because Hank and May can't come to the beach with us. Maybe I'm just weary. Our partner in the Dog Island house came over to drop off some plumbing parts we need to fix the drain under the kitchen sink and I almost, almost got angry with him. I was complaining about the floor in the kitchen over there which is completely torn up. The large sheets of linoleum have come up and the particle board subfloor is dissolving and you can't mop it. You can't even sweep it. And it's nasty. And the men want to fix it "right" which would mean replacing the subflooring with something more substantial and if they do that, they're going to want to do the whole house which needs doing desperately (shag carpet from the seventies, I would imagine) and, and, and...
Meanwhile, the drain under the sink which rusted out went unnoticed until water poured over the floor and so, as our partner said in an almost jovial manner, "It's worse now than it was!"
Not that it matters. It's a beach shack. It's just...a beach shack.
A dissolving beach shack.
I'm tired. I need to shut up. How many people are blessed enough, lucky enough, to own any sort of structure on a beautiful bay on an island in Florida which is completely untouched by man except for a few houses, a few dirt roads?
What does the floor matter or a shower that doesn't work or a stove that's forty years old and sort of works or a deck that's falling off or couches and chairs that should have been replaced twenty years ago or...
Well. Yes. I need to shut up.
We'll get there and it will be beautiful and we'll put everything away and make drinks and the fellas will go wade out into the bay and do a little fishing or maybe even net some mullet and we ladies will sit back and watch the boys and the men and we'll sit until the sun sets in glory.
Unless the biting flies attack. Or the noseeums or the mosquitos or the deer flies or....
Did you know that Owen pretends to be Keith Richards now? Or, as he seems to think of him, "Keithrichards."
Keithrichards brings over the entire band. They visit with me, they hug and kiss me, they announce their plans to camp in my yard. They have a baby. His name is Charliewatts. Mickjagger seems to spend a lot of time in the bathroom. They have an amazing car.
I wonder if they will be coming with us to Dog Island or if that is just a MerMer's house thing.
I'd love to watch the sunset with Keithrichards. Perhaps we should bring extra vodka. I've heard the man has a taste for it. I wonder if he likes fried mullet. I hope he doesn't trip and fall in the kitchen.
We shall see. Tomorrow. We shall see. All will be revealed and I won't be as tired.