His latest book is called "Hallucinations" and I read an excerpt of it from the New Yorker a few months ago and I have got to read the whole thing. While he was on the radio, a caller called in (that would make sense, right?) and told how he used to love LSD and he has had some fine times with "ladies" but that now he's been saved and that the power of the Holy Spirit comes over him and this is better, by far, than anything he ever experienced either on LSD or with the ladies.
And Dr. Sacks tells the guy that he's glad for him but that he himself doesn't believe in the Holy Spirit and that the magnificence of nature is all he needs, thank you very much. And also, that he believes that any sort of extreme religiosity is a glitch in the brain.
Take that, Joan of Arc! And you too, Michele Bachmann.
Well, anyway, it's Friday and guess what? I'm leaving Lloyd today!
I'm going to go down to St. George Island for a day or two with my friend Karen from Nashville.
"Say what?" you say.
Karen's father-in-law has a house on the bay down there and we're going to go and hang out and talk about how much we love our kids and grandkids and maybe we'll cry and maybe we'll laugh and maybe we'll talk about when we used to live on the back of a cow field and ate way too many mushrooms one summer, and god only knows what all else we're going to do. Eat chips and salsa? I'm not going swimming in this weather. It's not even seventy degrees this morning. So far I've packed two beach chairs.
I also plan on taking a bag of coffee and a bottle of tequila that Shayla gave me for my birthday which hasn't been opened yet. I hope this is a good thing. Tequila is one of those things, along with tattoos, which head the list of "Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time."
Hopefully, I will not be coming home with a tattoo.
Mr. Moon is heading back to Georgia to hunt and he's whoop-di-whoop-way-too-excited-for-this-time-of-day if you ask me, but no you didn't. One might wish that one's husband would get as excited about any activity involving her but one shouldn't do that because that way lies madness. One must realize that one's spouse is the way he is and this has nothing to do with his love for her. (Or so she reminds herself approximately four thousand times during the hunting season which seems to last 11 months out of the year but who's counting, really?)
Well, I guess I better get cracking here. I will probably want a toothbrush and maybe a bathing suit and some sun screen and a dress or something down there at the beach. I was on St. George a year ago with my kids and Owen and Gibson came down too. Here's what Gibson looked like then.
Yeah. Going to the beach. Trading chickens for osprey and eagles. Trading walks in the woods for walks on the water. Trading sightings of feral cats for sightings of dolphins.
Whatever happens, it'll be good to be with Karen, for us to talk about memories going back decades, to perhaps make some fine new ones. And then I'll return home and so will the hunter and we shall proceed with this life of ours which holds so much, the comings and goings of babies and grandbabies, the chickens, the cardinals, this old house which Owen keeps telling me we need to "fix," the sleeping, the dreaming, the waking, the doing, the resting, the continual magnificent cycle of it all.
Happy Friday, y'all.