Sunday, January 19, 2014
My Lord but we slept late! Nine o'clock and that is unheard of around here but we didn't get to bed until fairly late, having watched Silver Lining Playbook until eleven. Again- for me at least- unheard of! Have you seen that movie? I know that Elizabeth did. She is my LA movie reviewer correspondent. Of course she sees things the second they are released whereas we get around to watching things when they pop up on HBO. For some reason, I had no idea what that movie was going to be about. One would think I would have had a clue, but no. And what was the deal with Robert Dinero in it? His character was odd and I could see his acting gears all going at once, the scrunched up face, the rounded shoulders. And that mother? Did she have a line? I can't remember.
Anyway, we enjoyed it. I added another inch to the fuzzy pink possible-hat I am knitting. Lily teased me about it yesterday. "So, are you making it for me?" she asked. Pink is her favorite color.
"Maybe," I said.
"I don't wear hats," she said.
"Perhaps you should start," I told her.
My knitting projects have no true purpose other than to keep my fingers busy. I made Owen a scarf once but he claims it is scratchy.
It began to rain this morning, early, when it was still dark. I was surprised and then came the thunder, rumbling and the rain poured down. I went back to sleep again and again, each time I woke snuggling back into the cave of covers, into the sweet unconsciousness.
But now we are up, the animals tended and I have started cooking those stone-ground grits. They take an hour! But they are worth it, creamy as pudding when they are done. I had to give Mr. Moon a yogurt as a snack to tide him over until breakfast will be ready. So what? It is Sunday.
Brunch was invented for Sundays. May works at a restaurant where the brunch is famous and well-attended. She tells me tales of people waiting for an hour for the chance to sit and drink mimosas or bloody mary's and eat grown-up breakfast foods. Sounds good but who can drink in the morning or even early afternoon? I would be back in bed by one and maybe that's the point. I don't know. But I can't imagine getting dressed and driving somewhere to wait in line for a drink, for fancy eggs unless I am on a vacation. In New Orleans, perhaps, where they serve bloody mary's with a pickled green bean. Yes. That I would do. But I am glad that people do like to go out for brunch. Restaurants and servers and bartenders and cooks and chefs and dishwashers depend upon them and there is nothing wrong with a bit of of Sunday luxury, of enjoyment.
But here in Lloyd there will be no such foolishness. Just those grits and a piece of sausage and biscuits I make myself with buttermilk and some eggs our hens have laid. No bra required, and we can make and drink as much coffee as we want and there will be no contaminating of the orange juice with cheap bubbly. The cardinals and finches and a red-headed woodpecker are at the feeder, armies of them, and the squirrels leap from pecan tree to fence to skitter down its length. The chickens' voices swell with rusty crooning. They want out of the coop to take part in this Sunday's brunch of the fancy foods they love so much- the bugs and tender shoots of grass and weeds. We will eat our breakfast on the back porch because although it is cool, it is not cold, and the sun is shining full-on now, and it is Sunday and I am so hungry and we shall eat in a moment when the biscuits are brown and so, the day has well-begun and hello.