We got stuff! Jessie got new plates for her home with delicate blue birds and flowers on them. She got a bathroom rug and a nightie and a little robe. I got a silk shirt, made in Italy, which is as soft as cloud, as drapey as an angel's wing. And a new tablecloth for my back porch table which is where I live, for the most part, and I love it. I had just told Hank a few days ago that I am so very, very picky about my tablecloth because I DO spend so much time here and he understood. It is my porch's furniture and carpet and curtains. And I just realized how very much the colors in this new one mimic the colors of the eggs my hens' lay. Muted blues and greens and ivory.
We came home and put our booty and food away, put the tablecloth on the table. I made a shot of espresso (oh! the joy of being able to drink coffee again!) and picked greens and washed and cut them, put them on the boil, started black-eyed peas for our supper. I folded laundry, started more. And I am exhausted.
Jessie is too. She's napping on the couch right now and if there is anything sweeter than feeding my babies, it is knowing that they can sleep peacefully in my house.
I can't believe she's going to leave tomorrow, this child. My back-pocket baby.
My eyes fill with tears at the thought.
Well, Mama, sniff those tears back up in your head, she'll be back soon enough.
And she will. She and Vergil are talking about house-shopping in Tallahassee. That day can't come soon enough for me. And maybe some of the other kids and I or her daddy and I or some combination thereof will make the trek up to Asheville sometime this summer to visit them. We shall see.
I just know it's been the best weekend. The gathering of the tribe and of the tribes.
My tribe is small but all the more precious to me for that.
Yesterday when Owen got his medal, I told him, "I hope you remember this day for the rest of your life."
He said, "And if I forget, I will have this medal to look at and it will remind me."
Such a wise little boy.
I have this tablecloth to remind me. Not of Jessie whom of course I could never forget, but of this day, this simple day where we shopped and laughed and joked and talked endlessly about childbirth and babies (no, she is not pregnant) and most importantly, any time I wanted I could reach out and touch her, hold her to me.
I've always said I like it best when all my babies are where I can get my hands on them if I need to.
Today I could get my hands on that girl and it was such a joy.
And she is still here for tonight and I can still get my hands on her.
A precious, rare day. A gift among all the riches and I just talked to May on the phone and I teared up again, telling her how very grateful I am for all of my children, for their lives and their living and our love for each other.
I am exhausted but it is a good exhaustion.
And so that you may know that I am still my mean old bitchy self, let me tell you about something which has been pissing me off ALL DAY LONG!
It's from a review written in the South China Morning Post regarding the Rolling Stones' performance last night in Macau.
A jumbo high-definition screen was the backdrop to the simple black-and-steel stage, offering everyone a close-up view, perhaps a little too close for Ronnie Wood and guitarist Keith Richards. The lines etched into Richards’ face from his many years as the poster boy for rock’n’roll debauchery were deep enough to be seen from the back of the arena.
And let me just say to the South China Morning Post: Get back to me, motherfuckers, when you have lived one one-hundredth of the life of Keith Richards. When you have walked one inch on the path of where his life has led.
And let me add this- HIS DEEPLY-ETCHED FACE IS STILL ADORNING THE HEAD OF A LIVING ROCK STAR LEGEND WHO IS STILL PLAYING GUITAR JOYFULLY TO SOLD OUT CROWDS EVERYWHERE IN THE WORLD. AND IT IS BEAUTIFUL!
Yeah, get back to me then, South China Morning Post.