Before I did that I cut down three cherry laurels which had escaped my attention until they got too big to pull. I had to get out my husband's saw, pushed and pulled its toothy mouth through the slender trunks, more stem than trunk, to be quite honest. Hauled them to the burn pile. The cherry laurel seeds get spread everywhere, mostly by birds, I think. They come up in the thousands, the tiny seedlings. They ensure I will always have something to do.
In the midst of all of that I was feeling anxious and so I made a loaf of bread. I mixed the oat bran, the flours, the salt and yeast and water with my bare hands in a bowl, then punched the dough and pulled it and folded it and slammed it on the floured kitchen counter.
It is baked now, a loaf of almost obscene shape and proportion.
I tried a slice. It is crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside and it is good. Maybe the boys will want some tomorrow when they come over.
I did hang the clothes on the line, I took them in, air-folding them as I do before I set them in the basket, put them all away. My overalls are in the washer now with a rug. They are too filthy to wash with other clothes. I have the sprinklers on the garden, watering in my seeds, as well as the potatoes, the peppers, the tomatoes, the greens, the peas, the basil, the eggplant. Slowly it is coming along. I still need to put in more beans and also cucumbers, some different types of peppers. The potatoes are looking especially promising this year, coming up sturdy and sure. Mr. Moon brought home bags of beautiful leaves to mulch with and I need to do that too. But not tonight. Oh, no. Not tonight.
I am exhausted. My shoulders ache, so do my hips. I don't care. My goal is to sleep tonight with unprecedented deepness. So of course I won't.
Mr. Moon made it over to the island safely. The baby chicks are all fine. I took them some cut-up grapes and they stormed them. If chickens love anything more than grapes, I have yet to find out what it is. I threw some whole ones to the big chickens and Elvis called the hens in with his deep crooning call which means good food, good food, come and eat this good food.
I have had a shower and am wearing my old short round man Levi's from the Goodwill, faded to barely blue, soft as a beloved baby's blanket. They are absolutely one of the least flattering or attractive garments I own and in my top-ten favorite things to wear. They are holey at the inner corners of the back pockets and I wonder if the old short round man carried a lot of stuff around in them or if he was one of those people who walk around, thumbs hooked in pockets. No way to ever know. I feel as if I can see him sometimes though. I like to think he was merry and that his face was crinkled with laugh lines, his skin leathery and perpetually ruddy from a life spent outdoors.
Yeah. Try getting a story like that with your pair of two-hundred dollar True Religion jeans.
Oh my Jesus God. I just googled True Religion jeans and discovered that you can buy these overalls
And they help you out with sizing by stating, "Yulia is wearing a size 26. She is: height 5'10", waist 26", hips 34, dress size 2."
i.e. Yulia is an alien with an eating disorder/and/or twelve years old and preternaturally tall.
Bite my motherfucking overall-wearing ass. Lord, what fools these mortals be. That is hysterical. I've never paid more than twenty-five bucks for a pair of overalls in my life except maybe my black velvet ones I got at the Gap about twenty-five years ago and I am still wearing them.
Ah well. To each her own. Some women wear overalls with high-heeled shoebooties to go out and have a night on the town in (I presume) and some women wear overalls to go kneel in the dirt of their garden in for seven hours. And my ass in my overalls sure don't look as good as Yulia does in hers.
All right. That's enough. I'm going to put the chickens up and heat up my shrimps in spicy mustard sauce with brown rice that are leftover from Friday night and make a salad. And slice a little bread and then get to bed early because the boys will be here before nine.
For a Sunday, it's been a good day.
Let's all sleep unprecedentedly deeply and well to the best of our abilities.