A beautiful morning here in Lloyd and I've already been to take the trash and go by the Post Office and pick up more trash (coupon books for places I'll never shop) and Maurice is fine, seemingly already back to her normal self although she was all over us last night to the point where Mr. Moon got up at five and put her out of the room. After feeding her.
The boys were supposed to come over at 9:30 but yesterday at Trader Joe's, Gibson had an accident in one of the kid carts when Owen flipped it over (entirely by accident) and caught his leg weird and he hasn't wanted to put weight on his ankle ever since and is grumpy and not himself and so Lily has to take him in to see if he's got a fracture or something. There's no swelling or bruising but he will not, can not seemingly walk on it. Poor baby. And Lily called me when it happened and I advised her to watch and wait because- well, that seemed prudent at the time. She iced the ankle and gave him children's Advil and did everything right and now she feels guilty because she didn't take him to the doctor right away and I feel guilty because I didn't tell her to take him in right away. And why, why, do we always rush to blame ourselves for things we really shouldn't?
I do not know. But we do.
So all morning, ever since I've gotten up I've felt rushed and panicky because tonight is May's little birthday dinner and hey- it's not a big deal and I've made a beautiful big bowl of ceviche of shrimps and scallops and tomatoes and onions and garlic and lime juice and peppers and salt and cilantro. It is a thing of wonder and glory. And the cake is done and essentially looks as if I constructed it with Lincoln Logs, all caramel icing and pecans but I think it will be delicious so I don't have that much to do today, really, just the black-eyed peas and okra and tomatoes that May actually asked for. And I need to go get those started because Lily just called and she's taking Gibson in to the doctor at ten and they're going to send him to get X-rays, I'm sure and Owen's going to be devastated that he didn't get to come out here today so I might go pick him up and bring him back out so Lily doesn't have to shlep him around to various medical offices, depending on what and where and why and how and so forth.
This is life. The plans we make morph into the reality of the various situations and really, all we can do is hang on and take a left when we thought we were going to take a right because no matter how safely we buckle our babies in, things happen we could not have foreseen and there you go.
Maurice is trying to cuddle me as I type and I need to get busy here and I am grateful for this blessed cool morning and fourteen living chickens and children to celebrate and children and grandchildren to celebrate with and we bunglemungle on, dealing with the real life events as they arise. As I told the guy in Publix yesterday who was trying to help me find the dried peppers to make the macha sauce who finally checked to find that they do not carry them, "Well, life will go on."
And so it shall.
Spicy and sweet, savory and sour. Hard as the floor of a grocery store when the cart tips over and gravity reaches up to slam you down, soft as the fur of an orange cat who seeks out your company.
Good morning from Lloyd.
May we be malleable and open to that which inevitably occurs and try not to feel guilty about that over which we truly have no control.