I'm writing from the table in the dining room and there are four plants on this table, three of them brought in from the Buddha table on the porch. Maurice is nuzzling the ponytail palm and nipping at the ends of the fronds which I myself feel a slight compulsion to braid.
I moved through this day with purpose and intent. I did ALL the things. Laundry and sheets-on-line and walking and covering ferns and making soup with greens I picked from the garden and making bread and yet another pineapple upside-down cake, this one with a bit of guava in it too as well as pecans. I filled the chicken waterer and collected the eggs and remade the bed and took the trash and kept up with the dishes and put things away and now my world feels right and good.
It was sweet to see Kathleen and Bug in the beautiful house they've made into their home with such hard work and love. Kathleen has been feeling poorly with a stomach virus which she said has made her cranky. "Haven't I been cranky?" she asked her husband as he buttered the still-warm bread.
He muttered a very, very quiet, almost inaudible "yes," and then he brought her the bread on a plate.
I'm sorry. I think if I had cancer and then got a stomach bug on top of it I would not be fucking cranky. I think I would be hysterical and demanding IV morphine with great blood-curdling shrieks, tearing my hair out and rending my garments. But that's just me.
Kathleen though, is sitting there looking beautiful, crocheting her sixth blanket of the season, telling me that she's been "cranky."
Bless that woman. And bless her husband who takes such loving care of her.
Anyway, now I am home and have plugged in my star lights, my globe lights.
I talked to Jessie who had thought that maybe after work she'd come spend the night (Vergil is still out of town) because she's been sick this week and maybe wanted a little mama-time. She decided to just stay home even though I kept back a bowl of chicken soup in case she did come. I got an e-mail today from a bookstore in Apalachicola that a book I had expressed interest in- the sixty-fifth anniversary edition of a novel called The Wrath and the Wind written by Alexander Key and set in Aplachicola in the 1840's- is now available and I told Jessie that if we both got real wild hairs tomorrow we might consider driving over to Apalach to buy a copy and have lunch.
Why not? Neither of us have anyone to be responsible for beyond our animals. She is off work and I am...footloose and fancy-free although I already told her that I don't want to be gone for too long, because, well, that's the way I am. She is my child. She understands.
I hope that Kathleen can eat some of my bread and soup and not have her stomach revolt. I did not put one grain of any sort of pepper in the soup, just rice and the baby garden greens and carrots and celery and onions and garlic. And not too much of the onion and garlic. The bread had potatoes and a little bit of oat bran but mostly just white flour and an egg, some oil and salt and sugar and molasses. It rose beautifully on sturdy shoulders and Bug said that tomorrow morning he will make French toast which is what I had this morning myself, made with the bread I baked a few days ago for Mr. Moon and an egg dropped right from the chicken's butt.
Maurice has come in to nibble the ponytail palm again and to ask me if it isn't time for supper.
May all be well with you on this Friday night in November. Put on your Goodwill cashmere if you have it. Snuggle up, my lovelies. It is going to get cold tonight.
P.S. I just talked to Jan of Jan and Jack The Lovers and it was so wonderful to talk to her.
Thank-you, Jan, for calling me.
I'll see you next week. I'll bring eggs.