It is Friday and I feel unsettled and not sure of what I am going to do today although I know I have my boys this afternoon. It is densely gray here today and the air is not cold but it is wet and somehow finds its way into the bone to chill. I started out to take a walk but my heart and spirit were not in it and I went to the post office and got two pieces of mail and when I got home I realized one of them was not for us and so walked it back and that will do for today, as applies to walking.
Our new post mistress is a bit careless, I think, when putting the mail in the boxes. I get mail for other people in my box all the time now. My box number is 127 and I get mail for all the surrounding numbers. "126? Close enough!" I can hear her thinking.
I miss Miss Martha.
I'm going to town to run a few errands and then meet up with an indeterminate number of my children at Fanny's for lunch and then bring the boys back here for the afternoon. There are so many things I need to do but am not doing any of them, it would seem. The hen house is a stinky poopy mess and I need to deal with that and I have onions to plant and I haven't done that and I am suddenly yearning for us to move back into our old bedroom and that requires some getting-ready and I haven't shaved my legs in weeks but that's not really much of a concern today.
I just talked to Kathleen a little while ago and we were talking about the news and she said, "People should watch the news from my perspective. It's a lot more amusing."
I watched a bit of the protest coverage on CNN last night although not on purpose. I had thought to watch some Anthony Bourdain but the coverage canceled his show which I am not complaining about but I will say that seeing all of those people lying on the ground in NYC made me cry and as I was falling asleep last night I was thinking about the fact that my house, my own beloved house which I love so very, very much, was no doubt built with slave labor. The hand-hewn sills underneath, chopped from the very hearts of great pine trees with the axe marks still upon them were probably cut by men who were not free.
How does one live with such knowledge?
In my case, it makes me love and respect my house even more and vow to cherish it for as long as I can and that is a choice and I have made it. To honor those who built it with their sweat and their blood and their strength with my love and honor and care.
What does the Bible say? Yea, the sins of the father are visited even unto the seventh generation? or something like that.
I wish the sins of my fathers had persisted only unto the seventh generation.
Well, enough about the sins of the father and the sins of the mother too. For now.
I need to get the beans started for our supper. Someone gave Mr. Moon a beautiful bottle of cane syrup last night which means I want to make cornbread tonight and when I think cornbread, I think pinto beans and there you go. I want to cook greens to go with them. I not only live in the house that Africans most likely built but I eat the foods they helped introduce into our culture and they are my favorite foods.
Do you know what? Owen has never once remarked on anyone's skin color. To him, I believe that skin color is no more indicative of anything than eye or hair color are. Maybe eventually, things will change. His grandmother attended high school when desegregation occurred and here he is two generations later with what appears to be no notice of black or white. His teacher is black and she gives him love like water from a stream and tells me how sweet he is and she calls him "O-Dub" and he blushes under her praise and adores her.
May the good things of this world of the father (and the mother) persist not only for seven generations but for seventy times seventy into eternity. May change come, may we honor the struggles, the deaths, the sweat, the gifts, the kinship, the cultures, the hopes and the dreams and the pain and the joy, the very blood which has been spilt and which runs in the hearts of us all, which beat the same, the same, the same rhythm of this life on this one planet which we share where we all want basically the same things for ourselves and our children and our grandchildren and may we let the rest of the bullshit go. As Kathleen also said when we talked, at least these days if you're an asshole, you know it.