First off, the restaurant we went to was so pretty and I've been there before but not for a very, very long time. The link is HERE for all you people who live in the surrounding area.
One of the co-owners is a woman whom I've worked with at the Opera House while I was volunteering in the kitchen, helping to serve meals before events. I was in a couple of plays with her husband and she herself is the president of the Opera House Board. Or something like that. Anyway, she's one of the nicest women on earth and she was one of Billy's teachers in the eighth grade. I think it was the eighth grade and of course, she still has a school picture of Billy in her wallet. She loves Billy.
Everyone loves Billy.
And he looked so handsome today. Wearing his cowboy shirt, jeans, boots. I was so proud to be out in public with him. And for the first time in forever, it was just the two of us so we got to talk. A lot. It was good for our souls as were the fried green tomato and bacon sandwiches and salads we ate for our lunches.
Oh my god.
Shut the front door, it was delicious.
We drove back here, still talking and were still talking when Lily brought the boys over. Owen immediately started telling Billy about the transformer toy he'd brought over and Gibson started talking about whatever the hell he was talking about and suddenly, that little boy was crying and messing with his nose. Billy immediately realized that he'd stuck the little Mento mint (not the big round kind, the small blue kind) I'd given him up his nose and was frantic to get it out.
Why DO children stick things up their nose? I guess it seems like a good idea at the time although they quickly realize that it was not.
Anyway, luckily, the child had not pushed it up very far and I got it out and he was somewhat traumatized. I asked him if his nose was minty fresh now. He looked at me like I was an idiot.
He calmed down and his mama left to go to work and we were on our way to feed the goats when Gibson fell flat on his face in the dirt. He just laid there crying until I picked him up and dusted him off. Then I gave him a cracker for goat food and he was happy until one of the goats bit his finger and THEN he was really upset.
He cried and cried for his mama and I don't think he's ever done that before. He settled back down when I promised to read him the train book he loves and then Billy took his leave to go pick up his boy. The three-bad-things-in-a-row had happened and after we read the story, the boys and I played Monopoly, or at least our version which involves only dice and the little car and train and boot. Owen's learning to count very well and Gibson is not doing bad with that either.
We went on to other things but stayed in the house. It began to rain again and it's chilly as hell and just not fit for man nor beast out there. All of the chickens congregated on the kitchen porch and I was quite tempted to ask Nicey in to clean up after the boys ate popcorn in the Glen Den but I sighed and got the broom out instead.
And side note- please remind me next year NOT TO BUY PANSIES TO PLANT! The chickens love them and snip them off at the base and if I get one bloom this year, it'll be a miracle.
Owen played with his magnet set that Kathleen's husband Bug bought him.
While he was making that...uh, design? he told me a story and he started it out by saying, "This story going to make you so happy you will have love in your eyes!"
The story involved a grandmother named Mer Mer who was in Mexico and her grandchildren and a criminal and the grandfather and one of the grandsons was the BRAVEST PERSON IN THE FAMILY and saved everyone.
There was blood. But after it was all over and everyone was brought back to life except for the criminal, they all went out to eat tacos and burritos.
When their daddy got here, Gibson clung to me like a tick and Owen went and hid because that's what they do and then there was great merriment and laughter and many kisses and promises for future fun. It's like getting off one ride at the fair and getting on another for them. I swear.
So it's been a very fine day and Mr. Moon is out of town and the rain is coming down, drop by slow cold drop and I have my Friday night pinto beans heating up. Hank called me today to ask how what I put in my pinto beans.
"Nothing except oil, salt, and black pepper," I said.
"I seriously don't think that's true," he said. "Why don't mine ever taste like yours?"
And then we got into the secret of the whole pinto bean deal which is the gravy. The gravy is nothing more than the thickened juices that happen when you let the liquid slowly simmer down after they are done. It's sort of like a bean-juice reduction, I guess you would say.
But it's the truth- I cook my pintos with a little olive oil, salt and black pepper. Not even an onion or a garlic clove. And on my death bed I'd like a little taste of some. Although if I'm on my death bed, I would not mind at all if a ham bone had been cooked with them. The only thing better than plain pinto beans is pinto beans with ham in them. But that's for very, very special occasions and I can't even remember the last ham I had in this house.
Maybe for Easter we'll have a ham. We shall see.
But for tonight, the plain ones with some rice will do. I'll heat up the greens and some cornbread and feast like a damn king.
I hope goats don't carry diseases.
I sure am grateful to have a warm, cozy house in this weather. Or, any weather to be truthful.
Thirty-four years ago he left us and I miss him so to this day.
Bless him. Bless those of us who had him and who will never in this lifetime get over the trauma of losing him.
And mostly bless Yoko Ono, his beloved and his wife who is eighty-one damn years old and is still telling us that war is over if we want it.
I want it.