I've only been up for two hours and I've already...eaten breakfast!
I made an omelet with two small brown chicken eggs, greens left over from salad pickings last night, and some aged Havarti cheese.
Let me just say that perhaps carrot tops do not really belong in omelets.
I've also walked to the post office in case you think I'm a complete slug.
Fuck. I am a complete slug. I don't care. Today is so sunny and so warm. The cold air has taken off to give someone else a nip. Fine with me. That bird who sings, "You're sweet! You're sweet!" has been praising me all morning. Is it a mockingbird? It must be. Is he mocking me? Is he telling me I'm sweet because I'm really so mean?
It is possible.
This is the sort of day when anything is possible. The cold replaced by such warmth that I feel as if I could melt in it. Suddenly my sweater feels itchy and I want to replace it with a cotton shirt. The wind comes and goes and shakes the magnolia whose leaves roar with it.
Did I tell you that Owen has a loose tooth? His mama told me yesterday and when I saw it was true I actually cried which charmed Owen to pieces. He talked about it later. "You really cried, Mer Mer!"
"Yes," I said. "You are growing up so fast!" I can barely stand the thought of him growing out of his current stage in life where he so sweet that he runs upstairs to get a chicken Beanie Baby to put in the basket we have lined with a towel for Dovey so she will have a friend. But I have felt this way from the very beginning and felt it with my own children too, and I should know by now (I do! I do!) that each stage brings its own sweetness.
Well, with the possible exception of puberty.
And by the time fall rolls around, we shall have a new baby and then it will begin all over again. And thus it is, and so it goes, and before you know it we shall walk together down Main Street in Lloyd, pushing the new baby who will look up out of the stroller to see the leaves dance against the sky.
Did you see this?
Ah, the world is in such a panty-twist. He said this, she said that, they claim this, they claim that. A little opinion piece in the local paper today was about the lines from the Bible about beating their swords into plowshares and their swords into pruning hooks. Why is this verse so ignored while so many others are taken and shoved down the throats of all of us as justification for prejudice, for ignorance, for intolerance and for war?
I do not know but I know for today, on this good and warm and sweet day, I am not caring to get my panties in any sort of twist at all. I am concentrating on the wind in the leaves, the ducks in the little pond, the birds singing in the trees, the light falling from the sky, the thoughts of my grandchildren, born and yet-to-be, this moment of solitude and gratefulness. The magnificence of art which humans can make, the silken tendrils of words written which I can read, the great and profound mysteries and glories of it all.
Here I am. Right this moment. And I am ever so glad that also, for this moment, that the chemicals in my brain are right enough to appreciate it all. The battle between thinking and feeling not quite won, but there is a moment of admittedly uneasy truce, enough to feel the warmth around me, to hear the sighing of breath of wind, to see Elvis's tail feathers shine and ripple in iridescent splendor.
I'll take it. With joy.