I've done everything slowly, slowly, slowly today. I've tried to be a decent housewife and yes, I did indeed do a little ironing. Four shirts, that is all, but that is about all I could stand up for.
I am exhausted.
I have not been sleeping well, waking up and worrying, and in the morning I finally just have to get up because my existential morning angst is too powerful to lay with in the bed.
I do go to bed early but I read for hours, curled up with the window open above my head, now that it's cooler. Sometimes Maurice comes in and curls up with me, sometimes she does not. Either way, it is probably my best time of day, this being in my bed with my book, the chores of the day all done, my most trustworthy form of escape- a book- in my hands.
I went to Publix again today to get the things I'd forgotten when I went on Monday. I had a complete mind meld with a woman I'd never laid eyes on before in the supplements/medication aisle. She was looking at Band-Aids and I knew what she was thinking.
"It's too much, isn't it?" I asked her and she said, "Yes! And they're all the same and it's too hard and why is it like this?"
And we talked about how our brains just haven't evolved for his sort of choice and that's why we're probably all crazy and by the time I drifted on to another aisle she had said, "We should have a show, you and I!"
I agreed with her and said that we could call it The Wise Ones.
I love it when that sort of thing happens. I have a feeling that if we'd lingered together much longer the F-words would have been flying and we would have been pledging undying love.
Or maybe not.
Jessie and Vergil and August are going to come and spend the weekend here while Mr. Moon and I are in Apalachicola. This makes me happy because I know the chickens will be tended and that the cats will be provided for and that August will become more comfortable and familiar with Mer and Bop's house, the smells, the pictures, the seashells, the turtle shells, the feathers and mermaids and madonnas, the feel of this old house, the sound of the train that goes by so near. He can ride the trike and read the books and play with the blocks and trucks and bears and dolls and look at the chickens and go feed the goats if his parents take him over there. He will know what it feels like to go to sleep in Mer's house and wake up here, too. This makes my heart happy.
I filled up all the chicken waterers and feeders today so that Jessie won't have to deal with that. All she'll have to do is shut them up at night and let them out in the morning and throw them some corn scratch and collect the eggs which is not much work, seeing as how I'm only getting one or two a day now. They can sit on the back porch steps if they want and throw the chickens some bread and August can watch as they cluster around as Owen and Gibson have always loved to do. I've bought bananas and coconut milk and sweet potatoes and an avocado so that August will have some of his favorite foods and tomorrow I'll wash the sheets and remake the bed so that Jessie and Vergil will have a fresh, sweet place to sleep and the Pac-n-Play is already set up in our old room from when Lily and Jason and their babies stayed here after the hurricane.
And so this has been my day. Moving slowly and taking it all in and cleaning a sink here, a mirror there, not really cleaning-cleaning but making tidy enough. The flowers I picked on my walk this morning are on the altar table in the hallway as well as the pinecone lilies which are still there, red and full.
I wanted to add another thought to what I wrote about some of the differences between Keith Richards and Bruce Springsteen this morning and that's the fact that if Keith does have a religion, it is the religion of the blues and not heroin. Even when he was a junkie, it was always the music and it has always been and will always be the music for Bruce, I think, as well, which saves their souls.
I am not a musician in this lifetime but as I have said so often, music has indeed saved my life and my soul more than once and I am beyond grateful and in awe to those who uplift me with it.
I am feeling most humbled today by life and by everything in it, both the good and the bad, the hellish and that which can only be described as ethereal.
And of course, that which can only be described as commonplace or mundane, which is most of what our daily life is all about.
I'm going to go make some cornbread now and you can't get much more down-home and prosaic than that but which, if made in an iron skillet properly and with buttermilk and dressed with a bit of butter and maybe some honey or cane syrup, is just about as good as anything on this earth.
Reason to live and the sustenance to do so.