Here are five of the six eggs I found today. There was one more in another nest which I believe was Miss Susie's. I'm going to have to start selling those things. Or giving more away, most likely.
So the big news is that I slept in the bed last night and I was comfortable, on the whole, but my ribs have ached all day which is not comforting at all. I guess lying down in the chair, even though it's relatively flat when it's reclined all the way, puts my center of gravity nearer my butt instead of my ribs. Or at least there's less pressure on them. It was nice to wake up in my own room again, though.
Lily sent a series of pictures this morning which were alarming.
Maggie decided to cut her hair which is something that all children do at one point or another unless one of their siblings does it for them. Lily was beside herself with grief. Maggie's hair has never been truly cut, just trimmed a little bit for fun and those curls she had were her first curls and no matter what, she'll never get those back.
I can't even bear to show you the picture where Maggie herself is crying. It's too heartbreaking. And of course she's still the cutest girl in the world. Here she is after Lily washed her hair and dried it. She still has curls.
She's still our sassy Miss Thang.
But I understand Lily's grief. Those curls are Magnolia June's glory and what a glory they are. Still. But the rich abundance of them has been somewhat diminished. And they were part of her babyhood and with every step that our children take away from that stage of life our hearts ache a little. That's just the way it is.
And my heart has ached today too. Not so much for Maggie's curls. I know this happens and I know she's still beautiful and I know that hair grows. I don't even know why I've been so down. Is it because yesterday was my dear Lynn's birthday? I don't even know how old she would have been. Sixty-nine? Seventy? She was always so timeless. I just looked up her obituary. She would have been seventy-one. That is unbelievable to me. Almost as unbelievable as the fact that she's been gone for twelve years.
I probably would have said seven years, eight at the most.
Time. There is no stopping it, that wily, slippery concept.
But I don't think that's entirely the reason I've been so filled with the black-dog funk. It may have something to do with the weather which has been gloomy and swampy all day. Even when it's not raining everything is just wet. Of course it could be so much worse. We could be on fire here like they are in California. Wet would be most welcome there. Somehow knowing this doesn't help and in fact, makes it even worse because thinking of how the planet is giving us obvious and undeniable evidence that we've fucked it up is not a pleasant thing to ponder.
Maybe part of my mood is missing the children and grandchildren. Some days that missing becomes overwhelming. I wish I could hold Maggie and tell her how beautiful she is and that she is a smart, strong, amazing little girl. I want to have conversations with Owen and with Gibson, one-on-one, sitting close together. I want to be able to hug and hold my son and my daughters and their beloveds.
I was thinking this morning about the days when I'd tell Owen the Mr. Peep story that always made him fall asleep at nap time. How I knew those days were precious even then and how now, looking back, that story about the old turkey who played and played all day until he grew weary and needed a nap of his own, is something that I hope the mind-erasing years of old age never touch.
Perhaps I'm just thinking about getting old and dying. One may think that one is accepting of death but when the years get shorter and the math starts being done, that acceptance is a little harder to maintain, becomes a little less of a cosmic concept and more of a personal issue.
Who knows? Maybe I just have the saddies, as Sue used to say. No real reason, just a gloomy Sunday.
But hey! I ironed some shirts! Mr. Moon does need a few nicer shirts to wear into town when he goes to run errands. So I set up the board and plugged in the iron and turned the TV on to "The Office" and now he has six crisp, smooth shirts to wear.
I wish I could say that thought brings me pleasure but that would not be much of the truth. Maybe a little.
I scrubbed a window sill and a doorway. All that did was to reinforce the knowledge that this whole house needs every sort of tending from deep, deep cleaning to pressure washing to painting. Not pressure washing on the inside, although that would be helpful. If mold and mildew are deadly, we should have gone to glory a long time ago.
sent me a poem yesterday. I keep going back to it. It reminds me that well, yes, this is who I wanted to be. Every time I read it I love it more.
Here I am in the garden laughing
an old woman with heavy breasts
and a nicely mapped face
how did this happen
well that’s who I wanted to be
at last a woman
in the old style sitting
stout thighs apart under
a big skirt grandchild sliding
on off my lap a pleasant
that’s my old man across the yard
he’s talking to the meter reader
he’s telling him the world’s sad story
how electricity is oil or uranium
and so forth tell my grandson
run over to your grandpa ask him
to sit beside me for a minute I
am suddenly exhausted by my desire
to kiss his sweet explaining lips
Grace Paley (2000)
I'm not sure I'd call my face "nicely mapped" but besides that...yes.
Thank you, Elizabeth.
Yours Truly and Much Love...Ms. Moon
Oh Maggie’s curls. But that poem my god. Glad to find it and you here on this Sunday Sunday. Love, RebeccaReplyDelete
It was a Sunday Sunday. We survived!Delete
love the poem, brings me to tears. and love description of your day/mood. It's OK. It means you are alive and engaged and feeling all life is dealing......... I think those days are more frequent for all of us. Dearest Maggie! Oh......those curls didn't all get lopped off so that is good news! I trust you are using pillows galore while trying to lie in bed now? It's a start. Much love and calm weather for you, I hopeReplyDelete
I can actually see the immediate hills around our house for the first time in 6 days today....... the smoke is lifting!
So glad the smoke is lifting. I hope it was even better today.Delete
Pillows don't seem to get the job done the way I'd wish they would. They do help but then if I move, it's all rearranged and everything changes. I may need a few more nights in the chair.
I am relating to what you wrote today, and I like the poem. Laughing in the garden with a nicely mapped face. I am so old! I treasure each day and yet sadness can hit. These are lonesome times, with social isolating. I am in the zone of fires in California, yet another worrisome thing. Yikes. We can do this if we stick together, blogging is a friendly community.ReplyDelete
Blogging IS a friendly community. A wonderful community.Delete
We all feel old these days, I think and you're right- no matter how grateful we are, sadness can descend upon us. I hope the fires stay away from you.
You are so right about kindness being everything, and thank you for that comment. I so relate to the saddies as you call them. They seem to come in waves, and in isolation, it is easier to feel them with no-one around. I acknowledge them and let them pass in their own good time. Thanks for sharing Elizabeth's poem. Wishing you a sweet night.ReplyDelete
Wasn't that a beautiful poem?Delete
Isolation can be hard even for those of us who cherish it. And you're right- we do have to just feel it. It will pass.
The poem makes my nicely mapped face smile.ReplyDelete
Ah, Maggie's curls. I hope Lily saved a lock. I hope she saved all of them. I would make a paper weight of them. I really would.
I'm sure Lily saved all the curls.Delete
I don't know what she'll do with them, but she'll hold on to them.
Grace Paley. I've read her stories, hadn't looked at her poems (I'm not much of a poem person). That same down to earth person that I love in the stories is there. To aspire to.ReplyDelete
And Maggie! She looks at least 2 years older in the shorter hair, and even more imperious. I think she knew the long curls were softening the power of her personality. Goodbye to babyhood. But of course she would find the most dramatic way to do that, right?
Right. She said later that she'd wanted to have hair like her mommy's and if that isn't sweet, I don't know what is.Delete
We all know Maggie is a girl that follows her own mind! But I can imagine how Lily felt. I hope she saved at least some of the curls. I still have a curl I saved from each one of my boys' first haircut. I love the poem. This summer has been one of much introspect.ReplyDelete
You're right, Bonnie. We've all had plenty of time to think and self-examine. This is probably a good thing. But sometimes we can go a little too far with it.Delete
Sending hugs and love.ReplyDelete
Thank you, sweetie.Delete
Some days it just feels like we're moving through the world with one of those weighted blanket across our backs. Struggling to get out from under.ReplyDelete
Absolutely. That is exactly what it feels like.Delete
I had ringlet curls as a child and my son inherited my hair. He was around three when he cut in hair in an effort to "get rid of the curls". I remember the sadness.Now he has twins who are 9 and my granddaughter has "his hair". My grandson has straight hair. And poor son has very little hair!ReplyDelete
Oh dear! I bet he wishes he had those curls back now!Delete
Funny how these things work.
That is a fantastic poem. Leave it to Elizabeth to find the perfect poem for the moment!ReplyDelete
I understand why you're sad about Maggie's hair, but I actually think it looks pretty darn good, considering she cut it herself! And it WILL grow back.
I guess eggs are like garden-grown string beans -- it's good to have a lot but it's easy to have too many!
You're right- leave it to Elizabeth.Delete
Maggie's hair does look pretty good considering that she did it herself and that she's four years old. Maybe she has a talent?
Maggie will always be curly. I wonder if she feels different with short hair. Certainly cooler.ReplyDelete
I think the virus has pulled us all down, so everyone's struggling one way or another. Remember you're still convalescing from a serious fall. That factors into mood, too.
I'll have to ask her if she feels different. What an interesting thought!
And yes, sometimes I do need reminding that I hurt myself badly. Thank you.
I feel Lily's pain but I love Maggie's bob a lot.ReplyDelete
It's rather chic, isn't it?Delete
'nicely mapped'. mine is more like grooved and rutted. what on earth possess us as children to cut our own hair? i remember wanting bangs, nice straight bangs so I got my hair wet, cut it straight across my eyebrows and when it dried it curled and sprang up. horrid.ReplyDelete
I have two rangoon creeper cuttings trying to root them, one in water, one with rooting compound in dirt. If one of them takes off, I'll send it to you.
I don't now that I cut my hair but I was an odd child.Delete
Thank you for thinking of me as to the rangoon creepers! I definitely need to send you some pinecone lily roots.
Heavy skies are always depressing. But oh, that is a wonderful poem. Full of happiness, I'm not surprised you love it!.ReplyDelete
Heavy skies are okay with me some of the time. And I do love rainy days. But some days, the gloom seeps inside us.Delete
Your Maggie looks great!ReplyDelete
She's still adorable.Delete