I wonder how many purple cow pictures I have posted over the years? I have no idea but here is one more.
Owen was so sweet. And so easy. We did not read The Little Red Hen Makes a Pizza but we did joke about it. He liked his chicken enchiladas and of course he took his own shower and then he watched some basketball with his Boppy and when he got tired, he went to bed and I kissed him goodnight and that was that. He did not wake us before dawn, he did not need to be comforted in the night, he did not complain of monsters or being thirsty. He just slept. And this morning he was quite happy with the leftover pancakes from Sunday.
It was another rainy day so we watched "My Octopus Teacher" again. We'd all seen it before but it was as terrific and magical the second time as it had been the first. And then Owen and I hung out on the porches, first the back porch where we watched the birds and the chickens and then the swing porch where we watched the rain and just talked. He is a talker and he is a listener, too. He listened to some of my stories and I thanked him before he left.
"Anytime!" he said. "Well, that I'm here."
We also played Battle, he and Mr. Moon and I. He won.
He's just a fine boy and a smart boy and I am so proud to be his grandmother.
The rain has made us lazy. Mr. Moon has done a little of this and of that and I have done even less. We spent some sweet time together and I was undone with love for him. It was as if some window had been opened in my soul and in my memory and suddenly I could see and feel the branch of the tree in Roseland that I used to perch on to read sometimes. An old cedar which is not there anymore but which I still dream of. I thought of Owen as a baby and I thought of myself as a child and wished I could remember being held by my mother. I do have one memory of her holding me but I was wracked with pain from an earache and so it is not a sweet memory. I could feel her worry and concern and somehow it seems as if I was already aware that causing her pain was something I did not ever want to do. As I remembered things I thought about how when we die, all of the memories we have die with us and how that renders everything we remember dead too. This is obvious, of course, but somehow I feel so emotional about that on this rainy day that has been so filled with love. Everyone has their own lives and their own memories, some of them so sharp and clear even after decades and decades that it would seem impossible that they will simply disappear. That there will be no trace of a little girl clutching a red Happy Hollisters book, walking down a dirt road towards the river and climbing up into the lap of a cedar tree, her heart filled with too much sorrow for anyone that young, the comfort of the book, the words, the pages, the grooved, dark bark of the branch, the spicy scent of the cedar, the funky smell of the river and the mangroves, the sounds of the birds, the blue of the sky, the peace of the place, the sense of the safety of being alone, all alone in a tree.
Here's another memory- whenever my grandfather carved a roast, he would always say the same words: Tender as a widow's heart.
"Oh, James," my grandmother would say.
And he would chuckle.
That's how my heart feels today- tender as a widow's heart even though my husband is right here, able to take me in his arms and let me cry a little if I need to, to kiss me and tell me he loves me.
Well. The frogs are singing and water that collected on leaves is dripping to the saturated ground. I am thinking now about how Owen asked me why I started planting things like gardens and trees. I told him that it seems like I just had to. He accepted that. We talked a lot about nature and how quickly and horribly humans are destroying it. We talked about the giant oak in my front yard and the little Buck-eye I planted. We talked about where birds go in the rain and also- where do they go during hurricanes?
I do not know. I do not know, my love. But somehow, those tiny winged creatures manage to live through them. Manage to live through it all. They may be tiny and they may look so incredibly delicate, but my god, they are strong.
Love...Ms. Moon
Owen will have some wonderful memories of you and Mr. Moon.
ReplyDeleteI hope all of the grandchildren do. But Owen has had the most time with us.
DeleteWhat a handsome young man your Owen is!
ReplyDeleteI simply love how you create such wonderful word pictures with how you describe your past, present and future! You are such a joy to read!
Oh, Marcia. Thank you.
DeleteHere, he looks like his mama. He's a good un, all around.
ReplyDeleteHe looks JUST like his mama.
DeleteHe has grown so much this year. Such a great person I am glad inhabits the earth.
ReplyDeleteMe too, Jill.
Deletesounds to my like your cup just plainly runneth over today. That is a good thing!
ReplyDeleteSusan M
It absolutely did.
DeleteYou made me cry too. Sending hugs woman.
ReplyDeleteI am hugging you back!
DeleteOwen has such a kind and happy face. What a lovely time you had with him!
ReplyDeleteYes. And he is so kind. He is always making sure that his siblings, especially Maggie, are okay. Although to be honest, he does tease Gibson. Brothers, you know.
DeleteYour memories won't die with you - they'll be here on this blog for everyone to read long after you're gone - and your great great great grandchildren will get to know grandma Moon!
ReplyDeleteI wonder if it WILL be around and if so- will any of them read it? I hope so.
DeleteThe way that you wrote that about the little girl in the cedar tree, it reminded me of the writings of Maya Angelou and of Toni Morrison too. The depths beneath. Shame Owen wasn't staying over a bit longer.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Mr. P. That is high praise and means a lot to me. We will see Owen a lot this summer, I think.
DeleteOwen is grand. What a delightful young man.
ReplyDeleteA lovely piece of writing, Ms Moon.
Thank you, Mary. And yes, Owen is a joy to be around.
DeleteWhat a lovely post! So much joy on Owen's face!
ReplyDeleteI think he liked his purple cow.
DeleteYou memories are alive here, the little girl on that dirt road toward the river, and that prince of a grandson of yours, holding the stories you share with him close in his heart. These memories will live on.
ReplyDeleteAnd this is probably one of the reasons our grandchildren are so precious to us- we live on through them in their genes and their minds and their hearts. That's pretty amazing.
Deleteyou're going to blink and Owen will be graduating from high school.
ReplyDeleteI don't remember being held by my mother. I do remember every time I would snuggle up against her on the couch she would she would tell me to move over. for a woman who thought she was a femme fatale, she didn't like to be touched.
I know, Ellen! Owen is just zooming up! They all are. I know I'll see changes in Levon and August when we go see them next month.
DeleteMaybe femme fatales didn't want to be touched- just admired from a distance.
This is like a bedtime story, like a lullaby like something so warm and soothing and melancholy like rain and then early sun. It's all these things and it's made me cry a bit, too.
ReplyDeleteOh my God. I love this post. You are a poet. It's so rich with a sense of not only your feelings and experiences but also a sense of place and time -- of Florida, of childhood.
ReplyDeleteIt's hard to grasp the idea of all that we know, all our memories, disappearing when we die, but of course it's the way of the world. Sometimes I imagine all the people who have lived over time, in the medieval period, in prehistory, all having experiences and memories and then all those experiences vanishing into the ether.