A Sort Of Epiphany

 Bluest of skies, most lavender of wisteria, sweetest of sunshine. 

Sigh. 

A beautiful day and cool to boot. 

I slept forever last night and then this morning, just luxuriated under the warm covers with Jack snuggled up to me. It was too pleasurable to get out of bed although finally, I did.
While I was lazing and listening to the birds singing outside I had a memory and it may explain something- my almost near inability to be lazy without feeling guilty. 
The memory was of my stepfather (aka, the asshole) who, if he felt I was not using my time wisely, would find me and tell me to go help my mother. This infuriated me. I was usually reading when this happened, in my room, and his presence in my room at any time was something I would do almost anything to prevent. Also, he did NOTHING around the house while I helped my mother constantly with my baby brothers with everything from feeding, changing, and bathing them, to sterilizing bottles and getting them to sleep. I also cooked some and helped in the kitchen. I ran, I fetched, I did what was needed. 
I was the very best girl. 
Meanwhile, I doubt that man ever changed a diaper once. I know he never did a load of clothes or swept a floor or washed a dish or cooked anything except for sometimes making an omelet which seemed to be the entire extent of his culinary skills. And as soon as my brother and I were old enough to see over the handle of a lawn mower, we did the mowing. I had so many reasons to hate that man but this was one of them. I can remember thinking to myself, "Hey! These are your babies, not mine!" but of course I never said a word. I was terrified of him. It was not unknown for him to spank me even into my mid-teens. 
My fury would rise within me when he told me to quit whatever I was doing and go help to the point where I felt murderous. And...probably made me overly aware of "wasting" my time with trivial pursuits like reading when I should be doing something useful like relieving the burden of his wife. 

So this morning, as I lay in bed, feeling a little guilty as usual, I remembered all this and I realized that my husband was not about to judge me for lazing about for a few minutes, and honestly, did not care. I could stay in bed all day and he would not chastise me. No one I love or care about would! 
I am pondering this now, being amazed once again how things that happened so very long ago have influenced my life so profoundly. 
Of course I have to add my grandfather into this equation. Anyone who slept until 7:00 a.m. was a useless sluggard in his opinion although he never really said anything about it. It was just assumed that good people don't sleep late. But somehow, that was different. He grew up on a farm and I'm sure he milked the cows at six every morning from the time he was seven years old until he finally left Pennsylvania to go to cabinetry school in New York. 

***********

We almost had a semi-tragedy here today. I have been noticing for a few days, at least, that when the heater came on and I was on the porch next to it, I could smell gas. We use propane and have a tank. I was also smelling gas when I turned on my oven. Not so bad, but...it was there. And then today, the gas smell with the heater was bad and finally, the heater quit working. 
Now. Did I put two and two together? No. I did not. But I did tell my husband and he called the heating repair guy who came out and cleaned the burners of the heater/AC unit, and it still wasn't working and told me that he didn't think the heater was getting enough gas to keep the burners lit and asked me to go check the flame on my stove and it was very low. 
Huh. 
Did we have a gas leak? Or...were we simply out of gas? 
Our gas company, which has us on a schedule, has changed hands and although nothing has really changed except for the name, they did not carry over all the clients' schedules and we have not thought to check our gas meter lately. 
Guess what? The gauge read Zero Percent. 
It was already getting on in the afternoon when this all came to light and Mr. Moon was in town getting business done but he called the gas company because it's supposed to get down into the thirties tonight and I was freaking out a little because we are Floridians and could quite possibly die of exposure in an unheated house in those temperatures. 

But then...

Beep-beep-beep! 
Sweetest sound in the world. 

My main take-away from all of this is how absolutely pleasant the repair and gas-people were. I mean... just sweet. Of course by the time the heater repair man left I knew how many children he had and their ages and funny things that they've said and that his wife owns her own hair salon, and, and, and...
I AM nosy but really, I am interested. 
Tell me your story and I'm a happy woman. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Moon worked his ass off all day long, dealing with everything from licensing for his business to cleaning up behind Moon Plaza where a lot of assorted trash has ended up, to going to see another house that Lily might be interested in, to helping our friend Tom with an automobile issue, to picking up a prescription of mine. 
I mostly answered questions today from the people helping me including Candie, the cleaner-sweetie, and the repair and gas people. I did a little more clearing of the bed beside the kitchen and, uh, that's about it. 
And I don't feel guilty. 

Off to go heat up St. Patrick's Day dinner. I was afraid for a little while that not only would I not have heat tonight but would not have a functioning stove either. I could have used the microwave to heat up the leftovers which would have been fine, and I'm sure we would not really have died from the cold but boy, am glad that we don't have to make certain of that. Especially the dying part. 

Love...Ms. Moon