Do Not Ask Me To Church At The Dump

That is exactly what my precious darling Maurice (aka, Scratch) looked like this morning when I got out of bed. In my experience, cats don't usually like to sleep underneath the covers and I've never seen Maurice do it willingly but there she is. It was chilly this morning. I had to ask her to let me get the sheets off the bed later in order to wash them and she was fairly polite about it, stretching and hesitating a minute or two to see if I was going to change my mind but when she saw I was serious, she jumped off the bed. 

Today has mostly been about catching up on some chores. For some reason I had a lot of laundry to do and most of it mine. I had a large load of whites to go into a bleach load and those are the ones I hung on the line. I didn't get them out until early afternoon but by 4:30 they'd all dried. The sun was all by itself in the sky today, no clouds to block its glory, it's been breezy, and the humidity is low. The clean sheets are on the bed, the laundry that was on the line has been gathered in, folded, and put away, and one other load of wash that I did has also been dried, folded, and returned to its home of origin. 

I also took the trash this morning and something happened that I had never experienced before. At our trash place, there are two huge containers that trash gets dumped into and the attendant runs the giant compactors when he deems it time. Then the big trucks come and empty the containers and take it all away to the landfill. The attendant also helps people who may need assistance in unloading their trash and getting it into the container. Some of them are rather lackadaisical about this, others are right there when you pull up, asking if you need help. I never do because I only take the manageable trash and let Mr. Moon haul things down there that might require the use of the truck or are very heavy. 

So today I pull up and there's the attendant, standing by the first container and I'm about to unload there but I see another guy standing at the one further away and he motions me down to where he's standing. I am unsure of what's going on because he does not look like any of our regular attendants. He had on a pair of khaki slacks with a green polo type shirt and a name tag pin. Which I could not read because I didn't want to stare at his chest. I got out of my car and went to the back to open it up and take out the two bags I had to throw into the dumpster but he stops me and says, "No, no! That's what I'm here for!" And he took the bags of trash out of my car and threw them in and asked me if I live nearby. Yes, I told him, I do. Right down the road. So then, as I was closing the hatch, he says, "Well, I'd like to invite you to come and visit our church sometime. It's the one right there." And he pointed to the big Methodist Church where the white people go which is across the road and up a little way. "Only if you want to!" he added.
Shit. Really? Proselytizing at the dump? Give me a fucking break. 
"Thanks," I said, "But I'm not a believer." 
"Well the Lord believes in you!" he merrily proclaimed. God damn. Just goddammit. 
But I was not rude, I did not say anything offensive or profane or obscene. I just said, "I'm seventy years old and I've thought about this for a long time and I just don't buy it." 
I think he may have been unsure of what to say next so he said, "And I'm 72!" which...come on. What does that have to do with anything? He's had two more years to think about it?

I got in my car and left and went to the post office where I made sure there was no Christian literature on the counter again. 
There was not. 

Why, WHY, do Christians feel as if their purpose on this earth is to convince other people that their brand of a Christ Worship Cult is the one and only true word of god and that unless you buy into their plan,  you will be going to hell and why would you risk that? 
As I've always thought, if you don't believe in heaven or hell, the whole Christ-died-for-our-sins thing is pretty lame and please- don't include me in there. I would never ask anyone to die for my perceived sins. 
No thank you. 

Wow. I haven't gone into one of those soapbox speeches in a long time. I suppose I am mellowing with age but that guy at the dump just pissed me off. I swear to you, one of these days when someone does something like that to me I'm going to ask them if they've ever considered joining me in the worship of Keith Richards whose miracles have been observed, photographed, recorded and written about in our own lifetime. He's still alive! It's a miracle! AND he's written some of the greatest riffs of all times including the ones that begin "Satisfaction" (which he wrote in his sleep), "Start Me Up," and "Jumping Jack Flash."

Oh wait. What? He didn't turn water into wine? HE DIDN'T HAVE TO! HE'S KEITH RICHARDS! Besides, he would have turned water into Jack Daniels. And let us not forget that he had his own band for awhile called The Expensive Winos. I admit that this may not be enough to base a religion on but I think it's at least as good as Scientology. 

I watered the porch plants, I did more embroidering, I watered the garden. I admired the Buckeye blooms.

They are coming right along. 

I also admired the Rattlesnake beans.

I actually took that picture yesterday so that's how much they grew in one week and one day. I'll probably be picking beans next week. 

Mr. Moon just got home. I am happy to have him here and safe. He made us our martinis and now he's unpacking and putting things away. He, like everyone else I've seen this week, did not notice my new glasses. 
I mean, not one soul. 

I guess we old women really do become invisible. 
When I was at Publix the other day, I bought vermouth and the very young cashier asked what I used it for. 

"Oh, you can't make a martini without vermouth," I said. 
The blue cheese olives I was buying went through next. 
"And these go in the martinis?" she asked. 
"They do," I said. 

"So do you have other ladies over for a book club and drink martinis?" she asked. 

"Uh, no." I said. "I don't. But my husband and I enjoy our martinis together on Friday nights."

"Oh," she said, in a way that made me think that the very idea of two old people drinking martinis on a Friday night was not something she wanted to really think about. I mean- who knows what THAT could lead to and surely I was way too old for any of that. 

La-di-dah. With any luck, she'll be as old as me too one day and if she has a sweetheart to drink martinis with, she may be quite happy if one thing leads to another which does not include a book discussion. 

For example- we just went and took a golden hour tour of the garden and the yard. We held hands. It was lovely.

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon