The Sunday Church Of Batshit Crazy

I took the camera out of the house which had been air conditioned all night and into the morning humidity and before I wiped the sweating lens off, this is what happened. I like it. Ethereal, sort of.
It's Sunday which may be a day of rest but for us is a day of getting done what we didn't get done on Saturday with the sleep-in option.
That feels holy to me.
Ten years ago, when we lived in another house in Tallahassee, a fine house made of bricks with a pretty little oval pool of cool blue water, a neighbor gave me some phlox sprouts from her yard. I planted them in that yard and when we moved, I brought some with me. After five years of planting around the yard, they are everywhere now. And they are blooming. Every place you look in my yard almost, is pink/purple-shot with their blooms. They are hardy beyond belief. They appreciate water but if they don't get it, they struggle up and out anyway.
I love my phlox and I think of that neighbor every time I see one. I fell hard in love with her and for awhile, we were tight. But then something happened. I don't know what. She grew cool and distant and it was a mystery. I still mourn that but I am grateful for those phlox of hers which make my yard more of a glory every year.


I went out to see my hen-ladies. They are up and happy, pecking around in the masses of weeds I pulled up yesterday and put in their pen. They love to hunt among the roots for bugs and every day they seem more beautiful to me with their glossy feathers and sharp little all-seeing eyes. They come running to me when I open up the door because they know I bring them treats. I can't say this enough- I think humans were meant to live with chickens. One of the things I'm looking forward to in Mexico is to wander around in the hoods and check out the Mexican chickens. Did I already say this? If so, I apologize. I am not only batshit crazy, I am getting old.

Mr. Moon just stopped by and gave me a kiss and made me cry. He's on his way out to the chicken pen where he is building a smaller coop/pen in the big pen for the young chicks. It's time. He has on his nail belt and his overalls and his cap and the way he made me cry is what he said about his family being the most wonderful thing he can imagine. How proud he is of each of our kids. It's his birthday tomorrow and I'm going to make him his favorite dessert which is a several layer thing of chocolate and pecans and sugar and whipped cream and so forth. Kids, if you're reading this- call me.

Here are the some of the little chicks who are about to move on up into the world:

Elmira is still tiny but doing fine. It will be interesting to see how the hens take to having a pen full of babies in their midst. Mr. Moon is building the nursery coop to prevent them from pecking the young ones to death which I hear can happen. Somehow I can't imagine MY hens, my sweet, pretty hens, doing such a thing but it would be awful if they did. Sorry for the chicken shit in that picture but you know what? Chickens do shit.

Here's a zinnia:

There is about to be a treasure box full of jewel-colors out there beside the garden. This is the first bloom of the ones I planted. I can't wait to see the reds and yellows and oranges and greens and dark purples that are budded up right now.

And here's my kitchen door- the one you'd come in if you visited.

I wish you could.

Come in! I'd say. Please come in. We're having services today. Services for the Church of the Batshit Crazy, the Full-Blooming Phlox, the Chicken Worshipping Heathens, The Grateful Living Church Of The Our-Dreams- Come-True-People-Of-All-Colors-And-Colorful-Names-And-Light-And-Love. The Believers in All-Is-One. We're so glad you're here. Sorry it's so hot but it's summer. Here, let me turn the fan on you. Would you like a glass of cold water? Did you eat yet? What can I get you? Oh, I am so glad you're here.

That's what I'd say. That's what I'm saying. I can hear your voices now. What shall we sing first? Amazing Grace? That's a good one to start with. Then we'll go on to some Patsy Cline, some K.D. Lang, maybe a little Rolling Stones, and of course a Springsteen anthem and what's a worship service without the Beatles, Bob Dylan and maybe even a little Buffet. Hey! It's my church, I get to pick the hymns. And Aretha. Can't forget Sister Aretha. And I'll bet we can get Jason to do Billie Jean. THAT is something worth seeing, believe me. It's a full-bore praise fest.

Wait. The crickets are singing now. Let's wait until this chorus of theirs is over.

Yeah. Come on in. It's Sunday. Let's worship.