There Are No Answers Here Today

As a reader pointed out the other day, the posts I do which get the most response are the ones that deal with popular culture.
In that spirit, let me just say:
Jon and Kate
Angelina Jolie
Rachel Meadows
Amy Winehouse
Cher, Cher, Cher
Oprah, Oprah, Oprah

Okay. That's all I got. Sorry.
But really- who ARE these Jon and Kate people? And why can't they behave themselves?

It's drippy gray here and there's so much I should be doing. The walk. Blackberries which are swelling and bursting off the bushes. Weeding. Oh, weeding. Never-ending weeding.
My drawers and closets. I give up. I admit defeat. I wear approximately ten garments. They are overalls, men's cargo shorts, tank-tops. Why are my closets and drawers bursting with pants and skirts and shirts and dresses I never, never wear? Why is my bathroom filled with make-up I never apply, bath salts I never soak in, candles I never light?
Do women do that really? Light candles and pour bath salts in their tubs and soak away their troubles?

Perhaps I should try it. I have a few things I'd like to soak away this morning. I'm feeling completely inadequate to even basic human function. I showed Mr. Moon the pictures I hung up and of course he told me I'd done it wrong. Of course. I always do it wrong. And then I showed him the picture I took last night from the back yard of the house which I love. "It's blurry," he said.
You see? He's not perfect.
Oh well, maybe he is (when he hangs pictures, a level and tape measure are involved) and it's me that is so far from perfect with my picture-taking and picture-hanging skills that even a saint could not be expected not to remark on such faults.
And he's right, of course. I hang things (aprons, christmas decorations, hula girls, old picture frames, old rose bouquets, mermaids, madonnas, mirrors, hats, handkerchiefs, seashells, plates, dolls- to name a few) all over the house with push pins and tiny nails. The pictures I take are blurry. My garden is filled with weeds and volunteers of things I don't even recognize. Is this a zucchini or some sort of bizarre cucumber? How did its seeds make their way into our compost? Why does zucchini have two c's?

It's one of those days.
I don't know a damn thing.
Which of the dogs is throwing up? Did he or she eat some sago palm? Honestly, I did not give them chocolate.

Why is Rush Limbaugh allowed to exist? How can anyone claim that Sonia Sotomayor will rule in favor of minorities if she gets a seat on the Supreme Court without having to admit that perhaps old white men will rule in favor of old white men and their interests? Where does Clarence Thomas fit into this equation? How can a pro-life person kill a human being? In church? Why do men care so damn much about what goes on in a woman's womb? What gives them the right? If we have separation of church and state, on what basis do we have to rule that gay people cannot marry?

Why am I so imperfect? Why can't I clean out my drawers and closets? Why do I have a male sago cone and no female flower to recieve its pollen? Why do the chickens love collard greens but don't care a thing for red cabbage? Do I have any roosters at all or just six hens, some of them fairly aggressive and butchy? What happened to Mr. Pineapples? How do men who happen to be fathers who are married to women and who have nannies get book deals for books about how hard it is to be a parent? Why don't I allow myself to write more fiction when it is what I love? Why do I read the cozumelmycozumel website everyday, even the parts about where to find bicycle parts on the island? Why don't I get my sewing machine fixed? Why is my left eye so blurry today? Did I sleep on it all night or do I have a brain tumor? How can I be old enough to have a child who is about to turn thirty-three?

And what am I doing here right this second?

Who knows? Quien sabe?

All I know is that soybeans practically leap out of the ground when you plant them.

And that I have crazy dreams. And that butternut squash grows nicely in North Florida.
And that I love my blurry picture of the house at twilight.
And that I better get busy.

What do you know? What are you sure of?
Are you sure?