I am tired of the gray. There, I've said it. And it's not even raining today, just gray and getting colder. We're working our way to freezing and of course here we have no promise of snow, pure and clean and freshly fallen to cover up the brown sins of summer's dead leavings. No. It will all just go brown and and that is that and that will be that.
Of course the magnolia will still be green and some other trees too. Do you know there is not one pine tree in this yard? I often wonder what the yard looked like a hundred and fifty years ago. I think the oaks were as big then as they are now, but for the rest of it? Who knows?
But it's gray like I said and getting colder and no prospect of Owen to fill my arms until Monday. He is with his mama today and will be with his other grandma on Sunday. She'll probably take him to church. Oh boy.
Yesterday Mr. Moon and Owen got in the big tub together for a bath. I did take pictures but listen- when it comes to Mr. Moon and nakedness, there is just so much skin. And I would post them because they are beautiful but I doubt he'd approve. But it was a precious bath, I tell you that. My two boys in the water, the heater on in the bathroom and Owen's skin all new and fresh and his smile so big at the delight of it all and my husband's skin, so beloved by me and his smile so big, too, at the delight of holding that small body in his arms.
We talked about it all evening, how Owen had taken a bath with his grandfather.
It's funny how both Mr. Moon and I have gotten in the tub with our grandchild. I did it the first time Owen came to stay with me. Perhaps we have some gene for baptism in us. Get in the holy clean water with our holy little boy. His other grandmother wants him to be baptized for real in a church and a very long white dress and I guess he will be. I tend to think that the water in our tub is as holy as the water in the church font. But that's just me.
When I picked Owen up yesterday a very light misty rain was falling and he seemed to enjoy the feel of it on his face. Now THAT is a real baptism in my mind. The water falling from the sky on the little baby's face and making him smile in wonder. No priestly man in a dress involved. Cutting out the middle man, as I tend to say. Strictly between a child and the sky. A holy rite, which seems perfectly right in my mind.
Well, whatever. We have baptized Own in our way, the sky has baptized him in its way, the church will baptise him as it does. It all adds up to the same thing whether he is naked, wearing his little red pants and jacket or a long white dress.
The sun has just broken through for a moment, the oatmeal is beginning to simmer. It is six days before Christmas.
I offer no pictures today. I'm tired of the gray ones and the naked ones are too naked. My face is too naked too, I think. So make them up in your mind. The grandfather and the baby in the tub, the sun trying to shoot through the gray, the woman trying to find the words to make the picture.
Your vision is as accurate as anything. I promise you.