Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Chickens And Eggs And Birds And Flowers And Juliette Gordon Low
I swear to GOD, y'all, that if you could see my house right now, you'd fall over laughing. There are Owen nests all over the house and unmade beds and laundry in stages of being done and no, I have not mucked out the chicken coop and no, I have not taken pictures of the peas or done any of the fifty-jillion things I have should have done today but what the hell? What the fuck?
Owen is cutting his top teeth. I can tell because his gums are all swollen. My new name for him is "Top Gum." That's him. Mr. Cranky Boy. Mr. Wiggle Monkey. Mr. Hold-Me-Please.
He was never inconsolable today but he was cranky if I didn't jump to it the second he wanted me to. So of course I just did. I jumped to it.
But now he's home with his mama and daddy and here I am in Lloyd and so happy to be. The birds are going insane. It's warm. The chickens are scratching all over the yard. Jessie just came by with two of her darling fellow-nursing school students and I gave out forty-two eggs to them. I am getting at least a half dozen a day from the Sister Wife Hens and I can't possibly keep up with it all. Life is just exploding here in North Florida between the birds (both domestic and wild), the azaleas purpling up, the dogwoods opening, the tung trees showing signs of life, the wisteria's fuzzy buds swelling visibly, the wild azalea making tiny buds at its tip and meanwhile, everything smells of tea olive and warm dirt. Hard to beat that.
But it is time for me and Mr. Moon to take off and we are going to do that this weekend. We have no plan, no reservations, and we don't even know what direction we're going to head in. This could be great or it could get weird. I feel surprisingly sane, which is strange and I'm not very anxious about anything, even the idea of taking off without a plan which is usually enough to put me over the edge. But nope, I don't. I'm not. Whatever. Owen is going out of town with his parents so he doesn't need me and Jessie's going to come stay with the chickens, dogs and cats. Everything will get along just fine without me and I feel that it's just time for me and the man to remember who we are when we aren't Mr. and Mrs. American Gothic. Know what I mean? I mean, laying in the dirt in the garden is very fine, but hotels can lead to a different sort of pleasure and I am not one to disregard that sort of magic.
We're thinking maybe Savannah so if any of you (Mr. Bastard, Dear?) have any suggestions about places to stay, things to do, food that must be eaten, please let me know. We're not wedded to the idea of Savannah but it would probably be fun. I haven't been there since I went with the Girl Scouts in about 1968 to see Juliett Low's birthplace. I don't remember much about Savannah or the birthplace except for the fact that Juliette Gordon Low forged the iron gates herself and her biceps got so big they had to let out the sleeves of her dresses which I thought was awesome.
And now! Onward! (I've just had my espresso- can you tell?) I must muck and plant and water and tend! I must launder and tidy and make beds! Dinner must be cooked! I have an hour! Can I do it all?
Oh hell no.
Anyway, I just wanted to check in and tell you what's going on in Lloyd. Spring is. And Owen. Baby yoga.
You know. And a Big Person trip in the planning stages. Or the non-planning stages, as the case actually is.
And I have forty-five unopened blog posts in my Google Reader so wish me luck with that one.
I love you just same, even if I don't say a word. Okay? You know it! It's true!
Wish I could give you all a dozen eggs. But I can't.
Here I go.....