Just Another Day In This Paradise

Well, this morning is just drenched in light. Drenched I tell you.
I realize sadly that the Bradford pears are not going to give us their usual show due to the hurricane-like winds we had last weekend. Winds that pushed Owen's hair up and ruffled it like a chicken's comb and made him gasp in the parking lot of Publix.

March has certainly come in like the lion it is supposed to come in like but today things are more lamb-like and that is sweet. The bat appears to be gone and I slept well although I woke up from a dream wherein Mr. Moon had taken a mistress and was living in a cheap tourist court in a bad part of town and hanging out in front of it wearing his flannel boxer shorts and looking, by the end of the dream, surprisingly like my first husband.

I am trying to taper off my anti-depressants and it is interesting to see what the mind does as its chemicals change. So far my main observation is that my dreams have taken a decided turn for the trashier. Instead of dreaming of a beautiful house with secret rooms, I dream of trailer parks and low-rent dives. Although this is disappointing, it is hardly a reason to stay on anti-depressants. I am trying to ignore the obvious fact that the Lexapro gave me an inflated sense of self wherein my ego played on gleaming wooden floors covered with wine-colored Oriental rugs instead of the cracked and worn linoleum it seems to truly feel at home on.
Bah.

Speaking of trailer parks, there is one right in the center of Lloyd. Not exactly a park but just a small piece of land where some ancient and slowly unpeeling single-wides are rented out. I noticed last week that one of the trailer's occupants were moving and this made me incredibly happy. There were small children living there and I hope with all my heart that they are moving somewhere better. Somewhere with a real yard and better windows than the ones the little children peered out of as I walked by, tearing my heart and tugging it, too. If the mother was outside, I would always smile and say hello but she never even acknowledged my presence. I wanted to tell her that I lived in a trailer once myself and just because I live in a beautiful house now doesn't mean I don't remember. Doesn't mean I can't recall what it was like to live in three rooms in a straight line. Doesn't mean you can't be friendly and it doesn't mean you can't do the best you can with it. I hope they do a better job of picking up their trash, wherever they are moving. I could never understand the massive accumulation of trash bags in that they lived virtually right across the road from the trash place.
Well.
It would be a fine thing if that whole piece of property took fire, although of course with no one living there. I can't believe the county thinks these trailers are safe to rent. They are not decent housing by any standards and I have seen some funky houses in my life. Frankly, I would much rather live in a house made of sticks in the Yucatan than in one of these tin boxes. I have lived in a single-wide myself, had a baby in one, in fact, but these trailers are not fit for human habitation.
Well, what are you going to do?

It's an Owen day and here he is:


I know. He's all depressed and worried. Poor baby. I better go play with him.

My god, it's a beautiful day.