Sunday Down On The Farm

Sunday morning and is it Sunday morning where you live too?
For some of you, no, it is already Sunday night and isn't that odd? Well, yes and no. Time is a funny thing and although I understand the theory, it's not unlike electricity in that I really just accept things the way they are and am grateful it all works out.
I turned on the microwave this morning to heat water to make the hummingbird nectar and a circuit blew. Mr. Moon flipped it back and how all of this works together to allow me to heat the water is a mystery to me and I always worry when a circuit blows because what if the wiring in this old house is about to go up in flames and take the whole damn heart-pine place with it?

Yeah. It's Sunday morning.

I called Jessie while I was making pancakes and ended up making her cry. Great, Mom. Just great. Mean Old Mom. I didn't mean to make her cry. We were just talking about things and she's so tender-hearted and then she cried (Mean Aunt Jessie- right) and I started to cry too but I said, "Let's change the subject. You should see these cute little Levi's I got for Owen!" and we went from there, gliding from sad to cute and talking about shopping and can you get jeans tailored? and so forth.
She was inducted into the nursing honor society a few nights ago and neither Mr. Moon nor I attended. We shall go to our graves with the guilt of that one but in our defense, Jessie didn't tell us about it until a few hours before the ceremony and we were taking care of Owen.
Still.
I wonder if she knows how proud we are of her.
I think she does.

Anyway, here we are, a Sunday morning, moving rapidly to Sunday afternoon and I've done nothing but make the pancakes and make my baby cry. And talk to Kathleen who sounds cheerful and is talking about how she has to change her way of thinking about things and who seems to be facing this new reality with unsurprising (for her) aplomb.
"I see sales on clothes and I think, ooh, that would be fun, and then I think, wait- do I need to waste my money on new clothes?"
"If new clothes would make you happy then it's not a waste of money," I say, and she agrees that may be true.
If I were told I had incurable cancer, I'd buy that purse, I can tell you that. Fuck yeah. I'd run to the mall and buy it and have my stuff transferred from my old purse to it before I left the mall parking lot. Do you do that? When you get a new purse immediately do the switch-over? How about when you get new eye shadow or mascara or lipstick? Do you sit in the parking lot and try out the new goods? I do that too.
Purses are far more fun. Far more satisfying. For me, anyway. And I'd use any excuse to go get that pretty leather bag. I think. Who knows? To tell the truth, I'd probably be more apt to just lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling with tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, a new purse the last thing on my mind.

I wish I were more like Kathleen. I really, really do.

But I'm not and it's Sunday and Sundays are generally hard for me. I'm about to go for a walk though, and pick up more trash. This is my version of wearing sackcloth and ashes. Just go pick up trash off the side of the road. Immediate gratification. Then I'll probably trim the wisteria because every time Mr. Moon walks under it he says something about how he can't walk under it and I give him a look like, "Well, you know where the clippers are," but for some reason, trimming the wisteria is my job. And then I'll probably weed some more.
Here's the garden this morning.

Part of it anyway. You can see where Mr. Moon weeded and mulched. The part I did is not nearly so impressive. He has a way of making things right and tidy that I admire. He's like that. I wish I were more like that but no, I am not especially like Mr. Moon in that way just as I am not like Kathleen in a spirit way and by god, I am fifty-six years old and I'm stuck with who I am and that's that. I can try to be a better me but I am not going to become someone else, no matter how hard I try and let's face it- I don't try that hard.

As I have written this, the sun has come out more fully and I feel better now. I am grateful for that. I am, I think, at heart, a moaner, a whiner, a person who feels comfortable wallowing in her little piques of depression.
I wish I wasn't.

Well. We've covered this ground quite enough, I think.

I hope your Sunday is a good one and if you're sad, try putting your shoes on and going out and picking up trash. Works for me. I think.
And if that doesn't work, go to the mall and buy a purse.
Or a mascara or a lipstick or some shiny, glittery eye-shadow and see if that works.

Whatever. If it makes you feel better, it won't be a waste of time or money.

Ms. Moon says so, therefore it is true.

HahahahahahaHA!

Love...Ms. Moon