Saturday, January 15, 2011

Spring Will Come But First We Must Wait

This is the craziest morning. I swear.
I've been up for quite awhile now and all I've done is one but-first after another but first let me start with last night.

Oh. I had such a good time getting ready.
I wore the skirt, the lace, the purple tights and red cowgirl boots. I put up my hair, I sparkled my eyes, I reddened my lips, it was wonderful.

Mr. Moon looked gorgeous and we had our martinis and we went to town and we had to wait quite a while at the restaurant to be able to sit at the bar where we like to sit because we can watch the chefs do their thing and we can wave and throw kisses (okay, I do that, not Mr. Moon) to the beautiful dishwasher who has the blackest skin and the broadest smile of anyone I think I ever knew. He is deaf and always puts his hand on his heart when he sees us.

And everyone was so nice to us and a friend of May's works there and he brought us an appetizer of hummus and other delicious things and we had fried oysters and cheese grits and our salads and by the time we got our dinners we were, quite frankly, full. So we had a few bites of those and then got them boxed for home and shared most of a dessert which May's friend presented to us so beautifully that the people sitting next to us said, "Do you come here often?"
We felt loved, I tell you.

We ran into some sort-of neighbors and I invited them over for Sunday pancake and venison sausage brunch and I am looking forward to that.

And we came home and there was a hang-up on the answering machine but I recognized the name and I told Mr. Moon he should call it and it was just as we had feared- an old, old friend of his had died last year and his wife was the one who had called and so he had a long, tearful conversation with her and our evening ended with sadness.

I took this picture of Pearl before we went to bed.

I had put an old towel on her to keep her warm, tucked it around her and there was the word Life on her butt.
It seemed, at the moment, appropriate somehow.

We slept fairly late and I got out of bed after Mr. Moon and when I got up, he told me that his stomach had been bothering him all night long and still was and I felt so bad that I hadn't known but had slept so well. He blamed it on eating such rich food but my stomach is fine and I think he is actually a bit sick with a tummy bug but you know Mr. Moon- he does not get sick and so he is not.

So I have been trying to tend gently to him this morning. I made oatmeal and he had some of that and a cup of peach tea and I brought him his warm hunting socks and offered the hot water bottle and more blankets and other home remedies for the tummy but he is content to recline in his chair and watch fishing shows.
Poor baby.

And I've talked to Kathleen who sounds wonderful and we talked about everything from chickens to dogs to death to life and that's how Kathleen and I talk. Whatever's in the heart, in the mind, in the air. We talk about it. We make each other laugh.

And I've been out to the chicken coop about four times. Those chickens are not doing well. I mean, they look great, but they're hardly laying and some of the eggs they DO lay have practically no shell and this morning Daffodil is in the nest but not laying and Mabel is just standing there looking at her, either waiting her turn for the preferred nest or...I have no idea.
I talked to our neighbor guys about chickens last night as they have some too and although they have fifteen laying hens, none of them are laying and they had to buy eggs, which we chicken-owners are loath to do. Kathleen's hens are not laying either so I guess it is the cold, the poor dears.

Here's a picture I took this morning after I threw their scratch.

The cardinals were eating with the chickens and that's nice, I think. The wild birds and the domesticated ones and looking out the window just now I saw Daffodil, so she's off the nest and walking around the yard. It looks like she's looking for the rest of the crew.

Winter is hard on all of us, I think.

One sickness or another is always going around, we here in Florida always keep a chill in our bones no matter where we set the heat or what sort of socks we have on. The chickens don't lay well and the wild birds depend, at least partly, for their sustenance on what we give them. The plants and trees are so bare and brown.

Here is my wisteria trellis and it's hard to keep hope that in just a few months those spindly brown vines will be sending out green buds but I know they will. And then the purple flowers will appear in their grape-like clusters and it will all be glory again in the yard and the bees will be intoxicated as will we, and the voice of the mating bullfrog will be heard in the land.

It will look like that.
It will be wonderful.

But you know, probably more than half the glory of it is the waiting part. It wouldn't be a miracle if the wisteria bloomed all year long now, would it?
I don't think so.

So we wait and while we wait we take care of each other and make sure we have hot tea and warm socks and that the chickens have fresh water and the wild birds have seeds to eat and that Pearl gets covered up at night and that we love each other, even (and especially) during the cold days and long nights of winter.
Sometimes we even put on purple tights and red boots and go out and sparkle a little, and it's good, even though sometimes you come home to find out that someone you loved has died.

As my friend K. says, "We drop like birds from the sky."

We do. All of us eventually, but until then, we wait for spring the best way we can, keeping hope alive in our hearts and the image of purple flowers, bursting with sweet nectar and we soar and fly and soar again while we are able.

We go to sleep covered up and Life is on our butts, in our bones, in our blood as it travels around and around the sleeping universe of our bodies, human, dog, bird, chicken, even wisteria I imagine, slowly maybe, too slowly to see but there nonetheless, green and thick and waiting for warmth.

Which will come.


  1. Sometimes your posts are too big to comment on. Um. your night out sounded beautiful. I'm sorry it ended that way, though, poor Glen. REstaurant food gives me funny tummy sometimes too but the last thing I could do when I feel sick is watch FISHING! !!

    And the cardinal! It looks almost not real, against the plain background and hte giant hen. Likea clockwork creature. I saw cardinal cookie cutters on sale yesterday and nearly sent you the link, but then I thought, hmm, no, this is not what Mary has time for.


  2. It will look like that.
    It will be wonderful.

    All of this is so wonderful and real and honest and true. Thank you.

  3. The promise of spring is a lovely promise.

  4. Amazing how similar our date nights were! Only I had Elvis and you had a deaf man. And the sadness to follow...

    I am scrunching down and waiting for the miracle. Come on, Spring!

  5. Like Jo said...sometimes it is hard to comment. Of course it is because it sinks in with comfort of a friend having a chat, like you and Kathleen. Listening and nodding the head to agree...oh yes the hens aren't laying...oh when will Spring be and so on.

    I do find such comfort in your words Mary...even when sadness with the loss of your friend because it is the knowing of what kind of person you and Mr. Moon are that one knows your concerns are honest.

    You are such an observant lesson number #1 checked for the day.

    Hugs to you!

  6. Aw, poor papa. Tell him I hope he feels better. I love that pictures of the cardinal. Do you suppose they pity the chickens? Well, I'm going to a bonfire tonight and hope to see a friend from out of town. I'll sleep over at Deb's, so I'll be safe and not on the road in the wee hours. Love you.

  7. Jo- Thank-you, sweet woman, for all you said. And yes- you may bake the cookies. But wouldn't red cardinal sugar cookies look wonderful on a Christmas tree?

    Radish King- My little world. My tiny little world.

    Lisa- Isn't it?

    Ms. Trouble- What else can we do?

    Ellen- Kathleen is teaching me about being in this very moment. I am trying so hard. Thank-you.

  8. DTG- Thank-you, sweet son. And I hope you have a wonderful time tonight!

  9. lovely...
    and sweet.
    wisteria, sweet sleeping dogs, chickens and cardinals!
    Thank you.

  10. I'm so happy to hear that your date was fabulous. But sad to hear Mr. Moon's belly isn't happy. I hope he's on the mend soon.

    My chickens aren't laying, either! I was just complaining that I had to buy eggs the other day. Hmph. Do you give them oyster shells on occasion to make their egg shells stronger? Our ladies love them, and it works.

  11. Hi Mary,
    Thanks for checking in. I'm okay. Susie was back in hospital this past week. She's okay now though. I'm just starting to relax a bit today, doing laundry and goofing around.
    I love the picture of Pearl and thelife blanket. I'm so sorry about Mr Moon's friend. I love your outfit and dinner description. I love the pic of the cardinal with the chickens.
    And I love the way you share your world.

  12. this is why I keep reading your blog! you write so beautifully and the "ordinary" is transformed into something bigger, something spiritual and lovely.

    I am very sorry about your friend.

  13. Again, I read a post of yours and get relaxed. I think it's just the way you look at life and say things. Thank you. And, the photo with the cardinal and chicken warmed my heart! Aw. :) What a great shot!

  14. I want to be covered with a blanket that says Life. Love that photo of Pearl. She looks so happy and content.

  15. Handsandspirit- This is what I have to offer. Some days it is enough.

    notjustafemme- Well, there are oyster shells all over this yard. Will that do? I give them their shells back, crushed. Winter is just hard on hens.

    Bethany- Glad to hear about Susie. And I love YOU!

    Terena- Thanks, honey. For all.

    Nicol- That picture charmed me too!

    Syd- I have no idea if that dog is happy. She always looks sort of worried to me. Bless her old heart.

  16. I cannot wait for spring. I yearn for it.

    Your chickens aren't menopausal, are they?

  17. The picture of PEARL! touched my heart. So sweet and true and somehow heartbreaking.

    I love you.

  18. Angie- No. They are too young to be menopausal. Even in chicken years. They are only one year old.

    Ms. Bastard-Beloved- She is getting SO old.

  19. This is astoundingly beautiful:
    We go to sleep covered up and Life is on our butts, in our bones, in our blood as it travels around and around the sleeping universe of our bodies, human, dog, bird, chicken, even wisteria I imagine, slowly maybe, too slowly to see but there nonetheless, green and thick and waiting for warmth.

    Which will come.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.