Owen rockin' the summer look of cloth diaper and monkey sandals while sharing Cheerios in a cup with Pearl.
Man this day. The mist cleared and took off, and the sweet breeze that shooed it on up the road has lingered and is finding its way into my kitchen to tongue the windchimes and make the newspaper fly off the center island.
The blackbirds are intense. They sing, they sing, they sing. They call and respond and they are rusty and cheerful and melodic and simply fine and their voices have been heard in the land for days. When they disappear, which they will, I think the absence of their voices will be immense.
I had the best day with Owen. Don't I always? I had one of those moments of perfect happiness as we walked out to the chicken coop this morning together. Just the sight of him on those sturdy legs making his way to give the chickens their corn, made my heart jump into my throat and then the chickens paraded out and we fed them and then found an egg and we brought it in and he put it in a bowl and there was nothing not perfect about that.
His Bop came home for lunch and we all sat at the table like civilized humans and Owen only wanted the quail and not the delicious salad or the cabbage and purple potatoes I'd made him but he'd already had an apple and a Clementine and it all balances out eventually with kids. It's so funny how his grandfather tries to teach him manners while I just laugh at whatever he does. "Now Owen, sit down and eat your lunch," says Bop while Grandmother says, "You done? Okay." And then I take him out of the high chair and let him go sit at a big person seat the way he wants to and when he begs for more quail, I give it to him.
And so does his Bop, to tell you the truth.
Damn, this baby boy's presence in our life is a gift I never considered we'd have. I don't know why, I just never really thought about it. And let me tell you something- when you fall in love with a guy when you're young and sparkly-eyed and purple-rich-wombed, you usually don't stop to wonder what sort of a grandfather he'll make but finding out, eventually, that he's a great and loving one is like finding a diamond in your pocket.
Another stage of love. One I've never heard discussed much.
So let me be the one...
Ah, this weather. Man, this day.
I bought seeds at the store but hell if I have the energy to get up off my ass and down on my knees to plant them. I think I have Malaise de Spring and yes, I just made that up. I'm drinking a cup of afternoon espresso because it's too late for a nap and too early to go to bed. It's weather like this which reminds me that I'd love to screen in my little side-porch and put a bed out there. Why haven't we done that? What would be better than sleeping outside-ish on these days of perfect temperatures? Who needs more than two walls on days and nights like this for a bedroom?
Well, I suppose we'd wake up in the mornings drenched with dew but I doubt we'd mildew.
I wonder if I would keep having these house dreams if I slept on the porch. The house in my dream last night was so big it looked like a movie set. I kept finding room after room filled with STUFF and I finally just sat on the stairs which Marilyn Monroe could have glided down and put my hands in my head in despair at it all.
Oh well. At least they're interesting dreams. And no one comes to harm. Clutter is hardly life-threatening until it becomes hoarding and it's not THAT bad. So I'm not complaining.
Ah-yah. These may be the best days of my life. Maybe those rooms are the riches of it- this life of mine- and I don't know what to do with all of them.
Chickens in the collard greens, grandson giving hugs.
Husband in his huge garage, fixing this or doing that and a kitchen full of food and a garden full of greens and fresh, weeded dirt to plant in if I could just get...off...my...ass.
So anyway, here I am, type-type-typing what I'm feeling out to the world, saying that for this second on this day in this place, there is a sort of perfection and a realization that yes, when I am on my deathbed, it will be days like this that I will remember and be sorrowful not to have again, but so joyful that I had them at all that no promise of heaven could begin to measure up.
A-freaking men. The Buddhists talk about the true meaning and joy of life is recognizing all the little repetitive things we do for their inate beauty and simplicity. Less is enough.ReplyDelete
Owen is so kind hearted and adorable. I like your post today, but don't I always? ...like finding a diamond in your pocket.ReplyDelete
I think the dream is interesting, and what a gift it's not scary. Maybe it's your brain telling you how full your life is, of things much better than stuff.
I'm looking forward to having Malaise de Spring, once we're done hibernating in the great North.
this is what it is about, being present in these moments, realizing they are happening, not missing them. getting still enough to stand outside ourselves and FEEL the blessings. what a perfect thing, ms moon.ReplyDelete
Gorgeous writing, you, him, them, chickens, house, days.ReplyDelete
Dear Mary, dear treasured blog trail-blazer: I so often think about your life and your blessings, so different from my own and yet so similar. Thank you, thank you, for taking time, for taking love and bliss in the writing down of them, in the sharing of them, in the reminder in them for all of us who can hear you, for we are all blessed, indeed.ReplyDelete
Will you stop making me cry?ReplyDelete
Or at least give me a hug or some Moon soup to make up for it?
I love the way you talk to us.
Thank you for being here.
Gorgeousness I can let myself slip into. Thank you for sharing it :)ReplyDelete
binky- I think there is great richness in less. I do.ReplyDelete
Mel- Owen IS so kind-hearted. And Malaise de Spring is rather like lying on a big, feather bed.
Angella- And feeling these moments entirely- what a blessing.
Lisa- I am so blessed. Not only to have this life, but this outlet to be able to write about it.
Angela C- I am compelled to write about it and whether good or bad, that's just the way it is.
Bethany- Here's a huge, long hug to you, sweet girl. Can you feel it?
Maggie May- You have so much to look forward to. I swear it.
Oh mercy, I almost forgot to say, that opening paragraph, the windchimes and the newspaper? FUCKING BRILLIANT. I was right there with you. I FELT that sweet breeze and I can't tell you how badly I needed that.ReplyDelete
I do feel it.ReplyDelete
Bethany- I'm glad you feel the hug. I'm glad you feel the breeze.ReplyDelete
placed directly to my heart.
loving you mary moon...
through every season.
I was thinking about my death today. Not in a morbid way but in the marveling that I will have seen so much and lived such a good full life. I am hoping to make it for at least 30 more years. That means I had better use every minute of each day to experience pure life.ReplyDelete
Gurl, you are buying seeds? I envy.ReplyDelete
I also looooooved seeing Pearl in your blog.
I think I need reading glasses. Is that the gateway to the Best Days of My Life?
Lovely post! You're right about the grandfatherness.ReplyDelete
Pearl is wormed, right?
Maybe it's time to get rid of the clutter. You might feel so light and free?
Plus, before old age and death become an emotional issue, let me tell you this: it is a GIFT to one's children not to leave it all to them to sort through after you're gone. A gift. Because now I have my mother's stuff on top of my own to-much stuff and while some of that is beautiful - paintings and lamps and a juicer etc, some of it is rough - old work notes and 30 years of old letters and driving licences and things I can't throw out so they just pile up on top of my piled up things or sit in my father's loft where I feel guilty about them. Pretty things I have no space for.
That house in your dreams, Ms Moon, says it all. Overstuffed. What a rich and blessed life you lead, and you make the most of it.ReplyDelete
Thank you for this. Another recharging read.ReplyDelete
That IS heaven, MM :) Trust me.ReplyDelete
You are Queen of Zen, Mary Moon. I'm with binky.ReplyDelete
rebecca- Loving you and your beauty, rebecca. Always.ReplyDelete
Syd- I think we should all spend more time thinking about our deaths in a healthy, pragmatic way. I think it would contribute greatly to our lives and how we live them.
Omgrrrl- Can you believe Pearl is still alive? Jesus. And yes, that may be the gateway.
One of them, anyway.
Jo- I know exactly what you mean. Decluttering IS a gift to our children. Amen.
Elisabeth- I think there is more to it than that, but that is definitely part of it- these dreams.
Mwa- Thanks, sugar.
SJ- I know it. No doubt.
Ms. Bastard-Beloved- And if you knew Binky, like I know Binky...
And hey- it's Zen GLEN, not Zen Mary.