Instead of the surf this morning I hear my chickens. Let us out of the pen, they say. We have things to do.
The squirrels and their constant taste-testing of the pecans continues. They throw them down on the tin roof of the shed and I swear, it sounds like small bombs going off. I think they enjoy this. When they really get going and throw them down on the leaves, it sounds like the popping of a brush fire. Mr. Moon told me that although they are not so smart the squirrels do run when they see a gun.
I dreamed. I was in a play at the Opera House. Again. There was no script and we kept forgetting our instructions and it was ridiculous and my costume was ever-lost and I held a baby during my rat-ass performance. That baby was the only good thing about that play. Then I dreamed something else and I can't remember but it was anxiety-producing too. I may actually go to the Opera House tonight and audition for a play although the odds of me getting a part are nil. There is only one character that I might even qualify to play and I will not be the most talented woman to read for it. Oh well. It will be good for me to go, to read.
Good for me.
What is good for me?
I don't even know.
I have my head so far up my ass I can't see daylight. It's a wonder I can hear those pecan bombs going off. Just the thought of going to Monticello is enough to make me cringe. Talk to people? Act normal?
THAT will be the performance right there.
I need to go see my mother. She called last week and had seen the doctor who comes to the assisted living place and he thinks that she may be on too much unneeded medication and that may explain some of her dizziness, some of the other symptoms. She loves this new doctor. We had tried to talk her into seeing him when we first heard about him- he must have a good working knowledge in geriatric medicine- but she resisted, insisting that we were trying to take away her choice in the matter. What was wrong her own doctor who knew everything about her?
Well, maybe nothing. But who knows? Maybe a new one could actually figure out a few things.
Maybe he has. I hope so.
So I need to go see her.
I also need to go see Owen. I need to put my hands on his little face, I need to feel his perfect, smooth skin. I need to kiss him and hear him say, "Mer-Mer! Come!" as he leads me from one place to another to show me things.
Here is Ozzie, the chicken with the very long neck. You can't tell from this picture but her neck is almost snake-like, as if her parents had been a chicken and an Anhinga, also known as the snake bird.
I think she is self-conscious about her neck. The new hens are laying. We are rich in eggs again.
This is a rooster-tail lily. I think. I don't know shit. I do know that those are magnolia leaves behind it.
Here's me last night, taking a picture in the hallway. You can see the dead zinnias. I have since thrown them out. You can see me in overalls. You can see the Virgin of Guadalupe, Queen of Mexico, Our Lady, The Holy Mother, etc., etc.
I used to get such comfort from her.
I think I'm over that.
Isn't that sad? How do we lose our totems? Where do we then find our power, comfort, protection?
Well, even if she doesn't represent all those things to me so much any more, she still makes me smile, that one. Her sweet face, her chubby little hands folded in prayer.
Fuck it. Maybe I just need to watch some Wes Anderson movies and get on with life.
I just really don't know.
I run when I see a gun, too.ReplyDelete
Isn't that sad? How do we lose our totems? Where do we then find our power, comfort, protection?ReplyDelete
It is sad for a while. But if your heart is open, as yours must be to have found such a life full of love, then we find new totems.
This comment has been removed by the author.ReplyDelete
This is my favorite kind of Sister Moon post. It really is.ReplyDelete
Hugs to you today. :)
I want to write something pithy, witty, wise, but I don't have it in me. I, too, love this kind of post that rolls out of your blog. And I do love the look of it -- a bit melancholy and the startling effect of the photos when you scroll through the gray --ReplyDelete
Well, one thing I know is that the turmoil and the dreams, the not-knowingness that you feel is sending words through your fingers and images that your eye and the camera's eye find and send out to the world and lucky readers find them next to our morning coffee. Thank you, Mrs. Moon.ReplyDelete
And I would like a life size cardboard cutout of Mr. Moon with his gun before next spring, please, before I do some awful impulsive mayhem to the squirrels who eat my apricots.
Happy WTF Monday to you too! All Mondays should be allowed such regard.ReplyDelete
Life Aquatic works everytime! And get a sling shot!
Oh. Is it grey? I see it green. Though now I see it greyer. Sigh.ReplyDelete
As to losing totems, well, I think we just move on to the next thing as we need it. Sometimes we suck the power out of things. Doesn't mean it wasn't there or that we are un-comfortable.
New totems come along for each part of our journey.ReplyDelete
Oh, Mary, have pity on your half-blind fans.....ReplyDelete
delicate type-face on grey background....oy, oy.
It took me ten minutes to struggle thru this word by word......unless illegibility brightens your life or makes a statement about your psyche, PLEASE give me a white page again with black letters on it. Sob.
Ms. Bastard-Beloved- Because you are smart too! Love you, babe.ReplyDelete
Stephanie- I may have given up on totems. I don't know. I just don't know.
Gradydoctor- Really? Huh. Well, thanks, sugar.
Elizabeth- It was supposed to be a shade of green. I darkened it a bit to make it so.
Denise- There's a product I could handle! Mr. Moon with gun! Yes!
Life-sized posters to keep away the squirrels.
Mungam- Mr. Moon prefers a gun. Life Aquatic is good. So is Darjeeling Limited. I don't know why, but that one tugs my heart the most.
Jo- That's me. The power sucker. Yep.
Syd- I am waiting, baby. Believe me.
Lo- I darkened and changed the font. Better?
i spend them (in the infusion center) surrounded with the dying and the hopeful. all of us lined up with our veins in various degrees of ill repair. today the pet therapy dog came, his own legs starting to deceive him. and then the harpist...in a flowing skirt so long she appears to walk on water as she glides into the room of the un-moving and plucks the strings one associates with cartoon angels.
yep. it was monday.
rebecca- And through that window, I see my blessings. Love...MaryReplyDelete
i like the royal tenenbaums because it reminds me of the glass family from the saligner short stories.ReplyDelete
Marymoon, i own the life aquatic. I am also a Jaguar shark. Come hang out with me.ReplyDelete
Love, daddy b.
Daddy B- I own it too! Hank gave it to me! I think. You be a Jaguar Shark. I shall be a reporter. Or an accountant. Yes. Let's hang out.ReplyDelete
sorry the dreams weren't sweet, but the baby was there, probably representing owen, the sweetest boy on earth.ReplyDelete
You be the reporter. It's settled.ReplyDelete