Friday, September 30, 2011
Friday night and the man is off to the hunting camp, just to spread feed and nail up a ladder and oh, hell, I don't know what. He took out of here with the four-wheeler on the trailer and the ladder in the back of the truck and, again, oh, hell. I don't know what.
Fridays have sure changed in the past decade for me.
Oh well. I just took a shower and washed my hair and put on an old dress and therefore I look more like a witch than ever. It's a black dress. You needed to know that, right? Linen. I think I got it at the Goodwill about ten years ago. I like linen for the absorbency factor. I sweat a lot.
Needless to say, I AM NOT WEARING A BRA!
It's supposed to get down into the FORTIES here tomorrow night. We'll probably all keel over from sheer shock. It was cooler today but still got up to ninety and if we think that's cooler, well, you can only imagine what we think when it's forty-something degrees lower than that.
I have meat marinating and bread rising. There's corn to grill and potatoes to bake. A salad to make.
Sometimes I get so tired of doing the same things over and over again.
Sometimes I love that. Sometimes I don't.
I believe that tonight I don't. I almost just want to go to bed now. Skip all the other stuff. The cooking, the eating, the washing up.
Gawd. Being human can be so tedious.
No wonder people like to drink and handle snakes and go to the circus.
I can dig it.
Zeke has gone off for his first sleep-over.
When Lily came to get Owen he did not want to go home. He said he wanted to play with the dogs at Mer's. So Lily, in either a brilliant or insane burst of inspiration said, "Let's take Zeke home with us. Then you can play with him at our house."
I hope they don't call at midnight to tell me that Zeke won't quit crying for his mother. I hope he behaves and remembers his manners and doesn't pee and poop all over the damn place.
I hope they like having him so much they decide to keep him. That's what I really hope. I'm not betting on that happening though. I'm really not.
I think it has something to do with the hunting camp.
Yep. I'm pretty sure it does.
Owen is coming this morning in half an hour or so. I am waking up from dreams of being in Asheville and Las Vegas, too. I have so much trouble with my wardrobe in dreams. Last night I had forgotten to wear shoes into a casino but then luckily, I was transported to Asheville and there was a store in which to buy shoes right there.
Recently down in Franklin County a sex-offender's release date from prison came up. He had nowhere to go and demanded to be taken to Tate's Hell and dropped off, which they did. He was wearing an ankle bracelet for easy tracking.
Within hours the ankle bracelet was disabled and now they can't find him.
Who would have guessed that would happen?
Tate's Hell is just what it sounds like. It is the wildest place and there are alligators and snakes and bears and if they don't get you, the bugs will.
I don't know why I'm telling you this. I have just been thinking about it.
Sex offender versus Tate's Hell.
Do you suppose this is a Tar Baby situation? Please don't throw me in that briar patch. But he asked to be thrown in the briar patch. Or Tate's Hell, rather.
There are lots of roads in and out of Tate's Hell. I doubt he's battling alligators right now, that sex offender. I wonder if Tate's Hell was a paradise after prison.
Whatever. I have no sympathy for a sex offender. Unless it was like an eighteen year old who had sex with his seventeen year old girlfriend and her parents got pissed off and had him arrested.
That's not sex offense. That's young love.
It's a crazy world.
Trust me on that.
I wonder what Mr. Moon and Owen will want for breakfast. Whatever it is, I'll make it.
Good morning, y'all. It's Friday.
Have a good one.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
That was enough. That was plenty.
I read. I napped. I walked. I planted. I thought.
I have a chicken pot pie in the oven with carrots and celery and onions and potatoes and green beans and corn and peas. I am going to make a salad with greens and apples and pecans.
It has been a day of recharging. It has been a day of refilling the buckets.
Should I make oat bran muffins?
Ah. The Big Questions.
I love days like this.
The new branch library which they've been building on "my" side of Tallahassee is going to open on November 4th. I have this marked on my calender. In Sharpie. It looks to be a grand and beautiful library and I am so excited about it opening. There is a branch library now but it is in a small strip mall and it's about as big as a two-car garage and I almost never go there. This new one is between Publix and Lily's house which means that my travels across Tallahassee will be cut down considerably. I suppose this means my world is getting even smaller but honestly- how can anything involving a library make a life smaller? I do not think it can.
I am not a huge buyer of books. I used to be but as I have gotten older, I do not really care to acquire much more of anything. Oh, sure, there are books which I love so much that I need to have my own copies of but generally, I go to the library for my books. I will always believe that the library is the highest example of civilization. And yes, if there is a heaven, for me it is a library.
I could go to the library today for books on tape but today is the first day in forever and ever I have absolutely nothing I have to do. No doctor's appointments to take anyone to, no grandson to take care of, no one coming to film, no party to prepare for. I think I will stay right here.
And this is good. My little cold is still lingering but it is not bad. I want to take it out for a walk, this tiny virus, and see if I can disperse it into the woods. It will be a slow walk, a small and noticing walk. I will look for Beauty Berry. I will watch the butterflies. Perhaps I will see a hawk. One never knows.
I took some little movies of Owen walking Buster yesterday but I am not going to put them up. I was sneezing throughout them and they sound disgusting. You could probably get my cold from just listening to them. But it was such an adventure for him. He always pretends to put the dogs on a leash with my yoga strap so yesterday I asked him if he wanted to really put Buster's leash on and take him for a walk and he said that yes, he did.
Buster was so patient and all of the dogs enjoyed the strolls around the yard. Dolly and Zeke got so excited to be part of the party that they played like puppies and then Zeke got REALLY excited and began to hump Dolly, which he does sometimes. She doesn't have the slightest clue about what's going on and completely ignores him. Perhaps she is just a lady and ignores him out of decorum. I don't know but it's funny when it happens. And Owen felt like he was truly in control of the the dogs and I guess, in some way, he was.
It was fun.
Mr. Moon and I are actually contemplating going to Mexico for Christmas. Those of you who have been here for awhile know how much I loathe and detest Christmas. My kids know this and they came up with the idea. "Mom, why don't you and Daddy go to Cozumel for Christmas?"
I think they would actually enjoy the whole damn holiday far more if I were gone for it. I am not ashamed of this. It's simply the truth.
I was telling Mr. Moon what the children had said and he said, "Could you be away from your grandson on Christmas?" and I said, "Oh hell yes."
I love Owen just as much on December the 22nd as I could ever love him on December the 25th.
And so, we are thinking about that. Frankly, the idea lifts my heart in ways I cannot even begin to explain. In fact, it thrills me to my toes. It makes my heart tingle.
I told Mr. Moon that if we did, I might even go to church on Christmas Day. I sort of love going to Catholic Mass when it's in Spanish. I have no idea why. The church in Cozumel has no walls and there are those great statues behind glass of the saints. And candles. What's not to love about that?
Sopa de Lima for Christmas dinner? Bring it on, baby. Pass the pico de gallo which is filled with the red of tomatoes, the green of peppers and cilantro. I feel festive just thinking about it.
Well, we'll see.
I think I have now discussed everything I care to discuss and shall go take that walk. If you have not checked out the little trailer for the film Freddy shot here last weekend, please do, and if you are on The Evil Facebook, and would like to share it, again- please do. Dolly and Zeke are prominent in the trailer. I think this is going to be an awesome film.
All right. The day is half over. I haven't done shit.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
I felt so honored that she would let me read it. I love her for that.
I love women. I just do. I love how women can share hearts and souls at the drop of a hat. How when women meet certain other women they just fall in love with each other in a way that is unlike any relationship that they will have with men or with lovers or with children although you can, I am fortunate enough to know, have that love with daughters when they grow up. Just, boom, heart-to-heart, blood-to-blood, and love is born. I can't explain it, I can't predict when it will happen. I just know that when it does for me I pay attention. I don't take it for granted.
One of the high points for me last weekend was an experience like that. A woman that I "knew" but didn't really, and I started talking while I was helping her with her costume or doing something, I don't really know, and all of a sudden we were talking about real stuff. Deep in the bone stuff. Stuff that made us both cry and look at each other and go, "Wow." We saw each other, really and truly and in twenty minutes or so of conversations, we had made each other laugh as well as cry and I felt as if I'd found a ruby in my coat pocket, an emerald in my garden.
On the surface we are as different as oil and water but in our hearts, we are much the same and we had no idea.
I fell in love.
When Lis came by on Monday we settled into that deep place where she and I can go in two seconds. Coffee? Yes. Sit down, open mouths, open hearts, tears and understanding. Laughter. Do you know how hard it was to let her go?
I love her.
I think I have always done this- this falling in love with women. When I was very young, my best friends were so very important to me. My girlfriends, the ones I shared things with. Not everything. There were so many things in my young life that I could not or would not share with anyone, but other things. Yearnings and how to insert tampons and crushes on boys and sewing patterns and complaints about teachers and questions about life and what it all meant and boys and periods and how it felt when a boy held your hand, and would he kiss you? Would he? Would he?
There were some friends you could talk to about all of these things and you did and you wanted to and you needed to more than you needed food, almost and you bonded together and you knew each other's thoughts before they were said and you never, ever ran out of things to say. Ever. Not even during sleepovers and you talked until you were too tired to talk any more.
Those friendships, they were formative and necessary and they sustained me.
As I have gone through all of the stages of my life, I have found women with whom I've had relationships like this and for that, I feel so lucky. Some women have been my friends since childhood, some I have only recently met. Some women were friends during a certain life-stage and then, like lovers, we grew apart. I mourned those losses for years when that happened but I saw the necessity of it. Women who had held my hand in childbirth grew distant and then became strangers. Women I would have thrown myself under a bus for, or to whom I had told my deepest secrets to struck off on new paths or I did and unbelievably, bonds were broken without either of us really knowing why or how. I still dream of those women. But I do not care to call them.
Some of them have died.
So when I meet a woman now, either through the cyberspace sphere or in my kitchen, with whom I feel that instant connection- who will leak her heart to me and who lets me know I can leak my heart to her- I am humbled, I am amazed, I am lifted up. It is almost as if we allow ourselves to strip naked in front of each other and we can see each other's beauty. Not in a physical way, although I find all of these women beautiful but in a way that goes so much deeper. Look- here I am, here are my imperfections, my sacred secrets, my darkest moments- and she says, "I know. Me too."
It is a mother-thing. It is a sister-thing. It is a thing which cannot be explained by anything short of mystical. It is a woman-thing. It is a thing which bears us up and which saves our lives. It is a thing which brings comfort. It is that hand during childbirth and the eyes which look into yours and say, I know it's hard. I've done it too. It's the writing of a woman you've never met and most likely never will. It's the sharing of emotions about music or children or maybe you have nothing in common at all and there you go- no explanation, just that connection. It may be chemical. It may be genetic. It may be a recognition which we cannot even recognize with our usual senses.
But whatever it is, I am grateful for it. It is a trust which is given and which is received. It is a bond that forms in a second or in years. It is a knowing.
It is love. And when it happens, it is amazing. Women are amazing. Believe me. We are. And the women who know that are so lucky. And when we meet each other, we are the luckiest of all and we are not afraid to strip our souls naked in front of each other. We are not afraid to cry. We are aware enough to find the ruby in our pocket, to bend and pick up the emerald in our garden. We are bejeweled with each other.
We are made radiant in our tears.
Once again the house is quiet. Jessie just left to go home to Asheville and after the chaos which has been the atmosphere here for days, the house seems to be sighing.
For the next party or celebration or filming or for Owen to burst into the door and take over the entire space with his shouts, his laughter, his getting-long legs, his toys, his huge glowing presence.
Last night was fine. I cooked up about thirty chicken flautas and made three avocados worth of guacamole, and a pot of pinto beans. The cake was everything a cake should be. Lily and Owen blew out candles
and Owen needed a bath after it was all over.
He actually let me give it to him which was about the first thing he'd had to do with me since the whole Aunt situation began. "Jessie, come!" he would say. Or, "May-May, come on!"
"Can I have a kiss?" I'd ask him.
But he let me bathe him, he did. He was so wired from not-enough-nap and too much cake and too much love and parties that he could barely keep his feet on the ground.
He is a happy little drunk man, that boy. Drunk on life.
But eventually the kitchen was cleaned up as well as the boy and everyone left with kisses galore and I crawled into bed early and read a little bit and fell asleep, determined to wake up and make breakfast for Jessie and Mr. Moon but I overslept and Jessie made the breakfast although I got up in plenty of time to see my husband off to work, my daughter off to Asheville.
It's been so very busy here. I walk in the dining room and can't believe its emptiness. Not only was that the room where the cast and crew gathered for rehearsals this weekend but it was also where a lot of shooting went on. Everything was taken out of there on Sunday and then put back and put to use again last night as we crammed ten people around the table that I've had since May was a baby, the table that my nursing school friends sat around so long ago to study and talk and laugh. The table which has seen so much of my life now.
Quiet. The washing machine does spin and the chickens are talking in the coop about how much they'd love to be let out and the birds chirp and cars go by on the road but besides that- quiet.
No one calling "Action!" no one commanding, "Quiet on the set!" no one singing Happy Birthday, no one saying, "Can I get you anything else from the kitchen?"
No one laughing or talking or complaining loudly about having his face wiped off, no one to worry about having dogs underfoot, no one to reach for one more chicken flauta, no one to ask which of the two ice creams they would like with their cake.
No presents to open, no cards to read, no dishes to clear.
On top of everything else that has happened in the past five days here that I've talked about, there have been other things. My mother called me Saturday evening to describe what had happened to her that day and without a doubt, she'd had a TIA. I took her to the doctor yesterday and he agreed. Bless his heart, though, he is the kind of doctor who is pretty non-interventive and so he didn't order MRI's or CT scans, just decided she should start taking a baby aspirin every day. If she's having little vascular accidents there is nothing to be done about them anyway. Her blood pressure is under control and so...
And Lis came by on Monday for a hit-and-run coffee chat. She had to bring their dog over to her sister-in-law's for boarding and she had to pick up a computer and she fit in a few minutes to see me and that was wonderful but not nearly enough.
And what else? Oh, you know. Life. Cooking, wrapping presents, grocery shopping, the pedicures, phone calls, chicken tending, dog poop cleaning, laundry. The never-ending, never-ceasing bits of life that make up the mosaic of the whole. The kissing, the going-to-bed, the getting-up and doing it all again.
Even this morning, even now, I've been trying to get this written for over an hour and between one thing and another, I'm still not done. And it's Billy's birthday and I haven't called him yet to wish him a happy birthday and to tell him I love him. And Owen will be here at one to stay for the afternoon.
But. It's quiet. Relatively so. I've gotten some laundry done, made the bed, washed the dishes, taken care of the chickens, talked on the phone, cried when Jessie left, even though she tried to make me laugh.
She did make me laugh. And as Truvy would say, "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."
There has been a lot of that in this house in the last few days. Laughter through tears.
And I'm tired now and have that little cold but I'm fine and I'm just amazed at how much life this house has held, not just in the past week but ever since we've moved in and god only knows what's happened here in the past 152 years.
A lot. I am pretty sure of that.
Well. I guess I better end this. Try to catch up on things before Owen comes. Try to figure out where my head is.
I know where my heart is.
Of that I am sure.
In this small moment of quiet, in this old house which sighs and rests and then accepts, with every one of its seven doors which open to the outside, whatever life wants to enter.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Man, I totally and highly recommend going to get pedicures with your daughters. That was so fun! And relaxing. I did not go to sleep but I sure did close my eyes a few times and go somewhere else.
I just feel like a new woman.
And oh yeah, my toes look nice too.
Okay. I have not been answering comments because I have been so very busy but let me just say that this is not a new policy or anything. I'll get back to it right away. I promise.
And one more thing- Lon and Lis Williamson are going to be doing what they're calling a Mini Tour and I want to post their schedule in case of any of you are able to make any of the gigs. If just ONE of my people here made it to see them, it would make me so very, very happy. Lon and Lis are not only incredibly fine musicians and songwriters, but they are the most grace-filled people I know. It's always a beautiful evening going out to here them play. So here's the itinerary:
846 Sea Island Parkway
St. Helena, SC
110A North Locust St
Floyd, VA 24091-2103
6:00 - 9:00 pm.
Saturday, October 8th
Center Harbor, NH
Many of you know the delightful Jim and Angie Bascom (formerly and perhaps one day again of St. Augustine).
They are hosting a house concert for us at a beautiful spot in the New Hampshire mountains called Stone
Tuesday, October 11th
The Jalopy Theatre and Old Time School of Music
315 Columbia St.
A beautiful venue in Brooklyn, NY... great setting!!! We are sharing this bill with the inimitable Fran Leadon
of the Y'all Stars, :)
Thursday, October 13th
Mount Pleasant 1812 Farm & Hotel
This morning I found four eggs. Not from today but from yesterday because when we got home last night, they were already on their roosts and we did not disturb them but just shut the doors against predators and let them sleep.
"Good morning, my lovelies," I say as I let them out. "Good morning."
They bawk and talk about the day, the nice corn scratch, the bread I have crumbled up for them to eat. Eventually they race to the cat food dish to see if there are any Friskies there. They love cat food. The cat knows to get the food when it's offered and eat it quickly. She won't get any more until evening when the chickens are shut up again.
I have a cold. This is most unusual. All night I kept waking up, knowing that I was getting sick. I do not feel so bad, just stopped up and a bit achy. And there is so much to do today.
All of the girls and I want to go get pedicures to celebrate Lily's birthday. And Mother has a doctor's appointment I need to take her to. And there's the rest of the birthday dinner to fix. Lily wants her favorite meal- chicken flautas- which I make for her once a year and they are incredibly delicious and have cream cheese in them and also they are fried and so this is not a thing I usually make but for a birthday, I will gladly do so. A friend from way, way, WAY back in the day gave me the recipe and I always think of her when I make them.
She was a tiny woman, her name was Cindy, and I helped her at a home birth where she delivered a fine boy with no muss and no fuss up in her loft. We took belly dancing together and she had a wild mane of black hair.
I wonder if I would even remember her if I didn't use her recipe every now and then.
Well, it's time to get ready to go to town. The chickens are pecking around the yard, Elvis is announcing the day, our neighbor just came over and borrowed some eggs. Well, I gave them to him. There is no borrowing of eggs around this joint. I took two dozen into town last night for Hank and May. Eight hens and I get about six eggs a day right now. Plenty for all.
Plenty for all.
It's a birthday day. It's a beautiful day. I am going to move slowly through it and be comforted with ritual, with the grace of being with my daughters, with the joy of being with the family tonight again, eating familiar party food, celebrating the mundane, the miraculous, the center of my universe.
I have a cold but honestly, I feel fine. And the chickens are running with glee through the yard.
Monday, September 26, 2011
It was a good birthday party. There were lots of vegetables and cheese and crackers and a salad and pizza and a yummy cake and ice cream. And presents galore which Owen opened one at a time, all by himself, and squealed with joy and he got boots that he put on immediately and a giant soft elephant and a monkey man doll that his mama made him
and a drum and mallets
that he only wanted to rest his arms on but which he did not want to give up to open the next present and a drum set and an easel and books and stickers and puzzles and , and, and....
He got a tricycle and a red wagon from Bop and Mer.
Figuring out the pedals is going to take some time. He can already do the bell though.
Buddy Waylon was there with his mama Shayla and he was a very polite young man and tolerated the fact that Owen was getting one present after another with more grace than I would have managed. They sat together to eat pizza and ice cream. They are beautiful boys.
That's Waylon and Mama Shayla. Daddy Billy couldn't make it. Tummy illness. We missed him fiercely.
The best part for me was when it was time for the cake. Owen's been getting ready for this cake situation for quite some time. He knows how to blow out the candles. And when we told him it was finally and at last, time to have cake, he grabbed me and wanted to sit on my lap, which he did, and they brought in the cake and we all sang Happy Birthday to him and he blew out the candles with great skill and determination. None of those pictures came out, but here he is right after.
He knows how to lick the candles as they come off the cake, too.
He's too young to make a wish so I made one for him.
More. More and more and more.
That was my wish.
And now it's getting on time to Lily's birthday. It was about this time twenty-six years ago that I woke up and lay quietly, feeling that familiar feeling of the uterus beginning it's powerful rhythmic dance. I got up and went outside and sat on the steps and looked up at the stars and knew it had begun. I did not call the midwife or even wake my husband, but waited until I was certain sure.
She was born about five the next afternoon- my shortest labor by far.
I labored in the house and in the yard where Hank and May had built a town in the camellia bushes and played as I walked the perimeter of the yard with Mr. Moon. When it was finally time to deliver her, the midwife and I had to do some fancy steps to get her out. Over ten pounds, that brawny child had her hand up by her head, increasing the difficulty and there was shoulder dystocia but I flipped over to hands and knees and she was born and the midwife had to get her going. It was scary, but then she began to breathe and she was fat and healthy and took to the ninny right away and it was heaven and a miracle and friends were with me and champagne was drunk and pineapple juice and the joy of her cry rang throughout the world or at least, in my heart it did.
The cake is out of the oven. It sits in three pans, tomorrow to be three layers and it is so rich with chocolate and with lemon peel and orange peel, just enough.
It is the season of cakes and of birth and of change of season and of that wavery line which gets so thin at solstice times. The curtain can almost part and glimpses gotten of a woman squatting, of great effort being made, of a woman's face begging for help and I remember that when I finally, finally quit fighting the process and began to chant, "I love you, baby, come on baby, I love you baby, come on baby," she descended and made her way into life.
Sometimes you have to coax that spirit into being not just with blood and muscle and the shifting of bones but with words too.
I don't know.
It worked for me.
Beautiful Lily was born, beautiful Lily has given birth and will do it again.
Good work I did that day, twenty-six years ago.
I hope her cake turns out well. I am so glad she was born. I love her so much, my Lily girl.
I am exhausted. I am beyond tired. I say that and then I think about this day:
Two years ago today.
After a day and a night and another day and another night, our boy was born.
Owen is two today.
And I remember how tired we all were and how ecstatic and exhilarated and proud beyond measure of Lily and of Jason.
And what I can't remember is what life was like before Owen was born.
I've been going back and looking at pictures and I'm stunned. He's changed so much. From baby to boy and of course, he's changing every day.
He was one day old when those pictures were taken.
And since then, he's become such a part of our life and our love that I can't even imagine what it was like before he came.
Pearl and the chickens are in so many pictures I've taken of the boy.
He asked about her again the other day. Sweet old Pearl. She loved that boy. I truly think she stuck around far longer than she should have, just to help take care of him. She always did love a baby more than anything.
So many pictures. Pictures of Owen with everyone in the family. He has given us all more to love, has opened our hearts wider, made life sweeter.
He has made us laugh.
He has made us proud.
Last year on his birthday, he cried, finding himself the center of attention and did not want to eat his cake or wear his hat.
He probably won't want to wear a hat this year, but he may want his cake.
We shall see.
He has made us all so much more than we were.
He's made parents of his mama and daddy.
He's made fools of his grandparents.
He looks like this now:
He is our love, our joy, our boy.
He is two-years old today and this time next year, he'll have a brother or a sister and my god, I can't even imagine.
Happy birthday, Owen.
Happy Birth Day, Lily and Jason.
Owen is two. No wonder I'm exhausted. We're all exhausted. It's been a wonderful, crazy two years.
And thank goodness for nap time.
Thank goodness for love.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Dayum, y'all. What a weekend.
Everyone left out of here last night around two. Two a.m.
Then Freddy and his assistant director and girlfriend, Vanessa Vandy, (just google her, go ahead, yeah, she's an Olympic pole vaulter, among other things) pulled back in this morning at nine fifty. A.M.
They should have just spent the night.
It was really an experience. I got to meet some very interesting people and I helped wherever I could and I did get to play a corpse. It's hard to play a corpse. I mean really hard. When you know you aren't supposed to breathe, all you can think about is breathing. If Freddy has to cut my part, I would not blame him.
Anyway, I've about got the house back in order and Mr. Moon just pulled in from the woods and I am not sure where my weekend went but I keep telling myself it's Sunday and that I really, really need to go water the porch plants.
But before I go, I just have to share this picture:
Dolly and Zeke played the role of two dogs on their way to being supper for vampires. Haha! They were perfect! I think it was the most fun they've had in years. They didn't yip, squirm, or forget their lines. They did not ask for a backstory or motivation. They just played their roles and were not divas and I have sort of forgiven them for all the indoor pooping.
All right. I'm exhausted. But it's good. I feel humbled and impressed and pretty darn content with everything right this second.
And tomorrow Owen turns two. My boy. My two-year old grand boy. How did this happen?
Life is a funny thing. It's sort of like a movie.
Let's try not to be divas. Don't look at the camera. Believe what you're saying. One more take is almost always an option.
That's all I got, sugars.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Last night Mr. Moon drove home in my new car. No, it is not a gold Honda. I think that for right now, the gold Honda streak is over.
This is a silver Toyota Prius.
He got it in trade and he decided to keep it in the family. For awhile. This is how it is in the car biz. Don't get attached to a car because it will one day belong to someone else. Which works out fine for me. I don't get attached to cars. I like cars in that they take me where I need to go (notice I didn't say want to go because we all know I never want to go anywhere) and that they have air conditioning and a radio and a CD player. And a cupholder.
Beyond that- whatever.
But this looks like fun, this toy car which has a strange key which does not look like a key and a power button like a vacuum cleaner or other appliance and is shaped not unlike a tiny little space ship. It's not THAT tiny. I can get two car seats in the back which is good in that I will need to do that before too long. It has plenty of room for groceries and library books. And the garbage for when I take that to the garbage place.
Yeah. I feel like I have my own little space ship. Mr. Moon says it's fun when you're going downhill and the display says that you are getting 99 miles to the gallon and you can't hear the engine running. I wouldn't know yet as I have only driven it in the yard. I suppose I shall find out today as I need to go to town to buy pizzas and birthday presents. Oh boy. I brought in the manual to read but of course I haven't even looked at it. Do I need to read it? Maybe I should give it a lookover, at least.
It's sort of awesome. Now all I need to do is dig up a little white Apple sticker and put it on the back and I'll be a traveling stereotype.
Works for me.
Freddy's going to be filming here tonight. When he won a contest a few months ago he made enough money to buy a new mic and a light. This doubles his equipment as far as I can tell. But the film he's doing now is also a contest and they gave him a theme, which is vampires, and so he is going to film at night. I am proud of that boy. But it's going to be odd to have filming going on at night.
Mr. Moon and Jessie and Lily left out early this morning to go fishing. I did not even get up to say good-bye. I stayed in bed like the slug I am. I baked them brownies to take last night and they only took a very polite small amount with them. I suppose maybe the people who are coming tonight may eat some. I hope so.
When I went out to let the chickens out this morning, I heard a knock-knock-knock above my head and saw bark falling from a tree. Luckily, I had my camera and managed to get this picture:
That, my friends, is a Pileated Woodpecker. Around here we may say pill-e-aited, or we may say, pie-lated. Whichever, they are awesome and huge. I was thrilled to see one, even more so to get her picture. I believe this is a female in that I have read that the male has a red stripe on his face and the female a black one.
Isn't she beautiful?
So then I took a picture of the chickens which was not nearly as impressive.
Elvis is down to about three tail-feathers now. He also looks skinny to me right now. This could be his lack of feathers but it could also be his new duties as husband to so many more sister-wives.
In other nature news around here, the Banana Spider is still hanging in there on the porch, directly above the entrance.
Her web is looking tattered and she was in the way during filming yesterday but the actor who had to pass under her carefully dipped below the web every time he had to come out the front door and off the porch. I appreciated that. A green lizard had gotten caught in her web yesterday and was unable to get out and I freed it and it skittered away without even stopping to say thanks. Those webs are strong. I have no doubt the spider would have eaten the lizard after it had finally stopped struggling and died. Talk about vampires.
One of the lines in the film is, "There are some strange things that live in that house."
I have to agree. And in the yard, too.
Well, I think I will eat an egg sandwich and then go clean out the poop in the hen house and then, eventually, go to town. In my space ship, my silver space ship. I am thinking that if I drive really, really slowly, I may never have to buy gas again.
It's a good theory but I doubt it's true.
And that's the Saturday morning news from the house in Lloyd where strange things live.
Friday, September 23, 2011
I have a terrible, horrible habit of assuming for no reason whatsoever that everyone I meet, if they seem reasonably intelligent, feels the same way I do about things.
Which would be oh, you know- politics, religion, the basics.
And it can be a mistake to think that way. A grave mistake.
No, I didn't make any major faux pas today but boy, I could have. It's so odd to have a group of people, many of them complete strangers, in my house. It's stressful, I have to tell you. First off, my damn dogs keep shitting in the house which is not only embarrassing, but it stinks. Damn fucking dogs. I mean, really. Really? Really.
Secondly, I feel like I have to apologize for everything. The stink, the dogs, the traffic in Lloyd when there's filming going on outside,
the electrical outlets which are non-functioning...you name it, I'm apologizing for it.
And it's also stressful because I'm afraid I might say or do something that would offend someone. I'm not as bad about this as I used to be but I'm still pretty worried about it. Luckily, there was a fifteen-year old girl here and so I kept my profane mouth in check for the most part which I was glad of later when one of the actors, a gentleman approximately my age, said that he dislikes profanity.
I did tell him that I love profanity and use it as much as possible but I hadn't actually been DOING that so it didn't seem as bad somehow. And he probably thought that I dislike profanity too, being surrounded in my house by about fifty images of the Virgin in every room. It's so easy to make assumptions. I could completely understand how someone could make quite a few about me from all those Virgins and also the little kid toys and the dog shit and the industrial-sized bottle of Tito's vodka in the kitchen, not to mention the chickens on the porch.
I am not sure what those assumptions would be, but there could BE some assumptions made.
The father of the fifteen year old stayed around for awhile to make sure his daughter wasn't in the hands of axe murders and child pornographers, I suppose, and then he took off to go to a meeting so I assume he assumed we were all right and that she would be relatively safe here. Then I came to find out that he's the husband of a fairly famous writer and now I'm REALLY wondering what he thought of my house and oh, boy. I don't know that I really care, but I do wonder.
But it was a pretty good day. I haven't been a corpse yet. That'll be tomorrow. Or Sunday. Two of the actors were talking and they had never worked with Freddy. They were asking why he did this and why he did that and I said, "Look. I've learned two things about Freddy. One, he is always behind schedule. Two, don't bother to question what he's doing. He always works it out."
And he does.
And whenever I'd get tense today, I'd just remember that and also remember that it's not my fault that there's traffic in Lloyd and I am not the center of the universe and I am just lending my house for this effort and no, it's not a perfect house in any way, but Freddy will use it beautifully and it will work out. I have faith in that. And having faith in that, I can just step back and go collect eggs or hang out and hold something or do whatever it is that needs doing and it's all okay. It's even sort of funny when Freddy says, "Quiet on the set!" and the dogs start barking frantically.
Probably not to Freddy but sort of to me.
When they left today they were on their way to film at the animal shelter and I begged Freddy to take the dogs with him. He refused. So if they shit and bark tomorrow it is HIS FAULT!
And I guess that's all I have to say about that. And I will try for two more days to not assume that people think like me or believe as I do and I will keep my mouth as clean as possible and I will also do the best job I can do pretending I am dead. I did pretend I was dead in Disconnected, but my head was down on a table and so my eyes were not involved.
We'll see. Freddy's a good director and he'll help me be a corpse. I don't just assume that, I have faith in it.
And once again, life has pulled me out of my despair and set me relatively to rights as I assumed it would, or at least distracted me enough for me to get my head out of my ass.
And then has nothing to do with anything but if Rick Santorum and the people who booed the soldier in the video here ever cross my path, you may have perfect faith that I will gladly inform them that they are not even remotely reasonably intelligent. If I was Rick Santorum's mother, I would whip his ass with a hairbrush and cut him out of my will. And those homophobic assholes who cheered him when he made that insane little speech should be ashamed of themselves.
Okay. That's all.
Have a good Friday night, y'all.