Good, good day. Owen was just a fine boy. Full of loving kisses and he even brushed my hair! What heaven! Okay, it was pretty brief brushing, but still...
It rained for a good part of the day but we did go outside for awhile to let the chickens out and Owen wanted to jump in the mud puddles and so of course I let him. Hell, I let him do almost anything. For instance- this is what he ate at my house today: The cheese toast he brought with him, two pieces of dark chocolate, a little bit of Chex Mix and about a pint of cherry tomatoes. Yes, I believe in a balanced diet. I'm just not sure what the time frame for that balancing is. A meal? A day? A week? A lifetime?
Shit. It all works out in the end.
So today, just like every day when I know that Mr. Moon is going to be out of town, I think that I'll probably get down to it and write the Great American Novel while he's gone. I was going to get a good chunk of that done between the time Owen left (about 3:30 this afternoon) and bedtime, but I am now thinking that might not happen.
Oops! I didn't do it AGAIN! to misquote Brittney Spears. Or however you spell her name.
I did, however, talk to some people on the phone, including my elderly neighbor who is quite worried about what is going to happen with the corner store which has been closed and up for sale for some time now. She is deathly afraid that someone is going to buy that property for the tax money and then do something there which will NOT be good for the community.
Frankly, unless someone were to put up a Crack Boutique, I don't know what could be so bad.
Right now it's just a very, very ugly falling-in piece of crap concrete building. I would welcome a branch library or a coffee shop or a nice little juke joint or even a church for that matter, but there are already more churches within a five-mile radius of here than there are house cats and I am not kidding you.
I, of course, have fantasies of opening a lovely little funky place that sells produce, fresh eggs, milk/beer/ice, coffee, yummy sandwiches, take-home-and-bake casseroles, used books, cookies, muffins, Kathleen's homemade soaps and my homemade soups, sweet potato pies, pecan pies and black-bottom pies. Also a line of fine writing instruments and stationery, not to mention tomato and pepper plants, onion sets, herbs to grow, organic composted chicken manure, as well as camellias and native azaleas in pots. Maybe a nice little selection of kitschy handmade aprons and Apple computers. And okay, yes, fresh seafood in season and beautiful jewelry and maybe homemade fudge and pralines. And of course, locally brewed microbeers and artisan breads. And plenty of fresh chevre. Uh-huh. Can't beat a good fresh chevre and it would be so popular here in Lloyd.
But you know- who DOESN'T have that same fantasy?
Mr. Lawrence, the man whom we all loved who used to run the store there, kept a shotgun behind the counter and everyone knew it. He was the gentlest gentleman you'll ever meet but he just got burned out. He probably lost his life income there and I could do the same. We'd make dollars and dollars and lose tens of thousands.
But anyway, back to the phone calls. I told our neighbor that I really didn't think I could do anything about the situation and that's just the truth. I don't have time for such fantasies and neither does anyone else I know. I talked to Judy about a few things and then Miss Beverly came by to see if she could use the phone because she couldn't find an address she was looking for and then I took the trash and went to the post office and collected the eggs and watered the plants and finished some laundry and cleaned up the kitchen and well...there's your Great American Novel right there.
I have thought a lot about the sex thing. Okay, not The Sex thing but you know. And I want to assure everyone that if I did write about sex, it would not be about what I personally do or do not do in bed. Believe me. Although- why would I even say that? Is that not part of it?
Not on this blog, most likely. (Or, you can bet your damn boots, to be more accurate.)
And maybe I should just write the damn Great American Novel and have lots of sex in it and there you go.
In the meantime, do not expect this space to become Call Me Madam, The Penthouse Forum or even Nurse Mary's Good Sex Advice Column. Okay? I do think it's funny though that I am fearless when it comes to discussing religion and politics but that I am hesitant to address sex.
Just goes to show that maybe there's a need for this sort of thing.
Just like there's a need for a place to buy fresh chevre in Lloyd, Florida.
I crack me up.
I think I'll go make supper, y'all. And then eat it, clean up and go to bed. Owen's coming back tomorrow and I have a performance tomorrow night.
But maybe I'll find time to start that Great American Novel in there somewhere. It could happen. In the sense that Keith Richards could drop by to have a drink and play me some blues.
In the meantime, love from Lloyd.
Yours truly...Nurse Mary Who Knows Good Sex When She Has It
(And just saying that makes me feel so reckless and bold.)