I have a kitchen full of dishes but so what? I have all day to do them if I want. All day to do whatever it is I want. I can just sit outside for an entire lazy afternoon and watch the teenbaby chicks scratching in the dirt if that's what I want to do. I let them out today and they're just having a good time, doing what chickens do.
The people who came over this morning are our neighbors on Dog Island. Well, they live there part time. The wife of this couple is a Big Deal at a university in South Carolina and honestly, I hardly know her, but somehow I feel as if we grew up together. Like she already knows all my secrets and I know hers even though of course we don't. But that's just a detail, you know?
The man, her husband, is named Roger Leonard and he's a very, very fine artist. Here's his website.
And they came over this morning not just for breakfast, but to complete a deal. They needed a new vehicle for the island and had gone to Mr. Moon to help them find one. And Mr. Moon had been longing and lusting after a painting that Roger had done which has our house on the island in it. And so, Mr. Moon did something I never thought he'd do. He fixed up his old, beloved Suburban and he traded that to Roger for the painting.
You know, you can be married to someone for twenty-eight years and never be able to predict something like that happening. And yet- Roger drove off in the Suburban a few minutes ago and his painting is now on our wall. Not in the place it needs to be hung. We have to figure that out. But it's there, it's on our wall, and I am amazed.
Mr. Moon cried a little bit when Roger drove off. Don't tell him I told you that.
And I cried when Roger brought his painting in. For some damn reason, every time I see one of Roger's paintings, I cry. I can't help it. Is this the definition of art?
Maybe for me it is.
You can't tell from the picture but it's a very large painting. I think it's called Moon Rise and you can see the moon there, and it's the Moon house, you know, and well...it's perfect.
There's the little house, tucked over there in the corner, hidden in the dunes and pines. Just like it really is.
It is so beautiful to me. I can't believe it's hanging in this house.
And I can't believe Mr. Moon made it happen. That Suburban meant a lot to my husband. He loves cars and trucks and he's loved this one for a long, long time. I can't tell you how many trips to the coast we've driven in that thing with the kids, hauling the boat.
And before he gave it over to Roger, he went over it with a fine-toothed comb. That old truck is in better shape than it's ever been. All the windows work, the CD player works, the engine's running smooth, the AC is pumping cold air. It'll have to be barged over to the island and then it'll be there and we'll see it every time we go over. So it's not really gone. And Roger insisted that we keep a set of keys so that if our Jeep over there has a problem, we can use the Suburban. That's sort of how Dog Island works. People share and step up and help each other. You have to. You want to.
So. What a morning. Pancakes and eggs and sausage outside in the glory with good friends and a trade that makes everyone very, very happy. Roger's got his truck and we've got a piece of beautiful art we can look at any time of a place we love so much. Sky and dunes and birds and the moon. The water and the pines and a little yellow house, all painted true.
And me here now, in the peace and quite, the doors open to the day, my world framed in green and light. I might just get those dishes washed and go take a nap. And then get up and go watched the chickens because they'll still be scratching.
Life in Lloyd today. It's very, very good.