The Afterlife Is A Vague Concept But This Is Very Real

 The rain, the rain and all day the rain and after days of this, I am not tired of it. It is blessing of water from sky. It is still miracle of life, freely falling. The very sound of it comforts and thrills me, both at the same time, and it makes me sleepy and allows me to move slowly, with purpose, no hurry at all. It softens the air, the edges, the intent and...it smells really, really good.

It smells good in my house, too, because I have a chunk of venison roast in the crock pot with onions and garlic and ginger and soy along with carrots and a few of the last potatoes from the garden. I will miss that plastic bin of dirty potatoes in the mud room. Well, we will grow more next year.

After I walked and showered and got the crock pot set up this morning I put the mandola back into the car as well as two dozen eggs and drove to Lily's where I transferred everything to her mommy van. I sit in the back seat with the boys when I go places with them so that I can give Gibson some attention or a bottle if he needs one or the other and also so that I can be the beneficiary of his smiles and earnest conversations. I answer Owen's questions and listen to his comments and sometimes, if the mood takes him, he grabs my arm and hugs it to him. I feel so grateful that I am agile enough to squeeze between the front seat and Owen's car seat to get into that middle seat. Grateful to be able to get out, as well. This is the difference between being young and not-so-young- you have to THINK about things like that. How do I do this? Which foot should I lead with? What part of me is strongest, which is weakest? What hurts the most and what hurts the least and how do I compensate?

Let me tell you- life can beat up a body. Beat it up good and I notice now how older people dance with their pain, their old injuries, their weaknesses as they walk, as they move. I notice because I do it too.

BUT, I can crawl into the back seat and I can sit between my boys and they were in a fine mood this morning. We went by the string-instrument place and I dropped off the mandola and then we went and picked up Hank and I gave him a dozen eggs and we drove to the Mockingbird Cafe where May works  and I gave her a dozen eggs too and we sat at a table and passed Gibson around like a party favor.

Babies love Hank. That is all there is to it, and Gibson is no different in his opinion.

When he fussed, we would pass him back to his mother who can always make him happy.

Owen was as good a boy today as I have ever seen him. I gave him an old small journal to write in and May lent him one of her many, many pocketed pens. He was happy with his book, his drawing, and he told us stories and he ordered his food and he used his manners and he was patient and every time May walked by the table, his eyes got smiles in them.

When she was out of his sight he would look anxiously around and ask, "Where May?" and we would say, "She's working," and he would say, "Oh, oh. Sure," and then she'd come around again and kiss him and he would be happy. 

She let him help her some, ringing up checks and getting drinks. 

It was SUCH a good lunch. And the food was delicious too.

We dropped Hank off after lunch and then I went home with Lily and the boys and she had to go to work and I stayed for just a tiny while before The Papa came home. 

It almost breaks my heart with happiness to see the way Lily and Jason parent their boys. To see the love and the hugs and the joy and the casualness and the patience. It is such a beautiful thing. 

And all of that is reflected in those boys, the way they too, give love and hugs and kisses and squeezes and laugh so much. 

I reluctantly gave up the squishy bundle of Gibson to his father and came home, stopping by the Costco to stock up on olive oil and get salad greens and tomatoes and lemons and red and yellow and orange peppers. I drove home through the rain. I came home in the rain, it is raining still and I put everything away and took off my town clothes and now I am sitting here, doing this, being so grateful for this rain, and the meat and carrots and potatoes are cooking and Mr. Moon should be home tonight from Georgia and tomorrow we may go on a train ride with those grandsons of ours and their mother. 

I am tired, my hips hurt, it is okay, it is Friday, tomorrow I will not walk but let things settle back down and rest. It is cool from the rain, no need for the air conditioning, I collected three eggs- one green, two brown- I have noted another blossom on the passion flower vine, I think I will make a loaf of oat-flour quick bread, I will make a salad, I will make lemon vinaigrette, I may have a martini, just myself, I may sit on the porch swing if the mosquitoes let me, the banana spiders and  hanging mermaid my company, sip that silver drink, wait for that man to come home, think of my babies who are my riches, study the immense live oak before me, listen to the sound of tires on wet pavement as Friday night cars drive by, be quiet in my soul, or at least not one bit louder than the sound of the rain, dripping now from leaf to ground which is no longer thirsty but taking it all in to feed the ancient oaks here where I live, so very, very fortunately, in Lloyd.