Recently he's learned how good it feels to have his back scratched and I love to scratch it for him. He does that thing that we all do when someone scratches our back, which is to bend our shoulders forward to make as much scratching surface as possible. I've always said that we have no idea how itchy our backs are until someone scratches them for us. Sometimes I wish we were still more like our ape-cousins, spending hours each day bent over each other, grooming and picking and scratching. Of course we are far too civilized for that but who of us does not love the feel of having our hair washed when we go to get it cut, the warm water, the fingers of the person attending us as they rub in the shampoo and massage our heads, or having our legs and feet rubbed at the nail salon when we get a pedicure?
I give you this, although I believe I have given it to you before. It is well worth watching more than once.
A sort of quiet ecstasy.
We passed August around and even Gibson asked to hold him and I helped him to do that. I keep thinking of Vergil saying, "This family sure does love babies."
Oh. We really do.
Jessie and I went and did a little shopping after we finally left the restaurant. We went to Tuesday Morning which is just a treasure box of everything a person might want from luxurious towels to pillows to quilts to chocolates to toys to lamps to rugs to pots and pans and napkins and wrapping paper and dishes and shower curtains and candles and silly useless shit that no one needs. Jessie bought a rug and a baby toy and I bought some puzzles and science experiment kits and activity books for the boys' stay with me this weekend. Also, four new bowls, made in Portugal.
Such a good deal.
So here I am and I'm going to make some sort of fresh tomato sauce for pasta with kale from the garden and I haven't seen Maurice which worries the hell out of me. I know. I KNOW. She always comes back. But I have to worry about something. It's as if I am afraid that the gods will hear me if I talk too much about my blessings and then curse me with their jealous powers. I will never forget reading "The Good Earth" by Pearl S. Buck when I was young and being struck by her description of how, after a baby was born, people would say derogatory things about the baby so that the gods would not smote the baby.
May there be no smoting or smiting for any of us.