I did not want to get out of bed this morning. I seriously considered just not doing it but I suppose that I have enough of my grandfather's puritanism in me that I simply cannot lay abed all day so I got up, and felt guilty about the late hour.
I discovered that not only was my husband up (of course) but that he and Vergil were already working on the electrical problem in the old kitchen. I gave them a vague good-morning and went and got my coffee. I love my new Yeti coffee mug. It will keep a cup of coffee hot for hours. I am a coffee-sipper. Lis and Mr. Moon tease me and Lon because we pour little half cups of coffee but I think we do that because that way we can drink it before it gets cold and then refill from the pot where it is still hot. With the Yeti, I can just sip away on the same cup for a good long time, sitting here on the back porch, checking my emails and reading blogs and watching birds.
After a string of texts from the regular family group, it was decided that Gibson's party will be postponed until next weekend. Too many of us are not feeling quite well and we do not want to get the others sick. I honestly think that I have done the same thing that Jessie and August have done which is to catch overlapping viruses. I covid-tested again today and again, I was negative. I swear, I almost wish it had been positive because at least I'd have an explanation for why I'm still sick. August is still coughing too and you can hear the congestion in my head when I talk.
But since I figured that I already have/had what the Weatherfords have/had, I invited Jessie and the boys to come and hang out while the fellas were working and they did. The boys and I read some books and because the men had the electricity off, I could not heat up leftovers for our lunch, Jessie took orders and went to the Hilltop to get us all tasty foods. Levon wanted a peanut butter and raisin and honey sandwich so I made him one and proclaimed it to be the best sandwich I'd ever made. He took a bite, said, "Yum! Thank you for making me this delicious sandwich!" We were all happy with what we'd ordered and got our six-months' fill of tasty fried foods. Actually, I got a chicken salad sub but the only way it could have had more fat in it is if they'd deep fried it, which, thankfully they do not. That is an idea I should ponder though. Sounds like something that Americans would eat.
The boys did a dance for their mama and me to a song appropriately about dancing. They themselves had changed the words to include something like, "Pull down your pee-pee pants" and then they sang me a few more ditties they'd learned from a cousin which included a great deal of potty humor. Why is it that kids develop and hone their senses of humor on butts and farts, pee and poop? I do not know but I do know that if my siblings and I had tried that, we would have been shut down like a Waffle House in the direct path of a Category 5 hurricane. It truly was as if the nether regions did not exist in my house when I was a child. The words that were used for human waste were so absolutely cutified that to this day I cannot bear repeating them nor will I. I think that asses were perhaps called "bottoms" and if we had genitals, they were not mentioned. I knew that my brother had something I did not but what I had seemed, well, like nothing. An absence although of course, things did happen down there. There was no farting in public. None. The first time I ever heard another human being pass gas was when a woman friend of my mother's was standing by a window watching a horse outside. I have no idea where we were but she did indeed fart and loudly, too. Up until that point I was fairly sure that I was the only person in the world who did such a disgusting thing but I must have learned to suppress the sound when I did before I was done potty training. I was exquisitely embarrassed for this woman, whom I recall was a nurse, and someone I highly regarded. But she said, "Excuse me," as if it were nothing and went on with her life whereas here I am over sixty years later, still remembering.
So when my grandchildren glorify their farts and sing songs about pee-pee pants, I love it! They are comfortable with their bodies and their functions. They know all the parts and they also know that some of those parts are not to be touched by anyone other than their parents or a doctor or nurse and only then in extreme circumstances in which they MUST be touched.
This sort of mindset and information might have prevented me from a great deal of pain and confusion when my stepfather moved into our house. When he began molesting me I didn't even know that women had periods and when I finally worked up the courage to ask my mother what "sanitary napkins" were (there was a coin-operated dispenser at the bowling alley in the ladies' room) she hemmed and hawed and sort of made me think that perhaps women had a wound that opened up inside of them monthly which required bandaging.
And yet, oddly enough, I knew what sexual intercourse was because some of my classmates obviously came from homes where privacy was not valued who knew all about it and enlightened all of us on the very basics but it was still incredibly mysterious.
Oh, there is so much more I could say about this and perhaps I will one day. Suffice it to say, I honestly and earnestly believe that explaining things to children on a level they can understand is not only a good thing, it is necessary. And it's not always easy to talk to kids about these things but a parent's job is NOT easy nor is it supposed to be. The fantasy that if we do not talk about bodies, our children will somehow magically not use their own in ways that, as mammals, as animals, as HUMANS, we are all bound to do.
Until the sacred and blessed marital bed has been reached by the path of honorable and legal blessings, of course.
And it need not even be mentioned that the two people IN that bed will be a MAN and a WOMAN as ordained by GOD according to their genitals.
And here in Florida, we certainly do not want to discuss any alternative to that scenario just as we do not want to discuss any history which may make specific people (white people) uncomfortable, or angry (people of color).
Y'all. I'm about to give up on the human race. Not only are we a racist, cruel, tribal, selfish, violent, ignorant, and power-mad species, we celebrate those traits and pass laws to protect those of us who act in those ways. Not to mention how many religions we have created to rationalize our cruelty, our ignorance.
When I read this article today, something in me just broke.
Of course humans are capable of amazing things. Art and literature, great empathy and kindness, philanthropy, braveness, open-mindedness, curiosity, and general, pure magnificence. But my god! Over my lifetime I have seen very little progress being made towards this end of the balance beam and when I have, it always seems that something from the evil and ignorant side plops themselves down to negate the weight of the good.
Meanwhile, I'm just here and I'm going to be grateful for every evidence of kindness and decency and pure joy and love and light I can find.
And I shall delight in children, innocent and yet aware, dancing happily to songs about pee-pee pants and laughing at jokes about farts and butts.
But that doesn't mean I am not horrified and sickened by what's going on in the world.
Because I am. Always have been, always will be. And somehow, I am still amazed and dumbstruck at it all.
That's it from me tonight.