Another perfectly beautiful day. I took that picture on my way home from my walk. It's the church next door where they are gathering, as we speak, for the Friday service. I guess it's a service. It could just be a musical type of rehearsal because I always hear drums and voices. I hasten to assure you that the church is not crooked- that was just my camera angle.
The oak tree you see in the back is actually growing in my back yard. As I have said before, the lot we own is weirdly shaped. It's like a T with the arms outstretched behind us. We own the land behind the church and the house next door to the east of us. Supposedly, the man who built this house wanted to have as much property on the railroad tracks as possible because that was the big, new technology and...well. I have no idea. I have lived quite close to railroad tracks several times in my life. In Roseland, the tracks went a little ways through the woods by our house and I lived in an apartment in Tallahassee which was even closer to the train. And now, we are even closer than that and the trains do still run several times a day but even though they shake the house a little, we hardly notice them and they never wake us up at night.
Funny how the brain can learn what is important to pay attention to and what it is appropriate to simply ignore.
Once again I peeked into the My G-word Soul Boutique when I went to the post office today, expecting great activity due to tomorrow's much-heralded (on the two, now-curling, bright hot pink poster boards displayed on power poles) opening, but was quite shocked to see that nothing much seems to have changed. In fact, the shelves are almost entirely empty! WTF?
Even the little pots of succulents which were set on the window sills months ago seem to be dying. This does not bode well, does it? There was a table set up with what appeared to be a few possibly vintage serving dishes in front of one of the windows and another table with a large display of previously mentioned essential oils in their tiny bottles. Those have definitely been there long enough to collect dust. So I do not know what is happening. I will go and check out the situation tomorrow afternoon and see what there is to see.
I am curious, of course, and in some strange, indescribable way, this all seems like such a Lloyd thing.
I spent the day doing mostly what I said I would do yesterday. I took that walk, I potted up the dear carnation slips and repotted a small begonia. I washed the sheets and hung them on the line. I weeded a tiny bit in the garden and then didn't do a bit of yard work except to pull a few vines that were choking my wild azalea and collecting fallen branches and limbs and trundling them to the burn pile. I talked to Mr. Moon for quite a while on the phone. He is so happy being outside for sunrise and sunset, hanging out with guys and dogs. I love hearing that joy in his voice and I love that he wants to share that with me. He has sent me pictures of bison and a moose couple, the dogs, and some truly beautiful landscapes like this one.
I reassure him that all is well here and it truly is.
I sat down at the piano this afternoon for a little while and oh my god, my fingers, my brain are so uncoordinated and I play so very slowly, trying to just get the notes and chords right so that I can feel that harmonic sweetness reverberate in me and although I would die before I let anyone hear me, it makes me so happy to have this little bit of wonder in my life.
Being alone allows me so much time to think my own thoughts, to pass my days within my own schedule. I think I am a very selfish old woman in some respects. For the past few days I have been listening to a book that our beloved poet and musician and baker and worshipper of the animal gods, Rebecca, recommended to me.
You know how I always judge an actor by whether or not I can see them acting?
Jean Hanff Korelitz cannot be seen writing. It's as if the story just organically sprang from the ether. It is tight, the characters are fully and fascinatingly developed, and I only have two more hours of listening to go which makes me incredibly sad. Thank you, Rebecca.
We agreed that bread is the best thing ever, whether made into bruschetta, biscuits, focaccia or...sourdough.
"That's the best. The kind that you make," he said.
I need to learn to make bagels and finish listening to my book, play some more piano however badly, sleep on my clean line-dried sheets, and of course go to the opening of My G-Word Soul Boutique.
Happy Friday, y'all.