Valentine's Day and that was sitting by my plate this morning when I served our breakfast on the porch. It's another perfectly gorgeous day and bright and blue and light-shot and my lover is cleaning up the kitchen and all is well, is well, is well, and I am so filled with anxiety that I'm vibrating.
So, I tell myself as I tell others, anxiety is a lying bitch, and then, to myself and myself only I say, get on with it, just please do.
I will. I know I will. But fuck.
Rusty's still in the tree and Lily got in touch with the Chaires Fire Department and they said, "Nah, he'll come down," and Jessie sent me a video of August bouncing in a bouncy thing, grinning and bouncing, my heart filling with the sweetness, despite, and I am going to make chocolate truffles for my Valentine and he's going to till the garden for the potatoes and I haven't done laundry in two days so there is that and my stomach hurts and my mouth is dry and I am not thinking properly, which perhaps goes without saying when anxiety is involved.
Orange cat walks through the border grass jungle, chickens flock from one part of the yard to another, springsap rises and swells limb buds, I am here, I am not here, I am there, I do not know where that is, exactly, and Happy Valentine's Day and it'll all be okay.
Well, Rusty is still not down from the tree although Jason and Mr. Moon worked through most of the afternoon to try and get him down. They finally managed to get a rope thrown over the branch next to the cat and via that, hoisted up a bin with tuna in it (an entire can) which is tied off and waiting for him to jump in to be lowered down.
So far though, he has not taken the bait. He is meowing and I know he doesn't want to spend another night in the tree but how do you communicate instructions to a cat who is up a tree and probably terrified? We feel certain that a coyote or something of that ilk must have chased him up there or he would never have climbed that far.
Lily and Magnolia and Lily's friend Edie went off and ran errands for awhile and Owen and Gibson and Edie's son played in the back of Mr. Moon's truck for at least an hour. Maybe more. They found straps to "fish" with and made up games and stories and pretends. I love it when kids do that.
Gibson didn't want his picture taken. So. Fine.
And that's the news. I went out and picked some greens for salad and two of the first beautiful carrots.
Last night we had a walk-around with our martini and as usual, bemoaned the lack of sunlight on the garden due to all the trees but we ended up saying that all-in-all, the winter garden is the best and it gets enough sun and that's worth it all in the end. The trees lose their leaves in the winter which gives the garden a few more hours of light than it gets in the summer and greens just do well here and now I know that carrots do too.
Beets- not so much.
Oh well. Mr. Moon hates beets anyway.
Well, I see that Justice Scalia has died and I'm a horrible person because I am grateful for the fact that Obama can nominate and seat a less conservative judge.
So be it. At least I admit it.
But I have to say that anyone who believes that the Constitution should be strictly interpreted from the Founders' point of view has to have a few problems with logic. I mean, they wrote a good document...for the times. They couldn't possibly have imagined a world like the one we live in now. They were rebels and liberals and crazy idealists for the most part and I doubt they would have sided with the likes of Scalia now anyway but hey! That's just one woman's personal opinion and let's face it- I am no constitutional scholar.
But I am sorry for Scalia's family and that goes without saying but I'll say it anyway.
I hope Rusty gets in the bin. It's going to get cold tonight and I honestly don't know what else can be done to get him down. He sure can't jump that distance. I mean, he could, but I don't think it would be a happy ending.
Once again I blame the cat for keeping me in bed. I mean...could YOU get out of a bed with that going on? And darn that cat! She's started throwing herself against the window to gain entrance to the inside again instead of going around the house and entering the cat door.
Cats are not stupid. Why go those extra steps when a stumbling, bumbling half-awake human will get up and open the door?
Saturday. It's another gorgeous day here in Lloyd. Mick is crowing and we just finished our breakfast and guess what? The simmer mat mystery has finally been solved!
Last week when I was cooking bacon and making pancakes I dropped not one but two forks down the crack between the stove and the counter top.
I had never dropped a fork down there in my life but on that day, it happened twice. For some reason, my supply of full-sized forks had already shrunk to almost nothing so the loss of two was extreme. I have about fifty salad-forks (and don't ask me why- I have no idea) and if dinner involved more than five, someone was going to be eating with one of those.
Now we can only have three adults at table, I guess.
So I got out the flashlight this morning when I was cooking our breakfast and looked down the crack and yes, you can see the forks and then Mr. Moon pulled out the drawer at the bottom of the stove and through the horrible mess of grossness under there, spied a simmer mat as well as the forks.
And no, he could not get to them. So this means that we'll have to pull the stove out eventually, I guess.
Speaking of cats and missing items which are difficult to retrieve, do you remember Rusty, the feral cat I rescued a few years ago? That darling little puff of orange?
Well, he has been Lily's pet ever since and has spent most of his life either hunting lizards in the windows or lying on the bed but recently, he's decided to explore the great outdoors.
This morning Mr. Moon got a text from Jason asking if he had a sixty-foot ladder.
"No," Mr. Moon texted back. "Why?"
Here's why.
Can you see the cat? No branches, no nothing until you get up to the point where the cat is perched, terrified to try and make it down. Lily's not even sure how long he's been up there. A day?
Ooh boy.
Family crisis.
Of course I've researched this problem on the internet and either cats always finally come down or else they don't. Also, don't let your father try to shoot the branch the cat is on to make it fall. This leads to certain cat-death. Jessie has suggested that since Owen has his cast off, we could put a harness on him and let him monkey up the tree.
I'm pretty sure she's not serious.
Well, Mr. Moon may pack up the longest ladder he has. This could be fun. I think I'll go with him. I got the boys a little Valentine's treat anyway. And I haven't seen Magnolia in two days. So.
I've been in a sort of fog all day despite the clear blue sky, the warm temperatures. I wandered around Tallahassee, trying to do errands and everything felt as if I was walking through something the consistency of hand sanitizer. It looks clear...
You're not going to believe this. I turned the Amy Pohler memoir in again.
Yes. I did. True confessions. I have no idea how I did this. I had a bag with the items I was returning to the library and somehow, I just suppose I threw that one in there.
So now I'm going to get an e-mail that I've returned an audio book with disc 4 missing. I'd finished disc three.
I give up.
But, on the plus side, I checked out Burt Reynold's memoir on audio and have started listening to that in the car.
Look- say what you will about Burt- he rocked.
I have always said that as an actor he was completely underrated because he was so damn handsome.
Women went crazy. Finally- a man posing for women's pleasure instead of the other way around.
But. His acting was amazing, even if he did make a few less-than-wise decisions about what movies to make. I loved the fact that in his movies and his TV shows, he brought along his friends who were often themselves completely underrated actors. He was loyal, he was darling, he was self-deprecating, he was funny as hell.
He was talented.
So I'm listening to this book and he sounds so old and he talks a lot about his daddy whom he loved so very, very much who never once said, "I love you," or "I'm proud of you," but who, in fact, never let him forget that acting was not a real job. Who whipped (beat?) him as a child.
There is something so horribly heart-rending, hearing this old man voice talk about what a great man his daddy was and how he never could make him happy or proud of him.
Let me just say that no matter what a person accomplishes in life, if he or she does not hear some affirmation from their parent, it is hard, if not impossible, to believe in oneself.
Ever.
Somehow, I had the fortune to grow up in a time when The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, and yes, Burt Reynolds were doing what they did. All of it helped shape who I was, who I am.
I came home from town today to find that the wind had opened my garden gate, allowing my hens to peck and scratch down the rows of my winter greens.
I have no idea how all of this is related, but it is.
Be well, y'all. Ride the tides and waves of current events as they happen. There is no stopping it.
Some days, as we all know, are just difficult.
La-di-fucking-dah.
I was scrolling through Facebook, as we do, and found this.
Keith Richards in Argentina, playing Street Fighting Man.
If that 72-year old man can bare his scrawny old man arms and keep doing what he was put here on earth to do, I suppose I can cowgirl up, cupcake, and get on with it myself.
Oh my goodness. What a day! And it was so fun.
We did actually go to a mall. Although May has found her wedding dress (and it is a glory), Jessie and Lily have yet to find their bridesmaid's dresses and of course, I haven't found a mother-of-the-bride dress. So, off to the mall we went.
We had no luck whatsoever but we had fun. Big fun.
I kept pointing at totally inappropriate garments and saying, "Mother of the bride?"
They groaned and made rude comments and when I pointed to a pink faux-suede number with fringe and asked, "Mother of the bride?" Lily said, "If your daughter is Pocahontas!"
Heh-heh. I totally set her up for that one.
After the mall we went to the restaurant on the north side of town where May is working as a server. The restaurant she was managing is closed for restoration.
Not repairs- restoration. That cafe was in an old historical building and it had to be done.
Anyway, we met our darling Liz Sparks there who had not yet met Maggie and it was another glorious baby-passing lunch. The temperature had risen dramatically from the twenty-something it was when I got up to the seventies by lunch time.
Oh, North Florida!
So we got to eat outside. Salads and delicious pizza and the babies got mama-milk. Which made them happy.
August is showing more and more interest in what his mother is eating and in a few months, he'll be trying new foods. No teeth yet for that boy but they will start poking through soon. He has discovered his tongue lately and cannot keep it in his mouth.
Now the truly funny thing about this is that JESSIE DID THE SAME THING WHEN SHE WAS A BABY! I called her my lizard baby and it got to the point where I was a bit concerned. She has an extremely long tongue but she has learned to keep it mostly in her mouth.
Who knew that sticking one's tongue out was a genetically controlled behavior? It all is. I swear to god. But August looks so damn cute with his tongue stuck out that we just laugh which makes him laugh. He is such a jolly baby.
And Magnolia is learning to smile and she seems most likely to do this when her diaper is changed. The little woman-baby loves to feel the air on her tushy.
So that was a lovely time and then we went to a baby-consignment shop and I bought the littles a few outfits, including a pair of overalls for August. Dude needed some overalls.
And THEN we went to the nursery for trees to plant over placentas, by which time we were all exhausted and my feet hurt from my boots which has never happened and we walked around for a bit and realized that to buy trees, we might actually need a vehicle bigger than my Prius although Jessie did buy a small Gingko tree. And I got some purple seed potatoes and some Thai basil seeds and some cilantro seeds. Jessie also bought some seeds and kept saying, "I just feel like I need to plant things!" and Lily kept saying, "I just don't feel that at all," but I told her that the planting gene would indeed kick in eventually.
I could be wrong about that. She may not have it at all, and if that's true, well, then she can get vegetables from those of us who do.
And that was our day and now the sopa de lima is simmering and I need to crisp up some tortilla strips to put in the soup and honestly, I couldn't be happier.
So it goes, so it goes, so it went.
And so it is.
A very happy day and once again, I am so grateful that my children live nearby and that I can be a part of their lives, of their children's lives.
When I dropped Lily and Magnolia off at home, I kissed and hugged the boys and told them I loved them and they told me they loved me too although they were a bit distracted by some new toys.
And hell- we have an entire MONTH to buy dresses for the wedding.
That's the first time I ever used that word, I believe, but it seems appropriate.
Translation: Not worth the effort.
Another thing about aging I do not like:
Snoring. Mr. Moon woke me up last night and said, "Honey. I've never heard you snore that loud. Are you okay?"
And I was just dreaming away...
Who says the romance has to end?
Middle of the night excitement:
Maurice jumped off the bed and attacked another cat who was coming in the cat door. Jack? Luna? I do not know. But she soon came back to bed and cuddled back in, her work done, our home safe and sound and protected from our other pets.
Weather:
Cold as fucking fuck.
Plan for the day:
Doing something with Lily and Jessie. Maybe we're going to the mall? A plant nursery? I don't know. I don't care. It'll be better than ironing sheets and I'll get to play with babies.
Supper plan:
Sopa de lima.
There you have it. A complete report.
I'm positively trembling with the excitement of it all.
I am getting old. How do I know this? Just let me tell you.
First off, after a walk and doing a little light yard work today, my hips feel like they're made of hot iron. My shoulders ache too. This is a new thing. Aching shoulders. What's up with that?
Age. Muthafuckin' age. That's what.
My knees don't feel that good either.
My mind is going. Yesterday I went to the library to return an audio book that I just couldn't listen to. A new Anne Rice about the Vampire Lestat. Now I liked old Lestat when Anne first started writing about him but as the books progressed, the bloodlines (haha!) got so complex that I doubt even she could follow them. And this book started out with all of that and I couldn't follow it. And I didn't care. And she used the word "preternatural" three times in about the first three pages. That was always one of her favorite words and I see that it still is. Anyway, whatever, blah, blah, blah, I decided to take it back. Fine. I go into the library, put an audio book into the media return, find a few different ones to check out, have a conversation with the librarian about Anne Rice books, go back to my car, run into an old friend, chat for about twenty minutes, get in my car and drive to Publix. I check my email on my phone because I am obsessive about that shit. I find an e-mail from the librarian telling me that I have returned NOT the Anne Rice book but the book I am currently listening to in the car and therefore, disc 3 was missing. This is Amy Pohler's book, "Yes Please" and I am enjoying that just fine so after Publix, I drove back to the library and checked that one back out and returned the Anne Rice book.
I think. I think I returned that one.
This is typical behavior for me these days.
However, this is the most telling thing of all: today I not only ironed pillowcases, I ironed THE FITTED BOTTOM SHEET AND THE TOP SHEET AS WELL! Stop it, Mary. Just stop it.
Even worse (can it get any worse?), I used light spray starch!
I spent an hour and a half of my life ironing sheets. It takes a long time to iron a king-sized sheet, let me just tell you.
Those sheets better feel better than anything I've ever felt in my life and that includes, you know, sex.
Which I can't have on those sheets because I spent an hour and a half ironing them and I am not about to mess them up.
Old. I am old.
Well, I better get in there and make supper. I'm going to cook pork chops while I still have the teeth to eat them with.
I wish this was a joke.
It is not.
I hear that Owen got his cast off today. Hurray! Hurray! Magnolia June will be five weeks old tomorrow.
At least you sometimes get grandchildren when you age.
There is that. And that makes it all worthwhile.
The gas man came this morning and thank god because it's cold and the heater's been running constantly for days even though I have the thermostat set at 61 degrees. I have such mixed feelings when this guy pulls up in his big tank truck. On the one hand- we won't freeze, on the other hand- he's the grouchiest, unhappiest man I've ever met. He simply refuses to participate in basic human interaction and don't even bother saying, "Good morning" or "Thank you" because he ain't answering.
Well, fine. We're not paying him to have a tea party with us.
But I can't help wondering who beat every molecule of joy out of this man. Someone surely did.
So. Do you have your country of choice picked out in case that business man with the black soul wins the presidency? I do. Thank you, I'll be in Mexico. Because if he's elected, that will mean that this country has truly become a place where I just don't want to live.
What? How? Shit. Fuck.
I thought it was a joke. Come on, people! Let's get to the punchline! Tell us it was all a joke, Donald! It's time! You're scaring us!
Well, he's not scaring me as much as the people voting for him. They're scaring the shit out of me. My fellow Americans...
On the positive side, if he does get elected and builds that wall between Mexico and the U.S., I'll be all the more protected from my insane former countrymen.
Aw, Jeez. I just don't know. I don't know shit and it's cold although it's blueskies as far as the eye can see and I thought I'd lost Miss Mabel but then I found her (she was lost but now she's found) and I need to go take a walk but I just can't seem to make myself and it's one of those weepy days where I mentally crack the cat-o-nine-tails over my naked back repeatedly, chanting, "I'm a loser, I'm a loser, I'm such a loser," and okay, Billy sent me this yesterday.
You know, I've never had one second of my life where I thought I might be a musician. Okay, there was that ten minutes when I bought at guitar at the age of nineteen and tried to learn to play it and started writing a song which I still remember the first lines of and NO! I will not be repeating them here because even the thought of them makes me cringe and why on earth would I remember those lines and yet, can't remember what I ate for supper last night?
Well, that's a lie. I can remember what I ate for supper last night but the point being is, I have no musical ability whatsoever but if I do have one talent in the musical field it is a talent for meeting and falling in love with all sorts of people who have vast musical talents and abilities. Who are artists and craftsmen and craftswomen in the field. Singers and songwriters and players of many instruments and like everything else in this world, once you step into a place of true love, you realize you are in a sweet web of many connected parts and so it is and so it goes and many of my oldest friends are musicians and I respect and honor them with all of my heart and I hope they know how much true joy and hope and inspiration and dancing and healing they do with their art.
They have all done that for me, whether I have listened to them in bars or in listening rooms or in theaters or American Legion Halls or my very own house. Whether I listened to them quietly with my eyes closed or while dancing my heart out.
Musicians slay me. They are some of the most intelligent, charming, humorous, down-to-earth, spiritual, irreligious people I know and I am in awe of them because they can do things that I can't fathom being able to do and most of the ones I know can cuss like motherfucking sailors which is a big plus in my book.
Now. Let me stop right here and say- in the spirit of honesty and fairness and balance- I have known some real asshole musicians too. There's nothing about being a musician which confers immunity to assholiness. But here's a secret- the biggest assholes are not the most talented musicians. Not in my experience. They just think they are.
BUT, all of that is not exactly what I came here to talk about. What I came here to talk about is the visit I had with my friends Marilyn and Spencer Bohren who visited me today. Spencer is a musician and Marilyn is his wife/life partner/mama-of-his-children, and one of the finest career managers in this world. She's also a midwife and a teacher. I've written about Spencer and Marilyn before and Elizabeth got to meet them just a few weeks ago and talked about them on her blog.
Webs within webs, you know.
It was a wonderful visit. They have been over in Apalachicola where Spencer was playing at the Dixie Theater there which is a very special place for the Bohrens. They are travelers, those too, and back before they ever had children they discovered Apalachicola and spent quite some time there.
More webs?
And so they drove here today and Jessie and August came out to see them. When I met them, Jessie was not yet born and Lily was still a baby. Marilyn had, as I did, three children at the time and all of them were traveling the country together in an Airstream trailer that they pulled behind a red-and-white '55 Chevy.
And so it came to pass that when they were traveling through our part of the country, they'd park that Airstream and that glorious car in our driveway and as Spencer said today as we were reminiscing, when all of our kids met, that's when the magic happened.
I've written about this before. How when the Bohrens came to town, I let my kids stay out of school and those children wrote and produced plays and made-up games and had more fun than they could have had at Disney World, right there in our backyard. I specifically remember one production which featured whip-cream pies in faces. And we were all the sort of parents who laughed and laughed and had no problem whatsoever with providing whipped cream when it came to ART.
But all of it was a sort of Kismet.
Once Marilyn and I took a trip by ourselves together down to St. Petersburg where we stayed at a motel on Pass-A-Grille Beach and spent every minute of every day and a whole lot of the nights talking and talking and talking and sharing hearts and stories and secrets and we wrote each other letters for years and recommended and traded books back and forth and we both had our fourth babies around the same time.
Her last baby is about to graduate from law school and as I said, my last baby came over with HER baby. We ate lunch, quiche from my hen's eggs and salad from the garden (we had not discussed any lunch plans but Spencer and Marilyn knew that I'd have that covered) and we caught up on news about our children and grandchildren and their travels (they are still travelin' people and now go far beyond the borders of the US) and when we got up from the table I took them on a walk in the yard to show them all of the sights- the chickens, the cats, the camellias, the bee tree. We'd been discussing my incredibly mixed feelings about moving to Apalachicola and at one point, as the wind made the magnolia tree sing in its rustling voice, Spencer grabbed me by the shoulders and said, "Oh Mary! Your problems are so difficult! Having to choose between one paradise and another!" And we laughed. Because he is exactly right.
And then Lily brought her three over after she picked up Owen at school and THEN the fun really began and Owen told Spencer all about...something. Pokemon? I have no idea. Gibson, who stayed up too late partying last night had fallen asleep on his way over and then fell right back asleep on my bed when they got here so they didn't really get to meet him but they got the gist of the situation of my life.
Which is chaos.
And joy.
Jessie gave them a copy of her Cicada Ladies CD and they gave me a copy of Spencer's new CD.
Before they left, Mr. Moon had just gotten home so they got to see him for a hot second too and when I went to hug them good-bye, my tears welled up.
I bumped my head gently with Marilyn's, wanting with all of my heart to be able to simply transmit all of the thoughts I had in me to her. All of the love.
Here are two pictures. One with August showing you just how big a thrill it was for him to meet Spencer.
And this one, in which he described just how big a thrill it was to meet Spencer AND Marilyn.
And if all of this wasn't enough, Jack the Cat came into the house today. On his own.
I told Spencer and Marilyn what a momentous occasion this was.
They were incredibly pleased to be here to witness that.
Yeah. Musicians. I've known a few.
I told Spencer that the last time I saw him play, I realized that although he's always been a very, very fine musician, that he's burst through to a new realm entirely.
"And I've heard a lot of music," I told him.
And I've known a lot of people.
And these are the finest kind.
I love them so much I gave them my audio version of Keith Richard's "Life" right off my hallway altar.
What more can I say?
My friends from out of town called this afternoon and told me that they were not going to be able to come by until tomorrow, which was fine. I'd already gotten a quiche in the oven but it will still be good tomorrow. And so I had an empty afternoon to fill.
I am an American, supposedly, and have the birth certificate and all to prove it, and as such, I think it was decreed by law that I have to perform some sort of ritual for Super Bowl Sunday. So, since I had the spare time I decided to go do some much needed grocery shopping and then go by Lily's house. She is actually hosting a Super Bowl gathering at her house. The reason she is doing this is a long story (she cares about football about as much as I do) but she is cheerful about it because nothing makes her happier than finding delicious recipes on Pinterest and making them. Especially the party-type foods. While I was at the store, I texted and asked if she had the ingredients for my favorite party food of all times, which is the Velveeta/Rotel cheese dip for tortilla chips.
She did not, so I bought them, not because I planned to be at the party but because (and I should be so ashamed of this and I AM NOT) I wanted a bite of Velveeta. Look- I love good cheese. I mean, GOOD cheese. Goat cheese, stinky cheese, aged cheese, runny cheese- I love them all. And Velveeta isn't even cheese by definition but I still like it tremendously and of course I don't allow myself to buy it but today I had an excuse and I took it.
I put all my groceries in the car and stopped by the library to return a book and then drove to Lily's where I got to give Magnolia a bottle and kiss her pretty little face about a thousand times and watch the boys do amazing jumping tricks from the coffee table to the sofa and then I chopped a few onions and peppers for Lily's Philly Cheese Steak sliders and...eat some Velveeta.
I also had a bite of Lily's guacamole which was delicious.
Then I came home and watched this:
I believe that watching this video from a documentary about the Stones playing Super Bowl halftime in 2006 is my Super Bowl ritual. I remember watching their performance live, ten years ago. My across-the-street neighbors were here to watch the game and their (then) young daughter was here to watch it too. The build-up and anticipation as the stage was brought out and assembled in five and a half minutes (watch the video- it's awesome) was tremendous and even young Sarah was caught up in it until the camera focused on Mick and Keith's faces as the first chords were struck and she turned to her mama and said, "But they're so old!"
Hahahahahahaha!
I'll never forget.
So. My Super Bowl ritual is complete. I had a bite of guacamole and I've watched the video and to make things even more Super on this Super Bowl Sunday, I believe I will watch this:
Because...Bruce! 2009. Clarence Clemmons was still alive and the E Street Band rocked it more in twelve minutes than any other band in the world could have rocked it in twelve hours.
If you can watch this without at least doing a little seat-dancing, call your doctor. Please. Because you need help.
So. That's my Super Bowl ritual right there. And Mr. Moon just sent me a picture of him at Lily's house. This is what he's doing:
I hope he gets some of the queso dip and guacamole. I feel certain he will. And maybe a chicken wing. Or two. I hope Gibson's okay. He's been a bit confused about this party, thinking that it might actually be his birthday party which isn't happening for another month and a half but for which he is in deep and profound planning mode.
Oh life. It's all so funny and I am so grateful for the rock-and-roll parts of it, the pure-love baby parts of it, the family parts of it, the Velveeta Cheese parts of it, the friends and family part of it, and all of the loving parts of it which come together.
And let me say this- I have no idea who's playing the Super Bowl halftime tonight. It ain't the Stones and it ain't Bruce and there probably won't be a wardrobe malfunction.
It has come to my attention that I have not been posting pictures of Owen so I did a photo shoot with him today.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did and as much as his mama did. We laughed and laughed.
Thinking about something good.
A little worried.
Thinking about something he knows he shouldn't do.
Just found out that all of his Power Rangers got burned up.
Pretend you're a model.
And then, as a lagniappe, all the boys together.
Poor Maggie. By the time I got around to taking her picture, my phone had no storage left and so I have to go through my photos and delete, delete before I can take more. I will tell you that I got to hold her for a long time today and she looked around, her new little eyes taking it all in. Oh! How I love to kiss her! She is changing so quickly. After four children of my own and now four grandchildren, the way this happens still astounds me.
It's been a very full day but I took a nap, which was crazy because the men were working on the roof right above me. Somehow, I managed. Everyone has gone home now and it's just Mr. Moon and me and tomorrow Vergil will be back and some dear friends from the olden, olden days will be coming by for a visit. I already warned them that my house is a disaster area. And it is.
What can you do?
You can pick fresh camellias to put in vases and welcome them in and know that it's not my house they're coming to visit. A whole lot of life goes on in this old house and it's hard to keep with it all at times. We've lost the Roku remote and when I was searching under the couch, I found a perfectly preserved chocolate-chip-oatmeal cookie. I have no idea how long it's been there. Greta wanted to eat it, but I didn't let her. Reminded me of the time I made Mr. Moon a German Chocolate cake for his birthday and he put it way up in a sky-cabinet because we were leaving for a day and he didn't want the kids to eat it and I found it about a year later and it still looked pretty darn good but we didn't try it.
When I was taking the pictures of Owen I told him that I needed some shots for my blog.
What a morning! Jason and Vergil and Mr. Moon on the roof, eight at the breakfast table, two babies in arms, pancakes and pancakes and pancakes and bacon. Greta and Jack and Maurice and chickens.
What I needed today and needed badly was some baby love. And to get out of the house and to quit weeping and to have someone to talk to and etc.
So Lily invited me to come out with her and we went to the library. When the babies are little, I get to sit beside them in the back seat if I don't drive and so today I sat between that angel boy and this angel girl.
She got a full tummy before we left and slept for the entire two hours we were gone.
And Gibson, sensing, I suppose, that old Mer wasn't at her best, was sweeter than sweet to me. He gave me kisses on my nose, on my forehead, on my chin, on my cheek, each one planted with serious intent. I wanted to take his picture and at first, he said, "No!" but then he said, "Just one." And then he said, "Cheese!"
That cheeseball.
And it was good.
We picked up Owen from school after our Pitaria lunch and so I got to see him, as well.
I didn't get to see August today but Jessie sent me this picture when he was at the doctor for his four-month well-baby check.
Vergil went with them today so I wasn't needed. That was before he got his shot.
This is after.
So he seems to have recovered.
And I am doing better, as well. I am not sure what made me so sad today, so skin-flailed and vulnerable. Nothing. Everything.
And I am making pizzas tonight and having a martini and tomorrow morning Jason and Vergil are coming over to work on the roof and all of the grands and their mamas are coming over for pancakes and bacon and so I better bake some sweet potatoes to go into the pancakes and I just heard that my friend's surgery went well, better than expected and I even cried about that a little.
I'm just a raw piece of human meat today and that's all there is to it.
I have no idea what the origins of this are. It comes from a Tweet by someone called "your pal online @jon_snow_420" and it is the only thing that makes sense to me today. I believe Robin Williams may have said it. Sounds like something he would have said.
St. Robin. I miss him today. I feel turned inside out with everyone I am missing.
It's just one of those days.
god: I have made Mankind. angels: You have fucked up a perfectly good monkey is what you did. Look at it. It's got anxiety.
It has been the weirdest day. I feel like I haven't done a damn thing which is not true and I've even spoken to several people, some via text, some on the phone, some on FB messenger, one in real actual life in my kitchen but it seems as if I've just been in a dream world all day long. I ironed. I watched TV and ironed. That is weird. I almost never iron and I never watch TV during the day but I've been doing a few of my husband's shirts and he's so sweetly appreciative that it kills me and I figured- what the hell? It's raining, it's chilly, plug in the iron and watch Top Chef. It was great! Hell! I even ironed the pillowcases!
And took some trash and cleaned out the hen house and moved a pile of wood and realized that my beloved, wonderful, so very much appreciated dishwasher was not draining and so I washed all the dishes by hand and made up the bed with clean sheets and those ironed pillowcases, picked greens for salad and I've made a sort of egg custard because we're ahead on eggs again.
But still- here I am and here I have been, pretending to be a domestic goddess, and I texted a friend and said, "So I'm ironing and watching TV. It's sort of really fun. Do I need to get a life?"
And she texted back, "Nope. You HAVE a life."
And I texted back to her, "Phew!"
Yesterday when I went with Lily and Magnolia June and Owen to the orthopedic clinic I went into the X-ray room with Owen because Maggie was nursing and he sat on my lap and they covered us both with the lead apron and arranged his arm on the place where it had to be arranged and I said something vaguely nursey and he said, "You're retired now, Mer. But now your job is taking care of people."
Which made me want to hug him so tightly that my bones would have been visible with his.
Instead, I just sat with him there, and kissed the top of his head (which is growing ever easier to do- my god, that child is growing tall!) and waited for the clicks.
Here are two pictures that Lily sent me last night that she took of Gibson and his sister.
And here's a picture that Jessie sent me that both Mr. Moon and I posted on Facebook of a shopping trip she took with August to the Target.
When Mr. Moon posted it, he commented thusly:
"My grandson was caught today trying to knock off a drugstore. He was almost successful but his face mask fell down while facing the security camera."
He was going to add, "All he was trying to do was to get Depends for his old grandpa," but he did not. I think he should have.
I do not have a new picture of Owen but I have tried to give you one with words. That big, brave boy who is so funny.
Here's another story- the orthopedic clinic, for some lovely reason, has a little fresh produce stand outside the entrance a few days a week and yesterday, before we went in, I bought some things. I wanted sweet potatoes which Owen approved of because they go into the pancakes he loves and as I was looking around and ruminating about what else to buy, he said slyly, "But no pickled eggplant," which is a running joke in the book we love called The Little Red Hen Makes A Pizza.
My heart cracked open as I cracked up. The boy has a sense of humor. And we have shared jokes.
Yes. I do my best to take care and here's a picture of the man I take care of, who takes care of me, with our youngest grandchild.
So it's been an odd day but a good one and those pillows are going to feel so good tonight.
It's okay, I suppose, to take a day to do little stuff, to just be. To remember that taking care of my own tiny piece of the world is enough.
