I watched a movie Friday night. (In fact, I needed to return that today.) The movie may have been awful. I watch so few movies that I am an unreliable judge of their quality. It. Had. A. Sex. Scene.
And Spanish dancing.
And Gael G.B.
It was, in my estimation, a brilliant film.
Speaking of brilliant. So, um, I’m renaming the chicken castle Hand of God (Untitled.) Because, um, I built a huge hand out of salvaged wire (brought to me, in the midst of divorce, by my soon ex-husband. He saw it on the side of the road and stopped traffic to get it. For me. The hand is not about him or the origin of the wire fencing, but about the fact that the turret I was working on sort of turned into a finger. The rest of the wire turned into other fingers, a thumb, a hand.
I had just enough fencing to grasp the boat.
I love that I heard my son ask today, “we’ve never built an anatomically accurate sculpture before, have we?”
The girl made up math games this morning. She wanted homework.
I folded the laundry. Well, some of it.
I went to a Corn Maze with the re=formatted nuclear family. It was actually pleasant. I forgot the camera. The corn was beige with some reddish taupe. The sky was simple blue. I never felt lost.
The Halloween party was a moderate success. Not the major rager that last year’s Christmas Party turned out to be, but lovely in a way more appealing to grown ups than to children. That’s okay though. Nobody cried. A relief to my father, who is wary of any sort of fun that may lead to crying children.
I purchased a great number of tiny brandy snifters (is that actually what they’re called? Is that really a word?) at the Goodwill. I don’t really drink, but I like how they look like elfin wine glasses.
I also got a punch set. A real one. With matching tiny cups.
And a cake stand. Cut crystal.
My house is turning into a tribute. The cake stand reminds me of my great-grandmother’s chandelier. The fencing hand points NW.
Thanks to the dead and the long-lost friends.
(later, 6:20 am Monday)
Another thing I like about this weekend…
At the corn maze, we ran into one of Leo’s classmates, a girl with long blond hair who loves cats and dressed as a huge ketchup bottle for the Halloween party. I adore this child. But, that’s beside the point.
We were small-talking with her father and he noticed we were squinting in the sun. He said, “oh, let me stand over here” and moved so the sun wouldn’t be in our eyes. I never notice that sort of thing. Usually, I am so nervous and self-aware when I talk to people that I am clueless about whether they are caught in glare.
I am going to start paying better attention to the orientation of the sun as it relates to whomever I am speaking to.
Okay – so the truth about Hand of God (Untitled.) – right after the boy and I decided that the wire construction was finger, instead of a turret, we smelled an strange, burning scent.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
I went to check on the chickens, now fully installed in their exterior home, and saw – with no small degree of horror, that their food was about to burst into flames! The center of the pile of scratch feed was charred and smoking and as I fumbled with the cord for the heat lamp, the curls of smoke became thicker, curled faster. The chickens huddled in a corner.
I tossed a glass jar to the boy. “Get me water from the pond! Now!”
We doused the fire and comforted the chickens and talked for a few minutes about the providence that placed us in the yard that early afternoon. We could have been anywhere.
Then we fastened the finger to the bow of the boat on the roof of the structure and then we built the hand. I let the boy smash old wine bottles in paper bags and fitted their jagged necks onto the fencing, like knuckles. It was a beautiful, lucky, day.
I suggested Hand of God. The boy was more inclined toward Untitled. Thus…
Don’t ever tell my father that I almost burnt the house down with smoldering chicken feed.
Note to self: unplug chicken’s heat lamp before leaving the house this morning.