holy water

this morning my mother comes in and blesses me with holy water, a big fat two finger dollop on my forehead chest and shoulders. im half asleep and this is what i remember:
violets, velvet, damp hair like coarse raw silk, wide fingers, cold, almost marble chilled water, baby blue and lipstick smell. that chalky make up organic smell. it is the feast of lourdes today, where the three children first saw our lady over the grotto and pilgrimages began to that small country, miracles happened, people walked after decades of being bedridden, incurable diseases were miraculously cured, lepers were healed, sorrows were lifted, lives were changed by this water, this holy water, and although the sentiment is nice, it is above me, i believe in miracles but of the more concrete kind. i do however, love the unexplainable. that which happens without logical reason. and so i straddle the line of believer and non believer, thinking of all the tiny miracles i have experience and the big ones i would like to see.
this all happens before 7:00AM.

then i ride my bike to henriettas farm. i wear a wild outfit, a total mom outfit, purple stirrup stretch pants, faded bay to breakers vintage t-shirt, old, worn in hoodie, two different socks, moccassins, that brown vest she used to wear every morning to feed the animals and my new favorite hat, a knit cap i wore as a baby that i found at my dad's house yesterday. its blue and warm and pulls down over my ears and feels like a swim cap and a helmet all at once. once at henriettas she is baking bread, whole wheat with ryeberries and walnuts and we sit a while in the kitchen for it to cool. its the best thing ive ever had, better than the best bread in the world, with cool thick french butter over it and touch of boysenberry preserves (my favorite). outside it is cold and the ground is muddy and soft like powdery snow. the chicken coop is loud and awake, their day began hours ago and it grows silent when we enter. it smells of hay and chicken shit but not in a bad way, in like a grainy, earthy way. i remember the smell from being young and out three chickens looking wildly at me from the corners of their eyes and following me sweetly around the yard. there is nothing as great as picking a fresh egg from the nest, warm and perfect inside your hand, i hold it gently so it wont break. these have just been laid, henrietta says, in her thick russian accent. were in for a treat.

and so the day begins, oddly enough. i am time traveling. i have a 20 minute phone interview with bride linguatec school in santiago and it goes well. he asks what i have been doing lately and i tell him honestly, riding my bike and hanging out with my family. cooking and writing. this seems to please him. you are ready for the big city, no? he asks and we both laugh. yes, yes, soon enough i will be ready. this afternoon i will go back to being blonde and then work on prodigal daughter volume 2. thursday is shaping up nicely.