I Am Old As Dirt, I Am Young As A Maid In A Field Of Elderflowers

I'm sitting on the porch of this incredibly beautiful little apartment in Asheville with the flowers and herbs in the yard with Lis and with Liz and it's so cool that we sort of need sweaters and it's been the most beautiful day.

Really, it's been just pure magic, all day, driving up through Georgia with the fields of cotton and sunflowers and pecan trees and pine trees and that magnolia nursery and we stopped in Omega, Georgia at Jesus y Maria taqueria for our lunch and at Jittery Joe's in Athens for afternoon coffee and when we got to Asheville, Jessie had decorated the apartment with flowers from Mr. Moon and flowers that she'd bought and there were incredible cheeses and breads and bread and crackers and fruit and liquor and tomatoes and oh, god. I don't even know.
And a chocolate cake the SIZE OF THE PARTHENON!

And Liz Sparks came over and we all met Vergil for supper and it was delicious and now here we are on the porch of this beautiful apartment, Liz and Lis and I, sipping the most delicious cocktails of vodka, tonic and St. Germaine (why did I have to be sixty years old to discover St. Germaine?) and telling stories.

All day I've been saying, "Now that I'm sixty I'm just going to..."
And then I'll say things like, "Flirt shamelessly with incredibly inappropriately young counter guys."
"Are you writing these down?" I asked Lis at one point.
"I should be," she said.
Haha!

Oh Lord. I just realized. I'm sixty and one day old. It's like one in the morning!

It's good. It's real good.

And if I could possibly tell all of you who left me birthday messages today what they meant to me, I'd be here all night long. Let me just say that I've cried more than once today, reading them.
I am the richest woman on earth.

I am happy. So very, very happy.

Thank all of you. From the very bottom of my sixty-year old heart to the very top of my ageless soul.

Love...Ms. Moon

Light, Love. All Of It

I could write an entire short story about what that picture represents in my life.
But I don't want to.
It is the last evening of my fifty-ninth year.
It has been a plain, nothing-special-so-therefore-amazing day in my life. A bit of cleaning, a bit of tidying, a bit of cutting and putting in vases, a bit of egg-gathering, a bit of talking to a friend on the telephone, a bit of visiting with friends right here in my house. A bit of kissing.

Nothing special. Everything special.

I honestly never thought I'd live this long. I honestly never thought that dreams, even undreamed ones, could come true. I never thought I'd have chickens or live long enough to change my grandbabies' diapers. I never thought I'd visit the Yucatan. I never thought I'd marry a basketball player who was in fact, my knight in shining armor. I never thought I'd have a love affair that lasted yeah, unto this very second. I never thought I'd live beneath the shade and grace of hundreds-of-years-old oaks. I never thought that a high school boyfriend would still be my friend, forty years later. I never thought that I'd make friends on the internet whom I would dream about, who have become some of my best friends.
I never dreamed of the internet.
I never dreamed I would face mental health issues that would threaten my life.
I never dreamed that I would be able to hold my mother's hand into death.
I never dreamed that such grace would be mine.

And yet- it has.
All of that. And so much more.

My mother gave birth to me in a quonset hut. I think it belonged to the Air Force? Maybe? Because the Army hospital had some horrible virus or bacteria happening? And my father was in the Army? And they were experimenting with spinal blocks. In El Paso, Texas.
I remember a couple of years ago when I was in Asheville for my birthday and my mother called me and said, "Happy birthday to my first baby who lived!"
I am at a place where I can forgive her for that. She had no idea how that made me feel. She had lost two babies in utero before I was born and maybe, perhaps, she never really recovered from that.
I am a human being too. I have made mistakes beyond measure.
But I will tell you this- I am grateful that my mother is in a place where none of the past has to haunt her.
I am grateful beyond measure that I am in a place where I can be mostly at peace with it all.

Yo! Y'all! I gotta buy some new lipstick tomorrow.

Dang but I'm glad to be here.

Love...Ms. Moon Who Is Just About To Turn Sixty Years Old And If That Ain't A Miracle, I Don't Know What Is

Church Services

Because I am being lazy and had the time to go back and watch a video that Elizabeth posted, my day has changed and become more grace-filled.
The human spirit. Trees.
Beauty.

Take the time to watch this if you possibly can. It is worth every second.




And then go to the link to Elizabeth's original post to hear William Faulkner's Nobel Prize acceptance speech.

That's church, y'all. Right there. Two men. Two stories. One heart.
All grace.

Lazy Is Better Than Crazy

The humidity has to be 100% today. No, no. I just checked. It's only 92%. There's a heat advisory too. Yeah. Nice weather.
For exactly no one.

So I'm being lazy. I have about one ton of stuff to do today including laundry, packing, and some cleaning.
La-di-dah. I'll get it done.
I told Jessie yesterday that maybe I wouldn't pack a thing, just buy everything new in Asheville. She thought that was a great idea.
I doubt my husband would approve.

Anyway, yeah. That's about it. The internet, with the exception of a few blogs y'all have written is all the same-same. Bikini bods, celebrities spilling the deets about their sex lives, quizzes you can take to tell you what color your aura is, how bad-ass you are, how open-minded you are, and how liberal or conservative you are.
Ain't wearing no bikini, ain't spilling no deets, I don't believe in auras, I'm not much of a bad-ass, I'm pretty damn open-minded, and I'm as liberal as you can get.
Didn't even have to take any quizzes to figure that out, either.

Missy just waddled into the hen house, hopefully to lay an egg. It looks like it might rain or then again, it might not. Half the yard has been tracked into my house on someone's boots, not accusing anyone or anything but I don't wear boots, the kitchen sink is filled with dirty dishes and I haven't eaten breakfast yet. I'm not complaining. Mr. Moon is long gone, working on the siding project. I'd eat breakfast but I can't decide whether I want a smoothie or an egg. I just realized that I have my left leg propped up on the table beside my laptop. Who sits like that? Also, that I wiggle my foot when I type. Owen likes to show me how strong he is by lifting my leg up into the air which is pretty hysterical and I always have to stop him before he breaks it off and I fall over.

Here's a picture of a luna moth that was on the porch on Friday. Owen very carefully took it outside and released it and it flew way up into the sky and was gone.
He is strong but he is gentle, too.

You have any deets you want to spill? If so, I'll be happy to hear them.

Love...Ms. Moon

Kissing and Loving and So Forth

Look at the way my skin is crumpled, wrinkled, folded, soft. This is sixty.
I am not going to fight or resent it any more. Well, maybe.
I am going to say, "Shitfire. I made it to sixty. Everything else is gravy."

Lily and Jason, kissing. 

The best thing that could ever happen to my grandchildren is that their parents love each other. And show it. 

Yesterday Mr. Moon and I were kissing on the bed when Owen was lying next to us, watching something on my iPad and Gibson was right there too. 

"That's making out, " said Owen. He could have cared less. He sees affection and love all the time. 

A picture that Jessie sent me today. 

Yeah. We kiss a lot in this family. 

I've had the best day. I went to lunch with Hank at Fanny's. May had our table all set up with a huge bouquet of gladiolas. We spent hours eating and visiting with May and Michael and Taylor, telling stories and laughing. Hank gave me two beautiful bowls that our friend Joanna Winters made. 

I brought them home and filled them with with eggs from the day's clutch and Maurice wanted to pose with them. There ain't nothing I love more than a beautiful bowl. 

I put the gladiolas in a vase on the vanity in the hallway. 

Is that a glory or what? 

I talked to Lis this afternoon. We laughed at how once again we are going to get in a car and drive away together. I told her how Billy asked if we were going to be gay hipsters in Asheville and Lis said, "Yes! We are going to hold hands and kiss on the lips in public!"

We discussed wardrobe options and so forth. I told her that for my birthday I am thinking about wearing my silk velvet red skirt, my red sequined, beaded, fringed tunic jacket that Kathleen gave me and my Keith Richards for President shirt that Ms. Bastard Beloved sent me. 

She said, "Perfect! And let's talk about jewels!"

This may be one of the best birthdays of my life, if not the best. 

Who knew? 

Not me. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Curious Mishmash

I made the conscious decision to stay in bed this morning way past the time when I should have gotten up and was punished by falling into unconsciousness and having yet another in the long line of cluttered and fucked-up house dreams that I've been having and this one even brought back the theme of the haunted Titanic basement which I thought was over forever after I dreamed years ago that I gave the entire basement to a university or museum for study.
Did they give it back?
New elements were introduced in this morning's dream including rotten meats, antique ovens which were not hooked up properly to the gas, inability to find tea bags and a new, second story floor of haunted rooms.

What the hell?

I mean, what the fucking hell? My house may be a bit cluttered but it's not THAT bad. Do I unconsciously yearn to live in a Zen monastery or something? Empty rooms with rice screens and a mattress on the floor?
God. I don't think so. I did take down the heavy drapes in the library this week. They are beautiful drapes and were hanging in there when we bought the house but it's a dark room as is and I just couldn't take the cave-likeness of it any more and so now there are just empty windows and more light and I washed those curtains and am giving them to May. More light! More light! More light! And there would be even more light if I washed the windows.

So here it is, Saturday, and yes, last night was lovely and this morning Mr. Moon found where some of the hens have been laying which was behind the bale of hay in the henhouse on the floor and those crazy girls!

I'm going to meet Hank for lunch at Fanny's so I'll get to see my May and Taylor and I'm looking forward to that. We are perhaps having supper tonight with Lily and Jason, a real double date in that the boys will probably be at their other grandmother's house. I'm not sure we've ever done that! And so the birthday celebrations move apace and today is Mick Jagger's birthday and he is seventy-one and I wish him well and continued success with his chosen career. I think he might actually break through to the big time if he keeps at it.

I hear the Republicans are going to start impeachment proceedings against our president and I am so curious as to the grounds they plan to do this on. I asked Mr. Moon about this a little while ago. "Why?" I asked.
"Because he's black," said my husband.
"Oh yeah," I said.
Now it all makes sense.

So little makes sense these days and I don't even want to start talking about it but right here in Lloyd, things mostly make sense except for the things that don't like my dreams and why people throw their trash on the side of the road but that can hardly equate to impeachment and bombings and denying people equal rights under the law right here in the United States of America and using children as a political weapon.

Ah yah. Move on, keep balancing on the wheel, run for your life, jump off, lay under a tree and look up at the clouds, take it as it comes, seize it by the tail, sling it into the heavens, dance like a snake, dream like a motherfucker, have your machete close to hand, always take your own pillow, eat your vegetables, kiss your babies, tell everyone you love that you love them, try not to be afraid.

That's all I've got today.

Love...Ms. Moon

Could I Ask For Anything More?

Here's an angle in my crazy kitchen you may not have seen. Especially with such a noble feline profile in it. Do you want to know something funny? I saw that rooster and craved it and asked for it for Christmas long before I ever had chickens. It's from Mexico but was bought in Tallahassee but the little ristras hanging on either side of it were bought in El Mercado in Cozumel. That giant daisy up there is one that Hank bought me one year for Christmas. It's counterpart is on the cabinet next to it. I have no idea where they were made but suspect Taiwan.
Remember when "Made In Japan" meant crap?
Haha!

The boys' daddy got here around one-thirty to pick them up and Gibson was sound asleep. Of course. Around noon he was playing in the Glen Den with some magnetic toys that Kathleen's husband had bought for them and all of a sudden, he just got up on the couch, leaned on me and fell asleep.
Owen was in the kitchen and he kept yelling for me. I didn't want to disturb Gibson so I just yelled back. I know. That doesn't make sense.
"I can't come in there now, Owen!"
"Why not?"
"Come in here and see."
"My brother's asleep on you?"
"Yes!"

Does Owen know his brother or what?

Owen did some cleaning for me today. He likes to clean. He always has. He cleaned the TV screen and some windows and moved on to cleaning a wooden dragon with a toothbrush in the sink. Then a wooden Buddha. Then my wooden Virgin of Guadalupe.

Then a seashell. He was on fire with cleaning. I picked some fresh zinnias to go with Ms. Guadalupe. She looks happy, doesn't she?

Too bad his dad got here so early. I was about to have him start dusting. Give that kid a rag and a spray can or bottle and he is ON IT!

So it's Friday night and you know what that means. I've cleaned the glass tabletop of my new table on the porch and put some zinnias on it too and the glasses are chilling. Mr. Moon has come home from town and we're about to go sit and enjoy. I've had a nap myself and a glass of iced espresso and Mr. Moon brought us a pizza from the Costco and this should be a lovely Friday night.

Maurice is ready. She likes to come and hang out on the porch with us. She brought me a dragonfly before we had our nap together. I don't know why she bothered to bring it to me. She ate it all, the selfish little kitty. Didn't offer to share so much as a wing.

Gotta go pierce some olives, peel a little lemon.

Life is good.

Is It Five O'Clock Yet?

Blurry photo which is appropriate. I'm blurry too this morning. Gibson had a hard night and thus, so did Mer and Bop. But we all survived and pancakes and bacon were made and eaten and chickens were fed and eggs found and there was playing on the play set and there's been book-reading and snuggling and kissing and singing.
Oh. And we found a dead cat in the garage. By smell.
Not pleasant. Not one of our cats either. My heart clutched even though I knew that Maurice was safe in the house.

And so it goes today. Right now Boppa is blowing bubbles in the back yard for Gibson and Owen is back on the play set and thank God it's Friday and somebody better get their ass to town to buy old Granny some vodka.
It's martini night and not a moment too soon.

The Night-Night Report

There's the baby boy, fast asleep. He was so tired that he barely made it through supper and a bath and as soon as I got him into his pajamas, he was COOKED! Done. He probably fussed more heartbreakingly than I've ever heard him fuss. For about three minutes. Then we settled down to watch Aladdin and before I knew it, he'd crawled under the cover and was gone. I held his little hand and kissed it for a long time before I let it relax to his side. I can never kiss that child enough.

Owen and I read The Little Red Hen Makes A Pizza together. He does the voices of the dog, the duck, and the cat. The cat, who is a very cool cat, gets an almost-whispered hip voice from Owen and he always finishes whatever the cat's dialogue is by saying, "Yeah!" with a little jazz hand thing to accompany it.
We love that book.
When I told him good night I said, "I love you, boy. You are my precious little prince."
He said, "I love you Mer. You are my precious little queen."

After I had gathered myself up off the floor where I had melted, I tucked him in and hopefully, he too is asleep.

We have big plans for tomorrow, starting of course with pancakes and bacon. Mr. Moon is going to stay home for at least that part of the day and with a lot of luck, maybe he'll just take the day off. Owen wants to go fishing and if I know his Boppa, he does too.

So. Time for Old Mer to get in bed. I hope the boys sleep all through the night and I hope that I don't have any more of those wacko dreams. But I'll tell you this- even if my anti-depressant does give me these dreams AND gives me the hives, they're worth it because I can live my sweet life without the constant panic and fear and dreams are just dreams and hives are just itchy and my life is just damn good.

In Which Profanity Abounds (Cussing My Heart Out)

According to my pedometer app, I took 5,749 steps in my walk today. And let me tell you something- every fucking one of those steps was goddam agony.
Some days it's like this. Not sure why. Probably a combination of things. The temperature, the humidity, the level of pain I start out at, the amount of sleep I got, what I ate yesterday. Who knows?
Not me and that's for fuck's sure.

Why am I cursing so much today? I don't know. I had the loopiest dream I've probably ever had in my life last night and in it I sure was cursing. Men kept pissing me off and I screamed every obscenity in the world at them. It made me feel powerful.
By the way, my husband was not one of the men for which I am exceptionally grateful because the dream was already so crazy that I don't think I'll forget it if I live to a thousand.
Motherfuck of a dream.

So I stopped at the Post Office on my way home from my walk, as I always do. I had ordered a pair of overalls from EBay on Monday night and my box had a package slip in it which I had to present to the post mistress. There was a woman ahead of me, already being dealt with and I became one of those people. I was hot and stinking up the joint with my sweaty body and I just wanted to get my damn overalls and get home but the business this woman was attending to took forever. She was "returning to sender" and somehow, there were about fifteen forms to be filled out and then the post mistress had to put all the correct labels in the correct places on the package and then payment had to be made and I thought I was going to scream.
I didn't, but I probably sighed heavily more than once.
Got home, opened the package and I'd ordered a size Medium and by god, they must have been talking about a SNAKE size Medium or maybe they're a girl's size Medium but there ain't no way those overalls are going to fit my body.

At least I didn't pay much for the damn things.

Okay. I just tried them on. They are quite comfy if I don't button the top side buttons. I could start a fashion trend in Asheville, perhaps. Old Navy fucking overalls with the top side buttons undone. Maybe I'll just wear 'em with a thong and a lacy red bra. That's a good look for a sixty-year old granny, right? Anyone looks at me funny and I'll just say, "What the fuck you looking at, Motherfucker?" Maybe I'll get my head shaved while I'm at it. Maybe I'll get some tattoos. On my shaved head.
Oi!
Maybe I'll get a tattoo of Keith Richards on one bicep and the Virgin of Guadalupe on the other.

And a big tattoo of Elvis on my back. Not Elvis Presley, Elvis The Rooster.

Whoa! Check that shit out!

That might just change my motherfucking image. You think?

All right. I better pop some Ibuprofen and get to the store because my grandsons are spending the night and I have to pick up some chicken nuggets and tater tots. And bacon because they might want pancakes and bacon for breakfast. Because I'm a grandmother! And grandmothers do shit like that.
You got a motherfucking problem with that?

No?

Good!

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I do not curse around my grandsons. I swear. No, wait, I don't swear, I mean, I don't curse or swear or use profanity in their presence. Because I am a goddam southern lady of a grandmother. Of course.

I have literally spent all day in the kitchen. At one point, when I was chopping apples to cook for a cake, I felt like I was having a holy moment. The apples were organic Pink Ladies and they were so delicious and as they simmered, it was like the breath of baby angels in my kitchen.
I made a bunch of food to take to Kathleen and her husband and Kathleen's cousin who is staying with them and this evening I drove down the road to deliver it. They have worked so hard and their house is so beautiful and so comfortable. I could have hung out for hours but I could tell that Kathleen was tired so after a little chat, I came on home and made our supper.

It's just been another very good day for me. A day of the simplest things and it filled my heart so to be able to have the luxury of this sort of life. To be able to cook mindfully with no other pressures, to have the time and the ingredients I need. I don't think there is any greater wealth in this world than the sort of wealth I possess.

That's all. I am not sure exactly what's going on with me but this feeling of such satisfaction and contentment with my life has become almost overwhelming. It's as if for the first time in my life I feel as if yes, this is surely where I belong. Not just in this place in this old house in Lloyd (which is very much a part of it) but in all of it. In the love I share with my beloveds, with the work and pleasure which blur together to become one so very often, in the joy I take in all of these simple, good things. Fresh tomatoes and chicken eggs, good books and good writing from so many of you, my walks, hot and sweaty and strong.
All of it.

And tomorrow it may all be different- who knows? Frustrations and fears and anxieties may arise again and of course, at some point, I will experience all of those again and again. But for now, there's too much pure damn gratitude of how much I love it to feel much else.

The night frogs chorus. The sky is almost empty of light.

Let us all rest.

Love...Ms. Moon

So Far, It's Been A Good Story

I am listening to this book these days and Matthew Quick is the man who wrote the book that the movie "Silver Linings Playbook" was based on and I am finding it most satisfactory. I wasn't sure I would because the blurb on the back of the audio-version case made it sound a bit depressing and perhaps too precious but there's something very dear and true and charming about it. I haven't reached the end yet and I know there are twists and turns I haven't figured out and it will be so much fun to see how they are maneuvered by such a skillful author.
If you see it in the library, pick it up. If you listen to audio books, it's a very good production.

I got on the Airbnb website last night and did a search for Asheville. Within a few hours, Lis and I had agreed on a place and I sent in a request to rent it and got an answer back right away and we are booked! It's a little apartment two blocks from Jessie's house which could hardly be more convenient but throw in the fact that it's right across the street from a Whole Foods and well...Asheville magic!
We can simply cross the road for our yogurt and fruit and coffee and beer and whatever else we might think we need for ourselves. I am getting so very excited. When I wrote the owner a little e-mail I told him that my friend and I were coming to Asheville to celebrate my 60th birthday with my daughter and her husband who live two blocks from the apartment and that we were very, very responsible and nice ladies.
I laughed to myself at how blue-haired that made us sound.
Sweet little old ladies.
Oh! How we shall toast each other on the porch of that apartment, how much fun we are going to have!
I wonder if Lis is going to bring her banjo. Or her guitar. Or both. I would love to hear her and Jessie and Vergil play music together. Maybe they can do a little tiny jamming, just for me. Oh, I know musicians. It will be for them but I will be the one to benefit. One of my favorite memories ever of a time that I spent with Lis was of a day and evening at Gatorbone where she and Lon live. They were rehearsing with their band and and doing some recording and as they worked, I was in the kitchen, listening to it all, making pizzas for them and reading the Sunday New York Times. It was a dream come true. I swear.
So. Maybe we can go over to Jessie and Vergil's or they can come to our apartment and I can make pizzas or tomato pies with the tomatoes that Jess and Vergil have in their garden now and they will play music and we will all have beer or wine or martinis or whatever, and as they play and sing I will stir and mix and knead and keep rhythm in the kitchen with my knife on the cutting board and just thinking about that makes my heart so very, very happy.
I would like that to happen.

Yes. I am feeling better about all of this birthday stuff. Sixty will be what sixty is, yes, and I may be a sweet old lady but as with all of us and books too, one simple blurb or glance at the cover will never give us the true, whole story of the heart and soul of the matter.
Someone once told me that a good story can take a lot of pages to tell.
I'm just going to keep turning the pages until I come to the end and what else can we do?

As Elvis Costello said, Every day I write the book.

News And Opinion

Our sweet boy had to get another cast. Two more weeks, the doctor said. The X-ray looked perfect but the doctor said that in children, you have to go by pain and that if he is not walking on his leg he is in pain. And so.
Gibson was not the happy little chirpy boy he'd been the last time we were there as you can see from the picture. I tried and tried to cheer him up and did a goofy version of the Eensy Weensy Spider with two blue blown-up gloves which he did like for a moment but by the time the cast (red this time!) was being put on, he was crying and struggling.
It was not a happy appointment.
However. And this is good...
As I have said many times before, my left wrist is very, very fucked up. I broke it when I was seventeen and it was not set properly but it never really started bothering me until I was in my early thirties and since then, it's become more and more of a problem and hurts virtually all the time. It is quite a big bigger than my right wrist with lumps and bumps where there should be none and I can't knit or crochet or embroider anymore and it gripes me when I garden and it wakes me up at night and, well, it's something I should have attended to years ago but never have because of my neurosis about doctors and so forth. Anyway, I like this orthopedist of Gibson's a lot. He's long and lanky and down to earth. He shakes hands, he put his hand on my knee today when we were sitting next to each other in the exam room (and that sounds weird but it was not and I am the Queen of knowing when something is appropriate and when it's not) before he left the room and I made an appointment on our way out.
So. In September, I will submit my wrist to him for inspection.
He may look at it and say, "Nope. That's entirely fucked up and we can't do a thing about it."
In which case I'll just be in pain for the rest of my life but I'm used to that already.

Or, he may say, "Mmmm. Yes. I think I can help you."

We shall see. Of course having made the appointment I am now 100% aware of the pain and hope desperately that something can be done about it. The mind is a crazy thing.

So that was part of my day and Lis and I are in the planning stages of our trip to Asheville that we're taking for my birthday and the condo where we always stay is in the process of being sold and we cannot stay there and I am outraged, OUTRAGED I tell you that they're selling it without seeking my permission.

And this afternoon, after I got home, it began to rain and the sun was shining bright as new dimes and it looked like this.

Another day. A good one except for poor Gibson and he's probably already completely adjusted to the cast again and also the no-condo news but I trust in the magic of Asheville and we shall find something and I hope you had a good day too and that even if it rained, you could still see the light.

This Morning

From my walk. I am not sure if these lilies are wild or the remnants of some planted in a yard years ago. But isn't it a lovely blossom?

That's my dog-fennel stick and the sweat rag I hold as I walk. The dog fennel stick does nothing at all except to give me something to twirl and distract myself with as I walk. I don't mean I twirl it like a fucking baton twirler. I never could master that art. I just play with it. It's not strong enough to bash a mosquito to death with so it's definitely not a weapon. I believe the sweat rag needs no explanation.

Anyway, good morning. I'm going to town to go with Lily and the boys to see the doctor again. Lily spoke to him and he said that it sounds as if Gibson needs the cast back on.
Damn, damn, double damn, triple damn, HELL!
This is life. He probably put too much strain on it as children are wont to do.
My baby.

Time for a shower. Today is indeed another day and I did sleep well and I do feel stronger by far.
I am grateful.