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.

I Love You More

I keep wondering if I've taken my medication. Yes, I know I did, I remember slugging it down with a sip of cold coffee. I remember opening the cabinet door where it lives, unscrewing the bottle, wondering if I took it yesterday, remembering the taste of cold coffee, bitter, plus there are the hives which I get when I take it, the dreams too...
I scratch what itches.
My mind aches. Not my head. My mind.

The boys were here and it was good although since Saturday night, Gibson has been limping on that leg again and I suppose he must go to the doctor tomorrow although he can bear weight on it but he doesn't want to. "Help me," he says, holding out his arms. It seems to me that the ankle and foot on that leg are slightly swollen. Did he fall and twist his ankle? No way to know except to go to the doctor. How many X-rays before that's a worry too?
I do not know.
I do not know shit but I hate it that he has to go back to the doctor.
I love you once, I love you twice, I love you more than beans and rice, is something we've always said around here.

And we love our beans and rice. 

Kathleen came over to return the dish the cobbler was baked in. It was filled with dinosaurs and toy cars and trucks. The boys were thrilled. Owen wanted to tell Kathleen about each dinosaur and then about going to see his grandparents and about her brother and where he lives and I could tell that Kathleen needed to go home. She was gracious though, asking, "What?" each time he said, "And then you know what happened?" Etc.

When she left, he said, "That was so nice of Kath-a-leen to bring us these dinosaurs. I love Kath-a-leen." That's how he says her name and it makes me smile to hear it.

The boys have gone home and here we are. Beans simmering with the rice.

Went out to pick basil for the salad and found this:

Can you see him? So tiny, that little green grasshopper. I let it be and plucked from the other two plants. Small does not equal insignificant although we often mistake the one for the other. 

I am going to make the salad and the cornbread. I am going to finish laundry. I am going to bed early. I have taken my medication, I can take a Benadryl before I go to bed. Hopefully, I will sleep deeply and well and not dream of chaos and fright and will wake up in a different frame of mind and take a walk and feel strong again. 

That's my plan. 

Pre-Birthday Freak-Out

In one week I'll be sixty.
I'm having a real hard time with this one, y'all, which is not very enlightened of me and not very easy to admit but I am. My dreams continue to be of chaos and clutter, of anxiety and trying to drive over bridges that go straight up into the sky while I cannot truly see over the dashboard which is sort of funny and sort of terrifying, all at the same time.

This morning I put my arms around myself and realized that I wished someone were here to hug me. Just take me in their arms and hold me because sometimes the most primal thing is the thing we need the most. But of course Mr. Moon is at work and all Maurice wants to do is bite my hand and then run out to watch the chickens which is obviously her version of Cat TV and she can do that for hours. She may even think she is part of the flock. I have no idea. I can't begin to understand how a cat's mind works.

So yesterday when I stopped by the post office I retrieved a small package from my box. I knew that our Beloved Ms. Bastard was sending me something for my birthday and I didn't open it and this morning I e-mailed her that I thought I'd gotten her present and she told me to OPEN IT! and so I did and here's what she sent me.

Sorry that the picture sucks but it's the best I can manage right now. I do think that wearing it with my great grandmother's pearls adds that extra bit of class, although it's so damn classy enough on its own that it's sort of like trying to put glitter and sequins on the Mona Lisa, if you know what I mean and so now I do feel hugged and Maurice has come back in and is laying on the table and looking up at something I can't see with my human eyes unless she's studying the stained glass hanging from the porch and I have things to do and places to go and the boys will be here this afternoon and I'll try not to be so fucking whiney and pathetic and drive you and everyone I know insane with this stupid birthday thing and we all know I get whackadoodle around my birthday anyway.

Part of me wants to just get in the goddam car and drive off and see where the road takes me, wearing my new T-shirt and a long, petticoated black skirt, all my silver bracelets and my most dangling silver earrings, stopping off at dives and taco joints, sketchy-looking motels on the beach with rattly air conditioners, rusted screens and broken locks on the doors, casting caution and common sense and responsibility to the winds but oh Lord. You know I won't do that. Who would feed the chickens? Who would watch the boys? Who would pick the tomatoes and who would make the cornbread to go with the pot of pinto beans I've already started for tonight's supper?

And besides, wherever I went, there I'd be as the stupid saying goes and I'd still be turning sixty which is still ten or eleven years younger than Keith Richards and if he can still rock it, well, I guess I can still live it.

Thanks, Sher, my love. This shirt rocks my world and you know me so well.

Happy Monday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

The Never-Ending Story

That is the view from what we call the mud room (for lack of a better word) into Mr. Moon's bathroom. While I have the most beautiful bathroom in the North Florida/South Georgia area, Mr. Moon has a bathroom which is the room most in need of just ripping off the house and replacing. It was probably the original indoor bathroom to the house. The tub has very little enamel left on it and no matter what I do, I can never get it quite clean so mostly I just pretend it's not there. Sometimes, however, I do open the shower curtain and gasp in horror and today was one of those days and I even found a spider web in the corner of where the tub is and I am not kidding you. Oh wait- not just a spider- a spider in a web. 
Why does the man never say anything?
I started out just scrubbing toilets but after I looked at that tub, I decided it was time to try and do a little bit of mildew removal in there, a little soap-scum reduction. And so I did. And then I cleaned the sink and swept and mopped the floor. I love that old linoleum. It was here when we got here and there are no rips or tears in it and I see no reason to replace it. I think it looks just dandy.

I also scrubbed the mildew off the kitchen porch steps with bleach water. I should have done the front porch steps too because when I was watering out there, I slipped on some and in those eternal moments when you realize that you no longer are in control of your feet, legs, or body I realized that "slippery when wet" does indeed apply to mildewed wood and cement surfaces. I ended up sitting rather abruptly on my butt and did not actually fall and thank god for that. I am old and would probably have broken my hip. And we all know where that leads, which is a slow and painful death for the elderly and I am going to be sixty a week from tomorrow.
But no, I didn't scrub the front porch steps.
I guess I was just born to be fucking wild, risking life and limb or limb and then life, to be more specific.

I took all the garbage and recycle. I rearranged some shit and despaired at how much crap I have and need to get rid of. Much of it is stuff that would go in a family museum (or mausoleum, perhaps) if there was such a thing. I guess my house is the family museum and dear god, I'm tired of holding on to these sacred relics. My mother's purse, for example, with her wallet and all of her cards and ID's in it. Her pictures. Her...I don't know what. I can't bring myself to actually go through it. I did find a beautiful ruby red velvet jewelry box that said, "Helzerg Diamonds" but all it contained was a few yellowing blank index cards.

Gee Dee, as David Sedaris's father would say.

Here's a butterfly I saw on the not-yet-blooming red passionflower vine.

And here's what the old farm produced today.

See those beans? There are five of them. Turns out the beans I planted a month or so ago are yard-longs which of course I'd already forgotten. Maybe I'll get twenty before the season's over.

Mr. Moon is home and I've got the brown rice cooked for the stuffed peppers I'm going to make. I am very excited about this but then again, food does generally excite me.

I have no ending for this because it never does end. Not garbage or mildew or laundry or the need to eat.

And so...

Chickens And Eggs And Love And All That Stuff

Lazy, lazy morning.
Mr. Moon is back at the siding project with our across-the-street neighbor. They got rained out yesterday which made me happy because that meant my husband came home and we took a nap and the rain fell down and Maurice cuddled with me and it was so nice. And then that dinner last night.
Golly. What a sweet day it turned out to be.

Mr. Moon had promised our neighbor to make egg sandwiches for their breakfast this morning before they got to work and he brought that fact up about a dozen times last night. I refused to rise to the bait and this morning I did not rise to the task and indeed, woke up to the smell of bacon. When I got up, the fellas had had a fine breakfast that Mr. Moon made himself and he even cooked me some bacon and offered to make me some eggs before they left to go do the siding.
"Oh, thank-you but please no," I said. "I'll cook my own eggs."

After they left I made a smoothie instead with some of the fruit salad I'd made last night and two figs off one of our trees. Probably the only damn two figs we'll get due to squirrels. And that bacon?
Ah. That will be my lunch on a sandwich with tomatoes. Yes.

I believe that Miss Eggy Tina has laid her first egg.

Her tiny sister Missy has been laying regularly but this morning there were two of the little eggs in the nest and if Missy's egg is small, Eggy Tina's is a miniature of that. They will probably get bigger but neither one is ever going to lay an egg as big as the other hens'. They are banties, I suppose. Fancy pants ones but still, banties. So I think that of all the new hens, everyone is laying except possibly Nicey. I know that Butterscotch and Lucille are, Chi-Chi and Cha-Cha are and now both Missy and Eggy Tina, and so that leaves Nicey. I am a bit disappointed in that none of the girls are laying anything but brown and ivory and white eggs. No green ones, no blues.
Oh well. Perhaps if I educated myself on things like chicken breeds, I might have chosen different peeps but I haven't and didn't and I love the ones I have and what a perfect little flock they are with their husband, Drogo, who is becoming a fine rooster and they are all part of the whole family of chickens and there is peace in the yard between them all.

And so it goes in Lloyd on another Sunday. I keep thinking about how much fun we had last night. We are such a chaotic group when we all get together. And soon, Jessie and Vergil will be part of it too. I am thinking of those two today. Vergil has been gone for two weeks on a trip down a river in Colorado and Jessie has been missing him "insanely" as she says and he will be home to her today.

It is good to know that all of my own chickens are well and safe and good.

Time to get out and do something. Clean up the kitchen for one thing. I may not have made the breakfast but I will gladly clean it up. Maybe I'll clear out a bit more of the garden, pick some more bell peppers and stuff them for our supper.

I see that James Garner has died. Bless him. He was a fine actor. One of my favorite movies ever in the world starred him and Sally Fields. "Murphy's Romance" and if you've never seen it, aw, just go ahead and do it. It's sweet and simple and funny and I fell in love with him all over again when it came out and every time I watch it, I love him even more.

All right. That's it.
Is it lunchtime yet?

Love...Ms. Moon

Beauty Everywhere. Dinner At May And Michael's House

I'm not even going to try and tell you what each picture means to me. I''m just going to give them to you.

It was magical.

My heart, my soul, my camera were hungry for all of it. 

Plus...fish tacos and the best guacamole I ever ate. 

What a beautiful evening. 

I begged May to have a ladies' dance night soon. She said she would. 

I can't wait. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Sometimes You Gotta Dance

Okay. So it was the sort of night where the music came out. Started with the new (very old) album, went on to even older albums, there was hallway dancing. Joni Mitchell and Crosby, Stills and Nash. And then Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. And then the Stones', Let It Bleed. 
It felt wonderful, blissful. And the whole time I kept saying to my husband, "Don't laugh at me. I might do this all night."
Of course I didn't. I think the party was over at ten. In bed by eleven.
And then the animals. Oh god. Maurice licking my face. Buster and Dolly both got in our room and scratched and rolled and sighed and snorked and I put Buster out, not realizing that Dolly was there too, and then I did and put her out and then Maurice wanted to play and really?
No. No. No.
Then the dreams. The chaos. The house filled with people and junk and junk and people and junk and rotting food and dirty laundry and more people and more junk and someone had done costumes for a play and left material and a mannequin with half a costume pinned to it and pins and needles and scissors and a group of Israeli students were living downstairs and partying all night long and I told them, "You have to get out now!" and they went and left behind all of their stuff and no one cleaned up after themselves and I desperately wanted to get my husband alone but there was no place where people weren't, even in this huge house.

Very restful evening.

And I feel so guilty because in real life my husband has been up and working to put up siding on a duplex we own in town since 6:45 and I slept (finally) until 8:45 and I haven't done one damn thing except read the paper and sit here and look at crap on the internet and let the chickens out.

And now it's raining.

Oh, Saturday. Could I suspend my guilt for being a hallway-dancing-party-monster, useless lay-about for just the span of you?

I think I'll make some, uh, brunch.

And then watch the rest of this which is a clip from the Today show wherein the guys who just made a movie about the Late, Great, James Brown talk about it.

Now there's a movie I'll go to see. I'll probably dance my way through the whole thing. I better sit in the back of the theater.

Much Love...Your Dancin' Fool Correspondant, Ms. Moon

This And Then That

Well, my day has gone as I predicted with a few notable differences, one being the surprising fact that I hardly felt any aches and pains and never needed to take any Ibuprofen. For some reason, I feel this is a sort of huge victory. Maybe it was that pork chop I ate last night. Yeah, definitely the pork chop.

I was in a great mood today and I went to Lily's house and Gibson said, "Mer car!" so I drove us around which the boys like for some reason. It's a change, I suppose. We went to the library and I played with the boys while Lily looked for books and by "playing" I mean we rode the elevator up to the second floor and Owen pushed the "Help" button but no one called us out on it and then we climbed the stairs to the third floor and then we rode the elevator back down to the first floor but no one pushed the "Help" button. We went to the kids' section where the boys climbed up the steps to the treehouse thing where two little girls were looking at books. One was eight and one was six.
Let me just say this- eight-year old girls could rule the world.
This one could, at least. She told me that the six-year old was her niece, and that she was the girl's aunt. "Her mother, who is my sister, and I have different fathers," she told me matter-of-factly. "So we are half-sisters but really, we're sisters."
Gibson and Owen weren't truly interested in the family connections but they liked the girls.
Hey kids!" Gibson said, over and over again. And then proceeded to converse with them in long strings of words, some of them intelligible only by him. Owen had a good time talking to them too, and all-in-all, it was fun times at the library.
While we were there, Gibson pooped and Lily's change bag was in her van. So. Off we went to the brand new downtown Walgreens to buy some diapers. It was a crazy Walgreens! We were greeted by at least half a dozen people who all offered to show us where everything was and they had food and drugs and cosmetics and candy galore and yes, diapers and there was a liquor store too, although we didn't go in there. While Lily took Gibson to the restroom to change him, Owen and I perused the nail polish and picked out our favorite colors. But we didn't buy any.
We got back into the car and navigated our way through the downtown traffic to Fanny's for lunch where we met up with Hank. We had, as always, a terrific lunch made by Taylor and had a marvelous time. Hank had brought me a present. Here is what he brought me:

Now that album is one that has meant an awful lot to me in my life. It helped me to understand and define who I was when I most needed it. I wrote about it here. 
And dammit, I am going to listen to some of it (at least) tonight. It has three complete albums in it, six sides of purely good music.
It touched my heart that Hank got it for me.

Here's a picture of Hank and Owen:

My boys. This picture makes me so happy I can hardly stand it. 

Owen told May a joke when we got to the cafe. She told it to us later and Hank said, "I'm totally going to start telling that joke," and I said, "It'll be on the blog tonight."

Here it goes-

"Why didn't the squirrel gather nuts for the winter?"

"Because he was already dead."

Oh yeah. The boy has it going on. 

He's really into telling stories these days. Long, long stories that are broken up regularly by the words, "And then you know what happened?" and as you answer, "No, I don't. What happened?" he figures out the next part and they are some spectacular stories and involve monsters and dinosaurs and his family and natural disasters and oh my god. Today he was telling Hank one of these stories and then Hank told Owen that he was going to go home and hang out with pirates and then take a rocket ship to another planet and then go to a Rolling Stones concert. 

Story-telling is in our blood, obviously.

Lily was too exhausted after all of this to go to the store and so I dropped them off at their house and went to Publix, came home to find my husband already here and I never did take a nap but I didn't feel as if I needed one anyway and here we are. 

Martini time. 

Today at the library Owen asked me how I would feel if my husband left me and got with another wife and had ninety-two more babies with her. 

I told him I would be heart-broken. 

And then I asked him if he really thought that Boppa might do that. 

"No," he said. 

"Yeah, I don't think so either," I said. 

And to myself I thought, At least not the part about ninety-two more babies.

I better go love that man up so he doesn't leave me for another wife. 

But here's one little bit of lagniappe. Have I posted this before? Probably. It bears repeating. One of my favorite cartoons ever in this world. From the New Yorker, of course. 

Talk to you tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I Keep Moving, Albeit In My Own Way

Ah. Done with the walk and this week I have upped both milage and speed. I suppose I am determined to enter my sixties with a least a modicum of strength. It makes me feel strong to walk; whether in all actuality it does make me strong is another matter. But knowing that I can indeed increase the number of my footsteps and the speed in which I take them is a cheering thought.

Of course I have to take Ibuprofen to be able to walk at all the rest of the day but as long as that works, I am happy.

And it is Friday and so I go to town and Lily and the boys and I will go to the Big Library and then to lunch with Hank and then to the grocery store by which time I will no longer feel strong but ready to weep and then I'll come home and unload everything and maybe lie down for a bit and then I'll get up and have my coffee and my husband will come home and we'll have our martinis on the porch.

My poor man. He has been holding a gift certificate for two different restaurants that a grateful customer gave him for months and he keeps asking me to go out with him to use them up and I keep saying, "No, no. I'd rather stay home."
And I would.
I am such a creature of habit. I want our Friday night here where the glow of our drinks make us see our little world and each other with new eyes, and perhaps take a stroll around the estate and feed the chickens some grapes and stop to kiss and be comfortable and content and then I make something lovely to eat and here we are, right here, steps away from bed, and really, that's all I want. Not to be out in the world with strangers eating food that comes from a corporate kitchen.

I had a call last week from a woman asking me to help with the campaign of a candidate I do believe in and I told her that I was very sorry but that I am something of a hermit and I will get out to vote but no, no, I am no organizer. It felt liberating, in a way, saying that. "I am something of a hermit."
True and yet I am not ashamed of it and this is who I am and yes, I can still go out into the world and I do but I am very, very picky about where and when and that is just the truth of it.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Hope, Despair, And Everything Else

A judge in Monroe County, down in the Keys, gave a decision today saying that Florida's ban on gay marriage is unconstitutional.
This is a start. It will only cover Monroe County (which is where Key West is and there you go!) and of course, our State Attorney General, Ms. Pam Bondi, has already filed an appeal. She believes in the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman and so very deeply that she's already had two husbands and two divorces and is about to marry a third man.

Anyway, so it begins.

There are more cases in the state pending judgement and eventually the inevitable will happen and our state will be a state where there will be equal rights under the law for people to marry whomever they love.

Can't happen soon enough for me.

It's been a good day overall. I spent most of it outdoors, cleaning up the yard, cleaning the hen house, doing a bit of weeding in the garden. I don't understand this whole Malaysian plane situation except to know that a lot of people are tragically dead. The fighting in the middle east continues. Israelis and Palestinians are killing each other. I am sick unto death of hearing about war and its casualties. I grow so weary at the constancy of it. We are a demented and warlike species and that is all there is to it.

Here.

A flower, a chicken, a cat, some eggs. 

I'm baking sweet potatoes. My husband is home. There is love here, there is peace, there is plenty.

How I wish it were so everywhere. 

I Do Not Settle For Less. This Is What I Need

I've had my walk and am soaking wet but it's not as hot as it has been. I had to alter my path today due to the huge puddles, more like tiny ponds, in some parts of the wooded dirt roads which are lined with such tall grass that I would only walk in them if I was trying to get Lyme disease. I saw the pointy tracks of a deer in the rain-softened sand, the child-like raccoon tracks as well.

It is a day of quiet for me. I have no need to go to town, no one is coming here that I know of. The boys and I had a good day yesterday although it rained on and off. Gibson and I sat on the porch swing and rocked gently, watching the rain fall down. He focused on it intently and we were quiet until he wanted to sing the Eensy Weensy Spider (or do you call it the Itsy Bitsy Spider?) and we did and he was so happy. He cheers when the spider climbs up the spout again. All above us and around us were the banana spiders as we sang. It was sort of a perfect moment in time.
Boppa came home and then all the boys wanted his him. I fed them all pizza for supper and Boppa took them home to their mama and I cleaned up and that was another day, slipped through like a dream.

All of it seems like a dream, lately. These long, summer days of cicada buzz and afternoon thunder storms. The birdsong and dappled shade. The tomatoes and watermelons, the heat, the lazing cat, the napping dogs, the slow rotation of summer's flowers- the passion flower, the clitoria, the brown-eyed susans, the morning glory, the crepe myrtle which is having a spectacular year.
Soon the hurricane lilies will be pushing up, the confederate rose will begin to bud and open.

Jessie texted me this morning that she saw a bumper sticker that reminded her of me. It said, "If indoor plumbing doesn't make you happy, I don't know what will."

Exactly.

I belong to a Facebook group called Old Florida and they posted a picture of a house today which is almost the exact twin of one I lived in back in the seventies. The house where I learned that if indoor plumbing doesn't make you happy, then I don't know what will because it had none.

We froze in that house and we sweltered. It rented for $75 a year.
That is not a typo.

I have indoor plumbing now. And air conditioning and heating. And I am grateful. But I tell you what- I did not hate living in that house. There was a pump out back and I got strong, pumping our water. There was a beauty to it that taught me a lot about life and how simple it can be and how I can learn to make do. When the corn fields around us died from lack of rain the summer we lived there I learned to appreciate rain and the cool miraculous relief and sustenance of it.

I talk about setting the bar too low when it comes to what makes me happy, content. But honestly, I think that if more of us had lived in conditions that much of the world lives in, it would be a good thing. We would all be satisfied with less. We would all appreciate what we have so much more.

It has certainly worked that way for me.

Good morning.

Love...Ms. Moon

Go Home, Florida. You're Drunk

Our governor. And yeah, I take Anderson Cooper's point and agree with it 100% but the most important thing about this video to me is just how freaking crazy scary Scott is. Look at those eyes. But not for too long. That would be dangerous.

Oh Florida. You never cease to amaze me. Sometimes in a good way.
Sometimes, not so much.

Growth Cycles

Mushrooms springing up in the yard. Why don't I know anything about mushrooms? Which ones to eat, specifically? That part of my education is sorely lacking.

I am feeling guilty because I'm not out walking. It keeps raining on and off. It rained yesterday and last night too. Right now it sounds as if the world has a mist-sprinkler going. It is lovely.

My chat with Maurice yesterday did little good. Why, why, why is it that the only time she wants to get lovey is in the middle of the night? I knew this was going to happen. We all knew this was going to happen. You should see her climb a tree. For no apparent reason she will run across the yard and up a tree as if being pursued by dire wolves. She gets about fifteen feet up, stops, looks down across her shoulder and you can just hear her thinking, "Holy shit. Now what?" She figures it out. She scrambles back down, all dignity intact.

In other animal news, I am finding it more and more difficult not to feel compassionate about these damn stupid dogs as they age. How ironic is this? Poor Buster. He falls off the steps regularly. The other day he got lost in the mud room. I was calling him from inside the doorway about a foot away, to come out of there and he literally could not see his way out, even though the door was right there. And last week he was howling while I was outside with the boys. I ran in to find him standing in the kitchen door, just howling so piteously for no reason whatsoever. It was as if he had found himself in a place he didn't recognize. He is showing signs of agitation and I worry that he may be in pain. I call Dolly to come outside to pee and poop and she makes her way down the steps and then immediately comes back up them. I think she can at least see and hear a little better than her brother. But not much. She sleeps almost all hours of the day and night.
Their days are numbered and that's all there is to it. And I become more paralyzed and less sure of myself as applies to taking them to the vet.

The chickens cackle in the hen house. I need to clean out their poop, put down fresh hay. The boys are coming soon for the afternoon and evening. The morning is slipping away. We are saturated with water and the mushrooms are springing up and water oaks are throwing their limbs and it is summer in North Florida and we move slowly if we are smart.

Funny how everything seems to get done anyway and whatever doesn't, doesn't really matter.
I take instruction from the Live Oaks who have grown so slowly all of these centuries and yet, tower above all, putting forth new leaves every spring.
I think they rest a lot too.

Good morning.