Nip It. Nip It In The Bud

May posted this on Facebook the other day.
I think that this is a good place to start to create change.

It goes without saying that I love my daughter and I think that she is incredibly smart and also, a badass.

Lately I've made a pact with myself to stop laughing and smiling when men say stupid things that offend me. It's hard, because, well, we do this, right? Ladies? So tonight, when a man was trying to flirt with me on the phone during a pick up order while I had a line in front of me... I asked for his phone number (as you do when taking a call for take out) and he talked over me, asking me my name, saying "So, are you a student here in town? " I said, "I'm a 40 year old married woman. Now can I please have your phone number, sir? " He gave me his number, the man at the front of the line gave me the best smile, and I felt great. No flirting, I have people I need to serve. A bonus: when he came in he looked like Colonel Sanders. Douche Colonel Sanders.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Sort Of Hell But One I Should Be Used To By Now

The truth:

I think that for me, this whole Me Too thing is horribly triggering. And not necessarily for the reasons you might think.
This same thing happened when the Bill Cosby accusations started flying thick and fast and then again when the grab-the-pussy tape came out and more and more women started stepping forward to tell their own stories about Trump's gropings and all manner of unwanted attentions.
Now the Weinstein situation is in the news and yes, he's gotten fired but why is this the case that finally caused people to say, "Enough?"

For me, the trigger is not that these men did the things that they did and got away with it for so long. It's that women DO speak up and they are not believed or they are ignored or they are told that they asked for it or should just "forget about it" or any one of a thousand things that makes it so clear that the men are not held accountable and the women are so very often blamed and shamed and left feeling completely powerless.

And in some very primitive way, this throws me right back to childhood when no one protected me, when I was ignored, when my needs and my heart and my soul were sacrificed for the status quo and I again I feel as if the world is a horribly dangerous place where there is no justice for women or children or for the disenfranchised of this world and fear and hopelessness crest over me and I feel the pain of everyone who has ever come forward and said, "Me too," and yet nothing has changed.

I have been trying on and off all day long to write about this in a way that explains how these publicized reports make me feel and I just can't corral my thoughts in an orderly fashion. I think that this is due to the way that the fear and anxiety and depression which result from this publicity scramble my brain which tries valiantly to simply shut down when presented with things like this.
Disassociate! Disassociate! it screams to the point where I can barely spell my own name, much less express a cogent thought. 

Perhaps I will try again tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Don't Know. I DO NOT KNOW!

Another day where I have nothing to talk about. I did some embroidery and I am now hoping this quilt is ready for my newest grandchild-to-be's high school graduation.
While I embroidered, I binge-watched (I guess?) a bunch of episodes of Frankie and Grace which I have avoided until now due to Jane Fonda but Lily Tomlin is a genius and there are some good lines in there and Jane Fonda isn't so bad, actually.
So.
I wish I was a better needleworker. One thing I have noticed is that no matter how much I knit or embroider or crochet, my work never seems to get any better. I am mediocre at best. My mother was an amazing knitter and crocheter and could follow a pattern like nobody's business. Jessie's really good at knitting too and it rather stuns me. Maybe in my next lifetime I'll actually take lessons or something. Meanwhile, I putter on with what I do and I do enjoy it but it always ends up looking messy and so imperfect.

Mr. Moon is home and I am glad to have him back. I don't mind being alone at all but honestly, I know it's not really the best thing for me to have too much time spent solo.

So, on Facebook right now it's a thing to make your status "me too" if we've been sexually harassed or assaulted to point out the vast number of women (and of many men, as well) who have experienced these things.
I don't know why but I'm not feeling it.
I have no doubt that at least 99.9% of all women have, at some point in their lives, been sexually harassed or assaulted or both and far more than once, most likely. This is the reality of it.
And hell no, it's not all right. HELL FUCKING NO! And it's not excusable. It's something that all women live with and have lived with and which they have to carry as unwelcome and painful baggage for the rest of their lives. Which is just wrong. It's like soul-crushing is built into the female human experience.
And please know that I do realize that this is also true for many males. I know it like I know my own blood.
But what goddam good does it do to post what is so obviously true on FB? Who are we swaying with this information? Who are we enlightening? What are we changing?
To be honest, I am feeling this way about so many things in social media. Not the personal stories so much but the "Type yes if you agree with this" kind of thing.
Fuck yes, I think Trump should be impeached.
Fuck yes, I think athletes have every right to protest violence against African Americans by police and everyone else.
Fuck yes, I am horrified by the things our government is doing for no apparent reason except for spite and (let's face it) racially based hatred of MY president, Obama.
Fuck yes, cancer sucks.
Fuck yes, we need to do something about global climate change.
Fuck yes, we need to save the manatee, the pandas, the elephants, the tigers, the vast and impossibly complex rain forests and trees and rivers and our mother seas.
Fuck yes! We need to help the starving, the sick, the under-served, the under-represented, the homeless, the abused, the vet with PTSD and/or life-altering physical problems.
Fuck yes! We need to ensure the rights of all citizens.
Fuck yes, women should have autonomy over their own bodies and be able to make their own choices about their reproductive systems.
Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes to all of these and so many more but when push comes to shove...
What good does typing "yes" as a comment do?
Anything?
It's Facebook. It's not a direct line to the gods or the government.
It's so easy to feel like we're doing something of value when we type those "yeses" and I almost wonder if that isn't part of the problem.

I don't know.

I just know that when people write their true stories, their experiences, I pay attention. That's when I make room in my brain for learning something I did not know. For being able to view something in a way that perhaps I have never considered.
And that is another reason I will always love the blogs.

But god love us. Bless our hearts. We do what we can and it hurts nothing at all to say me too. 
But until we name names, until we stand up and say, NO MORE!, until we point out what sexual harassment is, nothing is going to change.
And even then it's not a sure thing. I mean, Trump got elected president and he admitted sexual harassment and assault out loud on tape and he laughed about it and bragged about it and never really apologized for it.
But.
Maybe.
If there are enough women who come forth to accuse even the rich and the powerful along with the regular guys who don't think twice about what they're doing when they try to sexually engage a woman or a girl in any way shape or fashion when that sort of attention is neither asked for nor appropriate, perhaps things will change.

Type yes if you, like me, feel like you don't fucking know shit except that it's a crazy world.
Or don't.
Either way, it's all right. I know where your heart is.

Love...Ms. Moon

Memories, Observations, Factual Report

I have had about the most boring day in history although I wasn't bored. I spent most of it sewing and I have to say that at this point, King Richard's quilt looks like a color-blind circus costumer made it but I'm sure that by the time I embroider some on it, it'll be awesome!
Right?
I did get off my ass for about half an hour and went outside and picked up some windfallen branches and pulled a few spent rooster-tail lilies (why did I ever plant those damn things?) and sweated like a trouper, as my granny used to say, and came in and wondered if I am somehow damaged by old age or something and will never be able to work outside in the heat again.
That would be sad.
Speaking of working outside, I realize that after approximately fifty years of gardening I planted my seeds in a completely shitty way and although some of them are coming up relatively normal, some of them obviously got rain-washed by the gully busters we had last week.
So I feel pretty darn useless.

That's a confederate rose up there in that picture and I'm sorry but that's its name. We could call it by its formal name which is hibiscus mutabilis or it's other common name which is the dixie rosemallow.
Jeez. Not much way to win with this one.
Whatever you call it, it's one of my favorites, so fancy and pink, almost tacky in its exuberant girlyness. It really does remind me of the flowers that my best friend Lucille Ferger and I used to make with Kleenex and bobby pins. I just googled "making flowers with Kleenex" and that's still a thing. I wonder if Lucille is still alive. I can't find her via Google or FB although I think I did find her twin sister but only the fact that she is, or was at least, a physical therapist.
Of the other three siblings I can find no trace.
How odd. My life between 1960 and 1965 was so very wrapped up in the lives of the Fergers who lived at the other end of the street which I lived on in Roseland- the only paved road in Roseland proper then and the only paved road in Roseland proper now. When I go back to Roseland I can't believe how small it was. The house is still very much there although the garage where Mrs. Ferger washed the clothes in an old wringer washer and the chicken coop are gone. Five kids and the daddy was a barber. In those days, a barber, even in a very small town, could support a family of seven although it was always tough, making ends meet. I could tell even then. My family still calls soda crackers with peanut butter on them Ferger snacks. But Roseland was a poor place and the Fergers had enough to eat even if it was plain and simple and a car, even if it was old and rusty, and they had a record player which we listened to Mitch Miller records on. (Watch the bouncing ball!) They were Catholic which was an oddity in Roseland but not really that remarkable.
I'll never forget watching Lucille's brother cut the head off one of their chickens and indeed, it did run around for awhile, headless and bleeding. I'll also never forget camping in the yard with Lucille, our tent made of a blanket stretched between garage and chicken coop and fastened with clothespins. We burned Pic mosquito repellent coils and we got up in the very deepest part of the night and looked up at the sky and the number of stars above us was so unfathomable that I would say that that was my first religious experience and my first inkling of the concept of infinity.

Ah, lah.

Childhood.

I just went out and shut the chickens up and tonight, Joe Cocker is sleeping by himself and Mick is The Man. Would you look at this?

Mick has his wing over Miss Dora and if there is an explanation for this behavior, I do not know what it is. It's certainly not cool enough for them to want to share body heat. I just googled that (what in the world did we do before Google?) and it would seem that Ameracaunas are a snuggly breed and Mick is an Ameracauna. Ameracaunas are the ones who lay the colored eggs and frankly, I think they are a superior breed. Or at least a very sweet one. That's little Violet and Lucy behind them and I know that it's Lucy and not Owl because the egg I got today was the pale green one, not the blue one. 

All right. This is what happens when I don't talk to another soul all day long. 

Thank you for letting me talk to you. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Redefining Our Origins

If you are as blown away by my new header image as I am, go here to read about the artist, Hermonia Rosales.
My daughter May introduced me to her and her work.
I am in her debt.

More Than I Can Say

My MacBook cranked right up this morning with no problems and I can't tell you how grateful I am for that. I was met with sadness though when I opened the door of the hen house and let the chickens out. There was a pile of feathers and Miss Owl, I think, was missing. It's always been hard for me to ID Owl and Lucy unless they are together for comparison but I think it was Owl. Lucy has been looking around all day and I can tell she is off. I got no egg from her and I saw her inspect the pile of feathers.
Hawk? Owl?
Most likely one of the two. An aerial attack, a quick claw-snatch and flap of strong wings.

It's quiet this evening after a fairly busy day. I met up with Lily and her children and Jessie and her child at Costco and it was chaos, as it always is when all of the cousins are involved. Owen even said that August was way more energized than he'd ever seen him. Gibson brought a piece of paper and a pencil and he was writing tickets. I'm not sure what for, but he didn't write me one.
Phew!

We were too early for samples and the children were bitterly disappointed. Owen insisted that he was about to die of hunger. Maggie and August were given some of my cherry tomatoes which they love and a few blackberries and they were happy and did not starve. Actually, Maggie is eating an entire Babybel cheese in one go in that picture. 

After Costco we headed over to our regular eating establishment, El Patron, where we sat outside and it wasn't bad in the shade. There was a nice breeze and they always bring us lots and lots and lots of chips and salsa and bring Hank a giant tankard of his beverage of choice and we tip them like we've all been food servers before (which we have) and even Mr. Moon showed up to join us. 

August took his accustomed seat on his Boppy's lap where he is most content.

Magnolia entertained herself by walking around and visiting everyone.

Gibson was his Gibson self and told us more jokes and kept a record of our behavior on his ticket sheet. 

And Owen did not die of hunger but posed with his Uncle Hank and our Rachel. 

Here are Jessie and her beautiful belly-full-of-baby and August and Lily and Maggie. 

Can you see Maggie getting puckered up? 

And...she makes her move!

August, as usual, appears to barely tolerate such mushy stuff. 

And all of that was the exciting part of my day. After lunch I went to Joanne's Fabrics and bought blanket binding for King Richard's quilt and then I went to Publix. Mr. Moon has driven to Georgia to the hunting camp and so I am alone again, but not upset about it at all. I can and will work on the quilt and whatever I want tomorrow at my own pace with no one's schedule to adhere to but my own. 

I just closed up the hen house and found Joe Cocker on a tiny ledge with three hens. Camellia, Dottie, and Violet are all snuggled up to and underneath him despite the fact that there is a whole lot of empty real estate to bed down in. Dearie is up in the tree along with Nicey and it seems to me that Dora is displaying some broody behavior, sitting flat in the same exact position she was in on a nest hours ago when I checked for eggs but that makes no sense whatsoever. This is not the season for hens to hatch eggs. 

Unless of course, the global climate changes have affected the eons-old internal timepiece of my hen. 

I discount nothing these days which appears too unbelievable to even contemplate. Since Trump got elected every day of his reign seems to bring another act or quote of his which shatters what I thought even possible from him. I comfort myself by thinking at random times during the day and night that perhaps at this moment, he is being arrested for treason or some other high crime which surpasses even his own party to ignore but I am beginning to think that no such crime exists for these soulless people of privilege, these heartless people from hell. 

All we can do right now is to absolutely not lose sight of that which is true, that which is real, that which is correct, that which is loving, that which is right, that which is sane, and to not accept any of these perverted things which are coming from the now-defiled office of the president but to speak up against them and to remember that history will not be kind to these people although this is rather cold comfort while we are in the middle of it all. 

Peace. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Well, Lloyd officially has a liquor store now. It's in the same strip building as the "food mart" and the Subway and you can get gas out front. Those and the auto repair shop are the entire sum of commerce in Lloyd although there are approximately 497 churches in a five mile radius of my house.

We are not exactly thriving here, are we?

I knocked over a glass of water this morning and some of it got in my MacBook which has upset me a great deal as you can imagine. I honestly don't think my computer is fried because I shut it off after I drenched the side ports and that all went just as it's supposed to. I leaned it up on its side, open in a V all day and now I have it just sitting open. I'm going to give it twenty-four hours before I try to restart it and I've got my fingers crossed. So obviously, I am writing this on my phone. 

Here's a picture I took on my walk. 

Now isn't that just pretty? 

I think so. 

This is what I've been doing most of the day. 

Sewing and pinning and cutting and sewing. 

I'm getting there with my fifth grandchild's quilt. 

Still a ways to go, though. 

I love the smiley, friendly llamas. And it will be soft. 

And that's about it. Mr. Moon is not back yet from Apalachicola where he went today to work on the lot but he should be here soon, most likely by the time Jeopardy comes on and definitely hot, filthy, exhausted, and happy as a man can be. 

I think that tomorrow is going to be lunch-in-town day with Lily and Jessie and Hank and Rachel and all of the kids because it's a Teacher Planning day. I am probably inappropriately excited about this as it's been too long since we got together for one of our rowdy, chaotic lunches. My hug-and-kiss supply should be topped up nicely. 

Dang but I love my family.

And I know exactly how lucky I am.

Thanks for dropping by. 

Love From Lloyd Where You Can Now More Easily Drink AND Pray...Ms. Moon. 

No Complaints

Y'all! I don't really want to be Martha Stewart. I mean, she seems like a pretty okay woman with a good sense of humor to me and god knows she's got a lot of energy and survived her prison sentence with a lot of class in my opinion but mostly, I just love that she and Snoop Dogg are working together and appear to actually enjoy each other's company. And who the hell wouldn't want to be friends with this guy?




Anyway, moving on as I will never even meet Snoop Dogg or be anything like Martha Stewart who can do EVERYTHING, obviously, although I did spend quite a few hours today working on Baby King Richard's quilt and I have almost have one part of it done. I also got to go hang with Magnolia June for a short time today, just the two of us, and it was sweet and fun. I love that little woman baby, that sassy pants princess, that curly-haired cutie. She likes me okay, too. We got a good thing going on. She's so loving with everyone to tell you the truth, but I like to think that she has a special place in her heart for me.
We looked at some books and laughed and laughed at a sound that a button in Elmo Learns To Use The Potty makes which is supposed to replicate the sound of toilet paper spinning off the roll. She let me scratch her back but she would not let me give her a foot massage.
"No," she said. And so I did not.

It rained hard again this afternoon and we got a few mighty cracking booms of thunder and today I have felt relatively cheerful and so much less despondent than yesterday.
Again- no idea why. Absolutely nothing has changed.
More of my seedlings are coming up in the garden and I washed some rugs and chased a roach which was so big that I honestly didn't want to kill it because the guts would have been just too much to handle without a Hazmat suit so he's now somewhere under a kitchen cabinet or maybe the dishwasher.

And that's what's happened in Lloyd today and I'm going to broil some snapper and make my famous gourmet spinach and rice casserole (haha) and maybe some stewed tomatoes.

None of this is special in any way but because I am feeling not-crazy, it just seems rather heavenly. Well, except for the cockroach.

I better go start cooking.

Love...Ms. Moon

Today's Interior Design Tip From Your Fantasy Lifestyle Guru

If eggs are not washed after being taken from the nest, they can safely sit out on the counter for weeks, thus making them not only more handy for cooking and freeing up room in the refrigerator, but also becoming a lovely decorative piece for your kitchen which changes daily with use and new additions.
If you are lucky enough to have hens and a neighbor who creates lovely wooden bowls from downed trees such as pecan and oak, your kitchen counters will always look lovely.

Do I sound like Martha Stewart?
Sometimes I wish I was Martha Stewart because then I'd know Snoop Dogg and I would cook him fabulous munchie-satisfying omelets and custards from my beautiful eggs and he would sit in my kitchen and talk about things such as how cosmically perfect my eggs are and the deep meanings of everything.

I believe we would laugh a lot and I would give him new hairstyles if he wanted me to.