I'm Surprised It Took Me This Long To Panic

 Well, there's a lousy picture of three big black cows that I took on my walk. I took the picture through a chain link fence, so there you go. Nothing else of note happened on the walk. I restuck a Biden sign back in the dirt that was laying down. The other day at the same yard I picked up a homemade "Black Lives Matter" sign that had slipped off the chair which it had been propped on and settled it back where it belonged. My goodly deeds for the days. I also took a picture of this amazing bloom today.

I took a picture of this same plant in bloom a few years ago and it was identified on a wildflower page on FB but I can't remember what it was. I do remember that it's horribly invasive. I tried using my PictureThis app to ID it but it gave me two answers, neither of which were correct. This was the first time that app has failed me. The little flowerlets are almost waxy. It's a gorgeous thing but I'm half afraid to pick it and bring it into my house to stick in a vase. Just my luck it would somehow escape and next thing you know I'd be fighting and despairing over it along with all of the other invasive plants growing in my yard that someone thought were a good idea to plant at one time or another. 

I woke up anxious as hell today and the walk didn't help. As the day progressed, so did the anxiety. And then I got a call from my OB/GYN's office informing me that my uterus is "borderline" meaning that anything over a 5 cm lining is a problem (don't ask me why) and my uterine lining is exactly 5 cm. Which they consider something to be wary of. Here are my options:

1. Get a uterine biopsy. 

    I have had one of those before. No thank you.

2. Have a D&C. 

    WTF?

3. Wait four months and get another ultrasound. 

Guess what I chose? 

But because I have that completely illogical and neurotic fear surrounding medical diagnoses, this call kicked my anxiety from level orange to level DING!DING!DING!DING! RED ALERT! RED ALERT! 

Next thing I knew I was weeping silently to myself and decided to take an Ativan, which I did, which helped tremendously but I haven't done a damn thing since I took it. 

Well. That's not true. I did a few things. Someone made banana bread and did the laundry. I suppose it was me. 

One of the things I did for sure was to book a house on St. George Island for next week. I've been wanting to go to the beach for forever. Mr. Moon and I have our 36th anniversary coming up on October 25 and we'll go spend a few days by ourselves and then Jessie and the boys are going to come join us. Vergil has to be out of town for two weeks for work and so that'll be good timing. Whether Mr. Moon can stay for the entire week I do not know. He has a lot of projects going on. But we shall see. I feel so bad that the rest of the kids probably won't be coming to stay due to Covid concerns but who knows? Maybe there can be day visits? I hope so. 

The house is nothing special except for the fact that it is right on the gulf which makes it every thing I want. And not especially cheap, either, although when you think about all the lunches I have not eaten out since last March, I've probably saved more than enough money to pay for the rent. 

Time to get out the old Jimmy Buffet CD's, y'all. 

I think we're going to Monticello to early vote tomorrow. We have mail-in ballots but I want to make sure that every tick is tocked, every signature is witnessed. I want to get it done. 

And that's life today for me. It hasn't been an easy day but I've survived. And I have something very precious to look forward to although even doing something as glorious and fun as going to the beach for a week disturbs my sense of tranquility (or, whatever semblance of tranquility I may have) as I know that my routine will be altered, the carefully crafted and constructed walls of my rut will have to be breached. I absolutely know that there will be at least one moment, and probably far more than one, when I am looking at the sea and listening to the hissing waves and I will think, "I do not want to leave here."

This is a given. 

I hang on to that even as I begin worrying about the most insignificant and unimportant details one could imagine. 

Here are two pictures that I love. 

That was Lily the night she went to homecoming in high school. She asked me to crop out her date because he's sort of well-known in Tallahassee these days. For good things! For really good things! And isn't Lily beautiful? She was so happy to have found a plaid formal dress that she thought was cool. It had originally been longer but it hit her at an odd place and so I shortened it for her. 

All the better to see her ultra-hip fishnet stockings. Am I right? 

And the last picture.

I just can't tell you how much I love this. Magnolia was assigned the task of drawing or painting a tree for school and this is what she painted. Does it not remind you of a Chinese watercolor? I think it is exceptional and lovely and graceful and I think it should be framed. 

I had a friend who played guitar amazingly well and as he said, "It's not the notes you play, it's the notes you don't play." 

I think that most art is like this. And if that is indeed true, Ms. Maggie is well on her way to being an artist. At the age of not-quite five. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Y'all Can Have Your Green Juice. I Want To Eat My Greens

 Mark it on the calendar. Tonight's supper will include a salad made not just with store-bought lettuce but also the first tiny thinnings of the garden greens. In there are newborn kale, lettuces, arugula, and collards. Also two types of basil. And a few leaves of mature bonsai arugula which I planted in a pot where they have not, to say the least, thrived. But each piece of each leaf will add its own peppery goodness to the bowl. I love that when I pinch the almost microscopic roots from the arugula babies I can already smell their essence. It's almost like human babies who have their very own self-ness from birth, just in infant form. Anyway, aren't they beautiful, those clean, wet wisps of living green life? Sometimes it occurs to me that those people who believe that they can live on sunlight are correct, in a way. Plants take sunlight and turn it into food that we can eat and thrive on but the sun-eaters do forget that there are other elements (quite literally) involved and that trying to forego those elements and the steps that the plants go through to produce the calories and nutrients we need is a bit ridiculous. I don't care what certain yogis have claimed to do, the human body just doesn't work like that. 
I just looked it up. People who believe that are called "breatharians." Good luck with that! 

Why must humans always want to go right on past the true miracles of life on this earth like the Krebs cycle and evolution and sunrise and sunset and gravity and tides and physics and love and oak trees and octopuses and Keith Richards and eggs and butterfly migration to believe in bullshit like living on prana and psychic healing and walking on water and there being a god who only managed to have one son despite the fact that he's a god, who sends that son to earth to be tortured and killed for the tenuous purpose of saving the very people that the god supposedly created from the original sin that he supposedly allowed those people to become infected with so that those people can go to a supposed eternal life which will be perfect when they die their earthly death? 

If I live to be one hundred and sixty-six, I'll never understand that. Show me a newborn baby and I'll show you eternity in genetics. Show me the stars and I'll show you infinity and beyond. Show me death and I'll show you how death does indeed lead to life as it breaks down and gives up its essence to the dirt, nurturing the plants that grow above it. Show me a laboring woman and I will show you the miraculous ability of a human body to create and deliver life. Show me the Rolling Stones and I'll show you the miracle and ecstasy of dance. 

Well. This is not what I set out to write about today. Not that I ever set out to write anything in particular. 

Here's another picture. 

This is Mr. Fancy Pants taking a dust bath. He was flinging his head into the dirt to work it down into his feathers and wallowing like boar hog. He's the funniest little guy. Today I watched as Liberace chased him away from one of the hens and then, as soon as Liberace ran to see to another situation, Fancy Pants jumped up on the hen and had his way with her. It's not a graceful act, y'all. He's so small that he has to sort of perch on the ladies instead of covering them with authority but he manages. I'm not sure why Liberace hasn't just slayed him with his sharp spurs and lethal beak yet. I don't think he really takes the banty rooster seriously but I'm here to tell you that if another hen sits on a clutch of eggs around here, old Lib ain't gonna be the daddy of all of 'em. 

I have to go make supper now. 

Shrimp and grits. 

And...a beautiful green salad made of fresh pulled miracles. 

Amen.

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm Lazy Even If My Hens Are Not

This morning Mr. Moon made himself egg-in-a-hole which he loves but because I had given away all but two of our eggs, we had none when Vergil came by after sitting in the woods and hoping for a deer this morning. Jessie and the boys were going to come and meet him here and I wanted to make him a little breakfast and just as I was bemoaning the fact that we had no eggs, I heard a hen singing her "Come get me, Liberace! I have laid an egg!" song and sure enough, there was an egg in the pump house nest and I made Vergil the freshest egg sandwich on the planet. 
The egg bowl now looks like this, though, as nine hens gave me eggs throughout the day and I can't say for sure there aren't any more. I sure do wish I could figure out where Tweety is laying her tiny eggs. Sometimes you just need a tiny egg for a recipe, you know? Like if you're cutting a recipe in half and it calls for an egg. One Tweety egg would be the perfect size for your needs. 

I've been lazy today. Lazy as can be. I've mostly sat on my ass and done some crosswords and that is about all. I did a little more weeding and then flattered my husband into making two rows for me to plant some carrots and celery in, which he did. The flattery was sincere- as I have said many times, his rows are as straight and true as Elvis Costello's aim. It hasn't been too horribly hot today. Maybe up to eighty. But it was cool last night and we opened up the house and turned off the noisy, planet-destroying AC. Heaven. And I still have the house open and am glad for it. 

I finished listening to a book today that I thoroughly enjoyed. 

Anne Glenconner (that's LADY Anne to you and me) has indeed led a most extraordinary life. Now eighty-eight years old she has written a book about that life and narrated the audio version herself which is just absolutely a treat. Those regal tones describing some of the raucous and raunchy events from her life is worth the price of admission. Not only was she Princess Margaret's Lady in Waiting, she was also married to a man who was, to put it mildly, extremely eccentric and hard to live with as well as being fabulously wealthy, charming when he wanted to be, and a visionary in his own way. They had five children, two of whom died tragically at young ages and she's traveled all over the world. The name-dropping in the book is bountiful and as natural to the narrative as it could possibly be. The woman has known everyone from Mick Jagger to the Queen. Of course. And this isn't a tell-all book by any means. As one might suppose, she is never vulgar or without grace. But she does have some stories. 

I highly recommend this if you listen to audio books. I got it from my library. 

I don't suppose that Trump has died today, has he? Not hoping he has or anything, of course. Just, well...wondering. 

As I have been since November 9, 2016. 

Did you see where he said that if he lost the election he just might have to move out of the country? I do believe that's the truest thing he's ever said. And one of the most heart-lifting, too. Let's make it happen! 

Have a sweet Saturday night. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Nothing Is Quite Right, Even If It Is Sweet

No. They are not freaky doughnuts. They are funky cupcakes. Don't ask me why this happened. Probably because I did not really follow the recipe which, thirty or forty years ago wouldn't have been a problem, even when I was cooking in an oven that didn't have a thermostat. I just can't bake cakes very well anymore. I have no idea why. Still okay with cookies and fine with breads and my pastry dough is better than ever but cakes?

Forget it.

Still, when I put a peanut butter M&M inside each hole and frosted them all generously they looked okay and they tasted good. 

The occasion was the Big Family Birthday gathering that finally happened this afternoon here at the house. Lily and her kids and Miss Pepper came, Hank and Rachel were here, Jessie and the boys attended, and May and Michael were here! 

Hurray, hurray! 

It was, as these things are in the time of the pandemic, odd in some ways. On the table with the food there was a bottle of hand sanitizer. May, Michael, Hank, and Rachel wore masks the whole time, even outside. Well, it was all outside except for bathroom visits. Mostly. And Lily had to keep making her kids' plates of food because she didn't want them to get any possible virus on the chips or salsa or vegetables or crackers and pimento cheese. 

Or cupcakes.

Rachel brought cookies. Jessie brought a pomelo which she cut up and a lot of us shared and it was delicious. 

But not your typical Moon Family Party. By any means. 

We discussed the holidays and it looks like we'll all probably be doing our own Thanksgivings and for Christmas maybe we can all go cut Christmas trees together. Which is outside. 

Still. It was a sweet time. 

I got almost no pictures. And the ones I did get weren't very good but here's a nice one of Magnolia and her mama. May and Michael brought presents for all the kids. Levon's was a collection of toy construction trucks and he played for about an hour by himself in the dirt under the magnolia tree, digging and moving earth. August's was a gemology kit or something like that. Small pretty rocks were embedded in a relatively soft gray brick and with the wooden mallet that came with it, he pounded the brick until the rocks were revealed. There were safety googles too. 

I wish I could squat like that. 

Maggie played with the Fisher Price farm and a dolly. As usual. Gibson and Owen sat in chairs like grown-ups and chatted with us all. 

We got to reminisce and we laughed at old memories and talked about things going on now. But I just have to say that it's so much harder when we're talking across half the back yard and some of us are wearing masks. And we should probably all be wearing masks. 

August and I went to check for eggs later in the evening and we found a tiny snake in the hen house. I called out for Michael to come because he's the critter guy and he came into the hen house to check it out and I, forgetting completely about distancing, was right there too, until Hank reminded me that I was crowding him. 

Michael has asthma and he and May are being so very, very careful and there I was, totally forgetting every precaution in my excitement about a little bitty snake which might have been a coral snake but was probably a scarlet kingsnake. 

I felt like an idiot. 

Well. It is what it is. As May and Michael were getting ready to leave we realized that it's almost impossible to say good-bye without hugs. How do you even do that? Take your leave of loved ones without a hug? We're famous here in the south for the southern good-bye which is the opposite of the Irish good-bye which is where someone leaves a party or event without a word, just disappears into the gloaming. Southern good-byes take so long that sometimes you have to pull down the tailgate of the truck to sit on to finish them up. 

And they always end with hugs. 

Listen- it's not the not being able to gather for the Big Holidays that break my heart. It's the simple acts of not being able to hug and kiss that crush my soul. I can feel a visceral pull towards my beloveds and my arms ache to enfold and my body aches to be enfolded. My lips can almost feel the skin and hair of each of my darlings. I want to inhale them. 

And I cannot.

We encircle our arms in front of us to symbolize air hugs. It's something, I guess but it's not nearly enough. 

May and I agreed as we stood in the yard, not hugging, that we are all on the verge. She's already arranged to have the day after the election off of work although she knows that it is quite doubtful that we'll know the results by then. She just doesn't want to have to talk to anyone about it and she wants to be able to access the news. I understand completely. I think she is wise. 

Friday night. Martinis. Church next door. Supposed to get down into the fifties in the wee hours and perhaps we should open the windows and turn off the air conditioning. My dreams keep going back and back and back. This morning in one of my dreams, people who never knew each other, people whose lives are only connected in my memories are meeting each other, interacting, living out strange snips of plot as if my brain is craving the connections of times long past, weaving them together into braids of possibilities that never were nor ever will be. 

I'll go heat some soup. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Best line of the day: Levon was in the kitchen looking at his Boppy's Honey Nut Cheerios and said, "I want some cereal." I said, "I don't know if you can have any." He looked at me and stretched his arms open and said, "Are you KIDDING me?" and looked at me with that Levon grin that said, I know I'm funny. 

And he was. 

Just A Thursday

I refreshed my wildflower bouquet from my walk this morning and that's what it looks like with the evening sun shining on it. As the pecan leaves fall, the light on the porch becomes brighter to the point where sometimes I have to use the bamboo matchstick blind that stays firmly rolled up all summer. Pecans are the first to lose their leaves in the fall and the last to come out in spring making them a great source of shade when we need it and allowing the sunlight when we don't. 

I pushed myself to be more active today. I took that walk and I worked some in the garden but I got so damn hot out there that I could only weed two rows and had to call it quits. For whatever reason I just cannot tolerate heat the way I used to. Could be a medication I'm on, could be age. Who knows? Not me. But it's real. I actually started feeling a little woozy by the end of row two but I feel fine now so I don't suppose I did myself any damage.

Mr. Moon has had a very big day. After sixteen years he finally got his garage doors! Whoo-hoo! 

He is pretty darn happy. 

Our venison pie was very nice last night but it was rather meaty and so tonight I'm making the delicious creamy cashew squash/sweet potato, coconut milk soup that I love so much. I don't think it's Mr. Moon's favorite but he does like it and I'm making naan to go with it so all will be well.
Would this be a good time to talk (again) about the ridiculous stupid habit of online recipe posters, talking about everything and anything under the sun even remotely related to the food you're trying to make before giving the recipe? 
FUCK THAT SHIT! 
I don't want to read about your sister who makes Indian food all the time. Okay? Or about her visit where she showed you how to make this. Or about the first time you ate this particular food. Or how you feel when you make yummy, nummy delicious fresh food for your family! 
No. 
Just no. 
Give me the damn recipe. Thank you. That's why I love the online New York Times cooking app. It does give a little paragraph describing the food and a picture and that is perfect! Thank you, NYT's cooking app! 
And let me admit right here that when I had it in mind to write a cookbook, it turned into more of a memoir than a book with recipes so there you go. I completely understand the urge to wax poetic about food. 
Obviously.
Just call me an annoyed hypocrite. 

Well, I better get to naan rolling and grilling and soup-finishing-up. 

But first, in a completely unrelated matter- have any of y'all watched the Dolly Parton doc on Netflix? It's titled Dolly Parton, Here I Am. 
We've been watching a little of it every evening and yeah, it's made me cry. When I called her a saint last week, I should added that she's a genius. Because she is.

That's what I think anyway. Despite the wigs. Or maybe because of the wigs. Who am I to say? 

Love...Ms. Moon

Measuring Out Life With Coffee Spoons And Suppers On The Table

 I took this picture this morning when I went out to check for eggs. If you look carefully you can see the story here. There's a hen in both of those nests and the two gray girls are waiting on the roost for the nest they want to become available. Doesn't it look like they're discussing this? They remind me of two ladies in a public restroom waiting in line for a stall to open up. 
"Do you mind if I go first? I'm about to die. I just drank a forty-two ounce Big Gulp."
"Oh, sure, honey. I can wait."

And let me remind you that there are FOUR other nesting areas within three feet of them. They want what they want. 

I've been feeling treacherously low lately. Nothing specific and I even had to reassure my husband this morning that no, I am not upset with him. "I'm upset with the world," I said. I think all of us are probably completely on edge right now. At least I didn't have horrible dreams last night. The one I remembered this morning when I woke up had a lot of sweetness in it. I was back in my old elementary school where frankly, I experienced a great deal of unhappiness and bullying but that wasn't part of this dream. There was a reunion of my old classmates but the best part was that a woman I knew as Aunt Dot was there although she was combined with my favorite teacher- a sort of dream woman and when I looked into her face and realized who she was I was so very happy and hugged her hard and she hugged me back. 
At the time in my life when I was in elementary school, these two women gave me more than they ever knew, I'm sure. If I have any self-confidence at all or know how to show love, it's mostly because of them. 

So that was okay but I felt nostalgic when I woke up for Roseland and for people I'll never see again in this lifetime and sadness settled over me. But Jessie and the boys came out to play and that cheered me up considerably. It is so wonderful being able to hug and kiss them again. Jessie had brought their bikes and they helmeted up and we went to the post office. Levon has a little pedal-less bike that used to be August's. I'm not sure what you call it. But he propels it by pushing against the ground and it works spectacularly. I sort of want one. And August, when he got a real bike, hopped on and rode it like (as he says) a pro. But it's true. They're so dang cute. 

And look- my signs are still up! My firespike continues to bloom like crazy. It's so cheerful. 
When we got to the post office, I told the boys I had to take their pictures. 

"Why?" asked August. Of course.

"Because that's what I do," I said. 

So they let me. 

Besides bike-riding, there were also hot-wheels car racing in the hallway, puzzles, sandwiches and books. Both boys sat beside me on the love couch as we read and at one point, Levon even reached over and kissed me. I was thrilled. They do not mind cuddling while we read. 

So all of that was good and after they left I cut up the venison roast leftovers and the carrots and potatoes, added green beans and peas and made a gravy with the cooking juices and put all of that in a baking pan and made a pastry to go on the top. I feel like this is a dish that Robin Hood and his Merry Men would recognize. A pie of poached venison and root vegetables, perhaps made by Friar Tuck. Although, to be clear, our venison is not poached from the Sheriff of Nottingham or anyone else for that matter. 
I saved the bones and some of the meat to freeze and use for a future soup. Things like this make me feel like the most prudent of housewives. 
With the leftover pastry I made a tiny apple and raisin tart that will bake alongside the venison pie. Oh, if I only enjoyed housecleaning one bazillionth as much as I do cooking! 
But I do not. 

The forecast we had last week for cooler temperatures at the end of this week seems to have changed and it's still going to be up in the eighties every day except for possibly Saturday where the high is supposed to be 78. And no rain in sight. But no matter- I have got to get the rest of the garden in and this is going to require some weeding and mulching. I went out yesterday afternoon to check the coming-up greens and although they look happy and healthy, there are so many tiny weeds coming up alongside of them who also look happy and healthy that I was horrified. Just horrified. 

Thank god I like to weed, right? Although this is the most difficult sort of weeding. The kind that almost requires tweezers. Sure, we could hoe them but hoeing, in my experience, basically just rearranges the weeds and causes them to gather more of their powerful life force to re-establish themselves as they send their vital roots back down in the now-loosened soil. And beside the garden work I need to do, there is so much in the yard that needs to be done. The pulling of invasives, pruning, trimming, the picking up and hauling of branches and all of the things I need to trim and pull. 

Oh well. What else do I have to do?

Not much and yet, I always seem to be fairly busy and as always during these strange times, the hours and days pass with unprecedented and unexplainable swiftness as if the universe has suddenly taken on different laws of physics and time's meaning is oddly the same and yet not at all. 

Enough philosophizing. Time to get the Robin Hood pie into the oven. 

Oh, y'all. 

Let's hang in. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Those Of The Male Persuasion Might Want To Skip This One

There's my little canary-hen, Miss Tweety. Every morning when I go to let the chickens out and throw them their scratch, she's the last one out of the coop. She hangs out on that little shelter roof until everyone else has pushed through the run to wait expectantly for their scratch to be thrown. She's a very skittish little lady as is Miss Violet, another banty, but I will point out that Miss V. is the longest-living chicken I think I've ever had. I haven't gotten an egg from Tweety in quite a few days so I think she must be laying somewhere else. Not only is she skittish, she's sneaky. Some hens are like that. She's not a fancy hen at all but I do love the designs that her feather-colorings make. A pretty little thing. 

So of course I had to get all worked up about the procedure I got today. Which was ridiculous. It was what they call a transvaginal ultrasound to determine the thickness of my uterus. Not, as I had said, because I was having any problems but just as a way for my hormone-prescribing doctor to cover his ass. It was nothing, really. The hardest part was that they did an external ultrasound first which meant that I had to have a full bladder. My instructions had been to drink a quart of water an hour before the appointment and to "hold it." I was a bit worried about this. I mean- I'm a sixty-six year old woman who has given birth to four babies but it turned out to be okay. The tech lady was great. She didn't even make me change into a gown because I was wearing a dress with easy access to the important parts. She said she'd step out of the room while I took off my panties and handed me a sheet. I said, "Don't bother. You're about to see it all."
She laughed and said, "I see it all all day long."
Even the sheet was entirely unnecessary but I clutched it to me like it was serving some purpose. The whole thing was over in a few minutes and she said that it didn't look like I had anything to worry about which was what I expected and before you knew it, I was out the door and on my way. 

And any men who have made it this far should just remember that this is only one of many, many things that women have to go through in their lives involving putting their feet in stirrups. For some bizarre reason, these sorts of exams don't bother me so much or cause too much anxiety in me. That's probably because my lady parts have been nothing but faithful and true my entire life and if anything, far too apt to work too well than to malfunction. I dreamed two nights ago that I was pregnant, and I was not best pleased about that, thinking that when the child graduated high school I'd be 84 (dream math!) but still, I put my hands on my belly in my dream and thought, "Well, here we go again."
Can't say I wasn't relieved when I woke up though, to realize that I was not pregnant and that I would not be attending a high school graduation on a walker. If I was lucky. 

After all of that I went to Costco. Even though I had bought everything in the stores only a week before, I still had a very long list. Two lists, actually. One for Costco and one for Publix. I got through Costco quickly and didn't impulse-buy a darn thing which is no fun at all. Then I went to Publix and once again, overbought. I am still in a bit of a hoarding mindset. I realize that but I can't seem to stop it. It's not to the red-line level of crazy but it tilts in that direction. 
Please remind me that I do not need ANY MORE CHICKEN to go into the freezer. Not for quite awhile. I even bought a package of frozen filo dough and when the check-out lady asked me what I was going to do with it I did not have a definitive answer. 

"Maybe make a spinach casserole?" 
We shall see. Meanwhile, it's in the freezer, taking up space. 

And tonight we're having leftover chili and a salad along with leftover cornbread. So. Leftovers, basically. And I'm glad. For whatever reason, by the time I'd carried everything into the house and and put it all away, I was truly exhausted. I absolutely had to go lay down and sleep for awhile and I can't even remember the last time I took a nap. 

I listened to more of the Amy Coney Barrett hearings and Ted Cruz made me want to vomit. He went on and on about how Democrats are attacking Barrett for her Catholic faith and how this country is built on religious freedom and rambled on about the ten commandments on courthouse lawns and Hobby Lobby (really- he did) and then completely changed direction to ask Barrett about whether or not she played the piano and oh! did her children "do" the piano too? 

JeeSUS. 

Well, here we are. 

Oh! Here's a picture that Lily took of her daddy working on her garden today. 

She wrote, "Y'all, Boppy just left and as usual I'm wiped and he seemed fit as a fiddle! Always amazing me!" But Mr. Moon did tell me that Lily did a lot of hard work too and that he was really proud of her. 
Strong woman! Strong man. Made me feel even worse about having to take a nap after the huge effort of going grocery shopping. 

Well, it is what it is. 

Onward!

Love...Ms. Moon