The Time Of Year When Winter And Spring Come Together In Lloyd

The Time Of Year When Winter And Spring Come Together In Lloyd

Monday, September 1, 2014

Neither Cosmic Nor Profound But Definitely Heart-Felt

I got a comment via e-mail today from someone named Rich who said that his wife reads my blog but is too shy to write to me herself so he was writing for her and she told him to be a gent and to introduce himself and so he was and he did and said that he hears about me all the time and sees some of my pictures and even knows who Nicey is.
I was so charmed. I hope that Rich's wife gets over her shyness to tell me what she is thinking, a little about her and Rich's life. I would like that.

It's funny- I so often forget that more people than the ones who comment here read here. I know it must be so but if I never get to hear their voice at all, I cannot possibly know except through the dry bones of analytics and stat counters and I rarely check those at all. So let me just say- if anyone ever wants to comment but feels shy, to please not feel so shy, to let me know you're there. It means more than you can know.

My boys came this afternoon for a little while. Well, actually, I went and picked them up because Lily was having a bit of car trouble. Owen is having a very large problem with school. After the first few days of loving it and being excited to go, he suddenly did a complete 180 and dreads it with a horrible ferocity. He starts crying the night before and says he doesn't want to leave his mama and the mornings are a nightmare for them both. The teachers report that as soon as she leaves, he is okay, fine, lovely, and when Lily picks him up he is happy and reports having had a good time. But something is going on and it's breaking our hearts. When I say "something" I don't mean at the school. I mean in his own little incredibly wise and sensitive head. He tries so hard to logically figure it out. He says, "I have a good time and I don't know why I feel this way."
He is sincere. He is not just being dramatic.
Today he told me a bit sadly that one day they did have peanut butter cookies and that was good.

Oh Lord. I thought that my heart could never ache any more than it did for my own children when they were having problems when they were young whether at school or during difficult transitions or with anything and whatever they were going through which was overwhelmingly difficult and they ALL went through something at one stage or another (and another and another) and I wanted to solve all of their problems and I wanted them to be happy, always, and contented and feel safe and good about themselves and their lives. Children feel things so very deeply and I know that because I remember and they so often feel as if they can't say their true fears out loud and sometimes they just can't because they themselves don't even know and really, aren't we all like that, even as grown-ups, as parents, as grandparents, as human beings?
I thought that my heart could not ache any more than it did then though, as I said, but let me tell you- it can. It does.
I want so badly to tell Lily that it's okay, he doesn't have to go to Pre-K but I know that's not the answer. It's three hours a day and he needs to learn a little bit of structure. He needs to play with other children. He needs to know that he can leave his mama or his daddy or his grandmothers or his grandfather and go into a very safe and loving place with other people for just those few hours a day but then part of me wonders...why?

I am too tenderhearted. I know that. And I love these children so much. They are the most loving and they are smart and they are kind. Owen told me today that if I cried, he would help me get the tears back in.
Just to write that out makes the tears flow and he is not here and I do not care to get them back in. Let them flow.

We had a good time today, those boys and I. Boppy cut a door and I cut a window into the box-house and we had several parties in there. Jessie was there too (in our imaginations) and Gibson and I laid down and had a little nap together (in our imaginations) and Owen ate a bowl of popcorn in there (for real) while Gibson was napping. And I sat on a footstool and blew bubbles into the window for them and they went wild, WILD I tell you! flailing at the bubbles and laughing until I thought they would burst. Owen loves his Boppy's new chair and praised its softness, it's smell.  Gibson fell asleep, leaning on me as we sat on the couch and I gently lowered him to a pillow where he napped.

They are gone now. I've gotten the clothes off the line, folding them as I do into the basket and I've put them away. I've tidied up. Mr. Moon is on his way to Orlando and it will be me and Maurice tonight. Tomorrow I am going to a feed store to buy scratch and a new waterer. I am inordinately excited about this. There was a wreck at the intersection near my house this afternoon before the boys got here. I was putting coffee grounds on the ferns on the front porch when I heard the horrible screeching of brakes, that interminable tenth of a second and then the impact. I grabbed my phone and went down there, less than a block away and no one was hurt, there were no children. I offered my house for anyone who needed water or anything after being reassured that no one was injured, that all was well, and I came home and was so grateful that it had been no worse than it had been.

Are you okay? I want all of us to be okay. I want that so much. I want us all to be able to get up in the morning and be fine with what is before us. I want all of the babies to know they are loved and that they are safe and that they can peacefully fall asleep against a loving grandmother's breast, her old, soft arm tucked around them. And none of my wishes are worth any more than a candle's flame in the dark. Probably less.
I think will go light a candle. I feel the need to make wishes visible as the sun sets and the crickets sing it to bed in a great humming chorus which sounds from where I sit as if it fills the world.

It fills my world.


Weather Report

I slept so hard last night that I can't remember my dreams but tiny fragments keep coming back to me, so fleeting and diverse that I feel as if I dreamed about everything in the universe. Run-down beach motels, gold fishes in bowls, the voice on the telephone of a long-dead relative. My astonishment at that.
Maurice lays on the table and flicks her tail occasionally. Is she having a dream that makes her angry? She tucks a paw up under herself and sighs.

Labor Day.

The argument about minimum wage rages. And so it should. No one can support themselves on minimum wage. No family can be, certainly. All these Family Value Republicans who fight increases in the minimum wage and who, at the same time, want to cut the programs which allow people to eat and keep the lights on while giving huge tax incentives and breaks to the giant soul-sucking corporations who employee these people make me ill.
But I'm singing to the choir.

I walked hard and fast this morning. The lower temperatures have drifted away and we are back in regular summer mode. Perversely, the hotter it is, the faster I walk. I want it to be done with it as soon as possible. I think that for great stretches of my walk, my mind is nowhere, my feet blindly follow the path, the memories of the walk like my dreams- quick fleeting images. The tiny blooming clitoria, the blue green berries forming on the cypress trees that line one of the roads I walk down, the cool and shady deep woods, carpeted with pine needles as I pass on the sunblasted white dirt road, the butterflies which hover over some animal's scat.

A bulldog came out of a yard and barked at me this morning. He was a fine beast with a lovely gray coat and he wore a length of chain around his neck that looked as if it could have held a bull. He barked but he kept his distance and did not attack and for some reason, I wasn't afraid. A man in another yard yelled for the dog and I felt bad for disturbing the peace with my presence.

It is a hang-the-clothes-on-the-line-day. It will be a play-with-the-boys-day.

The chickens walk by the back porch to scratch in the rusty dry fallen magnolia leaves. Maurice raises her had and looks up, then settles back down to her dreaming. Birds call. A plane drones overhead. My body cools down, my muscles feel loose, relaxed. The first firespike bloom has risen up to announce the brilliant colors to come. Soon the hummingbirds will be feeding from them.

It is September. The weather is sultry. So am I in my own way.

And I am content.

Sunday, August 31, 2014

You Know Me- Poop And Sleep And Stars And Dirt

This, my friends, is why I generally wear shoes in the garden. Have you ever seen feet that dirty? I had to wash them outside in the hose with the dish soap. They were that bad.
I hadn't really thought to work in the garden. I was having the absolute most lazy day and hadn't accomplished one damn thing after making those pancakes.
Which is fine.
My husband and I shared a little quality time and I took a nap that was like sinking to the depths of the Mariana Trench and when I woke up, I would not have been surprised to discover that Owen was now in college and had a beard and that Chelsea Clinton was the president of the United States of North and South America.

I sat on the couch for a little while and moaned that possibly I was NOW getting sore and I didn't know what was wrong with me and played a little Words With Friends with Mr. Moon who was sitting two feet away from me, happily ensconced in his new chair watching golf on the TV which to my mind is like watching napkin folding only not quite as interesting.

And then I decided that I really needed to go and clean out the hen house and so I went outside and gave the chickens fresh water and realized that one of my waterers' valves is broken and I have to buy a new one and I forgot to clean out the hen house and started weeding and there is something just so incredibly enjoyable about weeding to me while listening to an audio book. Especially this time of year when the weeds are large and easily pulled and the result of my work is so much more quickly apparent. The feel of the plant as the roots lose their grip, the tossing of it into the old canning kettle I use to collect them in. I fed some of the weeds I'd pulled to the goats next door and they were happy. I figure that by October when it will be time to plant the lettuces and the greens, I will have the entire garden weeded and that thought fills me with great joy.
My wrist and my CD gave out at about the same time and as I was walking back to the house I suddenly remembered the poop in the hen house and so I did that little chore and spread out the old poopy straw on part of the garden and then came in,  shed myself of my overalls, scrubbed my hands and arms down feeling like a surgeon, took that picture, washed my feet.

Mr. Moon and our neighbor are out in the twilight time, shooting arrows at a target and I am going to make what has become one of my most favorite meals which is the bastardized Eggs Benedict from eggs gathered this very day.

So. It has been a very, very fine day and not just for a Sunday, either.
A day of rest. A day of love. A day of laughing and of appreciation and tomorrow will probably be a good day too. The boys are coming in the afternoon and I can't wait to show them the box they can play in which the new chair came in. Owen was just saying how great a big box was to play with.

Nicey likes it too. She pecked at the blue Z there to see if it was something good to eat. It was not, sadly.

Let's face it- I am a simple woman and it is the simplest things which make me happy. Dirt and chickens, love and sleep. Eggs with spinach and cheese and mushrooms. My house, my trees, my flowers, my grands. I'm almost through listening to the Jonathan Franzen novel and as it ends, the characters think about their many regrets and I feel so very lucky that my regrets are as few as they are. I have them, of course, as every human being must, but overall, I can consider them in the light of the vastness of the universe and I can live with them. I will have more, no doubt, as time goes on but if I can remember to look up at the sky, the oaks, to look out upon the oceans and down to the very dirt and out to the very stars we come from and return to, it'll be all right.

Amen, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Sunday Rant And Also Pictures

That's a blooming lily in my little garden bed beside the kitchen. It knocks me out.

Sunday. Yeah. Whatever.

The pancakes were epic. Sweet potato, peach and pecan.

All right- here's another thing about Facebook I hate- everyone wants to gain complete knowledge on a subject by watching one fifty-second video. Or one half-truthful tiny article. No one, it would seem, wants to actually like, research anything. And of course no one wants to be open-minded about anything. Nope. Everyone has an opinion and can find that fifty-second video to prove it and they post that and there you go.
Told you I was right!
Case in point. GMO's. Bad. Right? All the right-thinking people say so. And it sure does seem wrong. Injecting genes into plants? Patenting those plants? Controlling the market of them? Unnatural and weird. Yes indeed.
But last week I took the time to read an article in the New Yorker. It took me all afternoon because the boys were here and I just tucked the magazine into my back pocket, folded up, and pulled it out and read every time they got involved in something which did not require my complete attention. It's not a short article. You can read it here, if you have any desire whatsoever and you probably don't. But the point of the matter is that the article goes into some detail about a few different sorts of genetically modified crops and how they can very much increase the outcome of harvest and points out that the world is facing a severe hunger problem and that creating plants which need less water, less pesticides and less fertilizer is not necessarily a bad thing.
I'm not saying that everything printed in the New Yorker is unbiased and scientifically true, I'm just saying that the articles are written after a lot of research and interviewing and thought. And an article like that requires some damn pages and a lot of words and it takes some time to read them.
So after I read the article I realized several things, one being that this is not a black-and-white issue and that we here in the United States (or at least a lot of us) do indeed have the luxury of being able to afford and eat non-GMO food if we so choose. Although I do realize that labeling is a real issue. I saw a blurb on FB about "how to afford non-GMO food," and the comments posted under it were so damn preachy-preachy. "You tell me you can't afford to eat non-GMO and I see you putting junk food and beer in your cart and I know that's not true."
Say what?
Another thing it made me realize is that I don't know shit about the science of the whole matter. Really. I don't. But if I want to made judgements, I need to learn something. I can't just blindly strike out and call Monsanto evil. They may well be. Or they may end up saving the planet. I don't know.
What I do know is that if people spent a lot less time on FB (and I'm including myself here) and a little more time in the dirt, they could grow some of their own non-GMO food themselves.
Even someone with only a small patio can grow a few tomatoes and peppers in pots.
But no, we all want someone else to grow our food and they damn well better grow it the way nature intended, and be affordable (but certainly not on factory farms), but of course, nothing we eat today is anything like what our Paleo ancestors ate because everything has been altered by humans in one way or another and selectively bred over the eons for more yield, more sweetness, more of the part of the plant we want. Throw in the fact that we humans have changed the very atmosphere and soil of the planet and you have a whole other ball of wax to consider.
Come to think about it, probably only wild game and fungi are relatively unchanged although of course, the wild game we eat feed on different sorts of wild grains and nuts and grasses than the wild game back tens of thousands of years ago.

Well, anyway. I don't know shit as I have pointed out so many times already.

But at least I KNOW I don't know shit and that leaves me at least a tiny bit of mind-space to try and learn a little bit.

And yes, I do realize that I am being preachy-preachy and judgemental myself. This are not qualities about myself which I am proud of. But I am also not a person to take anything on blind faith whether that be religion or shit on Facebook.

Okay. Rant over. For now.

Surprisingly, I have no real bruising resulting from my fall. Is that weird? I think so. Also, I'm barely sore. I must be an excellent faller. I'm so proud of myself.
We should all be good at something.

I got the real camera out this morning because it's a beautiful day. It rained last night and everything is looking especially shiny and fine.

Not sure what this plant is but the blossom looks like fireworks to me.

Crepe myrtle, oak tree, Spanish moss, and resurrection fern.

Light in sago palm fronds.

Buddha, happy no matter what.

Pine cone lily blossom before it reddens. 

Elvis in about-to-crow mode.

Missy. Still broody. Sitting on exactly NO eggs. But fiercely.

Mermaids in my bathroom.

Happy Sunday from Lloyd, y'all. Or at least, a Sunday which is as good as a Sunday can be. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Kinda Okay

You know, today has been one of the best days I've had recently. I almost wonder if I accidentally knocked my head out of my ass when I fell last night. Sort of a unconventional treatment for head-up-the-assedness syndrome.

I got a lot of stuff done around here and then I went on into town and dropped off a little present for Hank that I'd bought him along with a dozen eggs. The present was a book which he had adored as a child. We got it in the Monticello library when he was about three years old and he checked it out so often that the librarian finally ripped the library sticker out and handed it to him.
"Anyone who loves a book this much should own it," she said, and I fell in love with her and we were friends for years.
The book was one of Lois Lenki's and I love all of her books. Their simplicity of word and illustration and design seem so perfect to me. This particular one was entitled "Mr. and Mrs. Noah" and is the story of Noah's Ark.

That's Mr. Noah, directing the insects and bugs onto the ark.

Anyway, Hank didn't remember the book which was sort of funny because I remembered it so well. But he likes it and I'm glad I got it for him. 
And my librarian friend? We're friends on Facebook now and I'm friends with her daughter whom I used to take care of during the days back when I lived in that little house in the woods that I wrote about a few weeks ago.  She and Hank and May used to run around naked like the little beautiful heathens they were and they were all the best of friends. The daughter recently had a baby and she lives in France and it is so sweet to be able to see pictures of that child, her mama, her grandmama. 

I went to the library and ran into my darling Kati and checked out new books and then I took myself to lunch and got a falafel pita because I'd been craving one but it wasn't as good as I remembered. The counter girl was darling though. She told me she was really tired. That she'd been there since 9:30 and would be there until 10:00 tonight. 
"I'm sorry," I said and I was, meanwhile wondering why people tell me these things.
"It's okay," she said. "I have to eat!"
And when she asked for my name I told her "Mary" and when she brought me my sandwich she said, "Here you go, Miss Mary!" and I was charmed. 

I was going to get chicken scratch but who knew the feed store closed on Saturday afternoon? What's up with that? So on to Publix where Lily was working and I bought stuff for the men to eat while watching The Game tonight. Wings and stuff to make nachos and all those vegetables that you dip into blue cheese dressing to negate any possible vegetable nutrients which might be lurking in the celery, the carrots, the cucumbers, the snow peas. And beer. I bought beer. Lily bagged my groceries and walked me to the car and we got to chat a moment and we hugged and hugged. 

But now here's something funny. The ad that was in my shopping cart:

It was mystifying. REAL MEAT it says. And yet, 100% plant protein. 
Say what? This is confusing. I just checked out their website. 
I'm still somewhat confused. I mean, I know it's 100% plant protein (and gluten-free AND Kosher AND vegan) so how can it be real meat? Like...nut meat is nut meat? Plant meat is plant meat? And it has MORINGA in it. What the hell is moringa? And bottle brush herb. And sea buckthorn. 
Good Lord. I shall most definitely have to try this. For all I know, I am dangerously low on moringa, bottle brush herb and sea buckthorn. 
I am pretty sure this is not something that my grandparents would have recognized as food which Michael Pollan tells us is a product to avoid. But curiosity truly does impel one to check this shit out. 

Anyway, here's a picture of a happy man in his new chair. 

You want to know something funny? When I went to take his picture, he was putting a scope on his hunting rifle. This was a little too close to my prophecy of us having shotguns leaned up against the front door and I made him put the gun down ON THE COUCH! Now he's gone to go pick up his four-wheeler at the auto repair shop down the block. Yes. Lloyd has an auto repair shop and it's a damn good one. And last night? He told me that he is going to start drag racing again. He used to do it in high school without his parents' permission or even knowledge until he got busted when his mother went to get something out of his trunk and found a bunch of trophies he'd won. 
My husband. 
God. I love him. 

Here's a picture of the newest zinnia blooms on my hallway altar

where it sits with some of my most beloved sacred icons.

I send them to you, those simple, sweet, brightly colored blossoms. Soon they will be replaced by the pine cone lilies and I'll send those your way when that happens. 

The seasons progress. 

Much love...Ms. Moon

Disaster Averted By Butt Cheek

I fell flat on my ass last night. Well, on the left side of my ass. It could have been bad.
I'd bought a large bottle of the sort of shower spray I like to use to put in the spray bottle I like and after I finished my shower last night I went to pick up the shower spray, realized it was almost empty and decided to step out of the shower and fill it up. I wrapped the towel around me, took a step off the rug, my foot slipped out from under me and I went DOWN.
One of those so-fast, so hard falls you just lay there and think, "Well. This could be bad."
After just a second I realized that nothing felt broken and that I still had use of all limbs and joints so I got up and filled the bottle and sprayed the shower and thanked my lucky stars and hoped that I wasn't internally hemorrhaging.
I guess I don't have osteoporosis yet because if I did, that hip would have been snapped. And possibly my elbow which also hit the tile. And I'm pretty sure I'm not internally hemorrhaging.
Everything feels a little jangled today, not bad, and I figure the soreness will set in tomorrow.

Jesus. I'm old.

So it's Saturday morning and we're moving slowly around here. Mr. Moon is heading to town to do about ten thousand things including picking up his new chair which is cause for huge and great excitement and if all goes well he can watch the football game from it tonight. Don't ask me what football game because I DON'T KNOW! I think FSU may be involved. It takes real concentration and focus to not know what's going on in the football world around here or maybe it's just complete denial and selective hearing. Whatever. I practice it.

The chickens are running around, Trixie is singing her little song, Maurice is napping after a long night of sleeping and then a little jungle hunting and bug pouncing. The humidity is 99% today and it's supposed to get up into the nineties, temperature-wise but I'd still like to work in the garden some. I think I might go to the library and the feed store, pick up some more books and chicken scratch. Too bad you can't do both of those things in the same building. That would be awesome. Maybe that's what we should do with the old historic store in Lloyd. Open a library and feed store.
Yeah. And when I say "we" I mean...someone else.

All right. I'm going to take this old bruised bag of still-intact bones and get moving with it.

Watch your step. Keep doing weight bearing exercise. And as my grandfather always told me, "Don't get old." To which I always replied (in my mind), I'm working on it.

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday, August 29, 2014

Blurry Pictures. Life Moves Fast

Owen cleaning the front porch. Gibson eating three slices of bread at once that he was supposed to be feeding to the chickens.

Yeah. It's good.

Well, This Is What My Friday Looks Like

Miss Eggy Tina just walked through the dog door onto the porch, cackling about it. Then she left back out the way she came in after a quick look-around. I can just see it now- chickens all over the house, dropping eggs in various bowls, baskets, and on pillows on the couch, hopping up on the dinner table when we eat. Next thing you know, I'll have a damn washing machine on the front porch and half the cars in the yard will be up on blocks, shotguns will be leaning up against the front door and we'll be wearing long underwear in lieu of other clothing, the armpit sweat stains permanently in place because of course the washing machine on the porch won't work.

(It's Me, It's Me! Earnest T! Earnest T. Bass from the Andy Griffith Show)

Well. Maybe not.

Sometimes though, I worry that something like this could very much happen. 

My walk this morning was a torture. By the two and three-quarters mile mark I would have stopped, laid down in the weeds beside the road and called a cab if that had been an option. Since it wasn't, I just picked up the pace and got it done. I'm listening to a Jonathan Franzen novel on audio as I walk ("Freedom") and I always get Franzen and Michael Chabon mixed up, just as I get Selma Hayek (Mr. Moon's girlfriend) confused with Penelope Cruz (not Mr. Moon's girlfriend) and also Andie McDowell and Mary Steinburgen. I mean seriously, I have to think about it every time. Anyway, the Franzen novel does go on, picky picky problems of reasonably well-off and educated white people, whatever. I guess I like it okay. And I can hardly complain. 
The name of my blog instead of "Blessourhearts" could easily be "Picky, Picky Problems Of A Reasonably Well Off And Educated Old White Woman."

Well, I don't really have any problems now that the dogs are gone except for the chemical problems in my head and we all know that mental illness is nothing but the picky, picky problem of a white person with no real life and that I could definitely just pull up my bootstraps and goddam it! DECIDE to be happy! because we all have that choice, right, and according to every fucking meme I read on the Facebook, no one is in charge of my happiness but me but I'm not really talking about happiness here, but merely the desire not to be a damn snakecluster of crazythought. 

Well, we shall persist in doing the chemical therapy, the chicken therapy, the exercise therapy, the positive thinking therapy, the gratefulness therapy and the dirt therapy. 
Martinis will also be employed tonight in a sort of therapy and it occurs to me that I never did find and pick and eat mushrooms and I haven't given up on the idea and I still think it's worth a shot.

So what's on YOUR mind today? What sort of therapy are you employing? 
The grandsons will be here soon. I better go make the bed so they can mess it up, get the kitchen all straightened up so we can trash it again. They better be ready with some kisses because I sure do need some. 

Maurice says Hey! 
That's a lie. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Well, I Think Dinner Will Taste Good

I'm drinking a Sam Adam's seasonal release beer from the season of last Christmas which has been in our refrigerator since then. No one wanted to try the Cherry Chocolate Bock and Mr. Moon finally said, "Oh, just drink it," and so I opened it and if I had to define it, I would say that people who have a deep fondness for cough syrup might enjoy it. But hell, Martha, who am I to waste a beer?

I have a giant iron skillet simmering with a whole bunch of peppers from the garden and one small eggplant all diced up and a giant sweet onion and garlic and a package of sweet basil chicken sausages from the Trader Joe's all sliced up along with a jar of Trader Joe's pasta sauce. Oh- and some artichoke hearts too. Mr. Moon is home from finally finishing up that siding AND selling a car AND getting a nice trade-in. He was happy about all of that and told me how nice the woman was who bought the car and how glad he was that he could make her happy.

I know I've said this before but when my husband first broached the idea of selling cars as a business to me I said, "You can't do that, you're too honest."

Huh. Well.

Turns out people really like honest car dealers.

I could go on for hours about my husband. About what a truly fine man he is. How he's not afraid of any challenge, how he treats people, all people, with respect. How he's strong and how he's gentle. How much it makes my heart happy to see him with his grandsons.
How very hard he's worked for thirty years to show me that a man can be trusted. That dreams can come true.
I almost believe him at this point. He is steadfast and true. And he can still make me laugh. And swoon. Honest to god.

I've had a quiet day. Didn't put up any siding or sell anything to anybody. I did some house-wife stuff and then I got in my office and tried to pick up the novel I'm supposedly working on and as with my walk this morning, every word like every step I took, was difficult and hard and required all of my energy. I never once slipped the bounds of time or space to go into that place which is timeless and free that happens when the good writing is going on.
I have my doubts that I can ever go there again.
I despair.

After several not-quite but almost agonizing hours of putting one foot in front of the other, metaphorically at least, the truth being one word in front of another, I finally shut 'er down and went out to the garden because I said I would and I pulled weeds and picked the peppers and eggplant. Maurice came out and tried to make a game of me pulling the weeds and her attacking me but she tired of it quickly and retreated to the porch to laze and dream. I baked a loaf of bread that's probably going to be way too sturdy and hearty with crunchy grains but what the hell? We'll eat it.

Missy moved back out to the pump house again. I put her in the basket again. She is most definitely in the brood-coma although I did see her eat and drink this morning. I know her eggs can't be fertile- she hasn't gotten off the nest long enough to be fertilized. She sits with her eyes open, her head down, obeying nature's commands to her without thought or logic. My job is not to dissuade her but to keep her as safe as possible through this period of hormonal insanity.
Not at all unlike being the mother of a teenager, as I recall from being both a teenager and the mother of teenagers.

I've finished that beer. It sucked but I feel a little more relaxed. Probably like people who are fond of cherry cough syrup feel when they've hit that particular nostrum's bottle.

Time to go make the salad, boil the pasta, slice the bread.

Oh- one more thing- I have my appointment with the orthopedist to see about my wrist next week and the office called me to remind me and to inform me that if I wanted to, I could pre-do my paperwork for the medical history by going to the website and doing it online. And so I did. You just click on the "Patient Portal" button and you're presented with an entire whole history form to fill out and so I filled it out, once more realizing how incredibly lucky I am in my health history (knock wood) and it was so weird and there was a warning that the site was created for Internet Explorer and if you were using any other web browser, to be aware of that. Meaning? If I was using Chrome my history could be read by anyone in the whole world with an internet connection? Was I stupid for filling it out and submitting it?
You tell me.
I'm allergic to sulfa drugs. There.

I better go get supper on the table for my hard-working husband.

See you tomorrow...Ms. Moon

Being Still

Such a beautiful day. I know that "out there" things are so crazy and I'm sorry, I can't even begin to talk with any knowledge about any of it. I suppose I have truly come to a place in my life where I don't feel as if I can do a damn thing about a damn thing except perhaps what is right here.

I'm going to go work in my garden. I'm sick and tired of the poor excuses for lettuce and greens I am finding in the stores and I want to get ready for the fall planting of my own. 

That is about all I feel capable of at this moment and barely capable of that. 

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

The Moon May Be In Broody

Lily and I had more fun than one would reasonably think that two women could have merely doing some shopping but I'm telling you the truth- we did. We laughed at all the junk food in Trader Joe's which, because you know- it's organic or "natural" people probably eat thinking it's good for them but condensed cane juice is sugar, y'all, and there's no getting around it. We bought some produce and looked longly at the purple roses and all the beers and the guy at the cash register was darling and when we left, he said, "You ladies have a nice day!"
And we did.
We trundled on over to Costco and were both starving and they weren't sampling one damn thing so we bought our berries and olive oil and cucumbers and green beans and didn't buy one crazy thing. We were good girls.
Then we went to her house and put all the cold stuff in her refrigerator and grabbed up Gibson and went and picked up Owen from school. He was happy to see me there and showed me around his school and I met his lovely teacher and met a few of his classmates, Martin and Brian.
We got in the van and drove to JAPANICA! the sushi, noodle restaurant with the cozy sofa and we spent some time on that sofa, the boys and I. The sofa is in the bar area which is pretty much deserted during the day and there's a disco ball in there too. Owen told me he was going to have his birthday party there which sounds like an excellent idea to me. Far better than Chuck E. Cheese or Cheeze or whatever that rodent crackhouse is because not only is the food a hell of a lot better but there's a full bar AND the disco ball AND the world's comfiest couch so I was all about that.
I told Lily of this plan and she wasn't so sure about it. "Who's going to pay for that?" she asked.
"Everyone can pay for their own," I said.
She looked at me skeptically.
Well. I think it's a good idea. What five-year old wouldn't want his birthday party in a Japanese steakhouse bar? It's PERFECT!
We looked at the fish in the restaurant (two different tanks!) and the swords on the walls and the pictures of sumo wrestlers which Owen insists are women. "Those aren't really titties," I told him. "They're just really large men with big chests."
Then HE looked at me skeptically.
No one believes me.

After our delicious lunch I collected all my groceries from Lily and got about a hundred kisses and came home and it occurred to me that my whole attitude and mood had changed. I was feeling so much better than yesterday. Incredibly better. The change in weather seem to portend good things rather than simply remind me of what can never be retrieved and I felt so stupid and yet, not stupid, that I am at the mercy of such a flow of emotions and chemicals as I am. And I washed dishes and made the bed and that looked so good I laid down and took a nap and when I woke up, I felt a bit...not so great again but better than yesterday, oh yes, still better, and why, oh why, is it like this?
I have no idea but fuck it. I'm definitely on a livable level and it's been a beautiful day and I'm going to hang my hat on that.

Here's Missy, sitting on a sturdier basket, back in the pump house.

I found her back in there today, just sitting on the bare shelf and took pity on her and found her that basket and set her in it but bless her heart, she cannot spend the night in the pump house where any coon or possum can snatch her and I feel that the next few days are going to be difficult with that little hen. We shall see where this leads. 

We shall see where it all leads, won't we? 

Ever Yours...Ms. Moon

Story Time

Still coolish and Miss Missy's trying to go broody, wouldn't get off the little basket in the pump house where she was trying to set last night to go roost with the others so Mr. Moon carried the little basket into the hen house with her in it but this morning the basket was tipped, the egg fallen out onto the hay and Mean Meany McMe grabbed the egg and Missy is now sitting in the corner on the ground where I guess she feels cozy and oh- what a process, the laying, the setting the hatching. We shall see. We shall see. Not even sure these eggs are fertile but oh strong the instinct must be to raise new babies.

Going back to town today and Lily and I are going shopping for food by ourselves, no children at all, and you'd think we were going to go get cocktails, manicures, pedicures and massages, as excited as we are about this. But no. Trader Joe's and Costco. Many women will understand this.
After that we are probably going to pick up the boys and go to Owen's favorite restaurant where he can get miso soup and noodles. The restaurant which has the COMFIEST COUCH IN THE WORLD in the bar area which he and I always sit on and sigh and say, "What a comfy couch!" and they have lolly pops at the cash register.

This is life, this is how it rolls sometimes, if you are lucky and here comes Maurice and she woke up Mr. Moon one hour before he had to get up and he is probably not happy with her right now. She had access to her food and there was food in the bowl and yet, she wanted him to come out and be with her while she ate and oh boy. I'm going to hear about this.

Yesterday at the Goodwill, the little girl who was checking me out grimaced as she leaned over to pick up paper to wrap my plates and I said, "What's wrong?" and she said, "Oh, it's a long story. Here. I'll tell you while I wrap your dishes," and I said, "Okay," and leaned against the counter and listened to her story and it involved her baby girl and the Air Force and apartments she wishes she lived in and isn't that why we're all here? To listen to each other stories?

I think so today.

You can tell me yours.

Love...Ms. Moon

Here's a poem that my friend L7 shared on the Facebook this morning and I am sharing it with you because it is perfect.

By Wendell Berry
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which I stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotten into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to the carrion—put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is highest in your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Not Exactly Raising The Bar Here, Am I?

I got my hair trimmed. There's no need for a picture because it looks exactly the same only two inches shorter. The best part was talking to Melissa. 
You know how some people are just GOOD people? Well, that's Melissa. You meet her and you know you love her. Same with her husband. Someone, I am not saying who, in speaking about them said, "I sort of want to make out with both of them."
Someone, I am not saying who, understands completely. Metaphorically, you understand. 

Besides getting my hair trimmed I also got a new filter for my coffee pot- the gold kind you can wash over and over again. And a new pair of men's shorts at the Old Navy (40% off) and a tank top. My summer wardrobe is finally complete. I went to a different Goodwill. I didn't find any pillows I liked and not one dress even worthy of contemplation but I did find four plates, one of which is above. With matching saucers. I like pretty plates. I like different plates. I have plates of many designs and sizes. Ah! So exciting. 
Well. Yes. 

And I bought the cat her flea and tick treatment pills and I have now completely wasted one by crushing it and mixing it with yogurt which she loves when she's eating what's left from a container after I've eaten all I want and have given it to her. Of course then I scrambled a tiny egg in butter WITH cheese and mixed THAT with the yogurt and pill and she won't touch it. 
I'm done. That's eighteen bucks down the drain and I need to just get rude and shove one down her throat. 
Oh, Maurice. 
This is a cat who will not eat cooked chicken. She's an odd one. 

I also went to Whole Foods and bought: Bananas, one apple, one avocado, and some tomatoes. That cost about a hundred dollars. You can buy four collard leaves there for $2.99. 
Haha! Not me, motherfuckers. 

AND, on top of all of that, I've got four pieces of mail ready to send which I have been needing to send and for some reason, sending mail is right up there at the top of my neurosis list so that is a VERY BIG DEAL.

I'm so crazy. I feel like I've cracked the damn Bible Code or something. Because I got my hair trimmed and bought flea treatment. And addressed envelopes. 

Maybe before the day is over, I'll have done a load of laundry too. 
Wouldn't hold my breath. 

We shall see what wonderments I am able to accomplish tomorrow. 

A Morning Report

Another beautiful day here, maybe not exactly crisp but at least not sodden with so much humidity that the air presses down on you with unrelenting steamy pressure. Change is good but I'm not dealing well with it right now. I can feel the slow rise of anxiety coming upon me. The vague and indeterminate pains, first here, now there which seem to foretell suffering and death. The constant burr of worry under the saddle of my brain. The feeling that I should be doing something, something...what? That I should be doing more, loving more, making more of what I have. The paralysis which keeps me from doing anything, almost.
I did text my sweet friend Melissa this morning to ask if she could rid me of some hair. Two-thirty she had open. I will be there.
I took a walk. A good one. Step, step, choose your step through sand, through grass, down path, through woods, through the shade and the sun, push on, push on, push on and just keep going.
I can do that. Push myself until I am sweat-soaked, my feet are on automatic, I don't feel any of it, just the occasional hip pain when it spikes.
Not really feeling it.

I want to flay myself open to wrap more fully around the ones I love. Does this make sense?
No. To make of myself a skin, a barrier to all pain and suffering.
Not possible.

A little too dramatic.

Not very practical, either.

Perhaps it's all just the slight sweet change in the air. The reminder that time is passing. Oh! How it passes! Again and again, the seasons change and change again and it becomes a whirl and you can believe truly and really that the earth is spinning and traveling and hurtling through space and we with it and our lives, so short, and when this depression/anxiety/what-the-fuckedness comes upon me I remember all the good, the happy, the fabulous, the joy as well as the hard, hard, hard, and why does it feel as if only the hard is left? That I have eaten every bit of the sweet and only the bitter husk remains but of course that is not true, not true at all and depression and anxiety and what-the-fuckedness are liars, they lie. What do liars do? They lie. 

Lily asked me the other day if it was weird not having the dogs here.
"No," I said. "It feels normal now. Like all those years of having them was weird."
I don't miss them one bit. I can leave doors open all over the house without worrying that they'll find their way into distant rooms and won't be able to get out and will pee and shit in them. Leave the gates open so that the chickens can come and weed the back yard fifteen feet from where I sit.

They make their way into this space cautiously, Elvis keeping good watch, Trixie sings her pretty little song.

A crooning three-notes which are hers and hers alone. She no more sings it for me than she sings it for any of us. She sings it for herself but I am the recipient of the sweetness of it. As I am the recipient of Maurice's tolerance as she allows me to pet her head in the night when my husband sleeps beside me and only we two, cat and human, are awake to think in the night. 

I am the recipient of so much sweetness. So much of it pure blessing, undeserved and even unasked for. Who in this would would think to ask for the sweet soothing song of a hen as she scratches in the fire spike behind the porch? And I certainly never asked for the cat who showed up, drawn by what? Light? Laughter? The smell of venison cooking, most likely. 

And those dogs, they were not part of any of this and I served them as best I could but always out of duty, never love, and no, I do not miss them but even as I say that, I know that their passing was part of change and change is so hard for me, even the good, grandest kind, even the so very subtle announcement of the changing of the season and perhaps as we grow older, each return to this season, to that, brings back this time of year for all of the years and the weight of all that which has happened grows so heavy upon the soul sometimes. 

Well. These are the thoughts and the feelings in my heart this morning. It'll all be okay and I'm glad I'm going to go see Melissa. You have to walk through a cupcake bakery to get to her little salon and what could be more cheering (besides seeing Melissa herself) than to walk through a space with the smells of sugar and almonds and vanilla and chocolate and all good things, so very nice and delicious you don't even have to taste them to enjoy them and also the sight of them, such perky little edible works of art?

Yes. It will all be okay and even as I feel it may not, I have these moments, right here, which are far better than okay and I am as cognizant of that truth as I am aware of the illusion of sadness. 
Or perhaps, as the Buddhists say, it is ALL illusion. 

Well. There is illusion and there is delusion. 

I will try to balance them out. I will try to realize the difference. 

Much love...Ms. Moon