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

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

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. 
Maybe. 

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

P.S.
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.

MANIFESTO: THE MAD FARMER LIBERATION FRONT
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.
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."
True.
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








Monday, August 25, 2014

A Day In Which It's Perfectly Believable That We Create Our Own Reality And I'm Too Tired To Create Much Of Anything

And suddenly, just like that, the weather has changed. I suppose there's some sort of cold front happening somewhere north of here but overnight the air got a little dryer, a little cooler, the light has taken on a different hue and scatters off the leaves as a stiff breeze blows the first ones off the trees. It is the fulfillment of the prophecy I made the other day when I said that one of these mornings I would wake up and by the slant of the light, the feel of the air, would know that autumn is coming.

A shock every year.

It sounds different. I swear, as if the cricket song is traveling through a different atmosphere. And I suppose it is.

I took my walk and there's still plenty of heat- I am sweated through. I have got to get my hair trimmed. It's doing no one any good, hanging limp and lank down to my waist as I brush it out every morning and then twist it up into a bun on the back of my head to keep it out of my way as I go through my day. I need to do that and go to the other dentist to further discuss this hole where my tooth was.
Sigh.
I need to just get this over with and do not have the heart today to do any of it. I mean, I feel fine, I just don't feel like interacting with the world on any sort of real level today. I should probably have a life which forces me to do so but I am so grateful I don't.

We watched Dallas Buyer's Club last night. Mr. Moon had never seen it and I wanted to watch it with him and it was hard to bear, even the second time around. Matthew McConaughey's eyes, his face, that face freed of almost all its flesh so that the eyes are huge and the way he uses them in that role...
And Jared Leto stunned me again with his performance.
So many parallels between the fight for drugs that actually helped with AIDS and the fight now for drugs that actually help with epilepsy and how the people sometimes have to take things into their own hands, fight the FDA and Big Pharma to bring the truth to light, to do the hard work of research, trial and effort- all there in that movie.

Anyway, you can't watch that movie and not have the ghost of it drift around you for a day or two. I feel strangely disassociated from this beautiful day and I don't like the way it feels. What to do but move on through it?

And so I guess I shall although part of me would be completely content to go back to bed, to fall into a dream-sleep which is what I feel as if I'm in now anyway.

Weird.


Sunday, August 24, 2014

And My World Is Even Richer

Ay-yi-yi! Twenty hours with my boys by myself and we all lived! I am so proud of myself. And of them. They were good boys. Well, okay, Gibson didn't go to sleep until around midnight and then he woke up at three and wanted to snuggle which would be lovely and fine if every time I drifted off again, holding him all sweet and cuddly and warm and good in my arms, he didn't take it upon himself to stretch his legs, thus stabbing me in the thigh with his toenails, or decide he wanted to stroke my arms or my face or to suddenly ask, "Where Maurice?" Finally I got smart enough to move him over on the bed and retreat to my side, Maurice on the other side of me, and by four we were all fast asleep again.

Owen woke up first and I got up with him and then eventually Gibson got up and his first words were, "Where Owen?" and then Owen came in to greet him and they hugged and can I just say that my grandsons are the sweetest brothers? Because they really are.

I made pancakes and bacon and I'm not sure why I made the pancakes because all they really wanted was the bacon but the chickens were quite appreciative of the banana/peach/ buttermilk pancakes, especially already cut up with butter and syrup. It was 97 degrees here today on the kitchen porch, which is in the shade and also a bit buggy so our time outside was limited and yes, they watched too many cartoons and Owen played too many games on the iPad but we did read some books and we did draw and write with feather quills dipped in food-coloring (nothing can go wrong with that plan, right?) and it was fine.


When the boys got here yesterday, Gibson immediately asked where Dolly and Buster were. Owen wasn't in the room. I got down on his level and said in my saddest voice, "Oh honey. They are gone."
End of discussion. He went on to the next thing.
Owen never even thought about the dogs until this afternoon when we were going out to feed the goats some carrots and gather the eggs. I left the gate open that we have always kept closed to prevent the dogs from escaping and Owen went to close it. "You don't have to do that," I said. And then thought to myself, whoops!
"Why not?" he asked me, his smart-beyond-his-years eyes looking straight into mine.
I paused.
"Dolly and Buster are gone," I said. Hey! It worked with Gibson.
"Where?" he asked. Of course.
"Well, honey, they're dead. You know how old they were."
"Yeah," he said. "But where are they now?"
And I showed him the grave and he tried to determine which side Dolly was on and which side Buster was on and after that, as we were walking over to the goat pen I asked him if he was sad.
"Not really," he said. "They were boring. And stinky."
So that was pretty much that although we did talk about the fact that his great-grandfather had died recently and also Mr. Peep and Muley and Drogo. Then he and Gibson fed carrots to the goats and Owen climbed a tree up so high it sort of made my heart stop. He thinks he's Tarzan these days.


"I can't get down," he said. 
"Oh really?" I asked. 
And then he figured it out. He reached over and grabbed the skinny trunk of a tree next to him and slid down it. 


This delighted him so much that he did it three more times and then we found seven nice eggs. 

So it was a good time and their mama came and got them and Owen gave me a quick massage and a phlox bloom and he told me he loved me and Gibson kissed me and they went home. 

But now I want to talk about something else. I want to talk about Brittany Tuttle's self-published novel Angel Food. 


I'm not even sure how Brittany became part of our blog-community but I am so glad she did. I knew, from reading her blog, Vesuvius At Home, that she was an amazing writer. But you know, sometimes amazing blog-writing doesn't translate to novel writing. I mean... it can but it doesn't always. I'd read her Shebooks novel, Stone and Spring, and I was intrigued. I didn't feel that the Shebooks limited page format gave the book a fair shake, so I was really interested in reading Angel Food to see where she could go with more pages, more time to develop a story. 

I ordered it from Amazon the day it came out and it took like two weeks for it to arrive. Every day I went to the post office thinking, today's the day, until finally, it was. I was in the middle of reading a library book but it was just short stories so I set that aside and started it. 
And fell in love. 
I haven't read a book with such an original storyline in forever. And her characters! Oh my god. I fell in love with every one of them! In my review that I wrote for  Amazon, I compared Brittany's voice to Tom Robbins', Matt Haig's, and Neil Gaiman's. Also, as other reviewers had said, Quentin Tarantino's. 
But you know what? Nah. It's all Brittany. HER voice; her own incredibly unique and talented voice. 

I'd say I was gobsmacked but honestly, I knew she was that good of a writer. 

Last night, after Gibson finally fell asleep and I got him transferred to his bed and I'd taken my shower and curled up all cozy in the bed with Maurice, I picked up the book and finished it, straight through to the end, even though I was tired and knew that I was probably going to be woken up by a two-year old as soon as I fell asleep, I just couldn't stop myself from reading the last few chapters. And when I had, I set it down on the bed beside me and I thought, "Oh shit. There has GOT to be a sequel."

When was the last time you thought that when you finished a book? 

So. Okay. Enough. If you haven't already, order the book. 
Unwrap  it, hold it in your hands- a real book. With a great cover. 
Go pee, get an apple if you want an apple, a cup of tea or coffee, get comfy, settle down. Open it up. 
Start reading. Enter another world created by the mind of another human being. 
Isn't that why we read? 

Mr. Moon's home. There's a chicken in the oven and brown rice and spinach on the stove. It's been a real good weekend.

Love...Ms. Moon







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