Monday, February 19, 2018

Good Things ARE Happening


Woke up this morning from a dream of being pregnant at my own age which is 63 and although I wasn't particularly worried about the birth, I was aware of the fact that I probably would not get to see the kid graduate from high school. As the time for the birth to occur approached, I called Lily and Jessie's midwife to ask her to help me when the baby came. I was going to tell her that I'd just pay her under the table and we'd keep it on the DL because obviously a 63-year old mother was out of her protocol. But she didn't answer her phone and that's about the time I woke up.
And then for some reason I just keep being weepy and sad but I hitched up my panties and put on my shoes and went out and walked for over an hour and came home beet red and still sad.

Mr. Moon was home because it was a bank holiday and he spent all day long working most industriously on the two bathrooms while all I managed to do was to go to Publix and a few other tiny things around here but I did get the peas planted that I wanted to get in and now the water is on in the garden and that always makes me feel good.

So there's not a whole lot going on in my life with is just fine and dandy although I have to tell you that I am thinking of Cozumel almost constantly. Perhaps this will be a Christmas-in-Cozumel year and I hope so with all of my heart because I need to get back there. I need to get in that water and I need to watch that sunset over the Yucatan and I need to be with a lot of Mayans and I need to see iguanas and I need to eat that delicious, amazing food, and I need to get away from this life and be in that one again.
I don't just want it. I need it.

Anyway, don't exactly know where that came from but I do know where this came from.


Lily sent it last night and she says that she got this picture right after Maggie proclaimed, "MY BED!"
Who would challenge her? 
Not me. 
I think I am going to accompany her and her mama to a well-baby check-up tomorrow. You know how I love those things. I hope the doctor's office is ready for the force of nature we know as Magnolia June. 

I would like to say that I am so proud of the Leon County school system which is going to allow excused absences tomorrow for students to join their fellow students from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School who are coming up for a rally in Tallahassee tomorrow. You can read what the local newspaper says about it here. 

I can't help but feel that Marjory herself would be so proud and supportive of these kids who, quite possibly, might just actually change things- something she herself was damn good at. If you don't know anything about this amazing woman, check this out. 

I sniff the wind. It smells of good dirt and of tea olive, of stinking horn mushroom and the smell of the sweet organic decay of last year's leaves, now dropped to the ground, feeding the new growth of wood and bud and leaf which I can also smell. It smells of change. 
It smells of bitter rage and grief becoming alchemized into power and righteousness and strength. It smells of hope. 

Let's all pay attention. Let's all remember that although we may not live long enough to see the maturation of our dreams and hope, we can still give birth to that which is ready to be born. We can still plant those things which will live so far beyond us. We can feel safe in the knowledge that those coming behind us will nurture and sustain that which is right and is good and which we have believed in for so long and have worked to make real. Just as we did for those we came behind. And they will add their own unique and amazing and splendid abilities to shatter and rebuild what some of us may have become complacent about. 

I believe this. 


Love...Ms. Moon







Sunday, February 18, 2018

Let Us Have Faith


One of my miniature bouquets from what we call weeds in the yard. They charm me, these tiny flowers, these so often overlooked and never noticed small miracles that happen when we do not mow our yard.
I picked those today before I started in on my weeding but after I'd planted the onions and some garlic. I'm probably too late on the garlic but despite the vast amount of it I use in my cooking every day, I haven't been able to keep up with the bag of it I bought at Costco awhile back and it has begun to sprout so why not? Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I did not get very far in my weeding. It is going to be a horrible summer for me. I simply can't take heat. It was only 80 or a little above today and that is nothing. What has happened to this Florida girl? So I came in and spent quite awhile in the library on the love couch, reading Vanity Fair magazine and just laying there with my eyes shut, drifting in and out of that pleasant place where sleep meets wakefulness, completely content to be there. Finally I got up and went out and weeded out a good strip by the fence to plant some English peas which, believe it or not, I have never planted.
Violet and Darla were inside the garden and Mick was right outside of it, keeping watch. The hens can fly into the garden over the fence but Mick, alas, cannot. Well, I think he probably could. He just doesn't know it. Camellia joined the other girls soon and they nipped at collards which are their favorite and scratched in the hay mulch for juicy bugs.


Here are the eggs I got today. Four hens. Four eggs.


I will plant the peas tomorrow if I can and suddenly, the idea of small and tender green peas delights me more than I can say. It will be an experiment. I always plant sugar snaps which are delicious raw or cooked and the children especially love them.
Before I left the garden to come in, I picked a few of the beets and some carrots and I will cook them this evening for myself with some onions and vinegar and a little bit of sugar and a few of the beet greens.


Beets and cooked carrots are two things which my husband does not like but he's at a basketball game and so this will just be for me. 
Please remind me to thin my beets and carrots better next year. Please? 
I tried but I was not nearly as brutal as I should have been. 

All right. Here's a complete change of topic. For the first time since you-know-who got elected, I honestly feel as if his term will absolutely not be completed. The Russian indictments, his handling of the shooting last week, his insane and bizarre tweets- all of it seems to me to be adding up to a shitstorm of massive proportions and I think he will either be forced to resign or will be removed from office. His behavior seems to be becoming more and more erratic and inappropriate. I am not a psychiatrist or a doctor but it appears that he truly is suffering from dementia. Or perhaps, as many have speculated, he never really wanted to be the president, he just wanted to prove that he could be and then, when he did get into the actual office, he had no idea what he was doing or how to do it (this is not speculation) and almost immediately discovered that he was in way over his head and that his usual tactics which didn't even work in the business world certainly did not work in the White House. 
Who knew health care could be so complicated?
He does not seem to me to be the sort of man who enjoys learning new things or finding himself in a situation which might require actual work, reading, study, thinking, listening, knowledge of history, or in fact, anything beyond golfing and fucking and building huge tacky towers with his name on them. 
And so he's frustrated and he's bored and the tricks he thought he could get away with during the election are proving not to be so clever after all and I seriously doubt he's getting any pussy. 
Not from his wife. That's for sure. 

The wheels of justice turn slowly but surely they do turn and it would appear to me that they have gained some traction with which to turn and Robert Mueller looks like a bulldog to me. 

And god BLESS those kids from Parkland. Are they not magnificent? They are taking their anger and their grief and they are using them to call out the NRA and the people who have been paid off by them who make our laws. They are not going to let the bullshit lay where it is. 
You know what? I think that the NRA may actually go down as well. Not entirely, perhaps, but I swear that a tide is surging of people standing up against it and saying, "No more."

So. I feel optimistic about those things. Or at least, a little bit less in despair. 

We shall see. Time will tell and all will be revealed. 
Or at least some things will be revealed. 

Love...Ms. Moon



Saturday, February 17, 2018

Lagniappe

Although to me it goes almost without saying, it should not.

My grandchildren are so happy to spend the night here not because we make purple cows or because we have good toys and good books and chickens and a play set and interesting carpentry projects and dolls and doll beds but because they have all been raised to feel completely comfortable, secure, and loved to their very bones by their parents.

They know that they can go away and come back to their mamas and their daddies and that all will be well.

You cannot feel comfortable in love unless you have been loved. You cannot feel trust unless you have never had to doubt it.

This I know to be true. Thank you, Lily and Jason, Jessie and Vergil, for raising children like this.

I see what you're doing. And I love and honor you for doing it.


Big Night In Lloyd


I have to say that August's first sleepover went swimmingly. It was rather remarkable in that he did not once ask for his parents nor was he fussy at all but instead was agreeable and apparently happy to be exactly where he was, doing exactly what he was doing.

There he is eating his mushed potatoes. While we were eating our supper we got a drop-by visit from Lon and Lis who had attended a funeral in Tallahassee. They couldn't spend the night but we were so glad to have them for the tiny little time they could hang out. August is always very gregarious around them and was so again last night. He busted into "Bah-Bah Black Sheep" for Lis and she was most impressed. He spontaneously sings this song quite frequently and usually at the top of his lungs. Our favorite part is when he sings about the "the little boy who lives in the drain." Maggie can sing this song too and I would pay a hundred dollars to get them to sing it together.

Because this was his first overnight and it was important to start a ritual and have a treat, I made him a very small version of the purple cow that Owen and Gibson love so much with a tiny bit of strawberry sorbetto (what the fuck is that?) and some grape juice. He was as happy as he could be and finished it up with a straw to get every drop.

After Lon and Lis left, he agreed to a bath and we cleaned out the bathtub from the construction debris and threw the ducks and octopi in there and ran some nice warm water.
He loved it!


Then it was time to pop him into pajamas, help him brush his teeth,


and read him some books. After three books, I told him it was time to go to bed and we searched the house for just the right bears and monkeys and so forth with which to sleep. I put him into his bed and pulled up the cover and he asked for another cover and so I got him one and I told him I loved him and that...was...that.

Are you kidding me? 

I slept in the same room so that I would be sure to hear him if he woke up and he did around three. He cried and I picked him up out of bed and said, "Don't cry, my love. You can sleep with Mer."
"No sleep!" he wailed. 
"But it's night, my darling," I told him. "Time to sleep."
"No night, no night," he cried. 
I held him and rubbed his back and then he said, "I hurting," and he stuck his leg up in the air like a ballet dancer. 
"Do you want me to rub your leg?" I asked him. 
"Yes," he said, and I did. He quieted and then I asked him if he wanted me to rub the other leg and he said yes to that too. 
And then he fell back asleep. 

I, however, could not fall back asleep because Maurice, who had taken the opportunity of me being alone in a bed to come and sleep with me, got antsy when August appeared in the bed too. I reached down where she was and patted her and damn if she didn't go full-on Maurice and bite and claw my wrist which then began to itch and swell. I finally had to get up and put some Benadryl cream on it and I don't even know when I went back to sleep but when August woke up again around quarter to eight and announced with great joy, "It DAY!" I took him to his grandfather who was slumbering peacefully and blissfully alone in our bed but who woke up and agreed to take over.  
And then I went back to bed and slept for two more hours!

When I got up, there had already been cereal and pistachio snacking but I was still committed to making bacon and pancakes. After breakfast and some playing, I asked him if he wanted to walk to the post office. He assured me that he did and I said, "Well, let's get our shoes on," and he threw his arms up in the air and shouted, "Let's do it!"
So we did.


He helped his Boppy in my bathroom for a little while when we got back. 



While that was going on I asked August if he missed his mama. 
"No," he said. 
I got the same answer when I asked if he missed his dad and his brother. Also the same when I asked him if he was ready to go home. 
No, no, no. 

I think we can safely say that August is old enough to spend the night away from home. 
Or maybe a week or two. 

Jessie and Vergil went out to supper with Levon and also to breakfast this morning! Jessie reports that they had an entire conversation! She sent this picture. 


She said that he seemed to enjoy having some time alone with Mom and Dad. 
Doesn't he just look like a BOY all of a sudden?
Lord, it won't be ten minutes until he's spending the night. 

Well, here's a video to commemorate August's first night away from home. It's sort of an interview/ wrap-up/summary of events. 


Our big little boy. He's pretty good and he sure is loved.

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday, February 16, 2018

It's So Exciting!


This boy is going to have his first sleep-over at Mer and Bop's tonight. It will be the first time he's ever spent the night away from his mama who is more nervous at the thought of this than he is, I do believe.
"There has to be a first time," I told her today. "And this will be it."

We were at Costco earlier and there were some HUGE baking potatoes. You know? Those football-sized ones?
"Do you want Mer to get you a potato like this for your supper?" I asked him.
"Yes," he said. "Mush it up." And then he demonstrated how one mushes a potato with those clever little hands of his.

I'll report in tomorrow on how things went with the mushed potatoes and so on. I think it will all go quite well.

Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday, February 15, 2018

One Foot In Front Of The Other


The purple violets are blooming along the path that I walk. Because I know this path so well, I know exactly where to look for them every year and they do not disappoint me.
I walked a long way today, pushing it because I feel like pushing it these days, wanting to be stronger. There is nothing I can do about the wrinkles and age spots and sagging and the falling-off-the-bone of the flesh but I can be strong beneath it all.
Or at least, a little strong.
And then, after my lunch I got in the garden and I planted my peas and I weeded the space where I'm going to plant the onions and all of that took me so long that I was too tired to plant the onions and so I came in and am about to start dinner, which is what I do, of course.
Here is another thing I do every evening now.


I get Mr. Moon's B-12 injection drawn up and waiting for when he gets home. It's going okay. Sometimes I hit my target better than others but the B-12 always gets delivered and so far I haven't hit a bone or anything like that. He says it doesn't hurt. I hope he's telling the truth. 
I still hate jabbing that needle into his flesh. It is an action which goes against everything I feel for him- which is to always touch with love and tenderness in mind. 

Well. 
Here are the pictures from yesterday. We ate at one of our favorite places. A buffet that has curries and spring rolls, tofu in many forms, delicious vegetables, everything fresh, and then that freezer full of ice cream and cheesecake and other little delicacies including a sweet daikon radish and carrot salad which is delicious. 
We ate outside and Rachel came and Jason too. 


This boy wants to eat.

Hot and sour soup. "Is it too spicy, August?"
"No."


Pretty Rachel getting her turn at squishy baby holding.


Me with a lap of babies. Maggies' beautiful new hand against my old one, her other hand around her cousin. She just loves "the baby". 


Rachel brought presents for all the children. I think August loves his. 

And that was yesterday, before everything that happened, happened. We had no idea that as we finished up our lunches and went next door to buy seeds and plants and look at the fountains and the flowers at the nursery, a madman was loading his gun. 

Here is something that gives me hope- the children who survived yesterday's shootings are old enough to give sane and credible voice to the need for changes in gun laws. And they know how to use those voices. And they are not suffering the hypocrites and bullshitters gladly or silently. Any need they may have had for that was extinguished yesterday in hails of bullets and cries for help and of agony. 
They will not forget. They are going to hold our lawmakers accountable. 
As must we. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

I Am Left Hopeless

Well, it's happened again and before they'd even taken the shooter into custody, the governor and president had offered their thoughts and prayers.
Seventeen dead according to the latest information.

You know what? It doesn't do one goddam thing to even discuss this. There will never be gun control in this country. We are obviously fine with trading the "right" to "bear arms" for the safety of our children. Just fine.

We've seen presidents shot, we've seen lawmakers shot. We've seen John Lennon shot. We've seen concert-goers shot and movie audiences as well. We've seen young men shot for doing nothing but living in their own black skin.
We've seen our BABIES shot and nothing has changed and what would it take and I've given up hope for the tiny scrap of sanity needed to get rid of the guns that kill the people.

We are cowboys and soldiers. We are John Wayne in both of those roles, a real he-man, and a man's man, a gunslinger, a dead-ringer for everything we call American.

We are, quite simply, fucked.
Fucked and fucking stupid and fucking crazy and fucking money-loving whores who bow down to the NRA and then rise with still-puckered lips and fat wallets to make the laws.
We are fucking afraid and we are fucking tired and we are fucking enraged and we are fucking bewildered and we are fucking terrified and we are fucking stuck in our culture, in our government, in our beliefs and in our fears.

And none of our words, our tears, our rending of garments or our calm, rational attempts to change things are working.
I have come to the point where I don't think they ever will.
Not here in the USA where the red stripes stand for the blood which has been shed which is sacred which is red for the rage of the bloodstained and the innocent, too.

I was going to post pictures tonight of our lunch today. Of babies and children. Of what the American dream is all about, which is the human dream which is the dream of enough to eat and safety for ourselves and our children, for the ability to move freely through our streets and our lives without the fear of being shot or of having our children shot at school after we send them off with a good breakfast, with kisses and I-love-you's, with a book bag packed and with homework done and with maybe a phone that when the shooting begins they can use to text us and say, "I am so afraid. There is blood everywhere. I am so afraid."

You know that in the next few weeks, there will great and deep discussions of why and how and none of that matters. We all know that. I'm sure it's already begun. No matter what you factor into the equation, it always ends with guns. And then death.

That's all. That's all I have to say.

Hold each other tight.

Love...Ms. Moon

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Sometimes You Do Get Weary


I took a quick turn around the corner this morning on my walk to see what the fally-down house was doing these days.
It is falling.
Slowly, slowly. Use the tree on the right as an indicator of how much the old house is leaning. It is tired.

It was another unremarkable day in Lloyd for me. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, as we all know, and Mr. Moon has an FSU basketball game to attend so I am making our little special dinner tonight. I made my husband a heart-shaped cake today which I would post a picture of but it's almost frightening. It looks a bit like a cardiac medical experiment which went dreadfully wrong. I wanted to make it of chocolate and cherries and so I made some cherry preserves out of frozen cherries, and the cake, although smallish, has four layers with the preserves and way too much chocolate buttercream frosting between each layer which resulted, as one would predict, in some lurid scarlet drippage mixed with the chocolate frosting. The man loves chocolate and cherries, though, so I think he'll like the cake just fine, and if he laughs at the way it looks, I will not blame him one bit.
I am also going to cook some scallops and some sort of pasta and a salad from the garden.
How lucky we are.
I think of this upon the news that Trump is pushing the idea that people receiving SNAP benefits should have less actual purchasing ability but whose diet will be supplemented by government issued food boxes.

“Under the proposal,” Monday’s budget document says, “households receiving $90 or more per month in SNAP benefits will receive a portion of their benefits in the form of a USDA Foods package, which would include items such as shelf-stable milk, ready to eat cereals, pasta, peanut butter, beans and canned fruit, vegetables, and meat, poultry or fish.”

Oh, great idea, USA. 
I am enraged. 

You know, these days I try very hard to just stay below the radar, to live my life the best I can, to take care of those around me with love and attention, to try and remember to be compassionate and hopeful, to speak up when speaking up is called for, to try and not add to the insanity which fills our ears, our eyes, our brains, our lives. 
To be kind. 
But goddamn it. There is just so much wrongness in what's going on and I don't even really know what to do about any of it and sometimes I just feel so fucking tired. 

Like the fally-down house. So tired.  

Love...Ms. Moon