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

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

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Tiny Things Which Are Huge Sometimes

Well. Well. Okay.
I went out into the world today. I just had to. Like, if I didn't, I couldn't live with myself. And I bought my kids a few presents. Nothing much. Just tinys.
I started at the hippie shop. That's what I call it, although it is really called Quarter Moon Imports and I ran into someone I've known for about twenty years and of course the owner of the shop was there and I've known her since she opened the store, twenty-five years ago. We talked about grandchildren, which is pretty funny. We're both gobsmacked at how much we love ours.
The shop smells, as all good hippie shops should, of incense and patchouli and cotton bedspreads from India. They have clothes and wall hangings and wind chimes and socks and bags and incense and candles and soap and every sort of lovely little thing. And jewelry.
I bought some of it for my babies. Like I said, just tinys.
Then I had to gird my loins and I was already breaking out in hives.
I drove to Barnes and Noble. That was pretty bad. I walked around in a state of disassociation and got one thing and had to buy one of their stupid Starbuck sandwiches (where and when are those things made?) because I needed to eat. I finally got out of there and carried my sandwich to the car and sat there and ate it, the rain falling all around me.
And then to Ross where I got a few more tinys. And then to freaking Bed, Bath, and Beyond because you have to do that.
And that was that except for the grocery store and now I'm home and it's still raining and I did it. I thought I would die but I did not die and it really wasn't crowded at all and not much traffic, probably because of the rain. Everyone seemed to be of good cheer and polite and I am most grateful for that.

Mr. Moon is in a deer stand and I've picked greens for our supper and I'm going to make deviled crab cakes and I got through this day.

Such a small thing. Such a tiny thing. To go out into the world on a Sunday, four days before Christmas on a rainy, yucky day but for me it was the equivalent of flying to China. And I didn't break down anywhere and I made appropriate conversation (I think and boy was that weird) and I didn't space out and wreck the car and I bought my babies a few things to wrap up and even got some paper to wrap them in and okay, I forgot to buy bananas at the store but I did remember to buy tomatoes and an avocado and toilet paper.

"Have a happy holiday!" the woman at the Quarter Moon said.
"That's a tall order," I replied.
Maybe she thought that was a joke.
I hope so.

Anxiety ain't no joke but sometimes I can joke about it. Sometimes I can't but today I can.

I'm pretty proud of myself in a boy-do-I-suck sort of way.

So. That's what I did today. How about you?

Elvis and Miss Trixie on a cool, rainy day.

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Solstice Eve

We decided on this gray and chilly day to get in the car and drive down to the coast to try and find more rock shrimp. We were willing to go all the way to Carabelle where I got the last ones we ate but this place in Panacea had what we wanted. And so we bought five pounds and also some cobia which had just come out of the smoker as well as some crab meat.
Maybe I'll cook some of the rock shrimp and make a big bowl of spicy cocktail sauce for Lily's Christmas Eve supper. And some smoked fish dip.
We shall see.

While we were down there, we stopped in at a restaurant on the bay for a late lunch. We'd heard good things about it but it was far from fabulous today. We both got salads and split a platter of seafood. Oysters, shrimp, scallops, fish. Usually a plate like that comes with hushpuppies and cole slaw and has enough food on it to make plenty for two. This one, however, being in a very cool Tiki structure instead of a cement block building that was originally a crab packing plant or something, was stingy as hell and there were three shrimp and about four oysters that you could have used a jeweler's loupe to truly see and maybe three scallops and a hunk of fish which they SAID was grouper and it may have been but it sure wasn't fresh.
And no hushpuppies. And no coleslaw.
The fries were the best thing on the damn plate.
Neither Mr. Moon's nor my stomach has been happy with what we ate either.

Ah well.

We saw a doe and her two babies beside the road in the woods on our drive home. That was sweet. No. Mr. Moon did not stop and shoot any. I was mostly quiet, the whole drive there and back. I did the crossword on the way down and we listened to Wait! Wait! Don't Tell Me!
When I am anxious, I get very quiet. It is part of it. I withdraw into my own fear, berating myself constantly for falling prey to such silliness. Again.
There are those of you who know exactly what I am talking about and if you are not one of those people, well, thank your lucky stars. Thank your lucky fucking stars.

Garrison Keillor is on. I love being able to see him on the computer as he does his show. He does make me laugh. He is soothing to me. He just told us that he does not need any more copies of Walden. He has five or six copies already and he was into Thoreau when he was nineteen but he's over it now.
To tell you the truth, I tried for many years to read that book. I don't think I ever really finished it. Which I guess is odd, seeing how much I love nature and all that shit. I think I got the concept and didn't need the details, at least as reported by Thoreau.
So yes, that made me smile.

It's Saturday night, the Eve of the Winter Solstice. I'm sure I'm supposed to be doing something in the ritual sense. I just looked that up on the Google because that's what we do now.
Here are a few suggestions:

Consider watching the sun rise or set from your little patch of the world. Write a poem. Make a list of loving wishes for friends, family, coworkers—even people you don’t know that well. Build a shrine of nature’s found objects. Light a candle. Reflect on your aspirations for the coming months. Throw the I Ching. Say a prayer. Sing an original song.

Read more:

Well. I have lit candles already. I don't have a copy of the I Ching. I don't pray. My aspirations for the coming months mostly involve Don't Go Crazy Again. I do make up silly songs to sing to the boys but they're not here tonight. I don't see the point of making a list of loving wishes for people I don't know very well and my loving wishes for my children and husband and grandchildren and beloveds are engraved on my heart, renewed by my every breath. My whole house is already filled with plants and seashells and found coral and dried flowers from my yard and rocks and driftwood and glass worn down by the sea.

Okay. Guess I'm pretty good. Maybe I'll write a poem tomorrow. Maybe I'll take special note of the sunset but I do that almost every night.
I shall probably make some Crabby Patties which Sponge Bob would certainly approve of.

And I shall probably be pretty quiet. I got my loud ya-ya's out last night, dancing in the hallway with my lover, telling death to fuck off. It was wonderful but now I'm listening to Norwegian hymns (I think) sung by the VocalEssence Ensemble. I have no idea what they're singing about but they are soft and they are singing sweetly. They are not telling any one or any thing to fuck off. At least, I don't think so.

I am grateful for all the different ways I can feel and all the different things I can do to express those feelings.
Not all of them. You can bet your red cowboy boots on that.

Soon it will be time to sleep.

Peace be unto you.

Love...Ms. Moon

Not Cheery At All

So. Maurice brought us a new gift this morning. Laid out on the exact center of the rug in the mudroom was a nice, fat frog, bottom side up. Only missing one leg.
Really Maurice?
Jeez. Thanks.
She's outside right now, pretending not to stalk the chickens.

So it's like what? Five days before Christmas? What does that mean? Three shopping days?

I give up. I can't do it. You cannot believe the stress I'm feeling. Okay, maybe you can but honestly, I just want to go to sleep now. Wake me up when all this is in the past.

Not possible, eh?

Did you know that before anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds were invented they did actually put people who were suffering from those things into a drug-induced sleep for days and even weeks at a time?
It's that bad. Not for me, right now. But it has been before.

Can I just get all the kids a new house or something? Somehow that seems more reasonable than actually going shopping.

Hey kids! Want a new house? How about a nice, fat frog? A dozen eggs? Just tell me.

This all sounds like I'm joking. I'm trying to make it funny.
I don't feel funny at all.
I feel like I'm experiencing my Christmas insanity. I saw a thing in the paper today about the need to create holiday rituals.
This is mine.
Go insane.
Well, we work with what we have.

Frogs, depression, anxiety, death.


Love...Ms. Seasonally Disturbed Moon

Friday, December 19, 2014

Dance, Motherfuckers. Just Do It

After Bug And Spats left we danced.
In the hallway.

Mr. Moon and I.

We trilled and we shook and we grabbed and we swung and we swang and we slang and we twirled and we did the Fertility Of The Earth dance.

Death will do that to you.
Thank you death.
Thank you for giving us what you can.

Love...Ms. Moon

PS. That video is the first one I've ever seen in entirety where Keith got rid of an overly enthusiastic fan by using his guitar, then strapping it back on to play. And to finish the story, next day Keith paid the guy's bail.

Lord god have mercy I have made supper for men who loved Kathleen.
There has been so much old guy testosterone in my kitchen that I can't even tell you.

I,  being a woman, want to cuddle up with all of them but thankfully, that's not an option.

I have fed them. That's enough.

And the rain falls down.

Kneading Bread With The Need Of Giving Love

It is just about time for Bug to come over and he is bringing a friend of his who was the best friend of Kathleen's ex-husband.
Funny how these things work.

And after I wrote my post this morning and sobbed and wept, I suddenly wanted to cook and so I did. I have cooked and baked and used the alchemy and love of all of that to deal with how I felt today, moment by moment.

I have spoken to Owen on the phone. He stepped on a tack and his mother was wrapping Christmas presents and he wanted his foot wrapped too.

And so she did. She sent that picture to Boppy and Mer Mer and Boppy wrote back that he would like that foot for Christmas. Owen had to talk to us to tell us that Grandfathers are silly. And lots of other stuff. They made snowman soup at school today which involved marshmallows and chocolate and more chocolate and candy canes. 
"Was it as good as miso soup?" I asked. 
"No," he said. 

That's my boy. 

Soon there will be chili here and bread and salad from the garden (oh, my arugula!) and a lemon merengue pie. There is lots of venison in the chili because I think that's what men like. Also, acorn squash but don't tell them. They'll never know. 

Kathleen would be so happy that we are all together. She would laugh at me for putting the squash in the chili. 

And that, of course, makes me happy. 

I feel at peace. 

May you as well.

Love...Ms. Moon

And Today I Mourn

I had a bit of an epiphany/breakdown last night.

I had spent the day doing. Doing stuff. I went to town and had lunch with my boys and Lily and Hank. We went to Japanica and ate our favorite foods. The boys were themselves- little feral puppies who gave kisses and tussled and ate sushi and miso soup and wanted to sit on the comfy couch and by the time we were done, I was ready to come home but I had to go to the grocery store and I did that and I brought in all the bags and the things I'd bought two days before- Christmas presents for the boys- and I was exhausted in my bones and my soul. I put everything away and I scrubbed all the toilets and I did laundry and I swept floors and I made egg rolls and soup and I don't even know what all I did.
I did and I did and I didn't stop until I stopped and that was when I had my little breakdown/epiphany as sadness overcame me and I could feel anxiety trying to wrap itself around my neck.

Why? I thought. Why did I think it was the right thing to do to just push on through such a day when it was the day after one of my beloved friends had died? One morning I had kissed her good-bye and stroked her arms and hair and the next morning I thought I had to scrub the toilets?

Almost five years ago we began this journey, Kathleen and I. I was the one who heard a cough and said, "I think you have pleurisy," and she went to the doctor and he sent her to the pulmonologist and
I went to those appointments with her too and I was there when he so kindly and sadly sat down beside her and said, "We think this is cancer," and then Judy joined our team and we were there that day in the hospital when they did all sorts of tests to see what was what and the doctor came and told us that yes, it was cancer, after he'd watched what he wanted to watch on the TV in the waiting area- the World Cup! as we waited, and Kathleen grabbed my hand said, "Oh Mary! I wanted to be the friend who survived cancer!" and Judy there, right there too, who HAS survived cancer and we were all stunned.
And the oncologist in Tallahassee who couldn't even figure out where her primary tumor was and thus, had no idea how to treat her and didn't even seem to care and all of that chemo he'd given her completely useless. Those hours the three of us had sat there in the infusion rooms, Judy tripping on PTSD and me hating being anywhere near a hospital but we went, we chatted, we laughed, we ate the lovely tea cakes and cookies the volunteers brought around.
We were there when that stupid doctor told her that he knew he'd told her, he was certain! that she only had about six months, at the outside, to live.
He had not told her.
Her hair fell out and I was with her when she got it cut short and then she had one of my daughters (why can't I remember?) shave her head she found Dr. McCutie Pie and then the trips to Thomasville began.

This was a journey we were all on. For all those years. And there were ups and downs and you know what? I don't remember ever seeing her cry.
We had trips to St. George Island. We had parties. We continued with the Opera House activities. We lost our Colin. Kathleen's ex-husband died, she sitting with him as he did.
Her father died. She had met Bug, she married him, they did more in two years than most couples do in a lifetime.
And then the chemo she was taking quit working and she entered hospice and began to live her life without the damn stupid blood tests and scans and different chemos that threatened to kill her before the cancer could.
At first she was so thrilled and at the same time, afraid that hospice wouldn't keep taking care of her because she was doing so well, taking so long to die.
But. Then.
It all got harder and harder. And she did not complain and she accepted each step toward the end of this journey with humor and fierce brave acceptance.

And on Monday I sat with her and we knitted and crocheted and Tuesday she was in her bed and I could tell that she was standing in that doorway between this world and that world and the morphine was easing her fear and pain and letting her drift as she would between those worlds.
And Wednesday she died and they took her little body (she weighed nothing at the end, nothing) out into the sunshine one last time and I kissed her again and she was gone and on Thursday I woke up and thought I had to scrub toilets.

And what was wrong with me that I thought that? Life goes on. Oh yes. It does. Death does not erase the need for laundry and meals and it does not magically clean the toilets or water the plants or take care of the chickens. Not for the living, at least.
That is how it is. Right?
But as I was brushing my teeth last night, getting ready to take my shower, it all came over me and I realized that I was being ridiculous, a fucking idiot to think that I could just go on.
Well, of course I would just go on but one must pay the tax at the end of such a journey. There is no getting around it. Death, like birth, pulls the rug of reality as we know it from under our feet. There is a shift which cannot be ignored and if we try to ignore it, we are fools.

Today I am letting myself weep and write as I want. I am feeling what I am feeling. I am exhausted and who wouldn't be after that journey? It is gray and it is cold I am going to make some chili and some bread and Bug is coming over for supper tonight. He bought a train set for the boys and he wants to set it up, to give it to Owen and Gibson from Uncle Bug and Aunt Kathleen.
Or as Owen called her, "Kath-a-leen."

I might watch some more Keith Richards videos. Watch that old man with his silver skull ring that he wears to remind himself that we all die, that beneath all of our flesh, no matter what that flesh looks like in life, underneath we are all the same.
"Gold rings on ya!" he says, when he leaves the stage.
A Rasta blessing.

I might just sit here and watch the chilly gray sky, the bare bones, the skeletons of the pecan trees against it. I know that Kathleen is free and that has nothing to do with how I feel today.

It was a long journey. It is all a long journey. It is, at the same time, like the growing-up of our children. Some days, some nights, last an eternity. And suddenly, you wake up from a nap and they're grown. So short. How did that happen?

We humans are so weird. We say things like, "Oh, but she wouldn't want you to be sad."
Well fuck that. She wouldn't want to have left her beautiful home, her beloved, her chickens and dogs and ducks and the plans she had for gardens and trees. Didn't matter what she wanted and it doesn't matter what she would want, she is gone and I am fucking sad.

Life goes on, yes, but if I can't take one day to stop and let myself cry all I want then there is something truly wrong with me and truly wrong with this world.

Life is worth celebrating and we will celebrate Kathleen's life and I do celebrate her life and I helped her celebrate her life when she was alive.

But the loss of life is worth mourning and today I am mourning and the everything else can just go fuck itself.

I am paying death its due and to do less would be wrong for me.

Yes, we go on but sometimes we go on in grief. That is part of it.

Gold rings on all of us.
Bless all of our lives and let us live while we're alive and let us mourn when the living are living no more.

Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday, December 18, 2014

When I went to the grocery store today I passed a couple with children, the man holding up a sign by the side of the road.
I didn't read the sign, didn't have time as I turned the corner, but I knew he was asking for money.
What else?
I decided to get cash at the store and come back when I'd done my shopping to give them some but when I left the store and drove back around that corner, they were gone.

I wish the camellias would open.


Gray this morning and I feel myself falling into that. There is a flatness and my eyes just keep filling. I tell myself that no, I am not waking up to a world without Kathleen in it. I am waking up to a world where she is unchained by pain and free.

But. You know what?
It is the 71st birthday today of Keith Richards. My totem spirit animal. My inspiration to just keep living and doing what you love.
I think I might just watch this all day.

Happy birthday you beautiful old man. Thanks for all the music.
You make me happy.

Love...Ms. Moon

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Sweet Peace

I got a call this morning at eight a.m. Slug that I am, I was still in the bed.
It was Bug. He was crying and said, "Mary, I think Kathleen has passed."
"I'll be right there," I said.
And in less than thirty minutes I was, which is sort of a miracle in that their house is about fifteen minutes away.

I got there and another friend was already there. The pastor from Hospice who was a good friend of Kathleen's. We all met at the Opera House doing Casablanca, the three of us. And that man is a good soul, a good egg, a laughing pastor. I was glad he was there.
Bug was still sitting by her side, holding her hand, telling her how much he loved her, how amazing she is. And my god, she was so beautiful. I wrote a final post on her blog just a little while ago and in it I said that she was ethereally beautiful. And she was. And she looked incredibly peaceful. She died in her sleep and that is how she wanted to die and she died at home and I am so glad she got to do that. In her own bed with the sun streaming through the windows.
Light and love, baby.

I sat with her too, on and off for several hours. I stroked her arms and kissed her face, stroked her hair. The hospice angel nurses came and they did everything that needed to be done and dressed her in her favorite yellow dress. I took her diamond studs out, trying so carefully not to hurt her, which is odd, but that's how it is. Bug gave me a silver bracelet with a turquoise in it that she bought in Arizona when they traveled six thousand miles on his Harley, from one end of this country to another.
That was one of the dreams she had that he helped turn into reality.
I swear to you, when she told me she was going to take the trip I almost slapped her and called her a fool. I thought, "Okay. That's going to kill you."
It did not.
It made her so happy.

In the last four years since her diagnosis, she has been to Spain twice, taking her dad with her, she met and married Bug Tonski, took that trip across America, went to Europe with her best friend Vicki, she and Bug bought a piece of land with a partially destroyed house on it, rebuilt it, brought her animals and many of her plants over and started a new life there.

Oh, and besides all of that, she continued with her gardening, her meetings, her activities at the Opera House, her present-buying-and-making, her cooking, her animal-tending, her laughing, her dancing, her life and more travels.
She planted a fucking orchard, y'all.

It's funny. She never wanted to say that she was "battling" cancer. She talked about that on her blog a lot and in real life, too. She was an old hippie, like me, and we believe you should make love, not war. And she loved her life so much that the weapons of mass destruction the doctors gave her were able to do the fighting for her and she just continued on with her joyous existence.
And it wasn't easy.
Chemo is one hard motherfucker to live with. Forget cancer- chemo's a bitch.
But it did not slow her down. And her wonderful doctor at the Oncology Center in Thomasville, Georgia, figured out just what to give her that she could tolerate and he always told her, "I can't cure you, but I can give you more time."
And it was good time. Not wracked-in-pain time. And if I could remember how to spell his name, I would do it. And if could find the picture I took of him with Kathleen I would do that but I can't right now.
We called him Dr. McCutie Pie.
Because he was.
And oh, how we adored him and how he adored Kathleen.
Anyway, no, she didn't battle. She just kept on loving. Kept on being ALIVE!

Right up until this morning.

The funeral home guy came and took her away after we'd all said our good-byes. I loved that she got one last bit of sunshine on her face. What a beautiful morning it was!

Glen came as fast as he could get there and he and Bug and I came back to our house and I made a huge breakfast with sausage and eggs and cheese grits and biscuits and sausage gravy. I had never made sausage gravy before but Bug loves it. So I called Billy and he told me how and I did it and it was good. Then I went back to their house, wrote that post on Kathleen's computer, took Bug to the funeral home to sign some papers, and now I'm home.

There's been laughing and there's been crying. As it is.

I'm so glad I met her. I'm so glad I got to spend time with her. I owe her so much I can't even tell you. I've never met anyone who has had a life like hers. I swear to you- she'd tell me stories and I'd be thinking, "She's making this shit up."
But she wasn't.
She was brilliant and a scientist and an artist and a clown (really- a professional one) and such an amazing friend.

Bug took that picture of them yesterday. He surprised her with a visit from Santa.
When I was there yesterday, she told me twice, "This isn't so hard."
Of course, the woman was on a hell of a lot of morphine and thank god for that. Still, I'm just so glad that the last days were not so hard. So glad.

And thank god for Bug who loved her and made so many dreams of hers come true.

And by the way, he's going to give us her last three hens and her two ducks.

That makes me so happy. Ducks? Be still my heart.

And one more thing for now. All of you here, all of this community, embraced Kathleen and gave her so much love and support and you will never know what that meant to her.
Thank you.

This Solstice do something wild for Kathleen, okay? She would love that.

She is dancing with the stars right now. I'm so glad to know that her energy, her essence, is dancing free and wild. She can breathe just fine now, she can laugh and dance her way to the ends of this universe and the thought of that just makes me so happy.

Amen and Hallelujah.

Love...Ms. Moon

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

We Are Made Of Dreams And Bones, Need A Spot To Call My Own Until The Time Is At Hand

I love this picture. I just do. The way it makes the eave upstairs look like a Dr. Seuss addition to the house. The Christmas lights in the window with the hanging fern beside them. The gingerbread trim. The sky behind still lit a little from the last rays of the setting sun.

My house. It brings me comfort and it brings me joy.

As Kathleen's house brings her comfort and joy. Tomorrow they are going to move her to Hospice House in Tallahassee and I think (and she said) that it will be a good thing.
Her husband has been all alone in tending to her with help, of course, from visiting nurses from Hospice but he is so tired and is facing some pretty severe and painful physical challenges himself. And Kathleen worries about him and he worries about her and I think she will be more at peace with him, still there by her side, but with her care being administered by other attendants.
That man took a wrecked up and abandoned house and turned it into a beautiful home which is peaceful in all ways. And beautiful. Their dogs and their cats and their chickens and their ducks live there. The kids, they call them. There's a pond where he feeds the fish. There is pretty artwork on the walls of the house and a Florida Room which looks out on it all and a patio with a fountain and a table and chairs.
He has worked like a man on a loving mission.
Which is exactly what he has been.
He has taken Kathleen and her father to Spain. Her father was in a wheel chair and needed a great deal of help. He took Kathleen across the country on his Harley. He has taken her down the river many times in their boat. He has loved her tremendously. He has married her and made all of the promises you make and he has kept them.
And now it is time to just let him love her and let others take over her care.

So. This is probably her last night in her beloved nest which her beloved man created for her.

I went over this afternoon to sit with her while he ran to Monticello to do a few errands. Kathleen mostly slept and I stayed in the living room, close by to make sure she was all right and I let her rest. The two dogs, Bob and Pig, slept in her room and every time I went to check on her, Bob lifted his head and wagged his tail as if to say, "We've got this covered." And they did.

Now I am home. It has been a long day but I got a nap in the middle of it. I had gone to the dentist and all is well there. I chatted with my dental-assistant girl about her babies and Christmas. I got an X-ray. The doctor came in and checked and right in the middle of the exam he said, "Well, actually..."
And I froze up inside because you know me.
But then he said, "I think the crown can be started in January instead of February. This looks very good."
And he took my hands when it was time to leave and said, "I hope that all of this has not been too hard on you."
And I told him that his office and his staff are wonderful and that it has all been very fine. And he wished me a merry Christmas and that was that.

I drove to Fanny's then. Not to eat lunch, but just to hug and kiss my daughter May, which I did. Sometimes I just gotta get May love. Then to Target where I was looking for a specific toy for Owen which of course they were out of and so I went to Toys R (backward) Us and bought the last one they had.
If nothing else, I have gotten my grand babies their toys.

I did not pass out in either of those two places although the whole time I was shopping I was thinking, "Gotta get out of here. Gotta get out of here."
I swear, every woman in Target was thinner than a knife blade. I texted a friend that I had not gotten the memo that it was incredibly thin woman day at the Target. There were women who were almost impossible to see if they turned sideways who were the mothers of three-month-old infants. It was very odd and I am not sure why they let me in the door.

But. I did it. I got my boy his dream present.

And when I got home, I ate some leftovers and fell on the bed and slept for an hour. I have done almost nothing physical at all in the past few days but I am exhausted nonetheless and I know why and it's okay and I am glad I slept.

I have laundry to fold and put away and supper to make because my husband is coming home. My own "kid," Maurice, is here to love and bite me. My little tree is lit and glowing. The sky is entirely dark now, the chicken kids put away for the night, the eggs gathered, the greens for a salad picked.

I think of how much these small things of living make me happy. How happy they have always made Kathleen.
Here's a video of Pete Seeger singing her favorite song.

She has lived inch by inch and made fertile ground.

I would like to do the same.

Good night, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Monday, December 15, 2014

And Rock A Bye, Sweet Baby James

Well, golly. It's been a day.
I've spent a great deal of it at Kathleen's house, mostly just sitting with her. Her husband went to run some errands and I probably annoyed the snot out of her, asking her things like,"Can I get you some tea?" "Would you like something to eat?" "Are you cold?" 
All she wanted was some water, a bit of peace, the ability to breathe more fully. And her pain medication.
We sat and I knitted and she crocheted when she wasn't napping, just like we used to do when we were the Foley artists for the radio shows at the Opera House. Well, she didn't nap when we were onstage. But besides that. We billed ourselves as the Miller Sisters when we did that gig, which was appropriate in that we both have the maiden name of Miller.
We did talk some and the hospice music therapist came while I was there. She was a darling child with a most amazing voice and she played us a few songs from our past. 
She had no idea who Keith Richards is but she has heard of the Rolling Stones.
We thought this was hysterical, me and Kathleen.
"Ah me. We are old," I said. She agreed. Kathleen, that is. I'm sure the darling music therapist thought so too but she is far too polite to say so. 
But she played us James Taylor's "Sweet Baby James" which I have always loved, and my favorite Beatle's song of all times, "In My Life."
It was a peaceful afternoon. 
I am home now and for some reason which I cannot figure out, I can't access my blog site either from my computer or phone but can access it from my iPad which is where I am writing this. It is all very mysterious and a friend of mine wrote me this morning to say that she couldn't access it either. I spent some time with tech support but none of their suggestions helped. 
I've tried using both Safari and Chrome and I would blame one of them but since it's both...
Or my computer but since it's happening on my phone, too...
Or on my server except that I CAN access it from my iPad...
Well. A ghost in the machine somewhere.  

Mr. Moon is out of town and I hope to go to bed early. I have an appointment with my dental surgeon tomorrow morning to see if my implant site is ready for the crown. This little oral project has now been going on for over a year. 
Ah well. It all could have been so much worse. 

And for those of you who have been wondering about Bad (Evil) Santa I give you these. 

His light thingee is broken so he can only stand in the reflected light of the tree but there he is, standing guard. We all need a guardian Santa, don't we?

So that is me tonight on this evening, six days before the Winter Solstice. I keep thinking of the part in "Sweet Baby James" where he sings, "Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose/Won't you let me go down in my dreams?" 
I see Kathleen's hands, working even now as she comes in and out of dreams on a blanket of deep greens and blues, her crochet hook weaving the yarn into warm stitches. 

She is beautiful. 

Let us all have beautiful dreams tonight. 

Love... Ms. Moon