Bless Our Hearts

Because someone needs to

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

And So It Goes

Last night for a few moments, even...dare I say...an hour?
I felt cheerful. I felt fucking cheerful.

I laid in bed cuddled up to Jack and thought about adventures Owen and I could take this summer and how I really might hire a housecleaner to help me with the cleaning and the plans that Mr. Moon and I were making to get away this weekend. And it all seemed so doable. So...just...nice.

I woke up this morning and it was all gone. Every bit of it seems impossible.

This is the life of depression and anxiety.

Time to take a walk.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

A Very Good Day


Could May be more beautiful? I think not.

Oh, we took over El Patron like it was ours. We love that place. When we got there, Hank had told them we were coming and there was a table all set up with a basket of chips for every two people and dishes of salsa for everyone. And there was our May, looking like a birthday queen, so pretty, so happy, with her sweet new husband. There was so much baby-squishing and some of us had margaritas and some of us did not but we all delicious foods and there was cake and there were presents and our server was wonderful and we gave her a big piece of cake and a nice tip. El Patron has, along with the Persis Grill, become our go-to spot. It's about two blocks from Hank's house so he goes there quite frequently and we love the outdoor patio. And they have food that when I eat it, I am reminded of Mexico and so throw that little detail in and you have heaven.

August chillin' on Uncle Hank.


Look how long that boy is getting. 


He got sweaty and his mama wisely took his clothes off down to the diaper and he looked like a baby Tarzan. Here he is, gouging his Boppy's eyes out. Vergil got to come too. He was late due to work but we had so much food that he didn't even have to order anything. We just kept passing him food we couldn't possibly eat.


On the kid's menu they have a new offering- fried cheese sticks with french fries. 
I know. Right?
But it's now Gibson's favorite and he ordered "a hundred cheese sticks." He got about eight and ate about two. I brought the rest home and cut them up for my chickens who shared them with the cats. It's all good. 

I wish I had a picture of the cake but I do not. It was good. Trust me. Gibson helped me to decorate it and we lit the candles and sang Happy Birthday and Gibson helped May blow them out and then May got to open her presents. Silly things and sweet things. 


And here we are, or at least, some of us. Doesn't Gibson look happy? 

May and Michael.


The newly weds. Still newly wed. 

And so it was a lovely lunch and then this evening I went to Owen's last T-ball game for the season and while Owen played ball (quite well, I might add), I got to hold Maggie and she fell asleep, holding my hand. Did I tell you that she has a new tooth? 



There is no way that thirty-eight years ago when I gave birth to May I could have imagined such a day in the future. 
No way. 
And yet, here we are. 

I got my Mother's Day present from Lily and Jessie today.


Two more silver charms of my newest grand babies. 
I remember when I was in Cozumel last time and was wearing this necklace with the charms of Owen and Gibson on it and a different Virgin of Guadalupe. We were at Playa Corona where we have been visiting for twenty-eight years and Rogillio, the owner, looked at the necklace and said, "Esta religioso."
"Si," I told him. "Verdad."
"Keep on living, Senora," he told me. 

So far, so good, Rogillio. 

Love...Ms. Moon


My Heart Is Filled With Her Today

Today is May's birthday and here's a picture I stole off Lily's Facebook.


My girl, my baby, my doppelganger, my darling, my precious and beloved May.

In 2008 I wrote down the story of her birth and you can go back and read that here if you want. 

One of the four best days of my life. 


One of the four best things I've ever done in my life. 

Happy birthday, my love. Thank you for being my smart, precious, beautiful, amazing May. 

Always...Your Mama


Monday, May 23, 2016

Hen? Rooster? Sixty minutes? Seventy? Who Knows? Not Me


When I went to the therapist who made me feel incredibly dowdy she recommended exercise for my anxiety. I told her that I was walking about an hour a day and she said that it appeared that for anxiety and women, the magic number of moments to exercise daily was something like 70 minutes. I could be wrong about that number.
I tried it for a few days. It seemed ridiculous.
If 60 minutes (plus the yoga I was doing then) didn't do the trick, why would 70?
Ah, lah.
The things we try.
But I do very much believe in exercise and more than that, perhaps, I believe in being outside for a part of the day and if one can spend that time in woods and fields, all the better. Sometimes I despair that it helps me at all and then I wonder if I would be so much worse if I did not do this.
Can't hurt, can it?

I went to the library today to see why my Overdrive account was blocked and to return some things and renew some things and check out some things and as always, I did not mind being in the library at all. The young woman at the tech desk was absolutely lovely and helpful. I remembered that Owen's school had artwork exhibited in the children's section and so I found his piece.


I really wanted to grab someone and show it to them and say, "My grandson did this!" but I didn't and honestly, it looked very much like all of the other kindergarten classes' Hungry Caterpillars although Owen had put food in there for the caterpillar to eat, which was a very nice touch, I think. And thoughtful. And he is a very thoughtful boy. 

And that was about the high point of my day. 

Here are two of the Barred Plymouth Rock teens. 


Aren't they pretty? I am thinking that the one on the right might be Luke Skywalker. His (?) legs are thicker than the legs of the one on the left (Mona Lisa?) and look at the different shapes of the heads. Mona's is rounder, Luke's is more elongated. 
And I could be completely wrong about all of this and seriously, I don't know shit. 
I am quite certain, however, that they both look like tiny dinosaurs. 

Tomorrow is my darling May's birthday and so this time 38 years ago I had been in labor for approximately forever and the midwives and a few friends were gathering in my little trailer about ten miles down the road from where I am living now. I will never forget that. I must have walked fifty miles that day, trying to get my baby to come on. I just took her cake out of the oven a few minutes ago. This year she actually wants a cake, rather than a pie and she knew exactly the one she wanted and I pulled out my old, yellowing recipe, cut from a newspaper a long time ago. It's a cocoa cake and has a glaze. It is deadly good as it has coffee as well as chocolate in it. We are all meeting for lunch tomorrow and I am so looking forward to that and giving her her silly little fun presents. 

And so it goes. We keep on going, we keep on living, we keep on walking whether to get the baby to come or to keep the life going as best we can. We notice the butterflies feeding and we mix the chocolate and butter and sugar and flour and eggs and vanilla, and we change the sheets and we remember to buy detergent and we read the books and we think about things or try not to think about things. We have dreams and we wake up in wonder and we drink our coffee and no matter the internal weather, we do what we do and there you go and here we are and it's always a mystery somehow, to some of us at least, and I suppose that as long as there is mystery, there is reason to keep on with it all.
The mystery and clean sheets. And cake. 
Something like that.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Chicken In Every Pot


View outside my kitchen door this morning. Mick crowing his head off for me to come and give them treats.



I took them some tortilla chips. 

Everyone is the boss of me. 

Sunday, May 22, 2016

August, Pancakes. Etc.


August ate Mermer pancakes today for the first time. Sweet potato, banana, oat bran. And he loved them. I bet he ate at least one whole pancake, maybe another. He would have eaten more but his mama said, "That's enough, son." He's still only got two teeth but he manages quite well with those two teeth. His first top teeth are right there. You can see them. They just haven't come through yet. They will soon.

I had thought that Vergil would be coming too, and possibly Lily and her children but it ended up just being Jessie and August and that was fine too. We had a good time playing with the boy and picking beans and showing August the chickens. He is so studiously observant about things. You can just watch him thinking about things, trying to figure them out. And then of course, because he's a baby, he tries to get them in his mouth.






Or kiss them. He kissed that baby doll like it was his job. 
He's crawling all over the place and I'm sure he's going to start pulling up soon. It's so funny how even after raising four and observing Owen and Gibson and now Magnolia, too, I am still amazed watching babies change and grow, doing the things that all babies are supposed to do. 
Geniuses, every one!
It is good to retain a sense of amazement, whether it concerns babies or chickens or the okra coming up in the garden. 

I've had some weird anxiety today and I don't know why. Does one ever know why? Oh, sure, if you have an event coming up that you dread but I don't. It felt like that, though. My stomach felt as if I was about to go onstage all afternoon. 

Anyway, it's coming to evening time again and I'm going to make some stuffed peppers with the incredible risotto I made last night. I'm not kidding you. That stuff is GOOD. I like the magic of it, the stirring in of one ladle of broth or a splash of wine at a time until all of that is absorbed and then adding more, watching the rice become creamy and soft. 

Last night I actually got the teenager chickens to go up the little walkway to their roost place by themselves by using grapes as an incentive. I could not have been prouder of myself had I invented the wheel. The little chicks made their own way back into their coop by themselves and I was proud of them, too. We shall see what happens tonight. I have more grapes if that's what it takes. 

My husband is home and I am so glad to have him here. I think the cats are too. Jack, especially, has become his special buddy. 

Mick is calling the girls in and the sun is going down and once again, I need to get in the kitchen. 
It's been a good weekend, despite yellow fly bites and anxiety. A bit lazy, a lot restful, and time spent with my August and his beautiful mama. 

Peace be unto us all. 

Love...Ms. Moon


Can We Go For 6,400?

Six thousand, three hundred and ninety nine.
That's the number of posts I have posted including this one and it is my ninth blogoversary.

Where is the cake and the magic candle?

Haha.

Sunday morning in Lloyd and all is well. Jessie and Vergil are bringing August out for pancakes and I'm not sure if Lily and the boys and Magnolia are coming. Lily had to work last night and is probably still exhausted.

I wonder if I've made as many pancakes in my life as I have written blog posts?

Someone could do the math but not me.

Anyway, just marking the occasion but I need to get busy in the kitchen.

Thanks, y'all. If it wasn't for you I'd just be shooting these things off into the universe for no reason whatsoever.
Maybe blogging is my form of prayer. Would that make all of you god?
Sort of. For sure.

Love...Ms. Moon

Saturday, May 21, 2016

When You Have One Plan And The Universe Has Another. (Not That I Believe Any Of That)

I knew I should not have gone out into the world. I knew it! But I figured it was safe to walk down to the Post Office. Right? That's like one block away if we had blocks in Lloyd, which we do not.
But I wanted to check the mail and also, my across-the-street neighbor texted me that he had bought too much Romaine lettuce and did I want some and I texted back that sure, I did, and that I'd stop on my way back from my stroll to the Post Office.
When I got to the corner I saw that a church was selling mullet dinners and I asked them how much and they said seven dollars and I said I'd be back and then went to check my mail and then by Paul's and we stood and chatted in his yard for a bit (mostly about how much our hips hurt and how aging just purely sucks because we are aging) and I guess I didn't realize it but I must have been bitten three times by a yellow fly because by the time I came home, got my money for the mullet dinner and went back and was waiting on my mullet to fry, I had three places on my own personal body that were itching like motherfucking hell and nothing itches like a yellow fly bite.
I had a pleasant time talking with the young people who were at the mullet dinner set-up while the older lady did the actual mullet-frying about astrology, of all things, plus a few other things and by the time I got home with my styrofoam take-out container, I knew it was time to hit the Benadryl. Which I did.
Both topical and a pill.
The mullet dinner was, I have to say, disappointing.



First off- no cole slaw. Secondly- frozen french fries instead of cheese grits?
What kind of church was that? I did ask what church it was and they told me and I asked, "Where is that?" and that lady said, "Down the road," which did not clear up a damn thing in that there are approximately twenty-eight churches down the road from here. I acted like I knew what she meant though.
Anyway, not only was there no slaw and no cheese grits (or grits of any kind), the mullet was not the best mullet I ever ate. I am thinking it was caught yesterday or the day before and that would be fine for most fish but if you know anything about mullet, you will know that unless it goes from water to plate within a short few hours, it isn't very good whereas if it is cooked and served a few hours after it's caught, it is the most divine white meat on the planet.

This mullet was not divine. And what can you say about frozen french fries? Oh well, I donated my seven bucks to the cause of summer activities for a church and therefore, I did my job. Also, my chickens got some nice mullet and white bread and french fries. Which they loved.

BUT, that is not what I came here to talk about. I came here to talk about my yellow fly bites. I am highly, highly reactive to those motherfuckers. This is what the insect looks like.

(Picture stollen from the internet because hell, no, I am not letting one of these horrors stay on me long enough to take a photo.)

Bigger than a mosquito and smaller than a horsefly. And they can draw blood when they bite. 

Even though I had taken the Benadryl and used the cream on my bites, they became an itchy hell. Plus, swollen up. Here's a picture I took and sent to Jessie (because you have to do this- send pictures to someone of your swollen yellow fly bites, right?) of my hand. 


My feet weren't quite as bad but just as itchy. I contemplated taking another Benadryl when I started feeling the sleepy/slightly stoned effects of it and the bites were still driving me crazy but decided against that because this is a process and it just has to work itself out. 
So I cleaned out the hen house and yes, the baby chicks had flown the coop (so to speak) and the teenager chickens were now in there, eating all the baby chicks' food. 
And then I decided to take a nap (sleepy and slightly stoned as I was) and let time have its way with me and so I did and my feet bites look a lot better and are not itching and my hand bite isn't itching but it looks like when you take one of those rubber doctor gloves and either blow it up or fill it with water and it's so funny like a cartoon hand which is somewhat appalling when it's attached to your wrist but it's not really bothering me and I feel certain I'll live. 

So here's two more pictures which I took when I was out picking peas for the possible risotto I might make tonight if I ever get hungry again. 


Can you see the little anole? And bonus points for spotting Maurice.


It's really time to pull those peas because they are done and have aphids all over them but the ladybugs are so happy eating the aphids and quite possibly the anoles are so happy eating the ladybugs that I am loathe to do so. But I will soon and the chickens will love them because pea vines are delicious. I'll probably use some myself in a salad. When, you know, Mr. Moon comes home and I actually make a salad. I have plenty of Romaine. 

So it's been a far more exciting day than I had anticipated. I had never anticipated discussing astrology with members of the Elizabeth AME church nor had I anticipated being bitten by those hateful bugs. I am in a cheerful mood, perhaps despite and because, both, and also, I got to talk to May on the phone and we make each other laugh and cackle like two witches, mother witch and daughter witch, and my fat little glove hand isn't bothering me much at all. And then there was the nap and if there's anything more delightful than taking a nap on a Saturday afternoon and waking up and realizing that no matter what time it is, all is well and it doesn't matter, I don't know what it is. My baby chicks got to explore some of the bigger world and I know, at least, which one I want to name Georgiebelle.
And hey! I got a 20% off coupon in the mail today for Bed, Bath, and Beyond! Can you believe that? How lucky can a person get????

I think I WILL make risotto. Just for the pure pleasure of it. With fresh peas. 

All Love...Ms. Moon






I Am Being Here Now Today


I feel very, very quiet today. As if I need to slip through the air as gently as possible. I not only do not care to control anything in this universe, I don't even want to disturb it although of course by my very breath and movement, I do.

I am leaving the lid up on the baby coop today to see if they want to take a little fly-out. They are almost as big now as the banty chicks. They are starting to be distinguishable in their coloration and markings. I suppose it is time to figure out which one is Rosabelle, which one Georgiebelle, and which one Lucy. I would take them out of the little coop myself but as I said- I do not want to disturb that which is today. I doubt they'll leave it on their own but if they want to, they can.

I truly must clean out the hen house and I suppose that's a disturbance but one that will mostly be ignored by the gods of this air, this light, this green life and animals which surrounds me.

Friday, May 20, 2016

Tell Me, Baby. Tell Me The Truth

So this quiz is going around Facebook and it's one I actually participated in.

Fired a Gun X
Been Married X
Fell in love X
Gone on a blind date X
Skipped school X
Watched someone give birth X
Watched someone die X
Been to Canada
Been to Hawaii
Been to Europe X
Been to Las Vegas X
Been to Washington D.C X
Been to Nashville X
Visited Florida X
Visited Mexico X
Seen the Grand Canyon in personX
Flown in a helicopter
Been on a cruise X
Served on a jury
Been in a movie X
Been to Los Angeles X
Been to New York City X
Played in a band
Sang karaoke X
Made prank phone calls X
Laughed so much you cried X
Caught a snowflake on your tongue X
Had children (a child) X
Had a pet X
Been sledding on big hill
Been downhill skiing X
Been water skiing X
Rode on a motorcycle X
Jumped out of a plane
Been to a drive-in movie X
Rode an elephant X
Been on TV
Been in newspaper X
Stayed in Hospital X
Donated blood
Gotten a piercing X
Gotten a tattoo
Driven a stick shift vehicle X
Driven over 100 mph
Been scuba diving
Lived on your own X
Rode in the back of police car
Got a speeding ticket X
Copy and paste as your status. Put an X if you have done it. No explanations

All of those X's are mine. 
But you know- there's so much that this survey/quiz does not cover. I'd like to add my own categories. At least a few. 
Here we go. 

Did LSD or peyote or mushrooms?
Realized what "all is one" actually means?
Survived a family which was so toxic that bleach should have been used as mouthwash?
Once got beat on the butt because you had to poop?
Spent half your childhood in trees? 
Reading? 
Wanted to be a mermaid as a child?
Thought that if you tried hard enough you COULD be a mermaid as a child?
Have ever jumped into a spring so clear and so cold that your heart stopped beating? 
Jumped in again? 
Voted for Jimmy Carter? 
Lived in a house with no plumbing? 
Used an outhouse? 
Regularly?
Didn't just "watch" someone be born or die but actually held and helped in the process?
Realized that love is love, no matter what the gender involved was? 
Cried at that realization? 
Breast fed? 
Written a poem?
Written a novel?
Fell in complete love with a fictional character?
Had your life changed by something you read?
Grown something in the dirt that you could eat?
Eaten an egg that just came from your chicken's butt?
Fell in love with someone so inappropriate that you're grateful you survived and yet at the same time, grateful you fell in love?
Gotten completely stoned before listening to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band or Beethoven's 9th Symphony or Stravinsky's Rite of Spring? 
Danced with such abandon that you fucked up your hip for life? 
Seen Bruce Springsteen live? 
Seen The Rolling Stones live?
Seen Ladysmith Black Mambazo live? 
Seen The Neville Brothers live?
Seen Bob Dylan live?
Shaken B.B. King's hand? 
Had your life saved by music?
Smoked a cigar in Mexico?
Climbed the steps of a Mayan pyramid? 
Cried your fucking eyes out at the sight of Michelangelo's David? 
Made love in a broom closet?
Lived long enough to be astounded that you're still alive?
Found true love?

Oh hell. I have a million more categories but that's a start. 

This is what happens when my husband goes out of town.

Love...Ms. Moon







And The Okra Is Coming Up And The Squash And Cucumbers Are Putting Out Blooms

It's been a good day and I am home and cozied in with my cats here on the back porch. The rain still falls and the Rubbermaid cart rain gauge says it's rained half a cart since yesterday.
That's quite a bit of rain, for those of you unfamiliar with this particular scientific method of gauging rainfall.

I just finished listening to The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce.
Highly fucking recommend. I would like to read more of her books and I will.

I did go to town today and I am glad I did. I had a wonderful time at lunch. Vergil got to come too and it's so precious to see him with his little boy and to see Jessie's happiness at the completeness of her family once again.



I held August quite a bit myself and let him play with my necklace which I wear not only because I like it but because it is good for babies to chew on when they are teething with its vintage glass crystal and a silver Virgin of Guadalupe pendent on it. I closed my eyes and just felt that little boy's sturdy weight in my arms and held him to me and let him drool all over my face to the point in which I felt as if I'd had another shower, trying to store up all of the Augustness that I can.
Every time I think of him leaving, of his mama and daddy leaving, I tear up but it's okay.
It's okay, it's okay, it's all going to be okay.
He will remember me.

Maggie slept through a lot of lunch, that little squishy monkey and when she woke up, Hank had to hold her, of course. She was fine for a moment but then she screwed up her face to cry and there is no child in this world who has a more precious pout-face than that child.


You feel both so sad for her and have the huge urge to laugh at the same time and thus, you kiss her. Lily warned us to enjoy her bumble bee outfit today as it will be too small for her to wear again, most likely.
"I almost wrenched her arm off, putting it on her," she said.
Oh, how we women must suffer for beauty.

We all talked and we laughed and Gibson made great pronouncements in his great voice and I took him to the restroom where he told me to go in one stall while he went into another and not to look, and I did not, and then we washed our hands together and dried them well and we bought him and his brother both tattoos from the machine at the front of the restaurant where you put two quarters into vertical slots and slide it in and get a tattoo for your efforts.
He is getting very good at putting the quarters in and sliding the apparatus. Good skills to have, right?

Vergil told us some about his trip down the Grand Canyon and it sounded terrific. If by "terrific" you mean going over rapids a whole lot. No, actually, it did sound amazing and he got to hike and see so many beautiful things and live real life without technology for almost three weeks. I am glad he was able to go and I respect his adventurous spirit and athletic ability. I think that August will inherit some of these traits as they are strong in his daddy's family. And his Boppy's too, come to think of it.

After we all kissed and hugged good-bye, I took myself to the World Market to do a little birthday shopping for May and I swear to you- it was like a gift to myself to do that. I just love that place. So much hippie stuff, so many colors, so much lightness of heart. I spent an hour walking around and looking at silly stuff. I am not a big believer in retail therapy but today was definitely a sort of therapy for me. How can you not be happy looking at plates with smiling elephants and flowers on them? Or bags made of every sort of recycled, brilliantly hued fabrics? Or little jewelry stands made to look like tiny Victorian dessert stands? Or drinking glasses made in Mexico from recycled bottles which fit in your hand like a dream? I almost decided to finally start that salt and pepper shaker collection when I saw the little elephant and Taj Mahal set. I bought May a few fun things that tickled my fancy and which I hope will tickle hers and I bought myself a colorful ropey string of brass tarnished bells with beads to hang on my door. When I saw it and jingled it, I thought, "Freak flag. Perfect. I must have it." I also found a most sturdy magnifying glass on the clearance shelf and I had just been thinking that I really do need one of those because...well, wait until you become sixty years of age. Oh! The ticks and splinters I will now remove with ease! And of course the boys can use it to kill ants with. No. Not really. But I WILL show them how to start a fire with it.
Ancient magic passed on by ancient crone.

And here it is and here I am and soon it will be time to go shut the chickens up and those dang teenagers still haven't figured out how to get into their little night-time roost. Probably because we put them in there every night and they don't remember it and when they wake up they're like, "Whoa! How did this happen?"
Sigh.
Mabel is definitely gone and I found Trixie in the roost when I went to go get eggs after I got home, hours before her bedtime. I know she is grieving and that's all there is to it.

It is going to be cool again tonight and I will sleep with the window open and I will miss my husband. But I am ever gob-smacked that I have such a good husband to miss. Maurice just walked over my keyboard to come be near me and then acted like I was trying to violate her when I put my arms around her and kissed her.

Thank you for being here. It's not just my cats who keep me company. Not to sound all pathetic and shit. I don't feel pathetic.
Just grateful.

Love...Ms. Moon







Rainy Day


Cicada on porch screen. 

Yesterday when I was out picking beans, I heard a giant CRACK and looked up to see a very large branch of a walnut tree trembling and then it fell, the leaves whishing as it dropped through space and than a huge crash as it hit the ground. The most fortuitous thing about it was that the branch dropped almost directly onto the burn pile. I have no idea why it cracked and fell. It looked healthy and fine. All the weight of the water from the rain we'd just gotten, I suppose.


Of course it was nowhere near the size or sound or crash of the half of the ancient oak that fell a few years ago. But there is something incredibly primal about hearing that sound. That ripe splitting as wood separates from wood, the small breath-holding tremble before the fall.  

Ah-yah. 

Mr. Moon has taken off for the Georgia woods to do pre-preparation for hunting season at his camp and so my hunting-widow status is back. I cried when he left. I will miss him. He hugged me tightly and said, "I'll be back." I have these two, thankfully, to keep me company while he is gone.



And now I am off to get ready for yet another lunch in town. This one with Hank and Lily and assorted young'uns. But first I want to thank all of you who commented yesterday with all of my heart. I am still pondering. This is a situation which, although it has roots in my past, is not specifically an issue of that. More of an issue of what to do with the rest of my life and so forth.
You know- just the small stuff. 

I feel certain that no matter what, love will prevail.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon






Thursday, May 19, 2016

It's The American Pastime

Ah, but I am tired. Fine but tired.
I had a little evening babysitting gig tonight for this girl.


Her mommy had to work and Boppy and Jason wanted to take Owen and Gibson to an FSU baseball game and so I stepped in. About an hour or so after the fellas left, Gibson, who was not having it, had to be returned home by his daddy so we hung out too. 

Did I tell you I'm tired?
It's okay. 
Look at this.


No. Owen is not wearing glasses these days. He found those. I hear he was on the Jumbotron. 
Jumbotron, nachos, peanuts, Daddy and Boppy and baseball! 

I'm going to bed. 

See you tomorrow.


Help. Sometimes It Is Helpful. Sometimes It Is Not


The mimosa is starting to bloom, its powder-puff blossoms looking as if they had been dipped in rouge. I saw this on my walk this morning. Another good one. I am pushing myself on my walks lately and it feels good. At my age, it seems harder and harder to make any sort of progress and I'm sure that's all in my mind, but if I can walk farther, longer, stronger I am proving myself still capable of something.
Increased suffering, probably.
Still, it feels good.

I got a picture from Jessie this morning that I can't stop looking at. I think it is one of the most beautiful pictures I've ever seen.


Daddy is home. 
I write those words and look at that picture and tears spring to my eyes. 
Daddy. Home. 

I should really go see a counselor sometime soon. I have an issue that's getting in the way of my life and it's not life-threatening or so very dire, but I need to find clarity, I need to find a way to reframe something, to come to a sense of peace about. And "going to see someone" would probably be the right thing to do, the thing I would, in fact, advise someone else to do. It's not always fair for me to try and talk things out with the people I love. Now and then it is best to find a third person with no irons in the fire, so to speak.
I thought about this last night as I was going to sleep and although it seems like such a good idea, I just cringe at the thought. 
In my head I went through the list of different therapists I've been to in my life and it's a sad and sorry list. Long, too.
The first shrink I ever went to was when I was going through a depression in Denver. He looked like a balding lion, if you can imagine that, and asked me if my weight troubled me.
I was not fat then at all. I was lovely. Can you imagine?
When I told him that I was moving from Denver back to Florida he advised me that a geographical move was not going to cure my depression. 
He was wrong about that too.
There was the woman that my first husband and I went to see separately, he first, when we were contemplating divorce. She was fantastic. After hearing my husband's story from his mouth, she simply asked me why I was still living with him. She wasted no time or energy on fantasy.
"But I love him."
"Eh- what does that mean?" she asked. 
So that took one session.
I went to another counselor after the divorce who had just gone through EST training. Remember that? We actually got into the details of my childhood abuse and he told me that I, a nine year old child at the time, had allowed the abuse to happen. That I had to take responsibility for my part of it. 
That was not helpful.
Finally went to another guy. A real shrink because I was desperate and was again in a dark depression. He decided that I was actually manic-depressive, as they called it in those days although there was absolutely no evidence for that. He prescribed Lithium and it made me psychotic, suicidal, and craving pineapple juice to the point where I was opening cans of pineapple slices in the middle of the night and sucking down the juice.
Good-bye to him. 
I finally, years later, knew that I HAD to deal with what had happened to me as a child. Trying to put it away in that closet was not working and I was losing my mind and becoming unable to function as a wife and the mother of three (and then four). I found the one. I loved her then, I love her now. She was firm, she was empathetic, she didn't let me get away with shit and she cried sometimes when I told her things and she held me when I needed it. 
She saved my life. She is now retired. 
The last therapist I saw was when I started experiencing the crippling anxiety. She came highly, highly recommended and it was such a bad match. She mostly talked about her girlfriends and how successful and wonderful they were and everything she suggested that I do to help with my anxiety was already stuff I was doing and HAD been doing for years and years. Plus, she always dressed like the gorgeous fashion model she truly could have been and she made me feel dowdy and old. And yes, fat. 
I broke up with her.

And this is my history with therapists, counselors, and psychiatrists and psychologists. 
Not a great history. 
And thought of jumping back into that search makes me want to die and then add to that all of my backstory and it makes me want to die AND die again. 
Yes, my father was an abusive alcoholic, yes, I only saw him once after we left him when I was five years old and yes, my mother suffered horribly from depression, yes, she wanted me to mother her, yes, the man she married sexually abused me...blah, blah, blah. 
Yes, I've suffered from depression, yes, I've suffered from anxiety, yes, I probably have PTSD, yes...oh hell- what am I forgetting?
Oh yeah, I have a sort of obsession with Keith Richards but I also have the most amazing life anyone could ever imagine and all the love in the world and I do function and when I write all of this down I think that maybe I should just work this shit out on my own. 
Trust in myself, my family, my friends, the process. 

And keep writing. And keep walking. And pondering. And functioning. And gardening and chicken-tending and hanging out with my kids and grandkids and appreciating with full gratefulness of heart all that I have. 

I feel a bit selfish and over-sharing with this post but when did that ever stop me? 

Here's a gladiola.



All love...Ms. Moon