Three Very Different Men Whom I Admire (Plus the President)

I bitch about a lot of things. I know I do. I can't help it. I just like to bitch, I guess. But sometimes the heart is so happy that bitching is just inappropriate and besides that, sometimes credit needs to be given where credit is due. You know what I mean?
And today is one of those days.

First, I'd like to give credit to Bill Clinton. He went into the very, very strange world of North Korea and somehow talked that insane alien of a leader of theirs into releasing those two journalists. Can you imagine how they felt when they were called from their cells into a room where Bill Clinton was waiting? No. I don't think any of us can. And here's what I loved about the whole thing- when they all got back to the States, Clinton didn't say a word. He just stood there and beamed.
Now some people are saying that we shouldn't have sent anyone there to do any sorts of negotiations. Maybe they're right. But dammit, I'm so glad we did and I'm so glad it was Bill Clinton and I'm so glad it worked out and those women are home. HOME!
And while we're at it, I'd like to say I admire our president for sending him there.



Secondly, I'd like to talk about a neighbor of mine. I have no idea what his name is. I've written about his house though, here, and the flags he flies in front of it. I think I've written about him another time, too, but I can't figure out where. Anyway, he's a strange looking critter in that his eyes are always like Gilford Godfrey's- almost shut. And I think it's some disorder, not continuous stonedness. I see him at the Post Office and I know he lives in the house down on the county line where a rainbow flag is proudly flown every day. Now you have to understand- I live in a very, very small rural community. In the south. This is not ordinary behavior here, to fly a rainbow flag. And this flag flies in front of a trailer. Not saying there's anything wrong with living in a trailer. I did it myself. And the trailer he lives next door to has a yard filled with junk and trash and goats and an alpaca or a llama and chickens and they all just run around the trash and junk and well, that's my community. So here's this rainbow flag guy and like I said, I see him in the post office and he ALWAYS wears flipflops (and again, I think this may have something to do with some disorder) and sometimes he brings his grandma to the post office with him. And I've never spoken to him but today I did.
"Is your house the one down on the county line," I asked him, "with the rainbow flag in front of it?"
"Yes," he said. "It is."
"Well I just want to tell you that I just think you're incredibly brave and I just love you for that."
He looked at me (I think- it's hard to tell with those eyes) and said, "I came out when I was twenty-five and my partner and I have been together for 13 years and we met on February the 13th and I just think the world should know who I am."
I was just stunned. I'd never heard him talk. And when he did, he said an awful lot in that one sentence.
This guy, believe me, is probably never going to visit San Fransisco, he's never going to own a car that has less than 200,000 miles on it (I noticed today that his car has a door handle refastened with CAULK), and he's probably never going to live anywhere but in that trailer.
"That's awesome," I told him. And then I didn't know what else to say. But as I was walking out the door, I said something like, "I want you to always remember to cherish that part of yourself which is so brave and so completely sure of who you are."
"I will," he said. "Thanks."
And that was that. And I am so glad I talked to him because honestly, we need to tell the people we admire that we admire them.


And the third man I'd like to give credit to is the one I live with, the one I'm married to. I've written about Mr. Moon hundreds of times and we all know he's practically perfect in every way. Of course he's insane because he married me but that's all for the good.
But here's why I'm bringing his goodliness to attention today:
One week ago we were in Cozumel where he pretty much catered to my every whim, satisfied my every need and let me be the queen. He took me out to eat, he let me decide what we'd do each day, he patiently waited for me to nap or read while he played solitaire. He bought me drinks, he let me go off on a Glenn Beck-listening asshole, he made me laugh and he made me cry. He took me dancing and bought me ice cream. He drove us around the island on a scooter in such a safe manner that I enjoyed every moment of it.
And then, THEN, as soon as we got back, he jumped into the world where we live with both feet, put his Car Guy hat back on, his Papa/Grandpapa hat back on, dealt with the city and its rules, regulations and forms, helped two children move, got the AC on my car fixed, paid all the bills and even went and worked out at six o'clock this morning. And so much more I can't even begin to tell you.
This man- oh. This man.
I have to tell you a pet peeve of mine. It's when women refer on the interweb to their husbands as DH's. Does that mean Dear Hubby? Because if it does, it sort of makes me want to puke. It's so...condescending or something.
I will never, ever refer to Mr. Moon as DH.
But yes, he is my incredibly dear husband (you will also never hear me call him a "hubby"), he is a precious, funny man, he is the hardest working man I've ever known, and he mixes a mean martini. And he tells me every night that the supper I've made is delicious, even when that's not quite true. And he goes out to pet the chickens with me at night while they're asleep. And he takes care of all our children. And he feels really bad when he wakes me up to ask me sweetly to please roll over because I am snoring so loudly he can't sleep.

There you go. Three very different men. One of them famous. One of them amazingly himself, and one of them mine.

Have a happy Friday, y'all.
Love....Ms. Moon