Wednesday Whatevers

Okay. So Mr. Moon came home early this afternoon so he could play with Owen which was a real treat. I was a terrible grandmother today and let Owen bust his lip. I do not know how it happened. He was crawling, which he is an expert at and I was standing right over him, talking on the phone and he crawled over a wooden lamp base and I guess he did a face plant and well...there was blood and there were tears and I felt like I'd let him cut his arm off. It was terrible.
I think he forgave me.
When he left with his daddy he screamed again but this time because he'd been watching the chickens who'd come out to see him. When they see Owen they think treats might be forthcoming due to the fact that Owen and I always give treats to the chickens. Today Mr. Moon joined us and we fed them grapes. And so when he was leaving, they all raced up and Owen was pointing at Elvis and he was crowing and was so very happy and then his dad put him in his car seat and he was heart broken. And pissed. Very, very pissed. And he let us know it. Again, I felt terrible but at least this time it wasn't specifically my fault and there was no blood.
This pointing thing has added a whole new level of communication with that boy. He points and goes, "Uh!" and that means he wants it. Basically he wants everything. Especially if it can go into the mouth and resembles food. Oh boy. That child can eat. And whenever he points and I don't give him what he wants he looks at me as if to say, "Excuse me- what have you done with my real grandmother? Bring her back, please."

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All right. I want to talk about Costco. I was never, ever, EVER going to go to the one in Tallahassee because it was built right next to a Walmart and a sporting goods place (which is already out of business) and they tore down some of the most beautiful woods and trees and burned up some old cracker houses to build the monstrous big-boxers and it pissed me the hell off. The sign for the whole thing has a beautiful oak tree on it and yes, they left ONE FUCKING OAK TREE on the entire property. It was nothing short of rape.
So. I didn't want to go to Costco.
But Mr. Moon bought a business membership there because he is practical above all. And I went in and okay, whatever, like Sam's club, blah, blah, blah.
And I barely ever used the place until lately but shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Now I love it.
Their tabouli. Their stuffed grape leaves. Their tzatziki sauce. Their olive-rosemary bread. (Two loaves for $2.99.) Those take-and-bake pizzas with fresh tomatoes, basil and mozzarella. (Giant-sized for $7.99.) Their organic coffee. (When they have it.) The frozen organic berries. The Greek yogurt. That room you walk in which is cold where all the produce lives. The organic baby greens. The big bag of bell peppers.
Oh dear. Need I go on? I have even started looking at their jewelry, some of which I would happily wear.
I am addicted now. I hate them for making me love them. DO YOU HEAR ME?
I am such a fucking hypocrite.
But I still avoid Walmart like the plague.

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My Tussy deodorant arrived in the mail. I am so happy. So are those who must be close to me.

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Mr. Moon and I just went down and picked blackberries for about an hour or so and came back with almost two gallons. This is the best year for blackberries I have ever seen. Our dialogue in the field went something like this:
"Shit. Ouch. Goddam. You okay?" Etc.
Picking blackberries is just miserable but they're so damn good.
It occurred to me that picking wild berries is one activity that hasn't changed one iota in the entire course of human history. Whether you dress in skins or denim, whether you put your berries in a sawed off milk jug or a homemade basket, the act itself is exactly the same. Reach and pluck, reach and pluck. Watch for snakes and bears.
Now I can bring mine home and freeze them whereas if I were an earlier human I suppose I would have dried my berries or made wine of them. Something which would keep. I SHOULD make preserves and maybe I will but that requires so much sugar and the jars AND the work. Honestly, I believe I might just freeze them all and use them in smoothies or desserts and muffins later on. Of course, if we have a hurricane and lose our power for a week (which is not outside the realm of possibility), we'll have to eat blackberries like a frenzied raccoon for a few days.
We shall see.

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Lisa Page Rosenberg, who writes over at Smacksy linked a site in one of her Sunday posts which I am loving. It's called Advanced Style and if you are older or younger or whatever, go there and be inspired to be who it is you really want to be, even if you don't live in New York City. Go there and learn not to be afraid to wear a whole lot of jewelry at once if you want to and to paint your fingernails green with hand painted black designs on them. Go there and behold the glory of style in older age!
And go visit Smacksy, too, because she's funny as hell and has a son who cracks me up and makes me want to cover his face with smacksy kisses.

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I think it's funny that not one person mentioned my horribly heretical statement that I believe that chickens have done more for mankind than Jesus did on a practical level. I thought I'd lose at least ten followers. Instead, I picked one up. There's still time, though, to unfollow me. I'm thinking that the Catholic church, at least, is going to put my blog on that list of things which if you participate in will get you sent straight to hell. But then again, the Catholic church just came out and said that the Blues Brothers movie is a classic Catholic movie so maybe they're cooler than I thought they were.

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We finally watched Crazy Heart. I thought it was pretty good and I thought that Jeff Bridges was tremendous but I have to tell you something- they changed the ending. The book's ending is terribly sad and not at all upbeat so I guess they had to Hollywood it up and that disappointed me greatly. I can't say I was surprised but I sure was disappointed.

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Well, I guess that's about it. I need to wash the dishes and go watch The D-List. Ms. Bastard-Beloved? You hate that show, right? Is it you that hates that show? Well, I can't help it. I love it.
But I'll never try to make you watch it. I promise.

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Okay, okay. One more thing. No. Two more.
My son Hank has an image blog and I love that thing. He finds the most interesting pictures you can possibly imagine and then captions them with great charm. Go visit that here if you haven't. He covers the sacred, the profane and the simply hysterical. It's a very fun site.

And my daughter May just wrote a post about walking which I think everyone in the damn country should read because it makes so much sense and says everything about walking I've ever thought but never was able to express. That would be here.

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And that's it. That's the end. Except for this:

Well, that's an end too. A mighty cute little hind end. Or as Mr. Moon's mother might have said, a tee-tiny tee-hiney.

She had a way with words.

I'd gotten tired of changing Owen's diaper today. I had him in cloth and it seemed like he was peeing about every fifteen minutes so I just took his diaper off for awhile and let him go commando. I don't think he even noticed. But I got some good pictures.

See you tomorrow. Sleep well. Sweet dreams. Etc.