Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Por Favor- Recipe?

One of you posted a recipe last summer for curried vegetables. It was so delicious and I want to make it again and I can't remember which one of you amazing women gave it.
If it was you, would you give me the link?
I need to use up the rest of the eggplant and green beans and I want to use them in that recipe.

Night Thoughts

The weather made up its mind and chose high winds and rain with cold rushing in to fill in any gaps. On my drive home from Monticello tonight leaves were falling all around me, the road was covered in downed pine needles and the rain was heading towards my windshield and looked, in the lights, like a laser attack.
It was awesome.
Gonna get cold tonight. And colder tomorrow.
I'll probably bitch about it. You know I will.

Steel Magnolias is going to be something. We took our first tentative steps tonight. Everyone was there and we blocked the first scene which takes up at least a third of the play. As I said before, I have worked with two of the women before and we know each other. We know each other's rhythms and ways. And it's fun to have three new women to work with and the joy of it for me is always this coming together and taking flat words off a page and becoming someone other than our regular selves and making the words our own and the story, too.
It's a lot like magic when it works.
I feel so lucky to have this outlet.

I did some yoga today. First time in months. My yoga teacher retired from teaching, pretty much because I quit going as I was so often her only student. I quit going mostly because of Owen but I think I was just waiting for an excuse. My teacher was a very nice woman but the farthest thing in the world from what I would think a yoga teacher should be. But it did me good, going to her classes for so long and I will always be grateful to her for giving me the basics. I hope to continue doing forty-five minutes to an hour a day on my own. As I stretched and breathed today, it was as if my body was sighing with delight. I stood and did tree pose (my favorite) and looked out at the tung tree with its yellow turning leaves and I had a moment of quiet rightness.
Well, we shall see.
Why is it so damn hard to do the things we know will give us the most joy? Give us the strength and balance we need in this life? I wish I knew.

This funny life. It's as rich and full as we want it to be. As we make it. I have the strongest instinct towards making my life small. I know I do and it's not a good thing. I think depression is part of that- what's the point? And yet, the point is, when we do new things, or take up old things that brought us joy, we feel better. Ironic, eh?

So. Here I am, living a small life in a small village but popping out occasionally to act, to try and make that magic with others. I hang out with my kids some, and Owen comes to me. I can almost resemble a normal person sometimes and I think that most likely, everyone feels this way to a certain extent. We act in such a way that we will fit in. Most of us. We don't dance to the Muzak in the grocery story when we like it, we don't start screaming when we don't. We pretend we're delighted to see people that we'd just as soon avoid. We hold our tongues in most situations where, if we unleashed them, others would be offended or hurt or baffled. It's the way of the ape-tribe.

Hell. How did I get from yoga to there?

Fuck if I know.

Good-night, y'all. Think about what you'd like to do if...
you had the time, the money, the backbone, the balls, the whatever it is stopping you.
And tell me about it if you want.
I'd love to hear.

Now get your rest and see where your dreams take you. See if they inform your waking dreams.

I wish you flying, I wish you singing, I wish you sparkling like the rain that hurtled itself through the darkness tonight.
I wish you EVERYTHING you want, no matter how big.
Or small.
I really do.

My Good Deed For The Day

Just for you, babies. Just for you.
I stole this from vanityfair.com

So Confusing

Yes. It's over seventy degrees here this morning. It's not only warm, it's muggy too. Warm and muggy. The kind of mug that makes you feel like the bag of saltwater my old anatomy teacher said that human beings are.

A big old sloggy bag of salt water.

Slosh, slosh, slosh.

And yet tomorrow night, it's going to hard-freeze which means all my tender, juicy plants outside will need to come in. Mr. Moon will have to get the dolly out and it'll be a pain in the ass to move the big ones but I am not losing certain plants if I can help it. And of course, my most precious plants are the really big ones. The mango, the giant begonias. I have two huge pots of those now. And more leaves rooting.

So today we feel we're in a tropical jungle here and tomorrow we'll be wrapping up to go outside like we're in the Tundra. Believe me. We got the thin blood here in Florida.
It's confusing to us when the weather does this quick 180 and it's confusing to the plants and the chickens will probably be confused as well.

Speaking of the chickens, here they are eating Cheez-Its.

They are not confused about Cheez-Its, despite the unnaturally orange color although they are probably wondering in this warmth why they bothered to grow all those new feathers. By tomorrow night, though, they will be thinking, "Oooh. Thank the Chicken God that we have all these new feathers." And they will fluff those feathers up and stay warm.

Okay. Here's something else that is confusing me:

I am just fine with these excellent instructions up until #5.
What am I missing here? I feel like I must be an idiot. Why does instruction #5 tell you NOT to put foot through Comfort Fit Sleeve when in instruction #1, it so clearly states that this is what you're supposed to do? I keep reading it and reading it, hoping to find some glimmer of illumination but I just can't. Can you? Explain this to me, please.
Meanwhile, I have just followed instructions 1-4 and all seems to be well with the brace. I like its sturdy support. It makes me feel safer in the knee and if that's all it does, well then that's enough.

The dogs seem to be confused today too.
Confused as to where to shit.
I have cleaned up half-a-paper-towel-roll of dog shit today already. Actually, I don't think they're confused at all. I think they're just evil. They look like little cuddle toys but they're basically shit-and-piss machines, put here on this planet to piss me off. They are doing their job well if this is so. Very, very well. They all get A's on their permanent records.

Do you suppose that Winter Haven High School still has my permanent record? I should hope so.

And I guess that's all I have to say for right now. I am just a very confused woman, trying to figure out what she's doing today. I have rehearsal tonight so I suppose I should work on those lines which is something from my list I never accomplished yesterday.
Yes. Lines. They, too, can be confusing.

My wind chimes are tinkling and ringing in the wind which is probably going to bring that cold air and even they sound confused, not sure whether to dance to a minor or major key. It's just that sort of day.


And perhaps it's nothing more than this weather, this wind changing direction from south to north and not being able to quite make up its mind whether to kill us with humidity or blast us with polar air.

It's good to remember that even the weather is confused sometimes but that it always straightens itself out and finds its true purpose. For awhile at least.
Not unlike us, I suppose.
I am letting that thought comfort me today as I limp about, sloggy and muggy, confused and not quite sure what I am doing.

All will be revealed. In the meantime, it's okay just to be confused.
I think.
But am not sure.

It' so confusing.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Sex, Religion and Politics. Sort Of.

Well I got quite a few of the thing on my list done today. I'm not too disappointed. And how could I be disappointed when I got to play with my Owen? Bless his little heart- he does love his grandmother. He holds his hands up to me and I pick him up and hold him close and when I went to leave today he cried piteously.
Of course he was very tired.

I bought the knee brace. I am wearing it. It's all black and stylish. And smells rather serious. Like, oh, I don't know. Almost rubber-like. I hear there are rubber fetishists in this world. I wouldn't care to meet one.

Isn't sex just the oddest thing? It's so animal-like and I guess that's why all the religions try to control it so closely. As far as I can tell, that hasn't done one damn bit of good. But they keep trying.

I heard two interviews on NPR today and in both of them, the interviewees had left the Catholic church. One was Anne Hathaway, the other Anne Rice. Mmm. Both Annes. I hadn't thought of that before now.

For both of them, the gay question was the deal breaker. Throw in the fact that women can't be priests and the cover-up about the priest sex abuse scandal and both women felt they had to leave the church. Anne Rice talked about it a lot, her "reconversion" back into the church and then her leaving it. She said in her interview that she had never once had a supernatural experience (although she has famously written volumes and volumes about vampires and now she is writing about angels) but it occurred to me that if she has ever taken the Holy Eucharist, which she has, she has indeed participated in a supernatural experience. Or at least one in which faith makes one believe it is supernatural.

Well, like I have said, I don't have the religion gene and so I really don't have the right to discuss it, I suppose but then again, maybe I do.

Sex. Religion. Politics.

If we don't discuss those things, what are we going to discuss? Lipstick? Crossword puzzles? Recipes? Those are all fine but this life is filled with so much more.

I don't really talk about sex much. My children read this blog and you know, you really don't want to think about your mother and sex in the same sentence. I have a lot to say about it but mostly that it's a big mystery to me, still, after all these years and that in my next lifetime, if there is such a thing (who knows?) I would hope not to be sexually abused as a child. I think it would improve my outlook on such doings.

I am cooking some brown basmati rice and it smells incredible. I'm going to cook a piece of salmon and some spinach and let the rest of the Thanksgiving leftovers sit for another night.
It's dripping rain here in Lloyd and Mr. Moon is gone off on business and it's me and the dogs. I shall give old Pearl the salmon skin. It is her due for being The Oldest Boxer Still Alive On The Planet. She loves it so.

And eventually, I will fall down into my dreams and the dripping rain shall inform them as shall the small dog curled up beside me.

But wait- should I mention politics? No. I don't know enough about it right now to comment. I hear there is such a thing as Wikileaks and I should figure out what that's about but honestly, right now I just do not care.

I would rather fill my heart with what's right in front of me. Think of the ones I love.

That, strangely or not, includes so many of you.

Sleep well.

Have sex if you can and/or want to. Same with watching the news and praying.

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I know one thing about sex- it can lead to grandchildren. I highly approve of that.

Monday After Thanksgiving

Things To Do List:

1. Address fatness issue.
a. Quit eating like a beast on steroids.
b. Throw those Cheezits in the cabinet to the chickens.
c. Figure out how to get Kathleen's exercycle over here.

2. Take trash and recycle (CHECK! DONE!)

3. Do laundry.

4. Think about Christmas shopping.
a. Count number of Ativan left in bottle.
b. Get Christmas lists from children.
c. Make Christmas list.
d. Force Mr. Moon to make Christmas list.

5. Just consider sending Christmas cards.

6. Complete healing of knee.
a. See 1. (c) above
b. Buy knee brace.

7. Leave Lloyd. For awhile at least. Put on a bra. Get in car. Drive away. Go to town.
a. Go to Publix and buy orange juice and bananas.
b. Go to Costco and buy fat-free Greek yogurt. Do not sample the cashew clusters.
c. Go to drugstore and buy knee brace.
d. Go to Lily and Jason's and play with Owen.

8. Come home.

9. Take coolers back to garage.

10. Wash hair. No. Really.

11. Learn more lines. Relearn ones I "learned" yesterday.

12. Plan healthful, low-fat, high fiber meals.
a. Buy beans.

13. Try not to beat myself up.
a. For hating Christmas.
b. For not even thinking about Christmas "decorating."
c. For fatness issue.
d. For not finding a cure for cancer or solving that pesky "world peace" issue.
e. For not getting books published.
f. Etc.

14. Drink eight glasses of water. (Not all at once.)

15. Ice and elevate knee at some point.

16. Try to find line between overdoing and being a lazy slob.

17. Don't dance!

18. Even with Owen.

19. Especially not with Owen in my arms.

20. Kiss his little face a thousand times.

21. Sweep kitchen.

22. Clean out nests in chicken house.

23. Turn off computer and clean keyboard carefully with Magic Eraser. (It really IS magic!)

24. Turn computer back on.

25. Wash hands before using computer. (Especially after #22 above.)

26. Do something about facial wrinkles. The store-brand Oil of Olay is not working.

27. Come to terms with facial wrinkles. There is no magic potion.

28. Do not come to term with fatness issue!

29. Remember what is important.
a. Family
b. Friends
c. Birds.


30. Try not to curse out loud when I hear Christmas carols on the Muzak.
a. Or sob.
b. Or throw things.

What's on your list today?

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Yeah. I Love Her

I just watched part of this Martin Scorsese film on Fran Lebowitz.
Next lifetime- I wanna be her.

Mighty Fine

Ah man. It's been a lovely day.
In the new-way of communications I got a facebook message from an old friend for Mr. Moon to check his cell phone for a message and Mr. Moon did and via that, I got a message from my friend Lisa-Lisa, Beautiful-Redheaded Lisa Whom We Adore, whose husband is the person who left the facebook message.
Got that?
Anyway, Lisa and her husband and two friends were on their way home from Tallahassee where they'd watched the football game and wanted to stop by and yes! yes! YES! I love Lisa and her husband and I know one of the friends and I love her too and the other friend was a joy to meet and it was so fabulous, having them here for a bit.
Lisa is the sort of friend whom I can get together with after years of not getting together with and all we have to do is hug and smell each other and that's it- we're back. We're there. We're right on the same page.
Dang, I love that girl.
So that was awesome and I gave everyone a bowl of turkey soup and then Ms. Fleur came over with Harley and I gave Harley some soup and we all caught up a bit and then they had to go but Lord, it was fine to see them when they were here. I met Lisa when Jessie was four years old and now Jessie can legally buy alcohol and Lisa has an almost-four-year-old and an almost-six-year-old, and babies- time flies.

After they left I studied some lines and hell, I've almost memorized like two whole pages! Only sixty-nine to go! No problem! Shee-it. What? Me worry? Get on wid your bad self.


So it's been a really good day.

And I went out to shut the chickens up and noticed that the sky was streaked like an agate and so I took some pictures.
It started out like the one at the top and then it went to these:

Is there a word for pink/orange/gold?
It gets better:

Had to get a shot of the mistletoe growing in the bare pecan branches:

And finally, it ended up in some crazy swirl of color.

The whole world looked drenched in gold. Damn. It was gorgeous. My pictures don't begin to give it justice.

And I came in and made Mr. Moon some oyster stew with the rest of the oysters and although it wasn't just like his mama made it, he said it did credit to the oysters. And he's off to a basketball game and I'm going to go put my leg up and ice the knee some more and tomorrow I get to go see Owen whom I miss with a deep-bone intensity.

Yeah. It's been a good day. I hope yours has been too.

Lookin' Up

It got cold in the night and my pillows were freezing and that made me happier than a chocolate dip cone from the Tastee Freeze used to do back in the day.
FSU beat University of Florida last night in the game of football. I can almost feel the waves of happiness shooting across the land from the west and the simmering pissed-offedness being sent from the southeast. They converge here, those dueling emotions and neutralize out.
I don't give a shit.
Lots of people do, believe me. They probably danced in the streets of Tallahassee last night. I am thinking about my former yoga teacher and how she and her husband were such die-hard Gator fans and even decorated their Christmas tree with Gator ornaments and yet, they were such believing Catholics, too.
I have always said that the team-gene and the religion-gene go hand-in-hand and I don't have either.
That's just the way it is.
I don't think those guys on the field give a shit about me or whether I watch the game and I don't think that Jesus died for my sins, either. At least I hope not.
Well, it's Sunday. It's chilly and bright as a new dime and my knee is, if not perfectly fine, then at least pretty darn good. I am missing my walks. It would be a perfect day to walk down to the creek but I don't think that would be wise at all. I don't know. Where's the line between healing and muscle atrophy?
Wish I knew. Wish I knew a lot of things. For one, what to make for breakfast.
Hell's bells, all we've done in the past four days is eat and now it's time to eat again.
Happy Sunday, y'all.
Love...Ms. Moon

Saturday, November 27, 2010

More On Dancing

Yes. Crows. Here are a few I caught. If I had been quicker, I could have caught a hundred in that tree. I am not very fast right now. As Truvy says, I am built for comfort, not for speed.

Another day of lying on the couch. I have watched more movies in the past few days than I have watched in a year. Don't even ask me what I watched. One with Alec Baldwin, one with Seth Rogen playing three different roles. All right, the movies were Lymelife and one was Fanboys. There were two Culkin boys in Lymelife and they were both good and let me just say this- if you want to hire a young actor to play a child observing the break-up and misery of a family with the greatest skill and power, look for actors whose last name is Culkin.

I have watched other movies, too, but I drowsed through huge parts of them. I watched part of one called The Brothers Bloom and I want to see the whole thing. I could watch Adrien Brody all day long doing nothing but reading a phone book. Silently. To himself. That nose. That face.
Ah me.
I do love a good nose. I always have. And I have always wondered why they were put squarely in the front of the face. They must really, really be important to our survival as a species. And although we don't really think or talk about it, they must say something important in the silent language of attraction too.
Well, that's my theory.
And there's a woman in The Bloom Brothers called Bang-Bang (Rinko Kikuchi- what a name!) and I love her too. It'll be on again sooner or later. I'll see the whole thing.

So I got up off the couch and made turkey soup. It has turkey, of course, in it and collards and celery and onions and garlic and curry and chili powder and edamame beans and oh, I don't know what all. Leftover gravy. One sweet potato. Rice. The rest of the wine leftover from Wednesday night. I hope it's edible. And I made some Irish Soda Bread but it doesn't have enough flour in it and it's the shortest loaf of Irish Soda Bread you've ever seen.
Oh well.

Today I saw and heard flocks of crows. It's been slow and quiet. And I wanted to show you one of the things I did to decorate the house on Wednesday night:

Magnolia branches twined in the stairway. I think we'll be keeping this up the entire holiday season. It makes me happy and when those branches die, I'll just replace them. I wonder if any one at the party noticed. I sort of doubt it. And if they did, I doubt they realized that the branches were real.
I did.
And that's okay.

And I remembered something tonight- dancing may have contributed to my knee problem but it was dancing that cured my foot-tendon problem back in January. So there.
Dancing IS prayer.

Remember that. Do a little shuffle, a quick-step, a polka, a waltz, a slide, a down-and-dirty boogie. In the moonlight or kitchen or living room. It'll do something to change your life.

That's the advice coming to you tonight from the Church of the Batshit Crazy.

Soup's on.

Love....Ms. Moon

Here Is Saturday

I went all the way to the chicken coop this morning and the knee worked well. Okay, I am walking like an old, old woman but I am walking. And now comes the time when I have to remember that just because I CAN do something (yes! just like Cher and the thong-thing) doesn't mean I should. I am going to rest it again today, this old joint.

It got cooler last night after a day of on and off rain showers and the air again feels crisp. It's lovely, it's light. Perfectly luscious, in fact. I was sitting on the porch and I heard a sound I'd never heard before. I can't even really describe it. Perhaps like the rustling of very stiff black satin. The sound was traveling from west to east and then I heard the cries of birds, too, and huge flocks of them flew over and settled for a second in the trees in the back yard and then took off again immediately and it was as if I was underneath that skirt of that stiff black satin and there were layers and layers of petticoats, too.
The birds, as they rose up, were outlined against the bright sky and I couldn't tell a thing about them except for their shape. Perhaps they were crows. I think they may have been.
It was a wonder.

I feel as if everything I write the past few days has been so boring. My world, already smallish, has become even smaller as I have stayed in the house, nested here and there in it with pillows and blankets and ice. I read an entire New Yorker last night and when do I have the luxury of doing that? My old friend, David visited in the evening bringing two of his beautiful grown daughters, two of their children, and a son-in-law. It was happy chaos in the kitchen and we ate leftover salad and pasta and bread and some of Mr. Moon's smoked venison which was the very, very best venison I've ever eaten. I looked at David and said, "Who knew?" as the babies played with Owen's toys and ate bananas and his daughters beamed their beauty across the universe. Who knew, indeed, and the girls asked how we met and David and I laughed. The story is so long and so long ago and so life-altering and yet, really, now? Of what consequence?
Every and none, I would say.

Yes. We step here, we step there, we sing this song, we make decisions and each one as small and unimportant as the act of reading a magazine, as strange and mysterious as a flock of rustling birds and then, a life. Or rather, many lives.

No wonder we need to rest sometimes. No wonder there at all.

It is Saturday morning and it is amazingly quiet in Lloyd and if you drove through here, on the road in front of my house, you might look around and say, "I wonder who lives in these old houses under these big oaks? Do they sit on those porches? Do they live lives like mine?"

And the answer would be oh yes. And no.

And you would drive on and within three miles, you would have forgotten these houses under the oaks but we would still be here and so would you, traveling your journey as we travel ours from house to chicken coop, from kitchen to bedroom, from front door to back, all of us moving, even in stillness, even in quiet.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Black Friday

I don't mean to be rude but WHO THE FUCK GETS UP AT THREE A.M. TO SHOP AT KOHL'S?
Really? People do this? And at Best Buy and Toys Backwards R Us? And Macy's?
I can't even imagine.
First of all, if I get woken up at three a.m., someone better be having a baby. Otherwise- nothing good happens at three a.m. People get taken to jail, children get that whoopy cough and you have to go sit with them in the bathroom with the shower turned on high heat to make steam for hours and you're scared to death. Stuff like that. I do not want to be awake at three a.m. for anything. And the very idea of being in a crowd of people bumrushing Walmart's doors to go buy shit made in China at good prices at such an hour makes me positively cringe.
I think there are people who are not like me at all. No. I am sure of it. I mostly forget that, hanging here in Lloyd and reading the blogs of people mostly like me. Then I click onto Huffpost or something and see those pictures of people trampling each other at retail outlets and filling up carts with boxes of crap that they're going to save Big Money on and I'm just flabbergasted.
I watched part of the Macy's Day parade this year, stoned on Percocet and I said, "This parade is everything I hate about America."
It was too.
All right. I don't have a thing against Sponge Bob Square Pants and I do like high school marching bands. Beyond that- what crap! Did you see that Native American thing? The colors were dayglo, the Great Turtle Mother was made into a cartoon and well, if I were Native American, I would have just shot myself. Either that or laughed my ass off so hard that I died choking on my own spit.
I changed the channel to watch The Addams Family and I felt a great deal more in common with them than I did with the Macy's Day parade. I mean, those Addams had a GREAT LOVE for each other. And family.
I miss Raul Julia.
I love Angelica Houston.

I hate retail shopping.

I am so far away from that scene right now that I might as well be living in another country.
I spent a lot of today sleeping. My body must be taking this healing thing seriously because every time I lay down (which is mostly), it falls asleep.
Jessie left today after spending three days making herself darn useful and being a joy. She cleaned, she helped take care of Owen, she cooked, she danced, she made me laugh, she rubbed her mama's feet. She did homework.
I remember when I got pregnant with that girl. Boy, I was NOT amused. I had not planned that one. I had not seen it coming. For some reason. I was having sex so the fact that I got pregnant (again!) shouldn't have been such a surprise. If there was a world-cup for ovary function, I would have won it back in the olden days.
Anyway, Jessie was born and she was my hip monkey for about three years and by the time she was four she was telling me what to wear and doing my hair and I have no idea what I would have done if that girl hadn't decided to let me be her mama.
She woke me up this afternoon to tell me goodbye and I sure hated to see her go.
But she does have a life.
As do all of my kids. May's working a double today after working so hard yesterday that I don't see how she managed to walk out of here last night.
I don't know what Hank did today but I know that he, too, must have been tired and sore after Wednesday and Thursday. That boy. He brought his mama CD's he knew I'd love and he helped wrangle Owen too and he made me laugh and helped cook and clean up too.
And Lily- she worked until eleven on Wednesday, was up before me on Thursday, did the turkey on Thursday, cooked and cleaned and watched her boy and then got up and went to work today. As did Jason.
I hugged that boy yesterday so hard and said, "Do you know how much we love you?"
What a man. What a husband. What a daddy. What a son.

And here's my husband. He's here with me, watching the Auburn-Georgia game. I think. Whoa. Maybe it's Auburn-Alabama. I don't know. But he's worked so hard the last few days too. And he's been so sweet to me.

I guess all of this is why I don't need to get up and get dressed and go out to shop in the middle of the night after Thanksgiving. I have everything I need and if I have to pay a few more dollars for my kids' Christmas presents, it's well worth it. They're as funny as Wednesday Addams when she asked that Girl Scout if her cookies were made with real Girl Scouts. They're as devoted as Thing and Lurch. And my husband is almost as romantic as Gomez. He doesn't tango so much but he does dig up plants in the woods and bring them to me. He does buy me rum.

Shopping. Bah. Let those people go out there and buy all that crap that will be abandoned by New Years. I'll still have what I have now and I'll be as grateful for it then as I am now.

Now everyone please stay out of jail. No babies get the whoopy cough.
And I think I'll go lay back down.

This healing is hard damn work.

Love...Ms. Moon

The Healing Proceeds

The knee is so much better. Thank goodness because we know that Ms. Moon does not go to the doctor for just any little thing. (Did I ever tell you about the time I ripped all the calf muscles in my leg and it turned every shade of awful and I didn't go to the doctor? What would they have done? I'll never know.)
But I'm not going to push my luck. I'm going to elevate and ice all day again today. The Percocet can probably be left out of the equation. In fact, it should be left out of the equation. Okay. Maybe one more when I go to bed tonight.
So. Back to the Glen Den where I will lay on the couch with dogs and watch TV. And read. And whatever.
I have a grandson to take care of. Not today, but next week. And by god, no damn knee is going to stop me from that.
I am still feeling all basky from the love yesterday.
And so grateful.
Happy Friday.
Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Not Very Many Pictures

L.L. Cool Tay and Waylon late last night. How precious are they?

The food. Which my children made. Except for the mashed potatoes, which Ms. Fleur made. Thank-you, Ms. Fleur! They were delicious!

Me going first through the line. First time. Ever. And Hank and May, two of my babies.

Mr. Moon about to apply the pepper sauce to his greens.

Oh, y'all. It has been such a day. Well, two days.

And I am so tired and not thinking right but the food was so good and my family has been so wonderful to me and I have felt so loved.
They all worked too hard. I hope they rest easy tonight.
I hope they know how much I love them.

Sweet dreams.
Be well.
I wish you that.

A Different But Wonderful Thanksgiving

First let me state that I am on Percocet so if this doesn't make a lot of sense, there's a good reason.

Second- Happy Thanksgiving!

Yesterday was wonderful. The party was amazing. There were babies and children and at least forty adults showed up. Some of my very, very favorite people in the entire world. People I've known and loved for almost forty years. People I have I known and loved for a much shorter time but that's hardly the point. My kids, my grandson, my husband. My loves!
It was so warm everyone set up chairs around the fire and the music was there. Two violins, a guitar, a banjo, a cello, a mandolin. Voices! There were voices! And the round moon rose up and shown down and the music rose up to meet it and oh, honeys. It was so good.

There was even a little dancing. Which, to make a long story short, is why I'm on Percocet. Well, that and the fact that I picked up Owen about fifty times yesterday. At least. And these knees- well. They've been heading in the blow-out direction for awhile. I knew better than to dance but come on. I even danced by myself in the hallway yesterday afternoon. I couldn't help it. Bruce was singing and I was happy and so I indulged in my favorite form of prayer and I danced. And I danced with Owen so many times over the course of the day. And then when Kathleen got up and danced in the moonlight, I danced with her and May danced with us, too, and I'll never forget that, ever.

And then, oh well. I was talking to Liz and I felt something in my knee just change. Oh my, I thought. Oh dear.

I didn't sleep very much last night and when I got up, I couldn't bear weight on my left leg. I hobbled out to the porch to discover that Hank and May and Lily were all already up. UP! And everything was fine. I was not the first person up on Thanksgiving morning and the world did not come to an end! The sun was shining, the water still ran in the pipes and came out of the faucets.
And then...my children made the stuffing and got the turkey in the oven and are cooking the greens and everything else. Everything. I sat in the kitchen with my leg up, and told them what to do and Hank said that his broccoli casserole was gourmet and May said, "Uh-uh. My food is gourMAY. Yours is gourHANK!" And then we got into a bit of "that's what she said," and I was laughing so hard and then I took a Percocet and now I'm on Mr. Moon's recliner with ice on my knee and am stoned to the gills on a narcotic and if I want something, all I have to do is ask.


All it took for me to give up control was a blown knee and a strong drug.

Hank and May have gone to Wakulla Springs for dinner with their other parents and assorted family but they'll be back soon and the kids and the grandson and the husband are taking a walk and here I am, cozy and not in pain and the house is beginning to smell like turkey and cornbread stuffing and greens and if I were any more peaceful and calm I'd be dead.

Which I am not.


Let us give thanks. For music under the moon and for friends and for family. For venison smoking outside and turkey roasting in the oven. For greens from the garden and baby boy kisses. For children who grow up and cook Thanksgiving and for husbands and son-in-laws who hunt. For a beautiful sunny warm day and breezes that are making my wind chimes sing.
And for Percocet.
Oh yes.
For Percocet.

And for Ms. Fleur who just came by and brought us vats of mashed potatoes.

Oh my.

I've said it before- I'll say it again- I am the luckiest woman on earth. And yes, I may be on drugs, but I know it's true.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

Loving you...Me

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

It Looks Like This Today

The first oysters have been opened and swallowed and pronounced very fine.

It's good.

I wish you could all be here tonight. I'll be thinking of you.

Love...Ms. Moon

Keeping It Simple

Jessie and I ran to town. Well, we didn't go all the way to town. Just as far as the Costco. Bless their hearts. They made it simple. They had two coffee makers. One Mr. Coffee that looked entirely not good enough. And this one. The Cuisinart. It looked like it had everything I wanted. And it was not very expensive.
We bought it along with some other stuff which I doubt I really need but I'm at the point in the situation where I'm just throwing things into the cart for good luck.
A swing through the Publix and we were home.
I am drinking my first cup of Cuisinart coffee and it is fine. And it came with a real manual. And it is about fifty times easier to program than the old Krups. And it pours like a dream.
All is well.
Time to get busy, busy. Hank is coming out and so is Owen. I have the kitchen to do, the cornbread to bake and some side dishes to make for tomorrow before the party if I have time.
Peter Rowen is on Terry Gross, telling Bill Monroe stories. It's a beautiful day. I have coffee.
Life is not so bad.
Not bad at all.
Thank-you for all your suggestions. Someday I'll grow up enough to get one of those coffee makers that grinds beans. For now though, I'll just be a coffee non-gourmet. Hell, if I really liked the way it tasted, I'd put cream and sugar in it.
And I'd weigh four hundred pounds.

Love...Ms. Moon

Bless Me Mother, For I Must Have Sinned

I was awake until after two last night. My knees. What the hell is happening with my knees?
I finally got up and finished one book and started another. I am not even going to tell you what that book is.

(I Am Ozzy, written (haha!) by Ozzie Osbourn. So sue me. I got it out of the library. Ozzy's the only person I know who says fuck more than I do. I respect this.)

When I did finally get to sleep, I SLEPT. Did not wake up when Mr. Moon got out of bed way before dawn showed its face to go hunting with Jason. Got up at 8:30. Not respectable, but still, the best I could do.
The party is tonight. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. (Trying to keep perspective here.)

When I left for rehearsal last night, Jessie and Mr. Moon were cleaning. Mr. Moon was cleaning!
The Shop Vac was involved.
When I finally went to back to bed, Jessie and Vergil were still video-chatting.

When I got up, the coffee wasn't made. I had set it. But it wasn't made. I tried to start it. It wouldn't start. I unplugged, I reprogrammed, I restarted.
No coffee.
My house was dark and my pots were cold.
Okay. Poetic license.
I made a cup of tea.
I started the old percolator. That thing takes about forty-five minutes to make three cups of coffee. Oh well. Where am I going?
To town, obviously. Well, I needed to go anyway. But I wasn't planning on going to Bed, Bath and Beyond. Which is where I suppose I need to go.
Quick-quick- tell me what your favorite coffee maker is! I don't grind beans. Sorry. I need it to be programmable. Does Fisher Price make a coffee maker? And the pot, she must pour nicely.

All right. That's all I have to say now. The cowboy coffee (that's what we call what comes out of the percolator) is ready. It's scalding hot and delicious. More than one way to bait a hook, skin a cat, build a fence, make coffee.

Happy Day Before Thanksgiving.

Drink your coffee. Thaw your turkey.
Be sweet. Don't sin.

Love...Ms. Moon

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Owen And Pearl And Grandmother

This is how we eat yogurt at Grandmother's house.

Old Pearl. For Ms. Bastard-Beloved.

Trying to escape out the dog door.

Rocking On

After watching a two hour PBS special on John Lennon last night, I went to sleep to dream of George W. Bush.
I am not kidding.
Why did he crawl out from under that rock in Texas and make himself part of my consciousness again? Why?
In my dream he called some hens "guys." I said to him, "Those are hens. They are females."
We were in a giant department store.

So, okay.

Jessie's here. Everything will be under control. Owen's coming for the day. I have approximately one third of the house slightly clean. The dogs' bedding has been washed. All the sheets have been washed and the beds remade. The rugs have been washed. I need to risk death and take the turkey out to thaw as it is still in the bowling ball stage of defrosting (i.e. not defrosting).

I have rehearsal tonight.

I haven't bought rolls.

Well, what are you going to do?

I had an epiphany yesterday. I am not a Christian. Thus, I do not need to celebrate Christmas. Thank-you very much.
I told Jessie about this. She asked if the kids would all still get money and could we just do stockings?
I told her yes.

Oh boy.

Well, one thing at a time. Mr. Moon has asked for a list. It will be comprised of this:


He can handle that. Maybe I'll push my luck and have him pick up rolls too.

What are you doing today? Do you have a fourteen-month old who can dust mop?
I didn't think so.

Love...Ms. Moon

Monday, November 22, 2010

My House

The guest room. Where Owen gets his diapers changed. And loves to play Peek-A-Boo. And used to nap.

Over the mantle in the guest room.

Different sorts of magic.

A picture that Mr. Moon and I bought in New Orleans in 1984.

Our room. All my pillows. The duck and the duckling. Both.

Mud room. Magnolias. Hats.

Mexico Mondays, Cozumel

rebecca is doing Mexico Mondays and someone is hosting it and I'm not even going to sign up but I love the idea of it because I yearn so for the tiny island off the coast of Mexico where the water is a thousand shades of blue and the stones are ancient and the people are the nicest I've ever met and their profiles are the same as the ones painted on the walls of the temples on the mainland.

When the plane begins to descend and I can see the island, I begin to shake with tears.

Literally. I don't even feel as if I can contain the emotions which pour from my heart. It is that strong, this feeling I have for this tiny island where I always feel safe. Always feel happy. Always, without explanation or reason, feel at home in a way I have never felt anywhere else.

We descend farther, landmarks come into view and that water. Oh. That water.

Clear as a baby's soul and by the time the plane has landed, my feet are scrambling to touch that ground and then, when I do, the smell of the island hits me. Salt and lime and something I can't describe but it is the smell of the place I love so much and I take my husband's arm and I walk across that tarmac and I get in line for customs, my pieces of paper in my hand and when the man stamps my passport and I say, "Gracias, senor," and he hands me my passport back...well.

There are always people in the airport, come to party and dive and dive and party and they are loud and they are excited and they're planning the first dive and they're calling out to each other and I am so quiet. I just want to take it in and take it in and take it in through my skin and my eyes and my ears and my nose and my mouth and if a place, an island, can be a lover, it is mine.
And I cry, like I am crying right now, to tell you the truth, just thinking about it, just feeling it in my bones, the way it feels to arrive in Cozumel from the air like a god, to step out onto the earth like a human, to thirst for it like a beast, to want to gather it to my heart and breast like a woman.

We All Have Different Philosophies

Here I am, awake again, mouse shit in the laundry basket- too much nature around here. A party day after tomorrow and not one dust-free surface in the house, baseboards needed painting seven years ago. You should see them now.

Big fat turkey in the refrigerator, you could use it as a bowling ball. Wouldn't affect my score.
Mildew in the toilets- yes! seriously! Don't even want to talk about the floors.
There's a rusty old glider on my back porch that sat in the woods for twenty years and no, it doesn't glide and no, we're never going to fix it and for some reason, it is pissing me off today like you cannot believe.

Another beautiful day in North Florida, perfect temperature, roosters crowing, light tumbling down and painting leaves. I live in my dream house.

The rooster crows to announce his presence on this green earth. I am here! I am here! I am here!
I write these short, choppy sentences, same-same. I am here.
And one is as of as much importance as the other.

This is a one-foot-in-front-of-the-other day. This is a don't-even-think-about-it day. This is a mouse shit in the laundry basket day.

What is the difference between Scarlett O'Hara and the Buddha? I don't know.
I'll think about it tomorrow when I am stronger, says Scarlett.
All is illusion, says the Buddha.

Even mouse shit in the laundry basket?

All you need is love, say the Beatles.

I see the light come shining, says Bob Dylan.

I will shit wherever I want to, say the mice.

I am here, I am here, I am here, says the rooster.

I think it is time to do the laundry, I say. I think it is time to clean the toilets.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

This And That

Some actors count their lines. I have been known to do this myself when the number of lines can be counted on one hand.
For this part, I can't count that high. It would take me an hour just to count the lines. I am not even kidding you.
This is ridiculous. What do the "kids" say? Ridonkulus. Haha! Just kidding. I know the kids don't really say that.
(Or do you? Tell me, kids.)
My only hope in this entire world is that the play is so well written and that there is such a flow that I might have a chance. I've been in plays where the flow was so bad and there was NO SENSE to any of the dialog that it was almost impossible to remember. I mean- what was the point? And then there was that play in which I played four or five different characters. That was amazingly fun but hard as hell. Especially the costume changes. I'd still be backstage right this second, trying to change out of pants and into a dress if Kathleen hadn't been there to help me. And make chicken salad.

Ah Lord. I hope that Jan and Jack don't end up regretting making me Truvy. I swear.

I talked to Billy today and he wants to get with me to run lines and discuss costumes. Now that makes my heart just happy as hell. And if you don't know the wonder that is Billy, just do a search on my blog. Billy loves the movie Steel Magnolias with all of his huge heart. I think if he had the time, he would have dressed in drag and come to auditions.

Anyway, it's been a good day. The yolk of the egg of my depression and anxiety has finally cracked a bit and I almost felt...okay today. Seriously. I did. I got to talk to Billy and I chatted with FC Rabbath on the Facebook and I talked to Kathleen and I bought a turkey and I made the cranberries. I also got to see Lily at Publix and got some kisses from my husband. And made waffles.

So. The turkey is "thawing" in the refrigerator. It says that it'll take three or four days to thaw. Now you know that's a lie. Three or four thousand days would be more accurate. Has anyone ever really completely thawed a turkey in the refrigerator? DO NOT THAW AT ROOM TEMPERATURE!! the label says. Honeys, if that killed you, we'd all be dead. And now "they" tell us that if we stuff the turkey, we are in danger of dying from bacteria. As far as I'm concerned, a turkey is nothing more than a holder for stuffing. So screw that. And speaking of "they," here is a very, very short film by Freddy about the dreaded and much-quoted "they." Like, less than two minutes.

Kathleen told me that she brines her turkeys. I had to ask her what that meant. She said you soak it in salt water for a day before you cook it. Martha Stewart started this brining business.
"Why?" I asked Kathleen.
"It makes it moister," said Kathleen. We were having this discussion at the Waffle House.
"I don't give a shit if it's moist or not," I said. "That's what gravy's for."

And there you go.

I'm just so glad to feel like a human being again. So glad to feel like maybe I've got a little of my self back, a little of my sass, a little of my sense of humor. I hope I feel the same way tomorrow. I'm still worried as hell about getting everything ready before the party on Wednesday and I'm EXTREMELY worried about learning all those lines and everything else I was worried about yesterday, both real and imagined, but I am not paralyzed with it. I am remembering that you have to take things one step at a time, one line at a time, one casserole at a time, one trip to the grocery store at a time, one damn everything at a time. And you know what? Every one of you has helped me to remember that.

If you ever, EVER stop to wonder if I read my comments or if they mean anything to me- let me say this- YES! Oh hell, yes.
And I can never thank you enough for them. Y'all are the gravy on my turkey, the bone in my back, the hope in my heart, the angel in my biscuit.

I mean it.

Now here's the recipe for the cranberry relish which I make and which May and I love. Enjoy.

Cranberry Relish

Wash and core two apples and process in the food processor until nice and fine.
Do the same with one orange, peel and all. Remove the seeds, though.
Run a bag of cranberries through the processor too. Everything should be about the same size. Smallish.
Now do about half a cup of pecans the same way.
Mix it all up together with a cup and a half of sugar and 1/8th tsp. of salt.
Let it sit for a few days.

It's good.

And it looks real pretty in a nice bowl.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

Sunday Before Thanksgiving, 2010

The chickens are getting their new feathers in and starting to look lovely, which is nice because they were not looking so good for awhile. Molting is hard on a bird, I now realize. Egg production went down to zero and is just starting to pick up again. I haven't seen Elvis covering the hens the way he normally does (i.e. constantly) either and so perhaps the lovely ladies get a break from his attentions during molting. I'm sure I could look that up but I'd rather just observe and make assumptions.

Shalayla, his most-bedded bride, was looking like death on a cracker just a few weeks ago. Not only was she barebacked from his fucking but also, in an attempt to escape him, had flown into the yard with the dogs and Buster attacked her. Her back looked like, well, a skinned chicken and was bloody. I did not have much hope for her but smeared antibiotic ointment with golden seal powder in it (my cure-all) over her wounds and was resigned that she might not make it.
She looks amazing now. Her feathers have grown in and you'd never know the poor dear had been so close to death. She is still scared of Elvis and I didn't get her picture this morning because she runs under the shed as soon as he looks her way but you can trust me- for now, she looks damn good.

Here's Miss Daffodil. She is creamy and purely white now, her feathers fresh and lovely. I just this morning noticed how beautiful she's become.

Miss Bob has such gorgeous patterns of black and brown and white and golden feathers. We named her Miss Bob because she looked like a quail as a peep. She's a handsome thing.

Elvis's tail feathers are growing back but it's this design which enchants me. His breast is a magnificent patterned work of black-and-white art.

I do love my chickens.

Now. Not to segue, but let's discuss Thanksgiving.

I cooked my first entire Thanksgiving meal when I was twenty-two years old. Hank was five months old, exclusively breast-feeding for his nourishment, and I was three months pregnant. Yes. I eventually lost that baby but when I cooked the Thanksgiving, I was definitely pregnant. My ex-husband's mother and her boyfriend came to eat with us and I still have some of the recipes she'd sent me beforehand. One for cornbread dressing, one for gravy. I think. I'm too lazy to get up and look.
Anyway, I made that dinner and we all crowded into the tiny kitchen of the apartment where we lived and ate it and I was so exhausted when it was over that I thought I'd die. My mother-in-law gave me the greatest gift of all times in offering to put up the left-overs. I let her do that and went and took a nap with Hank and I'll never forget that kindness.

That was thirty-four years ago.

Since then, I believe I have cooked Thanksgiving dinner every year but one. I could be wrong. I know that one year, though, Mr. Moon and I ran away to Dog Island where I did not cook a turkey but did, in fact, bake a chicken with stuffing and made cranberries. So, in a way, I cooked that year too, but just for the two of us.

And here I am, four days before Thanksgiving, 2010 and I am wondering how in the world I can do this again. Getting a supper on the table is a bit of a struggle for me now, although of course I do it. I believe I will still be able to cook when I'm dead. Or at least, when I'm almost dead. Or partially dead. If there's one thing I can do, it is cook. Always and forever, I can cook.

Part of the problem with Thanksgiving is that we have fallen into a ritual of having a party the night before Thanksgiving. This party arose from nothing. I have never organized a damn thing. It's just the night when people are in town who have moved away and it started like that. Music, mostly, because so many of these people are musicians and then other people started to come and the kids' friends started to come and now, all of a sudden, it's engraved in stone, this party.

I told Hank last week that I wasn't sure I wanted to do it this year.
"Oh, no," he said, "It's happening."

The first year this event happened, I did nothing food-wise but cook some frozen ravioli and pour bottled sauce over it and set out some bread. I mean- it's the night before Thanksgiving. And Mr. Moon bought oysters and shucked them in the backyard and grilled some and so there were crackers and cocktail sauce and hot sauce. Maybe some chips. I don't remember.

As the party has grown, though, it feels as if I need to do more and last year there had to be at least forty people here and although I don't remember the food, I am sure there was a lot of it.
And drink, too, of course.
And music. Which is still the purpose of the party in my mind. Hearing these old friends play music together, some of them whom I've been listening to for almost forty years, is such a joy to me. The kids sing and Jessie plays mandolin, and Melissa plays banjo and that night has become the most magical night of the entire year in some ways.
So. Yes. I need to have that party.

The main problem arises when the next morning rolls around. Most of the kids spend the night and when I get up to make the stuffing and get the turkey in the oven and start the greens, I am the only one awake and some years I hardly qualify in the awakeness department, but I get up and cook anyway. Last year Hank got up to pee and there I was in the kitchen, apron on, up to my elbows in cornbread and sauteed celery and onions, the turkey draining in the sink and I said, "You know, none of you children ever gets up to watch me cook the turkey. None of you knows how to cook a turkey. What would you do if I was gone?"
And Hank looked at me and said, "Wake up Jessie." And then he went back to bed.

Now I have to be honest and tell you that every child makes a casserole. Hank makes a broccoli casserole, Jessie the spinach and artichoke casserole, Lily the green bean casserole (yes, with cream of mushroom soup and the crunchy onions) and May always brings some amazing vegetable dish of squashes, usually.
So in theory, I don't have THAT much to do.

But as we all know, theory and reality hardly ever meet on the path of life. Not in my life, anyway.

There is the salad to make and the greens to cook and the pies to bake, the giblets to boil and pick over to make gravy with, the bread to make and the rice and then May and I always VOW not to make mashed potatoes but then, at the last minute, we do. And the cranberries, of course, two kinds. And the sweet potatoes. And the veggie tray and the pickles and olives and cheese and crackers and the pesto-stuffed mushrooms and, and, and...

Oh yes. The iced tea. Sweet and un. Lemons to cut or limes.

And by the time it's all over, I have cooked my ass off for days, spent hundreds of dollars, thrown a party right in the middle of it, and everyone sits down to eat and in half an hour, it's done.
DONE. Except for the kitchen where gravy is cooling and gelling in the pan and the turkey lies with its bones sticking out and no matter how many times I wash the dishes throughout the day as I cook (dozens), every damn pan in the house is dirty again by the time we're done eating.

Thirty-four years of this.


So this morning I sat on my porch and tried to figure out if it would make me feel worse, at this juncture in my life, to have the party and the Thanksgiving dinner or not to.

I have decided, (big shock here) that I have to do it.

BUT- I am hereby putting everyone on notice- the pies are going to come from Costco. I am going to make the turkey and the dressing and the cranberries. And the greens.
Y'all can do the rest. If you want sweet potatoes, make some damn sweet potatoes. Same for all the rest.
Okay. I'll make the gravy.
I'm buying rolls. Forget the angel biscuits. JUST GET OVER IT- NO ANGEL BISCUITS!
And I'm not whipping cream.


Someone else can make the damn salad. There's enough arugula in the garden to make a salad the size of New Jersey. Someone else can make the tea. I don't know why, but I hate making the tea.

And there is no sit-down time to eat it all up in half an hour. Hank, May, and Lily and Jason all have other places they have to be during the day for another family meal so y'all can come here and eat when you want. There will be food. Help yourself.

I'll probably be in bed. Or sitting in the porch swing and weeping, drinking straight out of the rum bottle.

It would be nice if someone brought me a sandwich. Thank-you.

And now I need to put on a bra and go to town and buy the turkey so it can thaw so I can pull the giblets out and boil them to put some in the stuffing. And oh yes, buttermilk and corn meal so I can make the cornbread for the stuffing. And buy food for the party.

And rum. Which I may not share with anyone.

Yes. We will have Thanksgiving because I am thankful for my family and because I can cook and therefore, I do.

I'm pretty sure this will not be the last you'll hear about Thanksgiving. Stay tuned.

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Upon rereading this, I realize that Hank comes out sounding a bit bossy. He's not bossy. Okay, sometimes he is. But mostly, he just loves ritual and he loves his mama's cooking and frankly, that makes his mama happy.
So Hank- I love you. Thanks for keeping me in mind of what I was so obviously put here on earth to do. You want to make the sweet potatoes? Let me know.
Love...Yo Mama

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Boy Kisses

So the boy next door, Harley, as we call him, had a surprise fifth birthday party today. When I got the invitation from his mama, Ms. Petit Fleur, I wondered about the surprise element. For a fifth birthday? I asked her if he was intrigued with surprise parties and she said that yes, he was. He knew he was having a birthday party but he wanted to be surprised. He wanted to hear people scream, "Surprise!"
And thus it happened.
Lily and Owen and I were there with all the other guests when Harley came into the house with his daddy and I had my camera ready to snap the shot of surprise but it happened when he was still in the kitchen and we were in the dining room so I made him come into the room with the cake and refreshments to recreate the moment, as it were.
"Look like you're surprised," I instructed him. And he did.

We didn't stay too long. Owen needed a nap and Lily had things she needed to do but before we left, I asked Harley if he'd give me a birthday kiss. He said, "Of course!" and jumped up and gave me one, right on the lips.
Harley's friend from school, Mikey was at the party. Mikey's father hovered over him the entire time and whenever Mikey would ask questions, his father would say, "Don't worry about that, Mikey. Just don't worry." And that made me worry that Mikey would then begin to worry about things that it did not appear to me that he was actually worried about to begin with and it was a bit odd, I thought.
Anyway, after Harley gave me the birthday kiss, Mikey said, "Do you want a kiss from me?"
"Of course!" I said. "I would love a kiss from you."
I didn't even dare look at his father, one foot away. For some reason, I thought that the idea of his son kissing me might worry him.
Mikey sprang to his feet and kissed me just as Harley had, right on the lips.
It was good. And I wanted to say, "Mikey, I like you. You worry about whatever you want to."
But of course I did not. I just thanked him for the kiss and still not looking at the father, I took my leave with my daughter and my grandson.

Owen kissed me today too and so did his grandfather.

So there you go- I've been kissed and it was good and so another day has almost ended and I have recorded the sweetness of boy kisses.

It's A Beautiful Morning

I keep thinking that tomorrow will be a better day. That I will wake up and this gnawing beast in my heart will be quieter in his chewing, that my thoughts will be more placid, more in tune with the cool, sweet air, the light which pours over everything, unhindered by the leaves of the pecan which are on the ground now leaving the limbs bare and unable to block the outpouring of the sun's affection.

I have moments of epiphany where I tell myself to let things pass through me, these thoughts, these worries, these jagged bits of unbased fear, just let them in and show them the way out, leaving me untouched and fine, tell myself to breathe in and breathe out, just so.

I slept so many hours last night and here I am again, using sleep as a drug and as a drug, it works well. But the time comes when you have to get up, no matter. You have to. There is no more sleep in you for that time.

Eating is becoming a problem. I don't care for it. And if I don't want to eat, I don't want to cook either. Thanksgiving is coming up and god knows I have plenty to be thankful for, not the least is which I am quite certain that in a day or two I will wake up and these feelings will be calmed. I know that.

Well, until then, one goes on. There is a walk to be taken, there are nests in the hen house to clean out. There is a house to clean, a birthday party to go to. There are lines to begin learning. I started marking my lines last night and I am wondering at Jack and Jan's sanity in assigning me a part which has so many of them. Truvy is in almost every scene, offering a line here and a line there. I think I am going to love Truvy and I can't wait until I can embrace her fully and take her into myself, giving her back out onstage. Dr. Stage, the real actors call it. You may puke before you walk onto it, but once there, you are healed. I am hoping for the best. I am going to do my best but that doesn't mean I am not scared to death.

Scared to death. I remember when depression danced with me by itself and as ridiculous as this sounds, I wish it were still so. Why did it decide to bring a new dancer with it? This anxiety? I knew the dance before, the steps. I did not like the dance, but it was familiar. Now, two years after this new partner has shown up, I am still confused and clumsy. I am wishing they would grasp each other- depression and anxiety- and forget about me in their dancing, go off together and leave me be, but no, they have formed some sort of crazy bond and decided that I am a perfect hostess for their goings-on.

It will pass. It will pass. It will pass.

It is a beautiful morning. I am not lying. It is.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Mr. Moon

Do you see this man? He is probably, along with my children, the reason I am still here.
The first night he stayed with me I gave him the first test. He was going on about how beautiful I was or some such thing and I said, "Don't bullshit me, man."
He has done his best not to ever since then.

Tonight we were sitting on the porch, having our Friday night martini and we were talking about this and that, things we might want to do in the future and I said, "I need to get out of this hole before I can think of doing anything at all," and he said, "I'll be here when you're ready."
And then he asked me again if there was anything he could be doing or should be doing or shouldn't be doing to make me feel better and I said, "No. You are doing perfect."
And then I told him that I would marry him again tomorrow.
"I feel the same," he said.

Oh that man.
Tall as the clouds and sweet as honey. Feet on the ground and arms long enough to wrap around me and pull me close.

We were talking about how it's time to start thinking about building our house in Apalachicola and he asked me a while later, after a kiss, "Will you kiss me on our deck looking out on the bay in Apalachicola?"
"If we have a deck in Apalachicola, I sure will."

I have no ending for this little bit of writing. I hope I never do.

If he lives to be ninety-nine, I hope to live that long too, minus one minute.

What else can I say?

I call him Mr. Honey Man. I call him my husband. I call him my love.

I call him Mr. Moon. That is his name.

Early Morning

It is dark as ink outside and yet, I'm up. Mr. Moon is already out of the door to go to the gym. He is like that Nike commercial- Just Do It.
Me, I'm like a, well, it's too early to think. But I am definitely not a Just Do It sort of girl. I'm a waffler, a drama queen, a preparer, a procrastinator, a no, no, no, I can't do it sort of woman.
I'm a stay-very-still-in-the-sheets until the last second sort of person. Not a jump-up-and-get-it-done sort of person.

Another doctor today, but this one Kathleen's surgeon. We go up to Thomasville so he can take out her stitches, check to see that the incision sites are all clean and not infected. I talked to her yesterday and she is not feeling very well. This last chemo kicked her ass. She's taking it easy, though, resting. Trying to eat. Taking her nausea medication, doing her best. She's such a reminder of how strong humans can be. She puts me to shame, she does.

The sky is lightening. Elvis is crowing in the hen house. I need to go take a shower, get dressed, go let the chickens out into the coop, get on the road.

The dogs are lying at my feet, Buster on a pillow which has fallen to the floor, his head tucked into his legs.

This chilly day has begun and here we go.

Happy Friday, y'all.
Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Haiku My Heart, Beware The Virgin

Altars everywhere
The eye cannot rest for fear
Of some Virgin's gaze

I believe this is self-explanatory. And yet, at the same time, there is no explanation whatsoever. It is what it is.

You may join us, if you wish, over at rebecca's place for more haiku.
And don't be afraid- you, too, can haiku.
We'd like it if you did.


I am tired. I am just so fucking tired. Anxiety will wear your ass out. It will strip you down and leave you cold and empty.

Yeah, yeah. Everything went fine. They renewed my antidepressant. Does it help if you cry? I guess so.

Time with Owen was good. I held him to me and he patted my back after I changed his diaper. "There, there," he seemed to say. "There, there, Grandmother."

He fell asleep in my arms and before I put him on the bed, I kissed his bow-tie lips so softly.
What a wonder he is to me. What a surprise that I never could have dreamed.

It's too late for a nap, too early to go to bed. My espresso didn't even touch this tiredness. Didn't even call its name.

Well. Laundry. There's always laundry. Dead flowers to throw out. Pine cone lilies to replace them with. There's that.

And then something for dinner. Something. I don't even care what. I'm fat. But my blood pressure's good.

Well, tomorrow's another day. Thank god.

Anxiety, Part II

Well. Good morning.
I'm showered and have eaten my twigs and seeds and the chickens are fed as well as the cats and dogs.
It's chilly.
My anxiety level, on a scale of one to ten is merely around a five so I'd say that was pretty darn good. Pre-ty,pre-ty good, as Larry David would say.

I've put on my big girl panties and am going to go. See the doctor. Or nurse practitioner. I hope. I like them better.
Feet in stirrups. Breasts bared and kneaded.
Etc. Etc.

Then to lunch with Lily and Owen and Pop-Pop. Maybe. If Pop-Pop gets back from the woods in time. Then I'm taking care of Owen for a few hours at his house.
Okay. It's a plan.
I have my knitting and I have a book.

I shall survive.

Wish I had the courage to ask whoever does my pelvic if I could take a picture of her in action to share. That would be a nice shot.

I won't.

Too bad.

Here I go.

Love...Ms. Moon

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


Mr. Moon is washing the dishes. He claims he is all the dishwasher I need.
Well. Maybe.
God love him. I sure do.

I was so anxious tonight that when I came home from town I took an entire Ativan. Just the tiny one. And I have to say that it really did help. I made the supper and I hope I can sleep tomorrow.

I really wish I knew why going to the doctor causes me so damn much anxiety. It always has. It may have something do with flu shots- it took three people to hold me down to give me one when I was about seven. Things did not improve after that. I'm not afraid of being stuck, I'm not afraid of being prodded. I think I am just afraid of being told that I have a terminal illness. And I'm not afraid of dying, either. It's just somehow the thought of being ill...

I don't know. But when I tell you how much courage it takes for me to go get a check-up believe me.
And then they'll want me to get the tests. THE TESTS. The colonoscopy. The mammogram. The bone density test. The bloodwork. All of the damn tests which yes, save lives. Sometimes.

Meanwhile, the things that actually do bother and hurt me- well, they can never find a reason for those things so I'm crazy, I guess, on top of just being neurotic and insane.

Well. By this time tomorrow, it will all be over. Except of course for...THE TESTS.

And I'm doing all of this because I need to either get a new antidepressant or start taking the full dose of the one I've been on for several years. I started taking half because...it made me so anxious to go back and be seen so that they would renew it that I tried to string out that time before I had to go back. It sort of worked. For awhile.
No. I have never claimed to be brilliant.

And let's not talk about the money this all costs. We only have catastrophic insurance. So. Well. Merry Christmas.

I had a good time in town today with my Jessie Girl. We had lunch and bought yarn and took Dad out to the airport to collect his car from the rental place. And we went to Costco and Publix. I took a good walk this morning.
It is going to get cold.

I'm going to go take a bath and read for awhile, then get in my bed and try to sleep.

So go ahead- tell me what a foolish person I am being. How immature. How irresponsible. Etc. Etc. It's okay. I agree with you.

Thank god I had that Ativan. That's all I have to say.