Saturday, June 30, 2012

Early To Bed

It was a lovely birthday party and the food was delicious and it was so nice to be with everyone. It feels... rather strange and wonderful not to always be the party-thrower.

Everyone said the cake was the best German Chocolate one I ever made. I will take their word for it.

Tomorrow I'm going to go back to Lily and Jason's at 5:45 a.m. to be be with the boys. Lily and Jason both open. The other grandmother will be coming later in the morning to take Owen to church. We were talking about this and he said that no, he'd rather go to Chuckie Cheez. Or however you spell it. I'm not even going to look it up.
I said, "Well, I'm not going to take you to either of those places."
And it's true. I am the curmudgeon grandmother.


 Here are the darling boys, dressed in their Mexican Man garb for their grandfather's birthday party.


And here is darling May, holding her nephew Gibson whom she has known his entire life.

I love my family. So very, very much.






Sweet dreams, y'all. Sweet dreams.

Saturday Morning In Lloyd

Well. That week is done. I know, it's only Saturday, but you know what I mean.
Mr. Moon and I went out last night. Yes, we did. It was awesome. We went to Kool Beanz and it was hot in there and there were about, oh, forty-thousand people waiting for a table but somehow, some way, we got seats at the counter right in front of where the cooks do their magic at the altar of fire which is where we like to sit.


It has finally happened. We go out so seldom that we recognized only two people on staff there. Two. We used to know everyone. 
But that lady, one of the two people we recognized, she took such good care of us. She even bought Mr. Moon's piece of coconut cake for him and I should have taken a picture of that. It was huge and had meringue spikes all around it like a pastry monster, Tricakeustop, perhaps.

The whole meal was swoon worthy. Our appetizer was a fig thing on arugula with some sort of blue cheese cream in the center of the figs.


I thought maybe I'd die but I lived.

I also thought I'd take a picture of me and Mr. Moon together, but I did not. I don't know why. I'm lame.

I was so relieved to have gotten through my NP appointment and when I got home from that I wrapped up Mr. Moon's presents and wrote in his card and put on my new dress and then he got home, happy as he could be because he loved that hunting camp and joined up. So he knows where he's going to hunt next fall which is a huge relief. So we were happy, happy, and he opened his presents and made us a martini and he put on his new linen shorts I'd bought him and I put on a bunch of silver and off we went and had our dinner. 

The appointment was easy-peasy. But I was still nervous as hell. I sat in the waiting room next to a woman who was on the phone with someone and she kept talking about her chemo and radiation and I was like, oh boy, wonder what my blood pressure is now? and it was a bit high. The nurse took it with a new fancyshchmancy blood pressure cuff that goes on the wrist and then you hold your wrist in front of your heart- I am not kidding you- and I'd never heard of such a thing. 
Oh. And that was after I got on the scale which I have avoided doing for approximately six months and it was as bad as I thought so that didn't help with the BP either.

BUT, no one fussed at me and my NP gave me a lab slip to get my blood levels checked for hormones and we agreed that I'd come back in late fall and she'd do an entire exam and I'd have my blood work done then. I told her that I'm really determined to work on my diet and exercise and cholesterol again and she thought that was a good idea but without being judgmental about it. She is of the opinion that the standard lipid panels they do are just this side of worthless and she recommends some far more sophisticated blood test and analysis so we'll see about that. I don't have to think about it for now. All I have to do is to start trying to eat better and exercise more, and yes, I already do eat pretty well and exercise fairly regularly but it's obviously not good enough. 

God. This is so boring. I'm sorry. 

Anyway, you can see why I was highly relieved to get the hell out of there and get home and celebrate the birthday with yes, creamy blue cheese goodness. Way to begin!!!!

I swear, three years ago (three years!! Jesus!) I was eating so well and exercising so regularly and was just happy as a clam with it all and then I got the anxiety so bad I thought I'd die or actually, just wanted to die, and I could hardly eat anything but then when I started getting better, food became a joy again, and well...cheese entered the picture and so did other things which I had foresworn in my previous quest to lower my own cholesterol. And of course, the foods you eat which are good for that are also the foods that don't make you fat and I thought I'd discovered the keys to the kingdom of perpetual non-fatness until I came down with the insanity and it all went to hell. 

Boy oh boy. Life is complex. Not unlike the analysis of a lipid panel, I guess.

The other person we saw last night at the restaurant whom we know was the dishwasher and I have spoken about him many times before. He has the most beautiful smile in the world and when we hugged last night, it was the Hug of Hugs. It was the Holy Grail of Hugs. It was the You Have Been Hugged By The Best of Huggers Hug. 

So that was all of that and today is Saturday and I'm going to meet Lily in town at the grocery store and we're going to shop for tonight's cook-out. I hear that Owen used the potty a lot yesterday and I sure am proud of him. Just out of the blue he wanted to shed the diaper and so he did. Not saying that he's entirely potty trained but it's a very fine step in a very good direction. 
Everything in its own time, right?

Sorry for the mess of this post. The non-linear way of it.  

It's nine oh seven a.m. and I am already sweating like a blacksmith and it's Saturday and I'm going to make cole slaw today and a German Chocolate Cake and I'm going to get to see my babies, all but Jessie, and my grand babies, and we're going to continue the Mr. Moon birthday celebration and that's life here in Lloyd. 

It was a tough week for me but now it's on to the next thing, whatever that is, and here we are and there you are and I'm so very, very glad you stopped by.

Happy Saturday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon




Friday, June 29, 2012

Apologies to Madame King

Me: Tom Cruise's wife is divorcing him.
Mr. Moon: Who's he married to now?
Me: That little Katie Holmes woman.
Mr. Moon: That's right. Why's she divorcing him?
Me: Guess.
Mr. Moon: She's tired of being married to a gay scientific guy?

Random, But With A Birthday Message Of Love


When I was at Marshall's yesterday, they kept calling Beyonce to her register.
Who knew?

I like Marshall's pretty much okay. They have a lot of shit. Some of it's fine. I bought a dress for $22 dollars. It was a Calvin Klein dress. I even went and tried it on in the dressing room. I like the hooks they have in the dressing room. One says, "Definitely," one says, "Maybe," and one says, "Tomorrow."
Of course, in reality, they should have one that says, "Hell Fucking No." But you know. They gotta keep it positive.

So the dress I got was black, of course. It was on the clearance rack. They had the same dress in the non-clearance rack but it was in different sorts of tie-dyed colors. I liked the design of the dress but could live without the tie-dyed thing so when I found the black one, I was like, SCORE!

Today is Mr. Moon's birthday. His birthday is June 29th and mine is July 28th. Same birth year. He got up at six because he's going up to Georgia today to look at a hunting camp with a guy he works with. I wasn't going to get up but I did. I laid there in the bed for awhile but it seemed silly so I got out of the bed and made him an egg and cheese sandwich. That made him happy and it's so easy for me to do. I'll give him his birthday booty (haha!) tonight when he gets home. He says he's going to try and get home early enough for us to go out to dinner. If he does, I'll wear my new dress. It has pockets which I like a lot. Pockets should be a part of every garment as far as I'm concerned. They're good for putting your hands in. They can come in handy for stealing silverware off the table if you do things like that, which I do not. I am not a thief. I stole a roommate's roach clip once back in about 1973 and I still feel really bad about that. I don't know what happend to it. To tell you the truth, I don't know what happened to my roommate either. She was a fascinating girl to me. She was from New York and her father was a Freudian psychiatrist and her mother was a witch. I never met them.

My visit to Mother's went just fine. She did bring up Sandusky and told me that she just had no idea such things went on. I had a hard time not screaming something inappropriate to her but I calmed down and did not. She told me that she hardly ever goes to her church any more. She just doesn't feel good enough. My mother loves her church. It's a Presbyterian church which has been her choice of denomination her entire life. She said that one of the last times she was there for some dinner, the pastor came and sat by her and asked what she thought about homosexuals getting married in the church. She said, "They can't help it. They were born that way and they should be able to get married wherever they want." He said, "A lot of people think that way," but she could tell he wasn't so sure about it. She does love the guy, despite his resistance to marrying homosexuals in his church. She always tells me how they feed the homeless at that church and they even put in showers and have towels available. That is pretty awesome. She sang in a choir from the time she was fifteen until she was eighty years old. And yet, she still doesn't believe half of what they say. Like the virgin birth. Or the resurrection. "It's not scientifically possible," she says. She was a chemistry major. She wanted to be a nurse but her father was of the opinion that nurses were barely disguised prostitutes. He had this thing about prostitutes. You couldn't get your ears pierced or paint your nails because that's what prostitutes did. She ended up teaching school and she was my teacher in the third grade and I will just say that I think she would have been a lot happier if she had been a nurse.
So would a lot of kids.

Anyway, like I said, it was a pretty good visit. We talked a lot about Owen and Gibson. Well, I did. Those boys are a safe subject. We both love them and highly approve of them.

I feel a lot less anxious today. I have no idea why since today is the actual day that I go see that nurse practitioner. I don't think I care to discuss that any more right now.

Tomorrow night we're all going over to Lily and Jason's to celebrate Mr. Moon's birthday. There will be grilling of hamburgers and veggie burgers and corn and there will be cole slaw and beans and a German Chocolate cake. The first year I was with Mr. Moon on his birthday, I made him a German Chocolate cake. We were at the beach, staying with his mother and father and sister and her husband and their kids and my kids. I was completely overwhelmed. We'd only been dating for six months but I could already see my future and it involved a lot more German Chocolate cakes for this man's birthday.
I was right.
It was only a month later that he asked me to marry him and had a ring and everything.
Oh boy.
I said yes because I knew without a doubt it was the right thing to do.
I sure am glad I did. I sure am glad he asked me. This will be the twenty-ninth birthday of his I've spent with him. He didn't always want German Chocolate cake but there have been quite a few of those. I think last year he wanted carrot, which was surprising. I didn't know he liked carrot cake that much.
So yeah, I knew that my future was going to involve him but I sure didn't foresee a gazillionth of the stuff we'd go through together. More kids, of course, and businesses and heartbreaks and rebirths of love, and deaths- so many of those, it seems (neither of his parents nor that sister are still alive) and trips to Mexico and gardens and houses and now grandkids.
Grandkids!
I mean, when you fall in love with someone when you're young, you have this vague, far-away fantasy that some day you'll be sitting on your front porch together and your grandchildren will be there but honey, you don't really believe it.
Plus, you don't factor in the aging thing too well. The deafness, the memory loss, the joint pain, the way the skin falls away from the bone as you get older. Those weird sunspots. The inability to read fine print.

And speaking personally, I didn't factor in the chickens on the porch either but I'm glad they're there.

Do you think there really is a Beyonce working at Marshall's or is that just someone's idea of a joke?

I don't know.

I don't know shit.

But I do know I am eternally happy to celebrate my husband's birthday. He has saved my life over and over again. When I was watching that video of Stephen and Ina May Gaskin, I cried a little when Stephen said something about how men should carry the gauntlet so support their ladies. Okay, maybe that's a little bit sexist but frankly, we all need someone to carry the gauntlet sometimes.

Mr. Moon has done that for me. He still does. Every day. And in my way, I carry the gauntlet for him too. Even if that just means I get up and make him an egg sandwich before he goes to Georgia to check out a hunting camp.

Happy birthday, my darling man. My Honey Man.

I love you.









Thursday, June 28, 2012

Can You Believe It?


Bless his heart and may he sleep well tonight. He did the right thing.


Do We Ever Really Pay Attention?

I did so many things today. I did walk. I did make an appointment (tomorrow at 4:30- so quickly!), I did go to see my mother (it was fine), I did buy birthday presents.
I did, I did, I did. I even went to the mall and was astounded at what is to be found there, the way the mall has a roar about it, the vast amount of perfectly awful, tacky shit being sold which I suppose people want to buy.

I am still half-crazed. It's such a strange mixture, this feeling of completely bare wires and wanting to lie down and pass out.

Fucking adrenaline when you don't need it. When there is no bear to run from, no car to lift to save your child, no mastodon with its mighty tusks in your face.

Anyway, la-di-dah. I doubt I'll die from it.

Meanwhile, I watched a video on Youtube today and I doubt that anyone but those of us crazy old hippies and natural childbirth believers-in would be that interested in it, but here it is, just in case.
I think, quite frankly, it's worth watching just to see the way Stephen and Ina May give each other their complete attention when the other is talking. Stephen used to talk about that a lot, back in the olden days. About how important it is to really give people your full attention. Watching this, I realize that he and Ina May still believe that and practice it. And to me, it is beautiful to see. How often do most of us really give our full attention whether it's with our lovers, our friends, our spouses, our partners, our children? What would happen if we tried to practice this laying-on-of-attention? To actually listen and take-in when someone else is speaking instead of trying to figure out what it is that we, we, WE are going to say next when that person speaking takes a breath and it's our turn? Or even worse (and I am SO guilty of this) to give half-attention to someone speaking, keeping the rest of it for some other activity we are doing at the same time.

I can only imagine that this is one of Ina May's most powerful tools as a midwife. To pay attention.
That simple.
That difficult.
That rare.

Well. It's a thought.

Here it is.


Anxiety

I've got the anxiety bad today. I'm looking out and it's the most beautiful day you've ever seen and cool, too. Cool like fall with pools and puddles of golden sunlight everywhere and honestly, I can't imagine a prettier day and I'm falling off the bone anxious.

I know why, too.

Doctors.

Mr. Moon is going to have a regular physical exam today and just the thought of HIM going to the doctor makes me crazy. This is not a logical thing. This is pure and unadulterated panic with no basis in reality.
Except that doctors are always the ones who tell you you're going to die.
Probably.
And it's not that I'm afraid to die! I swear I'm not.

I don't know. It makes no sense. None.

And I have to, HAVE to, call and make an appointment for myself with my completely non-threatening NP for a physical. I haven't had a P&P in years. And they won't renew my biodentical hormones (or whatever they are) until I get some test. And I am shaking at the thought. Literally.

Just writing about this makes me want to die.

I've talked about this before. And I've gone over and over in my mind the possible reasons why I have this neurotic anxiety and I can't figure it out. I've had it for as long as I can remember. I can recall going to an appointment for my mother when I was very young and feeling as if I was going to pass out in the waiting room. I didn't know what passing out was, but looking back, that's what I was feeling.
First anxiety attack?
Perhaps.

This is how bad it is: I have been to my NP's at least twice. And I can't remember where in hell her office is. Okay. I just looked it up. I sort of remember. I remember that the office is soothing and cozy. There are fish tanks. Magazines. Not the kind that rich doctors have in their offices about golf resorts and investments which to me, is always a slap in the face. Magazines about natural health, etc.
It's a practice that's all about the holistic stuff as well as the western medicine stuff. Which is somehow reassuring.

On top of all of that, I really do have to go see my mother today. Have to. I'm so overdue there.

You know, it's like my life has this small, tiny defined circle of safety and when I have to step out of it, I just lose my shit. Inside of that circle is my family, my house, my yard, Monticello and the opera house, Publix, the library. And going places with my husband.
Outside the circle is everything else. Phone calls, making appointments of any kind, driving at night, holidays, shopping for stuff that isn't food, mostly.

I so wish I weren't like this. I feel crippled, I feel deformed. I feel less-than-human.
I feel helpless in the face of it.

All right. I am going to call. I am going to make that appointment. Then I am going to take a walk. Then I guess I'll go to town and see Mother. And go shopping for Mr. Moon's birthday which is tomorrow. Tomorrow. My sweetheart's birthday is tomorrow and I haven' gotten him so much as a card.

I can do this. I don't have to feel comfortable and I don't have to like it but I have to do it.

I'd rather wrangle snakes. I swear.







Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Gibson Gets A Gig

Well, Gibson Monroe did something today at the age of approximately three months and a week that I have never done in my life.

The child made money at an acting gig.

Not a LOT of money, but it was money. HE HAD A PAID GIG!

Freddy was filming some baby food commercial (all organic!) and needed a baby. We happened to have one. It was awesome. Gibson appeared to be a natural on camera. We shall see, of course, if the video camera loves him as much as the regular camera does.
I went with Lily and I stayed with Owen who napped in the car for most of the shoot but I got to see some of it. Everyone, of course, loved our baby boy. Freddy was holding him and goo-gooing him and jingling keys for him even when he didn't need a smile for the camera.

"How many babies have you held, Freddy?" I asked.
"Are you kidding? After this one, uh, one."
Then he said that no, really, he'd held lots of babies.

Mmmm...

But before we left, after the shoot was over, he asked if he could hold him one more time. As if he didn't already have my heart by calling me "mama." Then he asked his girlfriend if she wanted to hold him. She did.
Again I say, "Mmmmmm...."

Like I said, Owen was asleep for most of it but when he woke up I played with him outside for a little bit before Lily and I switched places, she outside with Owen, me in the house with Gibson. And I have to tell you that it struck me again how Owen is growing ever more beautiful every day. I'm not just saying that. He is. He is changing so rapidly from baby to boy that it startles me. It's as if he changes literally in the blink of an eye. He's just...oh god. He's gorgeous.
Yeah, yeah. I'm his grandmother but I am not kidding you. That kid is a stunner. Those eyes!


Ah, what can I say? I'm in love. I'm in love with Owen and I'm in love with Gibson and that's all there is to it. I'm a fool for them, I adore them, I love my entire family more because of them because I see all of their genes in these babies and it's like a big ol' twirly-whirly basket of mixed-up glory.

All right. I'll simmer down now.

It was just a darn good day. I had that great sleep, got up early, took my walk, washed a million and two loads of clothes, got the sheets washed and the bed all made up nice, went to the library, watched Gibson be a movie star, went to the grocery store, came home and did some yard work. Mostly I picked up branches and twigs. After two large Rubbermaid carts of THAT, I came in the house and said, "That is too much like work." I hate to tell you how sore I'm going to be from that "gentle" exercise. But every fucking twig you pick up requires another bend to the ground and I've noticed lately that I'm getting very lazy about bending down to the ground. It's not that I can't, it's just...oh hell. I have to THINK about it before I do it! Getting old sucks the big one.
Well, except for the grandchildren part. I guess that's Old Age's reward.
Something sure as hell has to be.

And I'm grateful for this good day. We have power. Lily and Jason have power. We have food to eat and a house to live in and...
Oh you know. I talk about it all all the time.
Do I have problems? Oh yes, I do. Do I have anxiety? You better believe it. Do I wish I was stronger, more flexible, prettier, thinner, a better wife and a better mother? You bet.

But. That's life.

And I am not staring the gift of this life in the mouth. I'm putting the saddle on and riding down the trail as far as it takes me. Yippie Ki-Yay, motherfuckers, as Bruce Willis said in Die Hard.


And I swear to you, I do not curse in front of my grandchildren. Can you believe that?
It's true. Around them I am tender and loving and my language is pure.
My beautiful grandsons, one of whom earned money today at the age of three months and one week.
First a tooth, and now this.

Amazing. Just...fucking amazing.

Languor, Love, Power, Beauty, Birth, Death. You Know- The Usual Stuff

Well, it's a new day and a glorious morning and the rain has come and gone and there is no wind and the power is back on, hopefully for awhile.

I was asleep by nine o'clock last night and I figured something out- I really don't need that bedside clock whose light shines all night, annoying the fuck out of me. I fell asleep in inky darkness and it was heaven.
I am going to put it away, that stupid clock. I spend half the night covering it up with a napkin because the light shines right in my face and you know what? I don't think humans are supposed to sleep with incandescent numbers changing two feet from their heads all night. I honestly do not.

Yesterday was the strangest day. Lily and I had The Languors. Our bodies weighed fifty million pounds and all we wanted to do was to lay down but Owen was half-crazed with the oddity of having both his mother and his Mer Mer and Gibson didn't really fuss so much with his new tooth as was simply wakeful.

This is a Bumbo seat. With Gibson in it. 

The wind blew and then our power went out and yet, the sun came out, and then Owen got into the hysterical phase of tiredness and decided that everything he did was extremely funny including walking around behind me with his grandfather's shorts on his head so that he looked like a olive-colored ghost with a round head that he kept bumping my butt with and he wanted to play cards which means he wants to smush them up and throw them around and he had grape juice with an umbrella in it and I was tempted to add just the tiniest bit of rum and he got in the chicken coop and couldn't get out and when they left he melted down. He sat in his car seat wailing and weeping that Bop and I needed to keep him and to stop and let him out! and poor Lily. She was going home to a house with no electricity and no husband because Jason had been called into work.

It turns out that the branch which fell in front of Lily's house did more damage to the electrical wiring system than Mr. Moon could take care of and so a company has to come in today (hopefully) and fix it before the city can turn their power back on.

Lord.

The paper is full of reports of flooding down near the coast and by the rivers. Houses which have never flooded in generations are flooded now and it's impossible to know what that's like. To have your house filled with water and all of your stuff, the stuff you love and the stuff you need, all of it, trashed and left molding and ruined.

But. Like I said, here in Lloyd it's a beautiful day and when the power came on, Mr. Moon turned my fans on for me and he set up the coffee before he went to work out at the gym and when I got up at six thirty, it was like waking up to a new world.


 My house. My beautiful house. With palms.



 A tree across the street, lit with morning sun.



More of that sun, flaming the Spanish moss.


 Some lingering Confederate jasmine.


The youngster chicks. Doesn't Curly Sue look like a seagull?





 My zinnias. I love them so much that it's ridiculous.


Some of my phlox, enjoying their morning sun.

And so it goes. The storm comes and it wreaks havoc on the innocent and the damned alike and leaves us all affected in some way, hopefully nothing we can't overcome, hopefully with some new wisdom or at least appreciation for the mundane, the simple incredible miracle of electricity and cold food and light to read by in the dark.

I would like to mention that Vergil's sister had her baby yesterday, a darling little girl, and she was able to have her home birth, up on the mountain where she herself was born. Jessie told me that when she and Vergil went to visit, the new mother asked them to sing the lullaby which she and Vergil wrote and they did, with family all around and every one cried and when Jessie told me the story, I cried too.

And of course, Nora Ephron died yesterday. I just listened to her newest book, read by her a few months ago. I Remember Nothing And Other Reflections. It was a funny book and filled with honesty about marriage and divorce and movie directing and writing and cooking and being a daughter and a mother and aging and losing friends and coming closer to the end than you could ever have imagined when you were young. Hard to believe she's dead, that vibrant woman who was on the tip-top curl of the wave of women who made new rules for themselves, discarding the old ones which had been laid upon us like iron yokes forever and ever until women like her rose up, declared those yokes not to belong to them, and then went on to change the world and still manage to raise the babies and make the pies and despair over their hair, their wrinkled necks.

Life is fucking short and maybe that's why I love my zinnias so much- their glory so radiant, all the more so because I know they come and then they go and I want to gather them all and love them with my eyes until they droop and fade. Each and every one.

Love...Ms. Moon





Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Power Is Out

What more can I say?

Guess Who Got His First Tooth?

We're so proud!

And Debby Crawls On By

Well the rain has thinned and we still don't have much wind and by some miracle we still have power.
But boy, is it soggy.

Lily and Jason do NOT have power. The city came out, surveyed the situation and said, "Nope. Gotta hire an electrician to put that meter back on the wall and then we'll turn your power back on."

Mr. Moon went and checked it out and of course he decided that no electrician was needed. That he and Jason could do the job themselves JUST FINE and besides, there's a bit of wood which needs replacing and some painting and, and, and.

Lily called to report this and to tell me that Mr. Moon is on his way back here to change his clothes and get his tools. She did not sound thrilled.
"They'll be out there all day!" she said.
"You know your daddy," I said.

We both sighed.

It is a blessing and a joy to be married to someone who can fix things. Build things. Not have to call someone to do things.
But.
Sometimes one wonders what it would be like to just call a professional and have it done.
Not that there's probably an electrician in all of Leon County today who could come do the job.

So Lily and the boys are coming out here and we're going to party down all day.
This means I'll probably open the grape juice and the new bag of Chex Mix. We'll probably watch some Sid The Science Kid. We'll probably take naps if at all possible. We'll no doubt feed the chickens and maybe, JUST MAYBE, I can talk Owen into going outside with me and picking up some sticks and branches.

In the meantime, I'm running a load of clothes because I know that after this job of electricity-restoring is done there will be more. One pair of Mr. Moon's overalls is practically a full load, even in the High Capacity models. Plus, Lily needs to wash diapers here.

I dreamed about the Rolling Stones. There was a secret tiny town in Georgia where they all had homes and they got together to play at a local hotel bar. This was NOT the New Perry Hotel Bar but yes, I see a possible connection. I didn't get to see them play but I got to see them leave the bar. They were all dressed TO THE NINES!, holding their instruments, and even in my dream, I was so overwhelmed that I could barely look at them. I just nodded to old Keith and he maybe nodded back.
I believe this indicates that at heart, I am still a teenager.
Or it may have something to do with the Revival Center next door which doesn't meet on Sundays so far, but on Wednesday nights and Saturday nights and I can hear the bass parts of the music coming through and I sort of REALLY want to go over and listen but then there would be the GOD thing and oh, I'm just shy and also...the GOD thing.
I really am shy, though.

Well, Mr. Moon has returned and put on his overalls and I've made him more coffee and he's determined and on a mission.

Isn't it ridiculous how interesting I think my life is, even knowing that it's so totally not?




Monday, June 25, 2012

Power Is ON

Quite unbelievably to me, the power came back on, just as I was starting supper. I have a gas stove so I can cook even if the power is out and I had just gotten the brown rice out and was fixing to start it up.
I was so sure that we would be without power for the entire night that I didn't even turn on the overhead light in the kitchen. Mr. Moon, when he got home, pointed this out to me.
I guess I felt as if I was destined to be in darkness tonight.

It could still happen.

When I was at Lily's with the boys today, a mysterious power outage happened. Some of the power was on in some of the rooms, and other rooms were without. So strange!
Jason got home and we did all the things you do. We flipped the breakers (I'd already done that) and he even went up into the attic looking for something there but found nothing. He was going out the front door to go ask the next door neighbors if their power was out when he saw...a huge branch which had fallen and taken a line with it.

"Snap!" he said.

Indeed.

He called the city and they said it would be several hours before they could come out and to cut off all the power in the house to be safe. He packed up diapers and clothes and formula and we got the boys in his car and he took them to his mama's. I knew the odds were real good that the power was out at my house, which it was when I got home.

I had texted Mr. Moon to stop and get ice and a battery powered coffee maker and oh, maybe some rum and he texted me back, "Got you covered!" Of course, he knew we didn't really need a battery-powered coffee maker. We have an old fashioned percolator that Lis got me which works fine in a pinch. We didn't really need rum either, but he brought some home.
I love that man.

The rain is pouring down. The ground is not going to accept a whole lot more, I fear. I remember a few years ago when something like this happened and we watched the water rise and rise and...rise. This is not a huge storm but it surely is affecting us.

Storms like this serve to remind me of how close we are to losing all semblance of civilization. Roads are blocked from flooding, power goes out, we are stranded. Branches and trees fall, it is almost as dark as night at noon, and we are left without internet or phone. After a storm that hit here the year we moved to Lloyd, cell towers were taken out as well and so there was not even that. I think of Freddy's movie, Disconnected, and I realize it's not that much of a fantasy. All of our carefully packed-away freezer stuff slowly thaws and we either cook it or lose it which can be a tragedy of small but real proportions and if we couldn't make it to grocery stores where power has been restored, we really would go hungry.

Well. Maybe it's good to be reminded. And living in a house which was built way before electricity was invented is somehow comforting. We would hardly be the first to survive without it although those people, the people who built the house, were set up for it. We most definitely are not.

My rice is almost done. I can go make a salad in the light.

Thanks for listening. It helps leak my anxiety to write about it, let it go.

Sort of.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

Power Is Out

And so it goes.
Thank you, all of you who commented on that picture of Owen. It had nothing to do with my abilities as a photographer and everything to do with the beauty of my grandson and the luck of the perfect second caught on a cell phone camera.

Let's all snuggle in.

Should We Build An Ark?

Owen playing in the new pond right outside his front door.

Sit And Wait


Say what?


And then there's that.

They've already had bad winds and flooding down by the coast. They're evacuating Dog Island and St. George. A waterfront restaurant owner in Apalach was quoted in today's paper as saying, "The storms ripped panels off the walls, boats are up, the shop is closed and the power is going in and out. Other than that we're doing just fine."

Debby is a slow-moving, weather-forcaster's nightmare. She can't seem to make up her mind and is in no hurry to do so. But at this point, they're saying it's going to hit the coast on Thursday, somewhere in the Apalach region and that there might be winds up to 70 mph and a storm surge in Apalachee Bay of 6-7 feet.

Wonder if we still have a house on Dog Island? Wonder if we still have PROPERTY on Dog Island?

Well, what chu gon' do?

It's soggy here in Lloyd, I know that, but no winds to speak of. The trees are dropping the branches they don't need, water-logged and made heavy by all this rain. The dogs don't want to go out. The chickens don't even seem to want to get off the roost.

I know the feeling. I had a hard time getting up this morning but my dreams were so bad I did. I kept dreaming about being in a car with Owen and Gibson who were not in their car seats and even worse- no one was driving. Nah, I was way in the back seat. One got so bad I just thought to myself, "Hell, this is a dream and I'm going to wake up," and I did.

Nothing like an oncoming storm to make you realize how little control you have over your life and the lives of those you love.

I'm going to town today to watch those boys for a few hours. I think I better pick up a few things like bottled water and canned...whatever.

Oh boy. Life in Florida. I had a feeling this might be a bad summer for storms although they were saying it wasn't going to be. Hurricane prediction, even with all of our technology, is still more art than science, it seems to me. And on a personal level, for some reason, despite the fact that I've lived through many storms in my years in Florida, an oncoming one is a real and huge anxiety trigger for me.
Or maybe that's BECAUSE I've lived through so many storms in Florida.

This might be a good morning to do some yoga.

I hope you're all safe and that we all remain so.

Love...Ms. Moon




Sunday, June 24, 2012

I Am Bejeweled

Gentle rain all day long; we have gotten the best of this storm. Time and excuse to sit and patch Gibson's baby quilt, to repair an old beloved dress of mine. We played games, both board and loving. A small nap. A break in the rain and we went and picked blackberries, laughing at the way the canes caught us and cursed us for taking their fruit.

The chickens have been completely unimpressed.

Elvis' finery is drooped and bedraggled. He doesn't seem to care at all.


I rolled out pastry in my clumsy, unartistic way, lined the pie plate, filled it with sugared purple fruit, laid strips across and put it into the oven.

My toast tonight, "To the perfect life, even if you don't have the perfect wife."

He laughed. And kissed me.

This small day. This day of small perfections. An emerald, a ruby, a diamond, a sapphire, a chunk of veined turquoise. I string it on the cord of my life's days.

I will wear it forever.


What Keeps Me Sane



There's a lovely satellite image of why it's going to be a rainy day here in Florida. We woke up to deep gloom and a stillness and now the rain is beginning to patter down. A good day to be at home.
Thank-you, Tropical Storm Debby for bringing us rain and no real danger.
Mr. Moon always reads me the stats for what's going on in the Gulf from the paper and today seas are 8-11 feet and so thank god, he's not on the island but safely here, waiting for his breakfast. I have pancakes made with pureed blackberries, bananas, flax and pecans cooking. Buttermilk and yogurt are in there too. And there's bacon.

***********

Breakfast over and it was good. I always cook about ten times the number of pancakes we actually eat. This morning after breakfast I said, "We might as well give them to the chickens now. You know they're going to get them eventually."
It's true.

The rain is coming down a bit harder now, there is something of a breeze. Distant storms are naught but blessings, especially if no one is getting pounded and with this one, most of the action is happening in the Gulf and hopefully, boats are far away. Not sure what we'll do today. Stay inside mostly.

Yesterday Lily did bring the boys out. Owen helped his Bop work on the tractor and then they came in and played chess. Okay, no, he can't really play chess but he likes to set up the board. He moves constantly that boy. I can't get a good picture of him to save my life.
He will stand still for a second, put his finger up to his cheek and say, "I have an idea!" and then zoom! off to put the idea into place. Of course his grandfather and I follow him around, helping out with the ideas. He loves to get out the giant floor puzzles and scatter the pieces and then tell us to put them together.
"Aren't you going to help?" we ask.
"Oh sure, sure," he says.

Lily was so tired. Gibson had gotten up at  4:30 in the morning and although he wasn't unhappy, he hadn't wanted to go back to bed until around 7:30. Just a happy, awake baby. We all had a sort of snacky-lunch in the kitchen, Owen and Bop sharing cut-up watermelon, and stabbing the pieces with cocktail swords which I buy specifically for Owen's eating pleasure. I'm a fool for him. We passed Gibson around like a party favor.


He really is that sweet. 


He and Lily took a little nap in the Panther room after our lunch and Bop and I played with the Idea Boy. We read part of a book, he and Bop hai-yaa'ed with bamboo sticks, we did puzzles, he pooped, Mer-Mer cleaned him up, it was lovely. Not the poop so much, but he was a good boy and let me change his diaper without much fuss and I don't know. There's not much I don't enjoy doing with him. He's so funny.  

Lily had promised Jason's mama that they would come over to swim in the early afternoon so when she and Gibson got up from their nap, she packed the boys back up and we got them all in the car and buckled up and they drove away. "I love you!" Owen called through the window of the car as he always does. And then Bop and I came in and tidied up the place and then Bop had to go sit in his chair and rest his eyes for awhile. 

I did some laundry, I wrote that post about Sandusky, my soul boiling a little. I took a little nap, I worked in the garden, weeding the new zinnias. 

I made us a dinner while listening to Prairie Home Companion that finally didn't make me sigh with frustration at how it turned out. Chicken and dumplings, but the way I do it, it's more of a slightly thickened chicken stew with dumplings thrown in to simmer at the end.


Here's how it looked before the dumplings went in. 
We watched another episode of Deadwood. 
Went to bed, read some very, very gentle chapters in Alexander McCall Smith's The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday and then slept. I had dreams that were only slightly disturbing. 

And that is how I do it. 

I don't take an antidepressant any more. Haven't since I left Mexico last January. But I do very much realize that I make my days as soothing and uncomplicated as I possibly can. I can't always, of course, but I do when I can. It's not even much of a conscious effort at this point in my life. I just center myself around this house, this yard, these chickens, this garden, these meals, these words, this writing, those babies, my children, my husband. 

Am I missing out on things?
Surely.

Well. 

We're getting pictures and a little video of what's going on on Dog Island this morning and there is nothing soothing about them. High winds and high water and although yes, I am so glad I'm not there, I know that storm exhilaration. But still...I'd be anxious, I'd be watching our beach erode even more. I'd be worrying myself sick about how we were going to cross the bay with 8-11 foot seas. The weather alert system would be going off every fifteen minutes with its alarm and robot voice, warning of water spouts and high winds and heavy rains. Better for me to be here where the rain is more gentle, the wind barely at all, and the ground receiving the water rather than being washed away by it. The frogs are trilling, the power is still on, another Sunday, I am still here, I haven't gone crazy. 

I know that the world is moving on all around me and great joys are occurring, great excitement, great tragedies, too. Right now, this second though, it is calm and peaceful here. I am grateful. Sundays can be difficult but I am spending this one in my soft, green nest of trees and plants and falling rain. 

I am, quite simply and perhaps selfishly, keeping sane.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Oh Soul



Click HERE to go to the place with the explanation.

You have no idea how much of my heart and life have been influenced by this woman. So many women have been. So many women should be.

She has made and does make this world a better place. These film makers are helping to make that happen.


And a P.S.
The Stephen Gaskin I semi-quoted in the last post is Ina May's husband and he is shown briefly in the trailer in the clip above.
Sometimes I just feel like everything gets knit up and bound together in the end.





It's Never Over

I feel like I have to say something about Sandusky and the result of his trial. You know, Jerry Sandusky, the guy who molested those boys and who was just found guilty on forty-five counts of evil? The one who will be in jail for the rest of his life? The one who was such a shining role model, a do-gooder, a community hero, a man people trusted and respected?

Him.

So he's in jail. On suicide watch. And you know, I guess, I think, maybe, I should be happy or something. He'll never molest another child. That option is gone, baby, gone.
For that, yes, I am happy. Or at least, glad.
I am also glad that he was tried and the jury listened to his victims and ignored the money, the status, the golden-boy reputation of the man and they found him guilty. So that justice, in a way, was done.

But that's not going to bring back those boys' innocence. Ever. It's not going to do a damn thing to erase the pain they've lived through for so much of their lives. And if you think that those boys, now men, are the only ones Sandusky fucked up, you are living on a dream cloud.
At best, it will make the victims feel safer, knowing that that man can never hurt another child and can't hurt them any more either by calling them liars or wrong or denying what he did. He can't look at them with those eyes that say, "But I LOVED you," because that's what molesters do. They find the kids most needy for love, for attention, for validation, one-on-one grown-up company and they pour it on, they fill the kid up with it and then...
They ruin them.

So. It is done, the man is put away. Careers were destroyed, shame and guilt cast wide on those who, even if they didn't consciously protect Sandusky, did nothing in their vast power to stop him.

You think that wife didn't know what was going on? Oh yes. The river of denial is wide and it is deep but you have to choose to sail away on it. You think she never heard anything? Never saw anything? Oh. She did.
And she is guilty too. God damn, she is.

That man who walked in on Sandusky raping that child who called his daddy and told him and did indeed report him to higher-ups but when nothing happened, remained silent? Guilty. Fucking guilty. So are those higher-ups and I believe Joe Paterno was too. I sure as shit do. He may have taken that guilt to the grave, but he took it.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately and I did talk about it some. How the molester has an illness and has to be stopped and yes, punished, I don't know, that's not my area of expertise, but until those who protect, who remain silent, who do nothing to stop the molester wreaking his evil on children are also tried and found guilty, nothing is going to change.
Nothing.
It's like killing a roach. You find one roach and kill it, you ain't done shit. There are thousands more, hiding where you can't see them. You have to TEAR THAT SHIT APART and find them and nuke 'em. If you want to really get rid of the roaches.

Not to insult roaches by comparing them to pedophiles. But you know what I mean.

Those people who knew and did nothing to stop him are going to have to carry a huge burden of the knowledge of what they allowed to happen in their silence. Maybe that's enough punishment. Probably is, if they're even half a human being. But to the rest of the world- well- they got away with it. That's how it looks. They knew and they didn't stop it. Don't talk to me about how they might have "gone through the proper channels." Fuck that shit. They did not stop it.

How many people knew exactly what Sandusky was doing to those poor little boys who needed love? HOW MANY? Just like how many church officials knew what the pedophile priests were doing and remained silent or simply moved the molester from one church to another? HOW MANY?

And how many parents have known that something, SOMETHING was going on but out of fear or disbelief stoppered up their ears, blinded their own eyes to the suffering of their children?
How many?

See. I don't think justice was done. Not really. Sure, the perpetrator was locked up but the lesson wasn't learned. No pedophile is going to be stopped by another's arrest and incarceration. That isn't how it works. But. If a few of the teachers, the priests, the parents who knew about a molestation and did nothing to protect the victims were given what they deserved, publicly and with great media attention, maybe people would be more apt to step forward.

That's what I think.

You lock up a child abuser and yeah, I'm glad. But I'm not cheering. I know what damage has already been done. There is nothing in this world about a situation in which a child is abused to celebrate, not even the molester's incarceration. Not even his or her death. Seeing one "brought to justice" is the very least that can be done. You hear me? The very least and it should be expected and it should be done but until the people who see but do not do anything about it are made aware of THEIR part of the guilt, of the damage, I see no hope for any real relief.

Because it's not just the act or acts that kill a child's soul. It's the very fact that deep down inside, a child knows that he or she SHOULD BE PROTECTED just by the very fact that he or she is a child and when that protection is not there, it does as much damage as the act did.

I believe this.

So. When I see Sandusky in custody, I see no reason to believe that justice has been done. Maybe a little bit. Some justice has been meted out. But not all of it. Oh no. Not nearly all of it.

And I am so sad today because I can't quit thinking about those boys and all the boys who haven't been able to come forward because they realized that no one would believe them and even if they did, nothing would be done about it.

There is evil in this world. That's just a fact and it often wears the face of a child molester. But it also wears the face of a blind and deaf observer. We all need to remember that. We all need to be on the watch for the protection of children. Ours and yours and mine, of course, but also those kids whom no one seems to be watching out for. Because those are the ones who will be victims.

It's horrendous to even contemplate the idea that a "good" man like Sandusky could rape a child. But it happens. "Good" men rape and abuse children every day. Daddies and uncles and brothers and friends and the preacher and the priest. Also mothers. Yeah. They do it too. And we HAVE to open our eyes to that fact. We HAVE to be able to contemplate the idea and we HAVE to do something about it.

Stephen Gaskin said this thing once about how when you see a situation that's really fucked up and you wonder, "Where is god in this? Why ain't he doing something about this?" you have to realize that YOU are god right then. And it's up to you to use your god power to do something about it.

That's all. That's all I have to say right now.

But it's not over. It is never over.

Believe me.






Date Report


It rained so hard last night that the air smelled of the pounded dirt and it was amazing. As if the ground released its scent to the air and the rain carried it to us. The rain was tiny silver hammers, it was slicing knives, it was slashing daggers and it was loud.

That tiny frog joined me on the table on the porch, snugged up on an Esquire magazine, waiting for bugs from the lamp above him. I had Mr. Moon catch him and take him out when the rain calmed down, when it became softer.

So no. Of course we didn't go out. We made martinis and went out to visit with the chickens and fed them leftover pancakes.


I love this picture because it shows my sweet, gentle husband and my sweet, gentle rooster.

We named the rest of the babies. They don't know and they don't care, but they are named.


That's all of them except for Baby who is Flopsy's baby who is shy, still. Some, we think, are roosters, some are hens. Some are bantys and will always be small, some are huge and going to be bigger.

So that's what we did last night. We fed the chickens and we finished naming them (they are, in no particular order, Curly Sue, Bertha, Baby, Carol, Tipsy, Topsy and Maizie) and then I made some nachos with tomatoes and jalapenos and chilis and refried beans and onions and cheese and we ate them with salsa and watched Deadwood and then the rain came down and went to bed and slept all night.

Practically perfect.

And this morning my Lis called me and we giggled and laughed and talked about our men and about the babies which have been born recently and about grandsons and about how we used to shopping, shopping! I tell you and we were frivolous and bought things and we are still laughing at those good times. We discussed our gardens and how they are both in such dire need of attention and possible future plans and other stuff and it was a gift, that phone call.

Lily and the boys might come out later. Mr. Moon is doing something with the tractor. I should take the trash, I should get in the garden while it is still cool and the ground is so wet from that rain.

It's a good life today. I am grateful for it and that rain we had and all of the babies and this man who lives here with me. While we were making the martinis we discussed the fact that we can't find our marriage license and how maybe we're not really married and that tickled us to death. That perhaps we have just been living in sin for all of these years and how absurd that idea is, us with our grandchildren and our chickens, our tractor and our garden.
As if any piece of paper could make or unmake that sort of thing.

Blessed and crazy, we are both.

Amen.


Friday, June 22, 2012

Addendum


My pretty husband with his pretty snake skin in front of the pretty roses he brought home for me two days ago.

Pretty Is As Pretty Does


It took me forever today to get ready to go to town. This is the way it is when you can't wear any of your clothes with any degree of comfort. As hard as I try, I cannot seem to make the wearing of overalls a fashion statement. 
Even with my great grandmother's pearls.
I don't know. It just doesn't work.

Then I had to deal with my purse. I've happily been carrying my hippie-purse of indeterminate fibers for months now but suddenly, it wouldn't do. I have approximately forty-five purses. I have loved them all at one time or another and then, as with the hippie bag, I was done. I am a fickle purse wife. So I had to go back through my purses today, trying to find one that would do. Just...do. I finally discovered one I had forgotten I owned. I think it came from Goodwill. It's a small black leather backpack but is deceptive in its size and holds quite a bit. It has a pocket on the outside for my phone and so finally, I chose that.

Next, I remembered that Lily wanted green beans so I had to go pick green beans. And get some eggs together to take her. And after all of that, I finally got in the car and went to town.

Owen got a new castle yesterday. It is a huge cardboard thing which you are supposed to color and then put together and part of it was colored and part of it was not. But it was together and Lily told me that when Owen had first gotten in it, he brought things to furnish it with that made him happy, one of which was a picture of his Boppy which was about the sweetest thing I've ever heard.

Lily also told me that when she got dressed that morning, Owen told her she was pretty. Owen heard her telling me this story and then he told me that I was not pretty.
"Owen!" Lily said, "That's not nice! Mer-Mer is pretty."
Owen didn't care if was nice or not. To him, I am not pretty. Oh well. I asked him if he thought that perhaps if I put on some lipstick I would be pretty.
"Maybe," he said. He also advised me to put something on my cheeks and to paint my toenails.
I tried the lipstick.
"Am I pretty now?" I asked him.
"No," he said.

Sigh.

We went to the Target to exchange some diapers. It was exciting, as all trips to Target are, although I am never going to forgive them for taking out the garden section. Now they have more food and who in the hell needs another half-ass grocery store? We didn't buy food although Lily did buy one foodish substance- apple cider vinegar. She has terrible fruit flies and is going to use that to combat them in some way that I didn't really get. If it works, she needs to tell me about it.

We bought Owen some Socker Boppers.
Do you remember Socker Boppers?
They look like this:


I pointed out that there were only two Socker Boppers in the package.
"That's okay," Lily said. "Jason can wear them and beat up on Owen."

Haha!

We also bought some other stuff. I remembered I needed a new mop bucket and I got a red one. I suppose it's possible I might mop again someday.
We saw some darling dresses. We agreed they would look great on Jessie. What doesn't? We didn't buy any. We almost looked at make-up but then we decided there was no point. Lily did try to get me to buy some purple nail polish because she knew I'd use it once and then give it to her. I decided not to although if I used it, Owen might think I was pretty.
Oh well. Tough titties.

Owen had expressed an interest in having sushi roll for lunch but we went to Moe's instead. He wasn't happy about it but he was okay. I had a great time, flirting with Gibson across the table.


I can't keep my eyes off that kid.

If you've never been to Moe's, they do this thing where the guys (it's mostly guys) working behind the counter to make your food shout out, "Welcome to Moe's!" every time someone walks in the door. It's sort of funny but not really. I asked Lily if she thought that they used a different shout when hot young girls walked in. She didn't know but sure as shit, soon after I said that, two hot young girls walked in wearing lovely summery garments which revealed firm young decollete.
"Welcome to Moe's!" came out in a suave croony croon way, completely different than the usual enthusiastic, brusque shout.
"I told you," I said to Lily.
I tell you what, if I worked at Moe's I'd have an entire code system to announce different sorts of people. Whatever it takes to battle boredom, right?

So we had a good time. We ate our burritos. Except for Owen who only ate his chips and his cookie. We didn't care. He'll eat the burrito later when he's hungry.
He loves his pretty mama.


He loves me too, even if he doesn't think I'm pretty.

Speaking of pretty, I sort of/almost want to go out on a date tonight with my husband. This would entail putting on non-overall garb again which is not an inviting prospect. Frankly, though, I don't want to cook either. I think I'm burnt out on cooking. Everything I make lately is disappointing. Lily asked me today why her father and I haven't started doing that old person thing yet where you eat cereal for dinner. I told her it was because I had no desire whatsoever to eat cereal for dinner. I don't even like cereal for breakfast that much. We did agree that Grape Nuts with raisins and brown sugar makes a dandy snack before bed, though.

So I don't know. It's about fifty million degrees and the cicadas or crickets or one of those buzzy insects are singing away. Mr. Moon just got home and I'm not even going to pretend I did one damn thing today to earn my keep. Fuck it. Sometimes I spray a little Fabuloso around and dust his dresser so he thinks I've been slaving away.

That's a joke.

I think Erma Bombeck came up with that one. Or maybe she said you should put vanilla behind your ears when the husband comes home.

God. Take a shower, put on make-up and a bra or cook dinner?

WHY IS LIFE SO FULL OF SUCH PAINFUL DECISIONS????

That, too, is a joke. In this context, at least.

To find out what happens, stay tuned. I'm sure I'll reveal all.

I sure hope we don't end up eating Honey Nut Cheerios for dinner. As if it's not depressing enough, not even being pretty to my grandson. I think I'll have a martini. I always feel prettier after a martini.
Well, not really. But I don't care as much. Which is almost as good.

Not really.

Whatever happens, Mr. Moon is about to show me his now-preserved snake skin which he claims is really pretty.

I wonder if he still thinks I'm pretty. He says he does. Sometimes.

After he's had a martini.

I believe I'll go stab some olives onto a toothpick.

I've said it before and I'll say it again:
Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Old Mer-Mer Who Is Not Pretty, Even With Lipstick


The Sacred And Profane, Part Whatever


Mr. Moon and I have been watching Deadwood again. I can't tell you how much I admire and adore that series. I honestly think it is the best thing I've ever seen on film. The writing, the set, the ACTING is just...well, god, it makes me wish I had an opportunity to do something like that. There are two people on the show whose acting Mr. Moon and I do not like. We discuss this. My cruelest observation of them is, "You can see them acting."
I hate it when I can see people acting.
I keep thinking that one character is my favorite but then I think of another and I decide that he is but then I think of another and I am sure that SHE is, and so forth.





They all have such beautiful, incredible faces. Interestingly enough, the two characters whom I do not find to be true have the most traditionally "pretty" faces. One a man, one a woman. 

We have watched these episodes so many times before but every time, I get struck again with the wonder of it, I pick up new things. There are layers and layers of incredible film-making and story-telling. The language is a wonder and a glory. The profanity, the poetry, the way it is used to razor-cut into the soul of humanity with all of our foibles and dreams and failings and greed and goodness and cruelty and love and imperfection and despair and brutality and grace. It is Shakespeare, it is Dickens, it is hip-hop, it is human.

I love it.

Well. La-di-dah. I am feeling all of those things I listed above. I am human. I might go spend some time with Lily and my grandsons today. I am a grandmother and I am a child, I am blessed, I am cursed. I am free and I am bound. I am ancient and newborn. I am pure and I am corrupt and I am corrupted. I am open-minded and I am intolerant. I am female and I am male. I want to dance like a ballerina, I want to swagger heavy-booted like a man with a gun on each hip.

I know and I do not know.

It is in the complexity that we find the beauty. And I think, quite possibly, the truth of it all.
Whatever truth is. Sometimes I think I know but then I don't.

I tell you what though- no one in this world can say "cocksucker" like Al Swearengen. Great name, great actor (Ian McShane), great word.

Happy Cocksucking Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon







Thursday, June 21, 2012

What is WRONG with me today?
And nothing, nothing is the answer. I am fine. FINE I TELL YOU!

So why did reading this in an online newsletter I get from Cozumel make me cry?


How I came to Call Cozumel Home: A Series by Island Residents
� by Kathy Watts, creator of the Trashy Little Group
I have a theory that lovers of Cozumel can instantly recall the exact dates of their first visit. My love affair with the island began January 10 - 17, 1990 - and after my first visit my life was never the same. I went back to Minnesota, and within 6 months I had changed my job, my living situation, and my perspective of the future. As a newly minted airline employee I was fortunate to visit the island often, and my daughter and family enjoyed numerous vacations away from the dark cold Minnesota winters. You know the part in The Wizard of Oz where the film goes from Black and White to vibrant Color? For me, touching down in Cozumel is a lot like that. While the lakes and pinewoods of my youth will always be with me, the natural beauty of the island and her people captivates me as much today as it did 22 years ago.
In 1996 I was married to a relocated Texan and we happily settled into an adorable little apartment. Seven years passed in the blink of an eye. After many months of searching we found a house to buy thanks to my sister who purchased a nice house in the Independencia neighborhood. On our way to take a tour of her place, we passed a cute little place with a beat up “Se Vende” sign tacked up in the corner. That was over 10 years ago. Even though the hubby “va-moosed” a while back, I have thoroughly enjoyed carving out my vision of domestic paradise. For me, a walk on a deserted beach, or a cup of coffee in my garden can be a religious experience. A trip to the phone company can result in lifelong friendships. Only 2 doors down from my big sis, and surrounded on all sides by sweet families, life in Cozumel has proven safe, exciting, happy, and active. My friends and I honor nearly all traditions, foreign and d omestic. We welcome our departed on the Day of the Dead, smile across Thanksgiving tables, decorate our houses with all manner of Christmas glitz, find the baby in the Rosca, and blow the doors off the place for Carnaval.  Underneath it all beats a philanthropic heart and community spirit unparalleled in its generosity.  When called upon, Cozumele├▒os readily show up to support a good cause, help someone in need, offer congratulations, or a consoling embrace.
No matter where one choses to hang a hat, I firmly believe that your life, your happiness, and your regrets are all exactly what you make them. I have found good company in this special place, where the amazing beauty found in nature go hand in hand with the spirit of her citizenry. The beaches, waters, nature preserves, restaurants, music, art, culture, and social whirl ensure that life in Cozumel need never be dull.  I remain humbly captivated by it all.
Kathy Watts and her cohorts in crime created The Trashy Little Groupto help remove some of the trash on Cozumel’s beaches. Already this year, the group has removed over 467 bags of garbage, and increased awareness for recycling and environmental causes here on Cozumel. Once a month, the group gathers together to clean a selected area. Not only is it a worthy cause and a fun event, but it’s also a great chance to win prizes donated by very generous local sponsers. To find out more, check out their facebook page.




First Roseland, now Cozumel.
And I'm not unhappy here. I love it here.

You know what I think it is?
I think it is simply the knowledge that life is passing swiftly and that there are dreams and there are desires which I have had that are never going to be fulfilled.

It's all such a cliche.

I turned eighteen in Europe and I was certain that I would be back within a year or two to explore further. Have I ever returned? No.
I have not had a book published, I have never been to Greece. Hell, I've never had a career!
And the things I have done with my life have been, in some ways, far more incredible than any of those things could have been. I am not talking regrets here. I chose to live my life on my own terms and I have and I do but...

You know.

I know you know.

Perhaps it is nothing more than the knowledge that I am most likely not going to leave my mark here. I am never going to explore the depths of the oceans and discover a new form of sealife, unknown up until the moment I saw it. I am never going to cure a disease. I am never going to have a rose named after me or a camellia or a blueberry. I am never going to be Miss America or Janis Joplin or Mother Theresa. I am never going to dance naked in a fountain in Paris or inspire a song or start a movement or create a philosophy or hell, even plant a successful garden if I keep going the way I am going.

Sigh.

And yet, it doesn't matter. Not one bit. I have passed on my genetic material and I know I am making a difference in my grandchildren's lives. I know that.

But perhaps it's not even any of that. Perhaps it's just the fact that when we are young, we think that we can do anything. We can throw it all away and run away with someone we love. We can cash it all in and travel across the world and settle in a village in Mexico. We can become Matt.




Yeah. I think this whole thing started when I saw that video over at Mel's place, Luna Secrets 
yesterday.

When I watched that, I saw the face of holy possibility. Dancing? All over the world? What a crazy and wonderful idea. I'd seen other videos of Matt dancing  and maybe even posted some here. But this one got me to the point where I was weeping. Not crying. Weeping.

I'll never, ever do anything that crazy and wonderful and beautiful.

But you know- maybe that's not me. Well, of course it's not me or I would have done it.

And I have done what I have done. Raised my babies, been in love for a long time, found and moved into my dream house, grew some gardens, planted some trees, written some (unpublished) books, done what I could with the limitations I myself have set.

I have tread the line of safe and crazy. I am not sure that's for the best but for me, perhaps it has been.

All right. Enough. Blah, blah, blah.

I'm going to go make supper again. Please watch that video. It is so beautiful.

And I could still get to Greece. I could. I could even dance naked in a fountain in Paris if I really wanted to badly enough. I can still have dreams even though time is running out to fulfill them. And as the time gets smaller, so do the dreams.

Believe me.

Love...Ms. Moon


Scrambled

Well. Guess what? It is hot.
I did get out and walk before it hit the nineties for once which means that instead of almost puking and almost passing out, I am merely hot enough to be annoyed with a tinge of anger.
I don't know where this anger is coming from. I have no reason to be angry. Maybe it's not even anger. Maybe it's just yearning. But for what? I don't know.
I was thinking last night what it would be like to disappear for awhile. Not long. Not too long. Just, oh, maybe a week. Just take off and not tell anyone where I was going but of course you can't do that these days. They can track your cell phone and your credit cards and your debit cards and for all I know, I have a microchip tucked away somewhere in my body. Also, and of course more importantly, I would not want to worry my family.

My main and number one rule is: DO NOT WORRY THE MAMA!

This applies not only to my children but also to my husband. Do not make me worry. No. Don't do it. That doesn't mean don't tell me about things that would make me worry. It goes much deeper than that. It means- DON'T DO THINGS THAT WOULD MAKE ME WORRY!

So how could I turn around and make them worry?

They don't always follow my rules.

Just last night I went out to put up the chickens and when I came back to the house, Mr. Moon had disappeared. I mean, he was just gone. The TV was still on and the dogs were there and I looked everywhere. He was not in the house. He was not in the yard.
"Where did Daddy go?" I asked the dogs.
They just looked at me with their milky old cataracted eyes as if to say, "How the fuck should WE know?"

Finally I found him. He was across the street chatting with our neighbor.

He had broken the rule, though. He had worried me. I don't know where I thought he might have gone. I was pretty sure aliens had not abducted him or that he'd been raptured. Or that he'd left me without a word. Just picked up and gone out the door and left me. Not that his car was gone. And of course, he and I do have this rule between us- if one us decides to leave, we must give the other one a fifteen minute warning so that the other one can pack to go with.

Anyway, blah, blah, blah. Disappearing. Yes. I sort of wish I could. But I'll tell you right now where you could probably find me if I did disappear.
Roseland.
If you are a relatively new part of this community, all you have to do is search for Roseland up there at the top of the page and you'll find more information than you need unless you plan to do a thesis on me.
But briefly, Roseland is a tiny village on the east coast of Florida where I spent part of my childhood and there's a magical place I love to stay there right on the river and it has a pool that was in ruins when I was a child but which has been restored and it is beautiful and maybe that's what I am yearning for- to disappear back there to hide by the river in the tiny little house with the pool right outside the window with lions spitting on all four corners.

I once spent an entire week there all by myself and it was heaven. I wrote every day for long hours and I went for walks that were so hot I was afraid I might spontaneously combust (this was July) and I swam in the pool and no one was there at all but me and I could swim naked and shower naked outside and I sat on the dock every night and watched the fishes jumping and the Great Blue Heron perch on a sandbar every night and see the sun go down and the moon and stars come out over the river and the palm trees and the bamboo rattled in the wind like god's own wind chimes.


I was there with my thoughts and my memories and the world I was creating with my own mind and I came back different for that and better too.

So that is where you would look for me, if I disappeared.
Which of course I won't do.

But if I did, I would be in Roseland.

I'm sorry. This isn't much of a post but it's what I've got right this second and I am straddling two worlds right now, this one in Lloyd and that one in Roseland and it's sort of hard to balance what we call reality with a completely different and yet so very powerful reality of the soul and my poor, overheated brain is dancing back and forth between the two and I feel as if I am trying to write two stories and neither one of them any damn good at all.







Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Sacred And Profane

Jesus Christ, I didn't even realize that today was the solstice but I guess it is.
I just went out and worked in the garden for about an hour and I've about soaked my hair through again with sweat. And it's six o'clock in the evening.

My garden is so out of hand right now that I want to torch it. Burn the fucker to the ground. Instead, I dig the shovel into weeds that go down about a foot in root and up about two feet in stem. Then I pull. Then I knock the dirt off and throw the weed in the wheelbarrow. After an hour of this, the wheelbarrow is full and I've cleared approximately three square feet.
Only about a hundred square feet left to go.
This is a damn fool's errand and all I have to figure out is how big a fool I am.

The tomatoes aren't doing squat. I don't know if we planted the wrong kind this year or what. The only ones that are really coming in good are tiny pear-shaped yellow ones that aren't sweet enough to bother picking. I am completely over-run with the yard long beans. I have one eggplant about ready to pick and a whole lot of banana peppers. One jalapeno. One.
The okra may come on, I can't tell.

Is this worth it?

I don't even know but I sincerely doubt it.

I spent a good while on my walk yesterday picking blackberries so of course I didn't have on my gloves or long pants and so now I have scratched up arms, hands, and legs. All for about another cup of berries.

It's like I have the genes of a gatherer woman but I don't have the will or skill. And once again, I have to say that the people who lived in Florida back in olden times, whether those people were the original inhabitants back in the thousands-ago days or whether they were the early pioneers here of European and African ancestry- those were the hardiest, stubbornest, cocksuckery meanest motherfuckers ever to walk the planet. The ones that survived, anyway.

And I ain't one of those.

All right. That's my Summer Solstice in North Florida post.
What did you expect from me? Some new-age bullshit about the alignment of the planets and stars? Well, forget it.

Sure is pretty though, the way the sun's slanting rays are lighting up the phlox. The way the zinnias are shining like fireworks, caught by stems and held fast. Sure is nice to see the chickens strutting along the fence, finishing up their day's scratch-dancing in search of food, making their way to the waterer for one last sip before bed.

I'm not complaining. I AM a fool and I know it and even if I don't get the garden under any sort of control, we still eat some out of it. Tonight there will be green beans and potatoes. Last night there were roasted tomatoes and peppers made into a sort of pizza on a whole grain crust. With a lot of basil and I need to remember to make some pesto.

So happy Solstice. Here's to all the people who lived through the Florida sumer heat and snakes and bugs and disease and panther and bear all those years ago and here's to the ones who still try and here's to John Gorrie who invented the ice machine and the air conditioner and here's to the berries, the cold springs and sink holes, the swift-running rivers the color of iced tea, the deep shade of the live oaks, the sweet brim, the magnificent oily mullet who jumps and no one knows why even now. Here's to the white-tailed deer and the whistling hawks and the hooting owls and the Mississippi Kites that soar almost to heaven, so high the eye loses them. Here's to the redbird perched on the pecan limb and the blue-tailed skinks who live under my back steps and here's to the magnolia grandaflora and here's to all the crazy motherfuckers who love all of it as much as I do.

It's summer.

Hell yeah, it's hot.